A Blogger's Side Step - Sara's Story - Part One

Pakistan is famous for being a terrorist’s training ground but for Sara, it’s a place that holds memories, many that are bitter sweet, those of joy, happiness and sadness. The country is full of contradictions, in the year 2010 people still living in small mud brick homes, and yet, the modern world intrudes with each boasting large satellite dishes and mobile phone towers on the village edge. It’s where women wear the Burqas’ in public and yet, at home are infatuated with makeup. It’s a country with booming beauty and fashion industry that thrives behind doors.

 As Sara disembarked from the plane onto the Karachi Tarmac, the polluted air hit her fast, the sounds of people speaking in Urdu and trying to find her way, amongst the colorful clothing worn by the women.

As Sara waited in Custom’s line, she could recognize the different ethnic groups of the Pakistani people, the fair and taller people, from the northern parts of Pakistan, were known as “Pataans”, then the Urdu speaking who had darker complexions waited patiently. She could hear the different accents in the crowd. This was a skill she had learnt from her husband, recognizing the difference races and dialects amongst Pakistanis.

Karachi is known as the city of lights, it’s the most cosmopolitan city in Pakistan. It  has the most ethnically diverse population. Karachi is like the LA of Pakistan, where people come to make a fortune and start a new life.  Over the past twenty years, it’s also become the target for terrorists.

Sara moved through to the luggage carousel where she collected her bags and made her way outside the airport. Because of security concerns, only passengers and airport staff are allowed in the airport. Sara could feel her heart beating as though it were the only sound in the world; her hands were shaking .She stopped and tried to calm her nerves. She said one quick prayer before stepping outside.

Her niece was the first person she saw, and then there was another. Suddenly she surrounded by her relatives, with greetings and hugs.  As they began to disband and walk towards the awaiting cars, she saw him, so handsome.  He still had the same affect on her.

He smiled and nodded at her. That was her greeting. Sara could feel the anger rise in her belly but knew that the rules of engagement in the Pakistani world were different- no scenes. She wasn’t in her hometown, Melbourne. She was in foreign country, surrounded by her in-laws.

            They walked to the cars, there were three and everyone seemed to jump into the seats and on each others’ laps. She noticed that no one wore a seat belt and the she looked out the window, to a see a reminder of the West. She felt somewhat reassured, the big golden arches loomed above her- McDonalds had arrived in Karachi.

            As soon as they drove out from the airport, her brother in-law began to entertain her with the family news for which Sara responded with the right amount of questions and sound effects of concern. Sara looked out the window, and watched the city pass by the high-rise buildings, traffic and people enjoying the evening.  They drove on a highway past a newish looking Nandos restaurant, mansions with guards patrolling the property, the people walking along the streets going home from a night out, and many billboards advertising beauty products. Sara smiled when she the “fair and lovely” ad, it was a cream that was designed to lighten complexions. While westerners were burning themselves in summer for a tan,  lightening cream for the complexion seemed to be an obsession with Pakistani.

            A week ago, she’d been watching the news; the Australian government had recommended it citizens to avoid travelling to Pakistan in the wake of Benazir Bhutto’s death. Sara had wanted to stay in her home, away from the troubles of another politics and country, but she’d been summoned to Karachi. There were many questions that required answers, some of which she knew and others were dependent upon emotions and guilt.

            When they met at university both were young and seeking a life different from their childhood. Jamal had grown up in rural Pakistan where women were mothers and wives with little expectation. She was from Melbourne and a two working parent household, where career was not an option but a natural path in life. Maybe it’s the attraction of the opposites, or maybe people running away to become someone else, their love had blossomed quickly. Like many of the girls in her social group, Sara had very little romance experience and when she fell for Jamal, she fell hard. Her wedding was quickly arranged by her parents and his, before she had any real time to adapt to change, she had moved into her marital home. A small flat in Footscary owned by her father and she began life as a married woman, all at the tender age of nineteen.

            Nineteen is not young for marriage in Pakistan, it’s the ideal age.  In Australia, it’s young. Her family friends were not surprised but her friends from high school and university were shocked, the most common question her friends asked where “why and are you pregnant?” Sara would blush and laugh at the questions knowing all too well, that she had little option. Unlike her friends, Sara had no chance of dating and meeting Jamal, every time they did meet before marriage, her heart would pound and she would spend most of the time looking around making sure she didn’t get caught. Always on the lookout for the lone aunty accidently catching her out and reporting it to her mother.

            Were she and Jamal ready for marriage? The first few years were like how any other couple would date or live together. Even though she’d grown up in Melbourne, she’d never been along the great ocean road, spent week-ends away in the country or stayed out past one am.

The Tuff Wives Club

It's interesting when people are forced into situations. For some, it's difficult, for others, who like a challenge, it's exciting. I didn't really know what to expect. Growing in Australia amongst people of different nationalities, religions and socio-economic backgrounds, a level of respect for all people is learnt and carried throughout life. I felt pretty confident as I embarked on the 'Desi' society as a newly married woman.

Looking back, I can see that I was naive and yet, somehow ambitious in my desire for light but stimulating conversations about world events or films and books discussions over a curry and naan. Coming from a society where friendships are developed and based upon mutual interests, respect and tolerance for others, little did I know, that my upbringing would provide very little support in the Desi Wives World. Who's really taught to attack and survive in a warzone? Soldiers! If you're Desi, it's housewives.

These 'Desi Wives' are a minority in the real world, people you can listen to at functions and then with a polite 'good-bye' ignore and move on. Unfortunately, these wives are the majority in the my world. There are the 'high school' graduates and then the 'educated', who happily live a warzone. Each group has one leader and the rest, are deemed as followers. The leaders have similar qualities, excelling in everything they do(i.e cooking), well developed social skills, have a cleaning fetish and surround themselves with as many people as possible. The main objective is to be competitive as possible and ensure that the weaker feel their wrath. As easily as one is accepted, they can be dumped.

So began the journey that I quickly abandoned. Being decisive, I knew that this group was well beyond my capacity, so I watched from afar as people joined, then as they were tossed aside, the lies, the comments and the snipes from cooking skills, upbringing of children, clothing and wealth just to name a few.

There's a difference in value systems, language barriers and experiences  between the Australian Born and 100% Desi. Because most of these interactions are required for the sake of the husband meeting his friends, the friendships are forced and unrealistic. I've been to loads of dinner parties where the women and men have been segregated. In the men's area, we can hear the laughter and happiness overflowing. In the ladies section, it's quiet with the occassional discussion about an Indian film(always a winner- the safe conversation). If you are confident and carefree happy to discuss anything and involve other people in conversation they shoot you down(behind your back of course).

How to move on from this? How much does a wife need to compromise? How many insults and snide comments can a person take? Should there be a warning label on a potential husband's head before marriage? 'Look Out, Danger Aussie Desi Gal'. I say yes........

I woke up from a really bad dream. That's how I felt  the morning after my wedding. For most of my childhood I fantasized about my wedding day, initially it was being the woman dressed in a white gown walking down the aisle towards her beloved. But when I realized that things were going to be different like from the age of six, the image changed to the scared woman hiding behind a veil waiting and hoping that the man sitting next to her, would be a 'nice' and good husband. I remember in high school, there would be crushes and fantasies that all fell short, whilst other classmates would drool and openly talk about their 'perfect man' and what they would be looking for.  Our conversation, in the desi world, went like this, 'is he dark? does he come from a good family? Which city? is he education?' and I used to wonder, 'does he speak english?'. I wondered because most of the potential husbands were deemed 'imports'. What facinated me, was the fact that my peers would openly accept this option as the norm. Maybe it was the fact it was the 80s and that we were the first generation to grown up in Australia where no rules existed. But at that point, I didn't want to be apart of this, I couldn't understand why we didn't marry the people we really wanted. I remember, there were families, grooming their daughters to marry a 'doctor, lawyer or an engineer', in that order. They would make endless trips across the globe, searching, hoping and then eventually sealing the deal with prized 'doctor'. Having said  that, some people have ended up in happy unions with a great family and life, but if things could have been different, given the choice, would they have settled for the 'arranged' option? I woke up the morning after my reception wondering if having a big 'desi' wedding was worth the hassle, 380 people and a few good photos- too tiring and too many compromises on clothes, desi music- to have music or not, to allow dancing or not, enough food or too little, containing arguments and differences between the grooms and brides side? A clash of cultures? or egos? given the chance again, I would ditch the big wedding and go to vegas for a civil ceremony with an elvis impersonator conducting the ceremony.............. :)

Why I started writing this blog....

One of the most interesting things about growing up in Australia whilst being of Desi decent(either Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi- or from anywhere in South east Asia) is the expectation that you have to hold onto a) religion b) customs that belong to the motherland of when your parents migrated to Australia- i'm talkin' pre-1970s c) be bilingual d) the pressure to become the perfect Desi wife.

I'm going to share part of my journey, being Australian born and adapting to a whole new world of people, customs and the art of survival in the Desi World, in particular, the Desi Wives world. It's a place where comments fly out of wives' mouths in the chaos of suburban dinner parties where four families and 20 kids are crammed into a tiny house or when the best meal served by the worst cook, is examined then dismissed by the wives and then praised by the over weight biryani loving husbands two weeks later.
A strange world? As one aunty said on my last trip abroad, "DAARRling, compromise, you must try to be a good wife". Trying I am :) but recording the events as I go along. Perhaps therapy would be better the option? But being part Desi, means I'm too tight to pay - I'm taking the other option and sharing it with you  :)