Seeing the Bride in Darkness

This was the fifth time he’d gone to see a prospective bride. Before Faruq got his job, he used to think that finding work would make marriage easier. Now he understood that to get married, what you needed most was someone willing to marry you—either your own girlfriend ready for marriage, or someone else’s. You could get married without money, but you couldn’t get married without a bride-to-be who was actually willing to be wed. Faruq was utterly fed up with this whole marriage business. He’d decided that today, when he went to see this girl, if he liked her, he’d grab her father’s feet and refuse to let go. Usually, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring tears to his eyes. But today, somehow or other, he would, and he’d say, “Uncle, from now on I’ll do whatever you tell me to. Please, I beg you, save your son’s desperate parents from their plight. Everyone in this world should have the right to marry. What’s the meaning of life without a wife?”

Faruq went to see the girl. The man whose feet he’d planned to clutch while weeping theatrically wasn’t there at the time—he’d gone out on urgent business. He’d be back soon. Faruq had brought along his friend, his uncle, and his uncle’s son. The ladies’ sitting room was neat and tidy; it looked rather like the houses in TV dramas. Faruq had high hopes that today he’d meet a real princess. He’d heard that the girl’s father was in the medicine business. Who knew how much money the gentleman had? An only daughter, no sons either—he’d give everything to his son-in-law. A sparkling two-story duplex house in Dhanmondi. Faruq’s eyes began to dance and glitter.

He too had come dressed as a prince. He’d shaved twice with a Gillette Fusion razor—first with the grain, then against it. While scrubbing vigorously during the shave, he’d even managed to cut his cheek! He’d gone to the salon to trim the excess hair on the sides. He’d gotten a herbal facial. A manicure. Back home, he’d stood before the mirror practicing two different looks: the gentle look and the cool look—the second one was for the girl. The nose hairs that stuck out—even though there was no real need, just because you absolutely can’t go anywhere on your birthday without wearing your finest clothes—he’d even gone to the bathroom and trimmed those. Today he was a completely unwanted-hair-free handsome man. While bathing, he’d scrubbed his body with a towel to remove all the dirt. He’d shampooed three times, conditioned his hair. He’d washed his face twice, scrubbing with Everyuth scrub and Olay face wash. All the visible parts—neck, throat, ears, the portion of his arms that wouldn’t be covered by the shirt cuffs—he’d rubbed with a soapy towel using all his strength. Hoping it might make him look a bit brighter than his usual dusky complexion. He’d applied gel thoroughly to his hair, parting it on the left side and combing it several times—not just once, but several times. He already had thin hair; the comb’s tyranny would have pulled out even more strands. He’d slathered Garnier light cream all over his face. Body spray, body lotion—nothing was left out. He wore dark black shirt with silver stone-work cufflinks with off-white formal pants. He’d bought the pants from Cat’s Eye; the shirt was a gift from his second girlfriend, from Men’s Club. The undershirt and underwear were from Westecs. The shoes from Gallery Apex; the socks were new too. He’d bought a formal belt from Artisti Collection for 1800 taka. On his wrist was a Romanson wristwatch—a gift from his last girlfriend. (Seeing his Facebook status “Will catch tomorrow, bride’s veil! Feeling cool!” his ex had inboxed him: “You’re going to wear my watch tomorrow, aren’t you? Don’t you feel ashamed? Shameless fool!”) He thought he looked like Akshay Kumar today. He’d decided that after reaching the girl’s house, he’d hold his breath inward to hide his belly as much as possible. But the problem was, these clever plans never stayed in his head when it mattered. That’s when he wanted to slap himself. When the last girl had refused him, she’d said, “The boy is as tall as he is fat as he is dark. Just looking at him brings to mind a pregnant elephant.” Faruq couldn’t appreciate the girl’s truthfulness. Today this mistake wouldn’t happen again. If necessary, he’d die holding his breath, but he’d keep it sucked in. He’d rented a car from Rent-a-Car for this bride-viewing occasion. There were many advantages to having a well-paying job. His face lit up with gratitude toward Samsung.

The girl’s father was stuck in traffic. It would take some time. The girl’s cousin came and said, “Uncle will be a bit late. Should I bring Taniya now? Or would you prefer to wait a bit longer?” Faruq’s uncle said, “No problem at all. Please bring her. We’ll keep chatting. Brother sahib will surely arrive by then.” The cousin said, “Yes, alright,” and went inside.

Faruq wasn’t saying anything. He was the candidate now. Sohel had coached him not to speak up proactively. Sohel was a renowned bride-viewing specialist. He’d seen eighteen girls so far, much to his mother’s anguish. Most of the girls hadn’t liked him. This didn’t sadden him at all. His target was to avoid marriage for as long as possible. Faruq was desperately trying to achieve a smile that didn’t show teeth. It wasn’t working. In the meantime, Omar had already said twice, “Dude, you’re looking like a chimpanzee. Be easy, dude, be easy.” Faruq needed to use the bathroom urgently. He couldn’t figure out whether it was appropriate to ask for the bathroom when you’d come to see a bride. But his condition wasn’t very good. He felt like he might wet his pants at any moment. They might not want to marry their daughter to a boy who’d wet his pants. He’d been scratching a particular spot for quite some time. He felt uncomfortable. If he could go home, he’d feel peaceful. Home was the most peaceful place in the world, where you could scratch wherever you wanted to your heart’s content. He began to think, “To hell with marriage!” Suddenly he noticed, “Oh God! What’s this above the belt!” Disaster! He’d forgotten to hold his breath in. His belly was trying to burst through the shirt buttons! He looked like the father of two children. Even someone who had nobody in the world had a damn hereditary paunch! Faruq held his breath inward. He decided he’d never breathe out again. If necessary, he’d die, but no. Death was better than not getting married. Didn’t these people have AC? The AC was running. The AC was working for everyone except Faruq. Faruq discovered a theory in his mind. Heat intensifies the urgency of bathroom needs. Then he thought about this. He saw that it was completely true. He was impressed by his own brilliance! He decided that if he married this girl, he’d tell her all of today’s events in amusing detail. But he’d never tell her everything about his life. She was young, only in her third year of studies. She’d never be able to handle all of it. Even bigger, more mature girls couldn’t handle that much. His honesty was largely responsible for his last breakup. Once during dating, he’d let slip, “The best lipkiss of my life was…” The rest was history. At this moment Omar slapped him hard on the cheek. “…Dude, look what a huge mosquito! Wipe your cheek with tissue. Hehe…” Faruq’s mood soured completely. He felt like driving the corner of the Burj Al Arab decoration on the table into Omar’s stomach. Bastard, he can’t stand my happiness. A disgrace to the name of friendship. My precious facial is ruined. He was fumbling for tissue just when they brought Taniya from inside. Faruq was the first to stand up. Somehow, he had to hold in his bathroom urge. His mind agreed, but his bladder didn’t. What agony. At this moment he also felt the other urgent need. He thought the happiest thing in the world was going to the bathroom. We’ve been sent to this world just to go to the bathroom. Marriage and everything else are fake. Suppressing the intense urge to flood everything around him, he looked at the girl with a helpless expression.

Trying to avoid regional dialect as much as possible, he attempted to say, “Assalamu Alaikum.” As soon as he said it, he noticed his belly had protruded again. Damn belly! Sohel had told him his only job now was to keep his head down and sit quietly. Only the elders would speak at this time. He’d only answer what they asked him, nothing more. He quickly checked whether his pants zipper was done up, whether his shirt was tucked in properly. He moved the back collar away from his neck, lowered his head a bit, tucked the hair at the back of his head under the collar, pressed it down, then lowered the collar back down. When he’d gone to see bride number three, out of nervousness he’d extended his hand to shake hands with the prospective bride’s mother. What an experience that was! Today he’d tucked his belly inward and very politely said salaam to everyone. The girl’s mother, cousin, uncle—everyone’s faces were cheerful. The girl sat with a shy demeanor, eyes downcast. When Faruq wasn’t looking, she was stealing glances at him. Faruq liked the girl. A dusky-complexioned girl with a sweet face. She’d done light makeup. Faruq suddenly realized he’d dressed up more than the girl had. He was making a life-and-death effort to hide his paunch. Keeping his head down, he looked toward his belt area. No, the shirt wasn’t billowing out from his chest toward his belly. Peace, peace!

His bathroom urge was increasing. Let it increase! For this girl, he could go without using the bathroom for his entire life. A few hours was nothing at all! He suddenly noticed the girl looking at him and smiling slightly. He began to wonder what the problem was. Had his pants zipper come undone? Was there still a blood stain on his cheek? That bastard Omar! Had she smiled seeing him sweating profusely? Was he sitting too hunched over? Had the girl somehow spotted his belly? By God’s grace, from tomorrow onward he’d only eat cucumber for lunch. Or had the girl somehow figured out what he was thinking? His bathroom urge was increasing again; this time the other kind. He’d used the bathroom twice before leaving home. God only knew where all this bathroom urge came from! He felt like a diarrhea patient. He should have fasted today.

The elders were chatting about various things. Where the house is located, which direction to go to whose house, who all are at home—that sort of conversation. A few questions were asked of him. Mostly yes-no type questions. You could get away with just saying yes or no. The girl’s uncle asked her some questions. Most of them pointless questions. Where do you study? Where’s your school? Where’s your college? Which year did you take your matriculation? Which year intermediate? Yet all of this was already written in the biodata. One of uncle’s questions really irritated Faruk. He asked the girl, “My dear, can you sing Rabindra Sangeet?” Hearing this question, Faruk felt like shoving uncle off the sofa. Why on earth would a girl from North South University know Rabindra Sangeet? Uncle had this notion that every girl in the world could sing Rabindra Sangeet. He had asked this same question to another girl before. When leaving home, he had promised Faruk he wouldn’t ask this question today. Coming here, he’d forgotten. What was uncle’s problem anyway? Faruk would be the one getting married. Faruk would be the one setting up house with her. Whether she could sing Rabindra Sangeet or do the samba dance—what business was it of uncle’s! Tania said with some embarrassment, “No uncle, I can’t.” Faruk quickly interjected, “It’s better not to know all that Rabindra Sangeet business. I don’t like Rabindra Sangeet one bit.” Now uncle remembered. Uncle didn’t ask the girl any more questions. Meanwhile, snacks were being served. Faruk had brought 8 kilos of sweets when he came. They hadn’t offered him any of the sweets he’d brought. From their way of talking and behavior, Faruk understood they were quite refined. But the thing was, why weren’t they asking him any questions? What was going on? He’d come prepared to answer so many questions. Could it be that…? The girl’s father had called a little while ago. He was nearby now. So was the girl’s father today’s head examiner? Faruk’s tension began. If he couldn’t marry this girl, life would be meaningless!

Suddenly a shrill bird whistle. The doorbell. Was it time to fall at someone’s feet? Ah! The long wait was ending. The door opened. Yes, it was the girl’s father. He entered the drawing room with a smiling face. Seeing him, Faruk sprang up from the sofa like a coiled spring. He felt like running away immediately. He prayed silently: Oh earth! Split in two, let me climb a tree! He began reciting all the prayers and blessings he knew. The girl’s father looked at Faruk with a stern gaze. His smiling face turned grave. Faruk’s uncle said “Assalamu alaikum, brother saheb” and shook hands with the girl’s father. Faruk’s head wasn’t working. His whole body was tingling. His hands and feet were going numb. There was a buzzing sound in his head. Both ears had turned red with heat. It was as if smoke was coming out of his eyes and ears! It seemed like all the glands in his face were conspiring to distort his features! It felt like someone had plunged a knife into his chest! His chest began to ache. His stomach returned to normal. He suddenly thought—should he start crying? He suddenly noticed his off-white pants felt damp, and his stomach was cramping terribly. Could it be that…

Uncle: Brother saheb, you see? My nephew. A very good boy. He stood first in both matriculation and intermediate. Got scholarships three times while studying electrical engineering at BUET. He’s taking the GRE. Will go to the USA. Will do his masters and PhD from there. His wife will go with him too. No problems at all. Hehe… You see, brother saheb, he’s a very capable boy. Our family’s asset. His father was in the railways. Retired as DG. A very honest man. His mother is also a pious woman. My eldest nephew is already married. Son-in-law is a doctor. They had a beautiful baby boy last month. The younger nephew is Faruk’s junior. Studies at DMC. No troubles in the family at all. He’s our precious boy. Of the highest character; regularly performs prayers. Speaks to elders with downcast eyes, doesn’t even look at girls! Boys like this don’t exist nowadays. He’s the best boy I’ve ever seen. Our daughter-in-law will be very happy. My father was a pir. If you see our whole family, you’ll like it very much. Why aren’t you saying anything, brother saheb? You can talk to Faruk. Hehe…

Father: I understand your boy is very good and of fine character. I’m extremely pleased. We’ll talk again later. You can leave now.

After some more pleasantries, uncle and Faruk left. Faruk’s uncle was overjoyed. “Faruk, I’ve decided—I’ll bring this girl for you. I’ll talk to your father today itself. You don’t object, do you?” Faruk said nothing. His head wasn’t working, he had no strength to speak. Somehow he just managed to say, “Uncle, you take the car and go home, I’ll come later.” Saying this, he ran toward the public toilet by the roadside.

Faruk hired a rickshaw by the hour. He began to feel that at this moment, he was the most helpless person in the world. He had no right to live. Tania’s father was a very good man—he should have touched his feet in salaam. Even if he could touch his feet, life would be worthwhile. After all this, he hadn’t even reacted. If he’d wanted to, today he could have made perfect arrangements for Faruk’s suicide. But he didn’t. Faruk had no qualification other than leaving that house with wet pants.

The rickshaw moved at a slow pace. The cool evening breeze. A tremendous sense of guilt was working in Faruk. He wanted to cry his heart out. But the problem was, this wasn’t the age for wailing in the streets. He thought no one in the world had ever committed, or would ever commit, a greater crime than his. Looking around, he began to feel that there were only two types of people in this world. Some buy condoms. Some sell condoms. Some people in the second category had marriageable daughters. He noticed that only one thought was spinning in his head: there’s no such thing as a trusted shop. It’s never right to always buy condoms from the same shop, never right.

Footnote. When we did math problems as children, we used to write: Let the father’s age be x.

Come, let us still write: Let this story be fictional.