Fauzia’s Rejection

Fauzia stood in front a full length mirror, staring at her naked body. Her skin was a smooth mocha colored canvas of beauty on which were painted the dark chocolate areolas and a black triangle of hidden mystery. Her jet black hair curved softly around her face. She wondered why the aunties looked at her with disdain and disappointment while their sons would avoid meeting her eyes.

Almost every month, for the past two years, Fauzia had been meeting potential husbands.

There would be phone conversations between the two mothers. Mothers and sons would be called in for tea. She would wear the boutique inspired shalwar kameez laid out by her mother and come down to meet these people. The circus would begin.

The son would look at her quickly and look away just as quickly. The mother would take a longer look and lose interest. The tea was rushed. The conversation was curt. The mothers would make small talk. Fauzia would stare at the designs on the carpet. The son would pretend to get an important phone call. And when it was all over, the son’s mother would promise to get in touch with the Fauzia’s mother and leave.

Of course nobody called back so Fauzia’s mother would get frustrated and call the mothers and ask the big question: “aapko humari beti kaisi lagi.” There would be a pause at the other end and then the excuses:

“He wants a taller girl.”
“He wants a shorter girl.”
“He wants a thinner girl.”
“He wants a fatter girl.”
“He wants a fairer girl.”

Fauzia’s mother would call her sisters and complain about the son’s mothers. Wherever they would go, she would ask aunties to keep an eye out for Fauzia. Fauzia would get embarrassed and depressed and inhale a box of Cadburys when she got home. She did not wish to be a part of this vicious cycle but could not protest either.

So one day, Fauzia made a life altering decision. She cried and insisted on getting a higher education in the West. Money was put together and she was sent off to the States.

Maybe the son’s mothers would want a vilaiti educated girl. Her mother believed it would improve Fauzia’s marital prospects.

Fauzia bloomed on her own. The goras and the kalas adored her curvy body and mocha chocolate skin. She was asked out on many dates and went on many dates. She practiced safe sex and masturbated herself into climax regularly. She got a degree and a good job. She made herself happy. She was desirable and beautiful. Fauzia started loving herself. She went back one summer to her parent’s house.

The cycle started again but this time, Fauzia did not stare at the carpet. Fauzia looked at the son’s mothers and pointed out what she didn’t like about their sons. Her favorite rejection was the height factor, since she knew it was a sensitive spot for these men.

“He is too short.”
“He is too tall.”

Fauzia’s mother gave up on her. Fauzia went back to the West and married John, who loved her for who she was: a dark, sexy, princess of the East.