Arranged Marriage

Arranged Marriage
By: Rehan K (stargazer4ever2001@yahoo.com)

Note: Nothing is fiction here. Its all 100% real as well as I can remember it. The dialogue between some characters has been translated to English. Please don't forget to vote and give your feedback. Thanks!

ARRANGED MARRIAGE

My name is Rehan Khan and I am a Pakistani Canadian. I was born in the Pakistani city of Karachi and came to Canada when I was five. Thus I remember very little of my place of birth. I have some memory of the house in which I lived. It was a double story house in a congested Karachi neighborhood where I lived with my parents, one uncle and two aunts, a few cousins and grandmother. It was a joint family set up so a lot of people lived together in a large house.

Life was fun! I was the youngest in the family and therefore the most pampered. Every evening I would be on the roof flying a kite with my cousin Amer. From the roof we could see a road below where kids played cricket on the street. They would often get yelled at by passing motorists, as they would be playing right in the middle of the road. I always wanted to go out and play with them but my mother told me only bad kids play cricket on the road. I was a good kid and therefore not permitted to do that.

Other than that, I remember our maid servent Razia. She had a huge tummy and my grandmother was always yelling at her not to exert so much. I once asked my grandma why Razia has such a big tummy and she told me Razia will soon have a baby. I did not understand what that had to do with her inflated stomach because I believed babies were delivered at your door by an angel. Anyway, that is all I remembered of Pakistan.

Canada was my home now! When my father died in Karachi my mother moved to Canada and this was where I grew up. I never went to Pakistan and thus had no sentimental attachment to that place (other than the few vague memories I already mentioned.) There was nothing Pakistani in me. I spoke very little Urdu and could not understand the sport of cricket at all. It seemed similar to baseball but I just didn't get why they had to bounce the ball on the floor? The scoring system in cricket never made any sense to me either. I also did not understand why Pakistanis would get so excited over cricket especially when it was Pakistan against India. To me, people from both countries looked "brown" so it was one team of brown guys against another team of brown guys.

Ice hockey on the other hand was my life. I was a fan of Toronto Maple Leafs and when they played against Montreal Canadians, I would watch the game holding my breath. The fact that it was a bunch of white guys against another bunch of white guys did not matter because I was programmed to see these as two groups of people with distinct culture, language and political views rather than flat lifeless representations of a "race". Thus French Canadians against English Canadians seemed a more excitable opposition India against Pakistan, two distant nations in some isolated part of the world.

Though I could understand Urdu, I rarely spoke it. Our neighborhood was a white neighborhood so I never had the chance to speak my language. I could understand it very clearly though and could communicate if I had to. English I spoke as well as a Canadian and had no accent. My best friend was Shawn, a shaven headed Canadian who was built like a body builder. He had a weight lifting bench and a few dumbbells in his garage so every evening I would be down at his place working out with him.

When I was in my early twenties I stood over six feet and had the body of an underwear model. I was not an overly muscled up freak like Shawn but even with the shirt, you could see that I had lifted weights. Women loved me!!! I had long hair and the body, plus my bronze complexion made me look naturally "tanned" so I think that's what gave me the sex appeal I had. I never had a steady girl friend. I was more committed to "spreading my seed" instead. By the time I was in my early twenties I had spread a lot of seed.

Pakistanis hated me, especially the women. I don't know why but I think it was because I had evolved to be an exact anti-thesis of what an ideal man in Pakistani culture would be. I never went to the mosque because I thought I did not believe in organized religion. I would get drunk on weekends and party like an animal and above all I was "spreading my seed," fucking innocent white girls (most of whom were not so innocent mind you). All this made me a walking talking example of bad upbringing. I did not have problems with that because I never considered traditional Pakistani upbringing as an ideal anyway.

When I was twenty five, my mother all of a sudden decided that I was to go back to Pakistan to have an arranged marriage!!! I was like WHAAAAAAAT??????? Me and arranged marriage? You gotta be kidding me!!! I was like "There is no way thats going to happen!!!" I am in my mid twenties and I still have to spread my seed for another ten years. Once I am tired of fucking and fucking and fucking then I am going to settle down with some nice Canadian woman (non-Pakistani of course) who will accept me for all the bad behavior I have shown and all the chicks I have fucked.

But, there was a girl in Karachi called Anisa (daughter of some family friends) and I was being taken back to meet her. I kept telling my mother that there is no way I was going to marry an ultra-conservative religious fanatic. I mean I would have had serious objection if the girl was a Canadian born Pakistani but this was even beyond that! She had never been to the West EVER! Coming from Pakistan and that also an arranged marriage! OH MY GOD WHAT A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!

My mother continued to explain to me that arranged marriages are not so brutal as they sound. Families only arrange a meeting between the boy and the girl and then it was up to the two of them to decide if they wanted to go forward. I kept rejecting the idea. Somehow at the back of my mind I also had this feeling that even if the girl agrees to marry me, it would be because of my Canadian citizenship. The moment she gets her landing papers she would want to end the marriage. She will accuse me of being a bad husband and a womanizer and then no one in my community or even family will listen to my side of the story because a womanizer I truly was and it was well known!

Yuck! I did not want that.

My mother did not give up. After a lot of bitter arguments she said that all I had to do was to go back to Pakistan and meet my family. I could meet the Anisa too in a casual setting and then come back to Canada. Since it was presented as a free return ticket and a fully paid vacation, I agreed, though I was reluctant about it to the last minute.

Thus on the eve of August 1999 I found myself on an over crowded flight to Pakistan. It was a bad time to go to that region. India had conducted its first nuclear tests amidst all international pressure and there were rumors that Pakistan was about to test its own bomb soon. Political tensions were really high and When I got on the plane everyone on board PIA flight was talking about whether Pakistan will detonate its own bomb or not.

It was a long flight which was meant to be 24 hours but got delayed in Manchester for quite sometime. By the time the flight landed at Karachi airport and I got down the plane Pakistan had already tested its own nuclear bomb and former Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif was making his speech which was being televised on all TV stations across the airport. He said that it was India that forced Pakistan to build nukes and forced Pakistan to test nukes and if a missile is launched in our direction we will fire at Indian cities.

I felt like kicking myself for being there at that time. Just one day ago I was sitting comfortably in my room in Toronto watching "Friends" and listening to my CDs and here I was in a region about to blow itself apart with nuclear bombs.

When I got out at the Jinnah terminal my cousin was there to receive me. He was the same fellow with whom I lived with when I was in Pakistan and we flew kites on the roof together but I could barely recognize him now. He had a beard and looked like a Talibaan militant. He on the other hand had no problem recognizing me and came forward and gave me a big hug. He then took my stuff and loaded it in the back of his car. I looked around and realized that the city of Karachi was not as primitive as I thought it would be. The airport was far superior to the Canadian airport in Toronto and did not give the impression of a third world country at all. There was Mc Donald's restaurant, which I totally did not expect and, as we drove away I saw sign boards advertising mobile phones and other electronic gizmos. Then there were these huge buildings on both sides of the road that were never part of my early memories. Yet it was a place where religion and modernity were wrestling with each other, for right besides these buildings, there were tall minarets and domes of mosques which dominated the landscape as powerfully as logos of Nike and Pepsi. On one hand there would be a Sprite motto "OBEY YOUR THIRST" and on the other there would be religious messages like "GOD LOVES THOSE WHO CONTROL THEIR URGES." Two conflicting messages each powerful in their own context were displayed on signboards and waged war for peoples minds.

We continued talking about the political situation and I found out that my cousin Arif, who looked like a bearded terrorist was in fact studying to be a doctor. He wanted to specialize in surgery, as that was his passion. The guy was no idiot for he spoke English as good as he could speak Urdu and when I found myself stuck with Urdu he would very easily start conversing in English. I asked him about the nuclear tests.

"You don't need to worry about politics. You are here to meet Anisa so keep your mind focused on her." He said.

"Who is Anisa" I asked.

"She is related to us by marriage." He explained. "I think she is hot."

We never talked about her.

When the car stopped in front of the house it just brought my old memories back. It was the same double story house in which I was born. The gate was the same and we were standing in the same street where kids played cricket many years ago. That aspect had not changed for they were still playing cricket though I am sure that it was a different generation altogether. I always wanted to play cricket on the street but my mother never allowed me so I went to one of the kids and asked him if I could take a shot. He gave me his bat. The other kid pitched the ball and I swung at it like a baseball club and missed. These kids were good and it helped me understand why these guys bounce the ball on the floor. It just makes it so difficult to hit because you don't know how it will bounce up. There is no linear motion so u just don't know where the ball will come. After that I developed respect for cricket, the sport I had ignored all my life.

The inside of the house also brought old memories. When I was a little kid, the place looked huge to me but now that I was over six feet tall, it seemed so tiny. The living room in which everyone would sit and watched TV seemed so big back then that I could run from the TV set into my grandmother's lap at full speed. Now I could cover the same distance in a single stride.

Some of the furniture was also the same and on one wall I even saw the Spiderman stickers that I used to paste. I had forgotten about them but when I looked at them it just made me recall how desperately I waited for these stickers which came out of detergent boxes. Each detergent box had a superhero sticker inside so in one box it would be Spiderman and in the other it would be Batman or Hulk. It was such a suspense for me to open the box and get the stickers out. If it turned out to be a sticker I already had then I would exchange it with my cousins or other kids in the neighborhood but stickers were a major source of pleasure in my life back then. After I left for Canada no one removed those stickers and after twenty years they were still there.

Everyone was so excited about seeing me. Two of my aunts had gotten married and moved out so now this whole house was my uncle's family and my grandma. My grandmother had gotten so old that she rarely moved about. Instead she had this one chair in the corner where she would sit and do her stuff like watch TV or read. She only moved when she had to and that also by holding walls or furniture for support. After I was introduced to the family we had a nice dinner where we talked about old times.

My next couple of days were spent in the house and mostly in bed because the jet lag had made me lethargic. Then on the third day I set out to explore Karachi city. It was a huge metropolis, which was the fourth or the fifth most populated city in the world. The streets were mostly congested and bursting with people. The traffic was noisy as everyone wanted to go every where at the same time. It seemed like people had no other past-time except playing cricket on the streets in the midst of traffic. When the mosques called for prayer, the game was stopped and after prayer it would resume again. Police would often come and chase the cricketers but they would return again or start playing on some other street. Thus street cricket never stopped. Then there was snooker on street corners, which was a recent and growing attraction.

Though overall Karachi was not a bad place, it was definitely not a party animal's paradise. There were no dance clubs or pubs so if you were a weekend alcoholic or a "seed spreader" (like me) then you would not be very happy. I did not mind not having my beer but I needed sex! As time went by I grew hornier and hornier with no source of sexual relief in sight.

Finally the day came where I was to meet Anisa. Anisa's father had his own company, which supplied chemicals to local industries. He had invited us to tea at their place and that was meant to be our first meeting. I had no interest in her whatsoever. I still believed that she would be an immigration seeker who will marry me for my Canadian citizenship and then very happily ditch me once she had her papers. Either that, or she would be one of those ultra conservative religious fundos who would refuse me on face value. Since both possibilities had a potentially negative ending, I just thought I should meet her, get this formality out of the way and then head back to Canada so that I could return to my normal life.

Finally one Saturday evening my Uncle, his wife and I left the house for Anisa's place in our car. She lived by the seaside in Defence, which was believed to be an expensive area in Karachi. It was the home of the elite!

When our car stopped in front of their house I was a little awestruck. It was not a house but a mansion! There were uniformed security guards at the gate who opened the door for us. It was a huge double storied house with two cars and one four-wheel drive parked outside. To our right was a lawn in which I could see a volley ball net and a beautiful rockery. In the corner of this lawn there was a huge birdcage almost the size of a room, with multi colored birds (I remember them to be parrots). Right next to these I could see a young woman standing with a rabbit in her hands. She was wearing a traditional shalwar qameez and was walking bare footed on the grass. I thought if this was Anisa, the woman I had traveled the world to meet but my mind totally ruled out the possibility. She would not be out walking on the grass without shoes when she knows people are coming to meet her for marriage purposes. She would be inside getting all dressed up, I thought.

After looking at the house my initial impression of Anisa as an immigration seeker was blasted away! These people were quite well off and living a life that was far better than most Canadians. I lived in a small studio apartment in Toronto and these guys lived in a mansion. There was one car between me an my mother there and these people seemed to have three (one if which was a four wheel drive with tinted glasses). Then security guards, driver and servants were luxuries very few in Canada could dream of. Whoever Anisa was, I knew now that she was not an immigration seeker, for she would have absolutely nothing to gain by migrating from this life to what I would be offering.

As my Uncle and Aunt got down the car I thought I should go and look at this bird collection. Actually I wanted to check out the bare footed girl with the rabbit but I just pretended to be fascinated with the bird cage instead and made my way towards that side of the lawn.

The girl had seen the car pull over and was now looking at us. She was short, I estimated her to be 5.2 - 5.3 inches. With light olive skin and long black hair she was definitely very "exotic" looking. The most noticeable feature about her was her chest! This girl who was a bit small framed and petite, had breasts that proudly jutted out of her chest. They must have been a 36 DD but given her small frame, they seemed larger. I had been feeling horny since the time I landed here and watching her hold a rabbit to her heaving chest was having an effect on my prick. My cock began to move in my pants.

"Hello." I said to her.

"Hi." She responded as she checked me from my face all the way down to my shoes. She knew who I was and there was a slight smile on her face. It was not a friendly smile but a mean "I don't trust you smile.

"I am Rehan." I said looking at the rabbit. Actually I was looking at her boobs but I wanted her to think I was looking at the rabbit.

"I am Aneeqa, Anisa's younger sister." She said and started caressing the furry rabbit she held.

Her voice was very sensual. "Damn what a sexy sister in law!" I thought to myself. "You like birds?" I asked.

"Yes."

"How many do you have?"

"There are about forty in there." She said.

"Really?" I said and started examining them.

She came and stood next to me. "See that one?" She pointed towards a yellow parrot that was sitting in a corner. It was small and weak. While other birds flew around the huge cage this one just sat in the corner. "He is my favorite..." She said. "...but he is not feeling well."

"I see." I responded.

"Can you get inside the cage and bring me that one?" She asked.

I looked at her.

"Please?" She said in a pleading tone. "I need to give him his medication because I am really trying to keep him alive."

This was a huge bird-cage. It was the same size as my bedroom but it was dirty. The birds had shitted all over the floor and I had serious reservations going in. But this potential "future sister in law" of mine was insisting and I just thought that it would be rude to refuse her, as it was a matter of life and death for the bird.

"OK! I will get him for ya." I said and got on my knees to open the little door. Then slowly I crawled inside the cage through this little trapdoor, making sure that I did not place my knee or hand on anything dirty. The birds got agitated as I crawled in and they began to flap around me violently making all kinds of unwelcoming noises. Once inside I rose to my full height and brushed my clothes.

The girl was looking at me with the same "I don't trust you." smile on her face.

I thought this is insane! But I walked towards the sick bird, which was sitting on a wooden stick suspended from the ceiling. Just when I was about to reach out and grab it, this parrot, which was so drowsy and out of energy came to life and flew away. I was about to turn when I herd the little trap-door lock behind me.

I turned and looked and saw the girl stepping away from the cage with a naughty smile on her face. I looked at the little door and the lock was pressed. She had locked me inside this filthy birdcage! I was really not expecting a Pakistani girl to do that, especially when she knew I was no ordinary visitor. I was there to propose to her sister.

"Is this a joke?" I asked.

"It's a custom in our family when someone comes to propose to us we first lock him up in our bird cage."

I laughed.

"Enjoy!" She said and then turned to walk away.

"How long will I be here?" I asked laughing but she did not reply. Just walked away till she was out of sight.

Stranded in the bird cage I looked around but there was no one in sight. The security guards who had let us in were on the other side of the house and could not see what she had done to me. I thought my Uncle and his wife will soon come this way because they were getting out of the car when I came into this lawn. The girl definitely was a prick tease! As I realized how helpless I was my cock began to grow in my pants. There is something always sexually arousing about a woman who overpowers you. She had done that with her wit and it was causing a tent in my pants.

I stayed in there for a bit and then realized that there was bird shit all over my coat. It was a black Armani blazer and there was white bird shit on my shoulder. I pulled out a hanky and wanted to wipe but then I realized there was shit on my sleeve as well. Suddenly these birds had started shitting and I was catching it all over my clothes. I moved to a side but when there are over forty birds flapping over your head and shit all over the place you cant do much.

"What a fucking bitch!" I thought to myself as my cock hardened even more. The more angry I got, the more aroused I became. Suddenly my cell phone rang. I picked up and it was my uncle.

"Where the hell are you?" He said.

"I am outside Chacha Jaan (Uncle). I replied.

"We are all waiting for you inside for the last twenty minutes." He said. "Come on in."

"I cant." I said. "I am in a bird cage. Someone has locked me in the bird cage."

"What??" He yelled. I then heard him speak to someone off the phone. "Someone has locked him in the bird cage!" He said and then the phone was hung up. I understood that someone would soon be coming to rescue me.

A few minutes later and elderly gentleman made his way to the birdcage in urgency. I understood him to the father, the man of the house because he had this aura of fatherly authority about him. He got to the cage, knelt down and then unlocked the door.

"I am terribly sorry." He said as I crawled out. "You must have met my daughter Anisa."

After crawling out I rose to my feet and shook his hand. "No I met her younger sister Aneeqa." I said.

He took a deep breath. "Anisa does not have a sister. It was her that you met. My apologies."

"Ahhhh so that was Anisa!" I thought to myself.

When I got in, it was very embarrassing because the house was so posh and the guests were all so well dressed and I had bird shit over my clothes.

"Oh my God what happened to you?" My aunt asked as she looked at the shit on my shoulder. It was liquid shit, which was now making its way towards my pocket.

"It was Anisa." The girl's father said. Immediately an middle ages lady rose to her feet and went upstairs. I knew she was Anisa's mother and from her body language I knew she was going up to give her daughter a piece of her mind.

I sat down in front of a trolley of cake and samosas and all kinds of goodies and listened to the discussion. It was about India Pakistan politics and whether it was right for Pakistan to test nuclear weapons. I sat there silently and listened not knowing what I could contribute to this. While this conversation was going on I heard Anisa's mother upstairs.

"Buhut ghalat baat hai!" (It is very wrong!) She said. "Kia sochain gai who log?" (what will those people think of you?") She continued to scold her daughter but I never understood the rest of the conversation. After sometime the mother came down and sat with me with a smile. She asked me questions about life in Canada and what my ambitions were. I answered to the best of my abilities. Anisa never came down and finally everyone stood up and bid farewell.

As we were driving back I told my aunt and uncle what she did to me and they were bursting with laughter. I did not know what to say but now that I had been humiliated by this chick, I realized that I wanted her. I just wanted to slam this bitch into a wall and ravage her sexy body. The more everyone laughed at me the more I wanted to punish Anisa and the more I thought about her the more my cock grew.

When I got home I told the whole story to my cousin Amer and his fiancé Afreen. Afreen was a friend of Anisa so she listened to the whole story. Then she told me that Anisa is like that. "What she did to you is very typical of her." Afreen said. "I can ask her about her side of the story if you want."

"Sure." I said.

Afreen picked up the phone and called Anisa on her cell. She asked her how her meeting with Amer's cousin (me) go. The voice on her cell phone was really loud so I could make out some words that Anisa was speaking from the other end. I remember her saying something along the lines of:

"These guys come from abroad and they think they are all that. They think because they have Canadian nationality, girls will be throwing themselves at their feet. I just wanted to show him that he is bird shit!" Anisa continued to speak but I paid no attention to whatever she said later. She had just analyzed me so correctly that her judgment was now beginning to amaze me.

Afreen spoke to her for a few minutes and then hung up. "This is very typical of Anisa." She said.

That night when I was in bed I thought about Anisa. The fact of the matter was that I wanted this chick now. I wanted to punish her. I wanted to fuck her till she was begging me to stop! That night as I thought about her I got very hard and I masturbated. I stroke myself in bed thinking about what it would be like to dominate this bitch. To fuck her so mercilessly that she has no illusions in her mind who the boss is. I had gone there to reject her but she just turned the table on me. Now I wanted to have her.

The next morning I told everyone I am ready for this marriage. To my family, it was a bomb bigger than any nuclear test. No one expected I would say that. All of a sudden everyone was rejoicing. My uncle called my mother in Canada and told her that Rehan liked Anisa. My uncle's wife on the other hand called Anisa's family and invited them over for a tea. Three days later they were at our door.

Anisa looked really pretty this time. Her black hair was tied behind her head and she wore a pink and white shalwar qameez. This fitted her body really nicely and as she walked behind her parents into our living room, I could not help but admire her body. For a small framed woman, she was very nicely filled in the chest area.

Our families talked about various things but no conversation took place between me and Anisa. We just sat across from each other exchanging occasional glances. She was definitely a very desirable woman in physical terms. Her olive skin was perfect and her eye-lashes were so dark she looked truly exotic. Her lips seemed naturally moist and there was this vague smile on her face as she sat with her "been there, done it" look. I kept undressing her with my eyes all the time imagining what she would look naked.

When the food was served, she stood up and pulled her dress down, pressing it against her body for a brief moment. For an instant the fabric of her dress just shaped itself around her breasts and I realized how perfectly formed her tits truly were. Each one stood out from her torso as a proud and full semi-sphere, generous in both shape and size. They were large and heavy but so well filled, that there was no sag to them. My cock was hardening in my pants and I was starting to breath heavily.

The conversation continued even after the food but when they all stood up to leave I went up to Anisa and asked her if I could call her on the phone sometime.

"Sure." She said. She then gave me her phone number, which I fed into my phone.

That night I called her and we spoke for the very first time. Initially it was general chat and then I asked her if she was seriously considering me.

"Why do you think I am suitable for you?" She asked me.

The correct answer was that she controlled my hormones and she ruled over my urges to such a degree that I had never wanted a woman as badly as I wanted her. I wanted to dominate this bitch and fuck her till she was dead! I did not want to tell her that.

"I like your family and I like the way you have been brought up." I said. It was the "traditional" way to answer that question but she remained unconvinced.

"If I ask you something will you give me an honest reply?" She asked.

"Yes!" I said.

"How many women have you been with?" She asked.

I hated the question. It was one question I did not want to answer. The fact was that I had been spreading my seed like a mad man in Canada. I had fucked so many women that I had no count of them. First I thought I should lie but then I thought she would know and if I lied, whatever chance I had of being with her would be blown away. I did not want to lie.

"To be honest I do not know." I said.

"So you seem to be someone who gets bored easily." She said.

"Well, I was never looking for a commitment in my past relationships."

After that reply she steered the conversation to other issues. We spoke for some time and then she said I was a really nice guy but it would be better if I looked for a wife in Canada. It was a decent way of saying "no" so I was a bit disappointed to hear that. Anyway, I went to bed thinking about how nice it would be to throw this slut on the table and fuck her senseless. Id love to knock out this cultural arrogance out of her with my savage strokes! The thought caused my penis to rise again and I started stroking myself in bed.

My fantasy was a detailed one. We had gotten married against her wishes and it was our wedding night. I had thrown her on the bed and was literally ravaging her while she begged me to be gentle. There was no mercy in me while I claimed her as mine. The thought of fucking this slut in such an animalistic manner was so arousing I began to shoot my load all over myself. Lying on my back I shot loads and loads of semen all over my stomach and chest. Without even washing myself I fell to deep sleep.

The next morning I woke up by the sound of argument in the lobby. Rubbing my eyes I rose from my bed and made my way out of the room. I was surprised to see that all my family was gathered around baskets of fruit. My aunt was decorating the baskets with colored paper and my grandmother and uncle were arguing about the color of paper to use. My grandmother wanted the fruit basket to be flashy whereas my uncle wanted it a bit plane. My aunt was just ignoring their argument and decorating the baskets the way she thought was best.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked.

"These are for your bride." My uncle said. "I don't want them to be over done because that looks cheap and rural."

"Shut up!" My grandmother yelled at her son. "They are giving us their only daughter!!! You have to show you spent money on these things to show some gratitude."

I was a bit surprised because Anisa had very clearly told me I should look for a bride in Canada. I called Amer, my cousin in a corner.

"Amer." I said. "I spoke to Anisa last night and she said she didn't want to marry me."

Amer looked at me and smiled. "Aha so you have been making sneak phone calls. Well don't worry. Her mother spoke to my mum and they like you. They gave all indications that they would be interested."

"Yes but the girl doesn't want this wedding." I said.

"Yes but don't worry their family has not said no." Amer said. I just looked at his face. All my life I had heard stories of forced marriages in many third world countries. I had thought it must be brutal on the girl. I could never have imagined that I would be in one. It just did not feel right. I went back to where the baskets were being done and announced, "This marriage is not happening!!!"

Everyone stopped their work and looked at me.

"The girl has said no." I told them.

"How can the girl say no when we have not even proposed?" My grandmother said.

There was silence. I just went into my room and locked the door. Then I went into the washroom to take a shower. As I removed my clothes I saw that the semen I had ejaculated last night was still on my body. It had hardened up on me forming scabs over my chest and stomach. It was funny because just last night I was thinking about a forced marriage in a very erotic way. It had the element of psychological bondage and male domination where I have this woman against her wishes and I am using her for my pleasure. Yet, in the morning when I woke up and found myself in exactly that situation it was not so arousing. In fact I felt I had no moral right over a woman who did not wish to be mine.

After my shower I came out and saw that the fruit baskets had already been done. Though everyone was not as enthusiastic as they had been.

"Wanna go to the sport complex?" Amer asked.

He played squash once in a while. I had no interest in squash but I wanted to go there to lift weights. I slipped into track pants and a t-shirt and sat in the car with him.

As we drove over Shahra-e-Faisal (biggest road in Karachi city) Amer and I talked about my phone conversation with Anisa last night.

"Pakistani girls don't say yes right away." He said. "It makes them look easy. It is generally accepted in this culture that when you propose to a woman her first reply will be in negative. That is when you start pampering her. You give sent gifts and fruit baskets and cards etc. It is going to take a long time for that no to become a yes and you just have to wait."

"I just don't like the idea of a forced marriage." I said, though I myself was not sure as I had masturbated to a forced marriage fantasy last night.

"This is the twenty first century." Amer said. "There are no forced marriages anymore. We have laws against them. This chick can press charges against her family if they force her."

The car stopped at the sports complex. It was morning so the place looked deserted.

"That guy has not shown up yet." Amer said.

"Who?" I asked.

"That dude I was supposed to play against." He said and then pulled out his cell phone. Dialing a number he waited for an instant and then started yelling. "We have the court for an hour only. If you don't show up the game is off." He said and hung up.

I went into the gym and found it empty. There was no air-conditioning and the place was a bit stuffy. I took off my shirt and began to lift weights bare-chested. All this time my mind was on Anisa - my wife to be!!! Or may be not to be, for at that time, I did not know how things would turn out. I did Bench Pressed set after set till my pec muscles were pumped up like loafs of bread. Then I stopped and looked at my sweaty body in the mirror.

I looked really nice shirtless! It was the kind of body Canadian women drooled over. Then I had the face to go with that body. My shoulder length long hair and raised cheek bones gave me a rugged look that is associated with a sex animal. As I looked at myself in the mirror I realized one fact about me. I had never ever been rejected by a woman! Whenever I wanted a chick I had her. This was the first time I had been rejected by a woman and my desire for this girl as well as my sexual attraction towards her was also due to that. By claiming her as mine I wanted to restore an ego that had never been dented.

After the workout I came and stood in the lobby where Amer was supposed to meet me after the game. There was no one around except for two girls with tennis rackets. They were probably waiting for their turn in the tennis court out door. As I sat on the couch my eye caught sight of a painting in the wall.

It was a very dramatic image that depicted a scene probably set in 17th or 18th century. It showed a masked man on a galloping black horse. There was a curved sword tied around his waist and an old musket type rifle next to the saddle. In his arms he held a female captive who was screaming to be rescued. Her hair was messed up and the way the rider held her, her chadar (outer garment) was falling from her body. She was a beautiful woman. The artist had painted her with such a passion that any man who looked at the image would easily identify with the abductor. She was painted to be the kind of woman you would want to kidnap, run away with and fuck!

As I sat there gazing at the image, Amer came over drenched in sweat.

"How did your game go?" I asked him.

"Not bad." He said and started gulping down water from his bottle. "I won the first game he won the second." He said as he capped the bottle. While he was gulping down water he caught sight of the painting that I was admiring.

"That is a nice painting." He said wiping sweat off his brow.

"It shows our brutal Pakistani mentality."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Come I will show you something." He said and stood up. I followed his till we were really close to the image. "Look at the woman closely." He pointed towards her. "See how she is kicking her legs in desperation, fighting to be released."

"I see that." I replied.

"But if you look at her face closely, especially her eyes then you will realize that deep down inside she does not want to be rescued."

I looked at her face once again. This time I was looking at her with a different mindset altogether. It seemed like what Amer had pointed out was true. In the first glance, it seemed that she was protesting but if you looked at her closely, her expression could be read differently too.

"Look at her body language." Amer said pointing towards her with his racket. "Look at these hands. With one had she is pushing him away, but look what her other hand is doing."

I looked at the other hand and it was clutching the guy's shirt.

"She is holding on to him." Amer said. "Those are dual emotions. Deep down inside she wants to be kidnapped. She is faking the protest." He said.

I looked at the painting and realized how true Amer was. This painting of the armed rider running away with the maiden was the most amazing piece of art I had ever seen. I checked the signature of the artist and could barely believe my eyes! It was made by a man no other than Sadeqain "the Holy Sinner."

Sadeqain is the famous Pakistani art legend whose work is studied in International Art Universities all over the Europe. He is known as "the Holy Sinner" because most of his art is religiously inspired. Every painting is drawn as if it is an advertisement of some aspect of Muslim culture. Yet, since human imagery was labeled a "sin" in orthodox Muslim thought, Sadeqain earned the title "The holy sinner." In the final days before his death he restricted himself to calligraphy, which was an art without human images. Still he left the world with the title "the Holy Sinner." I wondered if that painting was the original for if it was, it would be worth millions.

"Pakistani women are like that chick in the painting." Amer continued. "They will protest and kick their legs but that doesn't mean they don't want you. If you were born and raised here you would understand."

As I drove back I thought about the painting and what Amer had said. I was coming from a culture where "NO MEANS NO" but here it seemed that all romantic relationships began with a no from the woman. When I reached home the decorated fruit baskets were ready and we were all set to propose officially. There were other gifts as well, things like clothes and perfumes etc and all of that was to go to the brides house with the proposal.

The very next day we officially proposed. A marriage proposal in Pakistan is not intimate and personal thing like in the West. You don't fall down on your knees and ask the girl to marry you. Instead families and relatives are involved and gifts are sent etc. In my proposal I never went to Anisa's house. I stayed home with my cousins and my uncle aunt and a few relatives took the gifts over to the Anisas place. I was quite tense at home because I did not know whether it would be accepted or rejected but my cousins never shared the tension. As far as they were concerned it was a done deal.

That evening as we sat down to watch the news on TV, it was announced on CNN that economic sanctions will be placed on India and Pakistan for testing nuclear weapons. This meant that economies of both countries will be damaged and foreign investments will suffer. Soon on a local news channel it was announced that both India and Pakistan will continue to test nuclear missiles in spite of economic sanctions. This meant that more sanctions were to follow because this region was turning into a nuclear hot spot. There were also rumors that some countries will suspend flights to the region and this was alarming. It meant that if you were a foreign citizen then this was your last chance to get out because if you did not, you might get stuck for a long time. At that time my mind was on Anisa and I did not take note of these developments, but they were about to play in important part in my love life later on.

At ten at night my grandmother, uncle and aunt returned from the Anisa's place. They told me that the proposal has been accepted and I would soon be getting married. Everyone rejoiced and congratulated me but I wanted to phone Anisa and find out what she thought. I waited for everyone to go to bed and then called.

"I knew you would call." She said picking up the phone.

"I am glad you were waiting." I responded.

"What makes you so sure of that?" She asked.

"Just a hunch." I replied. "Did you like the stuff?"

"Those things are very beautiful." She said.

The line got disconnected. I dialed again but the phone was switched off. I thought the batteries must have died on her. I wanted to call her home phone but it was close to midnight and I did not want to wake up everyone in her house so that night I slept again thinking about Anisa.

The very next day protests broke all over Pakistan. Political leaders gave fiery speeches against the economic sanctions and crowds gathered in thousands to listen to these speeches. "AMERICANS BELIEVE THAT THEY HAVE THE DIVINE RIGHT TO OWN NUCLEAR TECHNOLOGY." Said one political leader "BY TESTING NUCLEAR WEAPONS, WHAT HAVE WE DONE THAT THEY (AMERICANS) DO NOT DO? IF NUCLEAR WEAPONS ARE BAD THEN THEY ARE BAD FOR EVERYONE." The crowd chanted as the speech continued. "LET ME SAY THIS TO THE POLITICAL LEADERSHIP OF UNITED STATES ... YOU CANT HAVE TWO SETS OF LAWS ONE FOR YOURSELF AND ONE FOR THE REST OF THE WORLD!"

In another part of Karachi another famous political figure addressed the nation. "WHY IS IT THAT ENGLAND CAN HAVE NUCLEAR WEAPONS AND NOT SUFFER ANY ECONOMIC SANCTIONS? WHY IS IT THAT FRANCE CAN HAVE NUCLEAR WEAPONS AND NOT SUFFER ECONOMIC SANCTIONS? WHY IS IT THAT UNITED STATES ITSELF CAN HAVE NUCLEAR WEAPONS AND NOT SUFFER ECONOMIC SANCTIONS? WHY SHOULD OUR CHILDREN BE MADE TO STARVE FOR DEVELOPING NUCLEAR TECHNOLOGY?

These were questions that were ignored by Western leaders and slowly peaceful processions got aggressive, till finally they turned into violent mobs. Thus my uncle and Anisa's father decided that since there were chances that flights would be suspended to Pakistan, I would have to leave the country as soon as possible. This marriage could not be delayed. It was decided that we will be married a week later! To be honest I was really happy. I wanted to get out of this place ASAP. Secondly I was horny and wanted to get that bitch in bed as soon as possible.

In the next few days there was a lot of dancing and singing in the house. My grandmother threw all the furniture from the lounge into the back yard so that there was enough room for everyone to dance in the house. My uncle got this huge stereo-system, which caused the whole house to vibrate when it was switched on. My cousins, their friends and other boys and girls from the neighborhood would come over and practice dances all night. My grandmother quickly assumed the role of a dance director, pairing up boys and girls together and yelling at they when they did not dance right. Music was selected and moves were rehearsed over and over again till everyone were exhausted.

Exactly the same madness prevailed in Anisa's house. They were preparing their own dance group to compete with us so excitement was not any less on their end. I once called Anisa's cell just to ask how things were going. She picked up the phone but I could only hear music in the background. She told me she could not talk as she was in the middle of something and then hung up.

Overall we were having fun. I thought it was a nice way of celebrating a wedding. There were no dance clubs in Pakistan and no discos for young men and women to meet each other. These festivities enabled people of marriageable age to get together, dance and get to like someone from the opposite sex. The festivities of a marriage were basically meant to open doors to many other marriages, for this was how most people found their mates in this culture. I would sit and watch the faces of boys as they danced with girls, studying their moving bodies with lust. Their eye balls would pop out as they watched these girls, but watch them was all they were permitted to do. No touching!!! Even in dances they could not touch. You had to marry these women to touch them and thus these guys, with their cocks probably rock hard in their pants had to watch these girls and exert discipline. I really wished I could see Anisa dance like these girls. In fact I thought how it would have been if I had saw Anisa at someone else's wedding dancing like this. She was such a prick tease without these dances and I wondered what she would do to me if I saw her body move like these girls'.

All this time I never spoke to Anisa because there were so many people in the house. There was non stop dancing, kids would be having pillow fights, many of the guests came from far away so they would sleep on the couch or dance floor or wherever they found a place. In the midst of this madness my mother came from Toronto along with her Canadian friend Catherine. Catherine was my mom's best friend. She wanted to see what a Pakistani wedding was like so in spite of political tensions in the region, my mother brought her over. After that we had two dance directors to direct the dances. One was my grandmother, the other Catharine!

Finally the day of Mehndi came. Mehndi is a festival in which the bride is prepared for the wedding night. Her body is first rubbed with herbs (Ubtan) to cause her skin to glow. Then her hands and feet are decorated with henna. Since it is the bride's girl friends who decorate her for the groom, they often do crazy things like writing the grooms name on her chest with Henna and other things that would totally surprise the groom when he uncovers her. I was not sure if anything like this was planned. We took gifts and our dance group, which was no ready for the final showdown, and left for Anisa's house. It was a convoy of cars one following the other. We had also brought drums and firecrackers.

When we got to her place, the whole house was decorated with lights. The party was to take place in the lawn and that is where dances were also organized. There was a decorated stage where me and Anisa were to sit. I stood in that lawn and thought back. It was here that I met Anisa for the first time just a few days ago. She stood next to the birdcage with the rabbit pretending to be her "sister." She then locked me in the birdcage so that the birds could shit on me.

I excused myself from the gathering and moved towards the birdcage. The birds were still inside and I think they remembered me. The moment I stepped next to them they began to chirp. They probably thought that I would intrude in their habitat just like I did before so they began to fly around causing a big hue and cry.

Within seconds I was surrounded by girls who were dragging me towards the birdcage! They were Anisa's friends and cousins. They wanted to throw me in the cage once again. The news had leaked that Anisa had locked me in the cage so they wanted to do that again. I was wearing expensive clothes so I protested but they kept pulling me. Finally when I yelled for help Anisa's mother came and rescued me from them. I was escorted back to my seat from where I waited for Anisa.

Finally when everyone was settled she came. I did not get to see much of her because she was fully covered in yellow. Her face was open but she had put the chadar on her head and was constantly looking down so her face could only be seen if you sank to your knees in front of her and looked up. So as much as I wanted to see her, I never did. People brought her over and made her sit next to me but she did not uncover her head.

"How is it going?" I asked her when she was right next to me.

"Not bad." She said.

That was the only conversation we had that day.

Everyone wanted to be photographed with us. After these photo shoots Anisa was escorted back in the house for wedding night preparations and I sat on the stage alone. Dances began! All those folks who had been rehearsing and rehearsing for days now, finally performed in front of cheering audience. It was our dance group then the brides dance group then ours and then theirs. Finally this tall girl stood up. Her name was Sidra if I remember correctly and she was a lawyer. At 5.9 she had the figure of a supermodel. When she danced all the men just went crazy. They gathered in circle around her and clapped and clapped for no woman in that gathering had danced like that. Right after that dance she was bombarded with proposals. Everyone wanted to know who her parents were and where she was from etc. I really don't know what became of her because soon the dinner was served and then the singing and dancing continued till very late.

The next three days were peaceful. Since the song and dance was over, we straightened the house and put things in order as the wedding was just three days away. It was decided that after the wedding I would take Anisa to a hotel and spend the wedding night away from everyone. It seemed like a good idea because when I unleashed myself on Anisa, I didn't want anyone around for miles. So these three days I went to the gym and lifted weights like mad. I don't know why I was doing that. May be I was getting nervous and needed some energy release. May be I wanted to look good naked. I just don't know.

July 16, 1998 was the day of the wedding. I woke up and looked at myself in the mirror. I always thought that I was one of those men who looked better slightly unshaven. That clean shaven look was just not me, I believed. My grandmother had been pestering me since a long time now to get a haircut. I was not sure if I needed that because my long hair, which was almost shoulder length by now didn't look all that bad but grandmothers in Pakistan are quite authoritarian and you really cant argue with them if they decide on something and thus I was dragged into a men's hair saloon against my wishes.

When I emerged out of it I could barely recognize myself! The had shaven me and cut my hair and back-combed them to the point where they curled just below my ears. It was not bad at all but totally new for I had never ever perceived myself like that.

"Now you look polished and educated." Amer said. "Before that you looked like a rock star!"

We got home at about lunch time and I spent the rest of the time in my room with myself. I was marrying a woman I had only met three times and that also very briefly. While I was in Canada I could never have imagined that I would be in this situation and actually looking forward to it. What really made me concerned was that I knew nothing about this girl. In Canada I dated women for months and then figured I knew nothing about them after all that time. Here was a woman I knew absolutely nothing about and I was getting married to her in a few hours. The second part of me was highly excited. My sex life had always been very active and I was used to getting it at least (AT LEAST) once a week. Since the time I was in Pakistan I had had no sexual encounter and the thought of fucking this bitch was making me very, very horny.

The wedding was arranged in a hotel and we had a room booked for the wedding night upstairs. Thus after sunset I found myself heading towards the hotel in a decorated Mercedes. I was not comfortable in traditional clothes so had chosen to wear a suit. This was probably one area where I was allowed to have my way. In Pakistani weddings it is not unusual for the groom to wear a suit anyway.

The wedding was posh and the gathering had some really famous people. The famous Pakistani model Amna Haq was there as she was Anisa's friend. Then there was Amin Guljee the artist but the biggest attraction was Justice Javaid Iqbal. People were storming him for autographs. He was the son of late Allama Iqbal the world renowned poet, philosopher and reformer and the very man who is credited with perceiving the state called Pakistan. Iqbal is known for his poems like "Lenin in the presence of God" and political essays like "Reconstruction of Religious Thought in Islam" etc. His son, now a retired Supreme Court Judge in his old age sat there meeting young people and signing autographs for them.

There was a decorated stage where sat and waited for my bride but She was no where to be seen. While the Mehndi function in Pakistan is quite a thrill and people go crazy dancing and singing, the wedding itself is quite boring. It's a formal gathering, which is very solemn and serious and all these people who were totally out of control in the Mehndi three days ago were very composed and serious then. To be honest I was not liking the feel of it one bit. At the back of my mind I had the fear that I would do something against the cultural protocols and make a total fool of myself.

After quite sometime the bride showed up! Escorted by an entourage of girls she was led towards the stage slowly with cameras clicking and video cameras rolling. She was wearing the traditional bright red and gold bridal dress which, along with the jewelry, was so heavy that other girls had to hold it for her to walk. She was constantly looking down so I could not see her face yet.

"You have to get up and receive her." My mother whispered in my ear.

As she came close to the stage I rose from my seat and moved towards her. I really did not know whether it would be appropriate for me to take her hand so I just stood there waiting for someone to give me instructions. My mother shoved an elbow into my back and that is when I extended my hand for her to hold. When she raised her head and looked at me, our eyes met for a brief instant and it was at that moment that I realized how badly I wanted her. She was not beautiful in the conventional sense but very exotic looking! I guided her to the couch and waited for her to sit and then sat after her. Since there were people around I was behaving like a gentleman acting all chivalrous but deep down inside I was really dirty and horny for her.

I brought my mouth close to her ear and whispered, "You look very pretty." It was a lie. She did not look pretty. She looked "fuckable" but I did not want to say that.

There was a faint smile on her lips but she said nothing.

So here I was about to be married to a woman I was meeting for the fourth time. I tried to calculate how much time we had spent with each other since the time we met. My first meeting with her was no more than 5 minutes as that was how long it took her to lock me up in the bird cage and then she was gone. The second meeting at our place was less than an hour and the third meeting at Mehndi was around the same time. We had chatted on the phone in between but the actual time we had spent in each others company was around 2 hours!!!

The imam then stepped on the stage to conduct the ceremony. He sat between Anisa and me with the wedding form and asked me to sign. I did and then he asked my uncle to write the dowry on the form. He wrote the figure 150,000 Pakistani Rupees. The imam then turned towards the Anisa and started reading her rights to her.

"Under the religious law you can not be forced into marriage." He said to Anisa. "The right to accept or reject is completely yours. You also have the right to determine your own dowry. If you feel unsatisfied at the dowry you are being offered, you may state so without hesitation..." the imam went on and on but I don't remember all of it. Finally he asked her. "Do you give yourself to Rehan Khan for 150,000 Pakistani rupees?"

In the West such an offer would be considered prostitution but in that part of the world the services of a wife have to be purchased just like that of an accountant or a gardener etc. As people waited for the reply Anisa did not say anything. Instead a tear rolled down her cheek and fell on the paper she was holding in her hands. She was crying! The imam saw that she was trying to compose herself so he put a hand of support on her shoulder. "Its alright!" He said. "There is no pressure on you and if you feel you are not ready then you should mix around with the guests and we can sit when you are confident."

At that point I wanted to strangle the Imam! I wanted this woman really badly now. For the last few days I had been masturbating in bed thinking of her. It was quite obvious that she will have some doubts in her mind about all this but this Imam was fueling those doubts. I was a bit upset because to me it seemed she would reject.

"I accept!" Anisa said. Her voice was strong and composed.

"Do you accept at the stated dowry of 150,000 Rupees or would you like to change it?" The imam asked her.

"I accept at the stated dowry." Anisa said.

The imam then turned towards me. "Congratulations." He said, "She is yours!" After that the Imam gave me a friendly punch in the stomach and everyone started laughing. They had seen how tense I had become and to them it was funny.

"Let us pray for their happiness." The imam said and then everyone prayed for us. Then all the guests came on stage one after another, hugged me and took photographs with us. Anisa's mother was constantly introducing me to her family members and she had a really big family so it took a long time. The only memory I have of the next hour is of meeting people and shaking hands.

There was a law in Pakistan against serving dinner at weddings. Only refreshments could be served. Thus in our wedding their were cocktails and tarts. I went to Anisa and asked her, "What would you like?"

"A lemon tart." She replied.

I went down the stage and got her a lemon tart and a cocktail.

"There you go my lady." I said and placed it on the table.

"Thanks ... my man." She said the latter after a pause. I was honestly not expecting this from her. When I looked at her and there was a faint smile on her lips.

"I am really glad you said yes." I said to her. "I was afraid you would say no."

She looked at me with compassionate eyes but did not reply. "Are you not eating?" She asked.

"No I don't feel like it." I replied.

She took a knife and cut the lemmon tart in two. "Share this with me." She said. "I insist."

"OK!" I ate the lemon tart.

Once the function was over I found myself on the second floor lobby of Pear continental hotel. There was only my immediate family with me now. They wanted to see us off to the main room. My grandmother insisted that I carry Anisa in my arms.

"Pick her up and carry her to your room Rehan." She ordered and everyone started cheering.

I looked at Anisa and she was turning red. Though we were married, in reality we were strangers. The very idea of being carried by a strange man and that also in the presence of an applauding audience must have been a bit intimidating for her I thought. Yet my family was very insistent that the new bride be physically carried. I thought what the hell, I should just do it! To be honest deep down inside I wanted to carry her and enjoy some physical contact. I just bent over, grabbed her lower body and swept her off her feet. It was such a rapid movement that she was in my arms even before she knew it. As I held her everyone on the floor applauded and cheered. I Looked at Anisa's face and realized that she looked very similar to the woman in Sadeqain's painting in the Sports Complex.

I carried her down the lobby reading room numbers on doors. Finding my own room was not a problem because it had the letters R and A written in a heart (Rehan loves Aneesa). Finally I opened the door and led her in. She had started breathing heavily with excitement now. I placed her gently on the bed.

"Id like to have something to drink please." Anisa said the moment she was on the bed.

When I turned around I was surprised to see that all my young cousins and nephews and nieces had followed me inside the room and were crowding the entrance. My cousin Bilal had already opened the small fridge and was taking out a bottle of mineral water for Anisa. "I'll get you some water." He said to Anisa as he filled the glass for her. I snatched all the stuff from him and pushed him out into the lobby. While I wrestled with him, other kids sneaked inside and were sitting in a line right beside Anisa on the bed, totally refusing to leave.

"Please get lost!" I begged them.

They did not say anything just shook their heads in negative.

"You will have to give them money." Anisa said smiling at me.

"What?" I looked at her.

"It's a tradition." She replied.

"Is it?" I looked at the kids.

They all nodded.

I took out my wallet and had to give them each money to leave. Once everyone was out I first locked the door and then bolted it.

"What was it that you wanted?" I asked her.

"Water." She replied.

"I went to the fridge. Bilal had filled only half the glass with water before I had pushed him out. I filled it and then placed two large ice cubes. Then I took the glass to Anisa. "You are my woman." I said to her. "I will take care of your needs from now on."

She took the glass and then looked at me. From her face I could tell that she had understood the double meaning in my words. After taking a sip she placed the glass on the bedside table.

"All this must be a big culture shock for you." She said.

"Most of it I don't mind." I replied. "I did want to strangle that Imam."

"Why?"

"Cuz he was talking you into reconsidering." I said. "I thought he might make you change your mind."

"He was only reading me my rights." She said smiling.

The wedding dress that she wore was a heavy one. It totally concealed her figure. It was obvious that Anisa wanted to talk and get comfortable with me before anything happened but I did not want to wait. I wanted to rip her clothes off and see that body which I had fantasized so much about.

"Please excuse me." I said and walked into the washroom. There I locked myself and looked into the mirror. "THIS IS IT! THIS IS THAT MOMENT YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR." I said to myself in the mirror. Then I removed all my clothes till I was naked except for my underwear. It was a black thong similar to what Olympic swimmers wear.

Then I got on my fours and did push ups. I did over a hundred push ups, till my muscles were totally pumped and my body was ready and warmed up. Finally I opened the door and strolled out wearing nothing but a thong.

Anisa was not on the bed. With her back towards me she was peeking out of the window looking down