SEVEN
August 1998
Karachi
The sights and smells of a Pakistani wedding are what lend permanence to it. There is a huge investment and involvement of all senses. Even years later, I can evoke the dainty sweet fragrance of the jasmine and the pungent scent of henna, and it reminds me of the day of our union—the day of my mehndi, the celebration of dance and festivities that precede the actual wedding day in a Muslim society. I smiled inwardly as I snuck a look at Faizan at the other end of the room, where he sat surrounded by friends. At twenty-three, I had lived up to the expectations of the society; I was getting married.
A group of friends had escorted me inside the hall. They held a large tie-and-dye print dupatta over my head, shielding me. The shapes of the print—dots, squares, wav
