Child Brides of India

By C. Stanley Leman

Chapter 1: Old Friends & New Horizons (set-up, no sex)

I guess my story begins while on my way home from college. My name is Sean Michaels, I’m an academic prodigy with a BE in computer engineering, an MBA in international finance and a PhD in engineering systems analysis all from Princeton. I am what many have jokingly called the kid with everything and nothing to lose: looks, money and brains.

Now at eighteen, I’m six feet tall, weigh about 190, with medium blonde hair, blue eyes and a fit, muscular physique. I’ve never really thought my looks to be personally advantageous, although throughout high school I tried very hard to compensate for my age by working out, swimming, golf and running track; in college, I rowed. Although I enjoyed the activities and the result to my physique, they did little to enhance my success at attracting the female gender. I did manage to get laid twice, so I guess you could say it wasn’t a complete loss. Despite my insecurities with the opposite sex, I learned to be very socially adept, tactful, and communicative - even if only for survival in my surroundings with peers and academics. My problem came when I was one-on-one with a girl.

My father, John, was a wildcat computer engineer who started his own private company during the DOT COM era and struck gold. He had purchased 3000 shares of Microsoft for me on its initial IPO to start my portfolio and now I am worth more than most people make in a lifetime. I’ve never told anyone the extent of my financial holdings, but people that know me, know I’m affluent and being groomed for the corporate world. My parents were in India right now where dad had moved our manufacturing plant to New Delhi, making the arrangements for me to begin taking over the plant as senior VP of Operations.

My mother, Joan, was an educator who gave up formal teaching when I was born. She home schooled me until I reached the age of twelve, when she said that she felt that she was failing me, holding me back from achieving my full potential. She felt I could easily have entered high school much earlier. She also felt it was time for me to meet other kids and acquire the social skills I lacked with fellow students. I spent two years for high school, two for my BE, one for my masters and one for my PhD.

I snapped out of my introspection when the cab came to a stop at my front door. I paid the cabbie, gave him a generous tip and walked through the front door. Hauling my baggage up to my room, I dropped everything on the floor, and flopped on the bed with a sigh of relief thinking, Boy, it’s good to be home, even for just a couple of days. As I lazily stared at the ceiling, it finally sank in that my life had reached a major turning point. Now I’m not fighting for grades, class ranking and degrees any more. Now it’s all about dollars - millions of dollars: my father’s dollars, and my dollars. It’s now about the profit/loss statements, P/E ratios, dividends, and NOI that are the standards by which the financial world will judge me brutally. The financial press has gotten an inkling of the move, and had a quiet, watchful eye on the company (and me) trying to decide if this will be a good move for the company or simply a case of nepotism as usual.

Sitting at the breakfast bar with my PB & J’s and a glass of milk, I wondered, “What’s India really like?” I’d done my research about the financials and the government corruption, but what of the people, the cultures and languages?” Being a new convert to Islam two years ago, I recalled reading that there is still a lot of unspoken animosity between Muslims and Hindus, with Muslims coming up short on the political and economic end of things since Hindus are the more predominate and therefore the ruling faction. I still didn’t understand about their complicated caste system, but I did understand the prejudice concerning skin color even among religious and economic equals. It’s the same in America, only now it’s become more subtle.

Women: now that’s an issue. Although somewhat more equal and better in the educated and more affluent of society, they are still second-class citizens. As for children, being the lowest in the food chain right down there with the family’s possessions, their seemingly nonexistent rights were constantly being trampled underfoot.

It was nearing dusk so I laid out my prayer rug and began my evening prayers. Because my life would begin a new journey and direction, you know, that uneasiness we all feel when our lives embark in a new direction, I finished up my prayers with my du’a supplication for guidance and reassurance from Allah:

Oh Allah! I seek Your guidance by virtue of Your knowledge, and I seek ability by virtue of Your power, and I ask You of Your great bounty. You have power; I have none. And You know; I know not. You are the Knower of hidden things.

Oh Allah! If in Your knowledge, my journey and endeavors in India is good for my religion, my livelihood and my affairs, immediate and in the future, then ordain it for me, make it easy for me, and bless it for me. And if in Your knowledge, these endeavors and the course of my life because of these endeavors is bad for my religion, my livelihood and my affairs, immediate and in the future, then turn it away from me, and turn me away from it. And ordain for me the good wherever it may be, and make me content with it.”

I felt a noticeable peace about things after I’d finished my prayers. Calmly, and in a peaceful, more cheerful mood, I then headed to the kitchen to scrounge up dinner, when the phone rang. I glanced at my watch; it’s 7:05pm. If it’s Dad on the phone, it’ll be about 5:30am there. Boy! He always was an early riser, I thought shaking my head and reached for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Son, I see you found your way back home alright. How’s the old homestead?”

“Empty, but still here. Even Abby seems to have left me to my own devices. In a way though, it’s kind of nice to have the run of the place.”

“I know what you mean. I do my best thinking in quiet surroundings, that’s why I get up so early. Kind of mentally plan out my daily routine and psyche myself up, if you know what I mean?”

“Ditto, Dad. What’s up, anything in particular or just calling to shoot the breeze at extravagant rates?”

“Well, I not only called to say hi, but also to talk a little about something in particular that I haven’t yet wrapped my head around. Do you remember meeting that Indian government official at an Indian embassy dinner in Washington D.C. last year? You know, the Muslim man you spoke with at great length shortly after you converted to Islam?”

“Oh yeah, I remember… a Mr. Haaseem, I think.”

“Yeah, that’s him. Adib Haaseem. Since then, he’s become an invaluable close personal friend and business ally. He works in the Indian Office for Foreign Business Affairs. He’s the only one I’ve met that can cut through all the bureaucratic bullshit and corruption to get me all the licenses, permits and approvals needed to get and keep things moving here in India and for our upcoming expanding facilities.

“He’s an honest and trustworthy man who’s never asked for a bribe or perk of any kind. Anyway, he’s known about you coming to India to take things over and we met in my office yesterday for quite a while discussing the upcoming events.

“At first, we spoke strictly of business matters, and he made the suggestion that since you had to acclimate yourself with your new surroundings: you know geography, culture, food, and things like that… Well, he suggested that I give you a couple of months to get your feet planted. He even pointed out that Ramadan would be coming up in a couple of months after you arrive noting Muslim practice here in India is more strictly observed and practiced than in the U.S. I thought about it for a moment, agreed that his was probably a good observation and that you’d adjust better without the pressure of having to ‘jump right into the fire’ so to speak. I agreed with him that a little time with the cultural learning curve was indeed a sound move.

“But then, the conversation took a different tone. He became more reserved, almost humble and turned to what he called ‘a matter close to his heart’. I can usually read a man by his eyes and his are usually bright, clear and open, but all of a sudden, I couldn’t really get a good feel for his mindset. He then looked me right in the eyes, more softly and said that he’d never asked for a personal or professional favor of any kind before and that he deeply valued our friendship. He asked me if I would be willing to arrange a meeting with you for a personal matter close to his heart, not business.”

“What did you say to that, Dad? How am I supposed to help him with a personal problem when we’ve only spoken once? I really don’t know the man.”

“That’s what I was thinking, so I asked him, ‘What kind of personal matter?’’ but he replied that if he told me, would I agree not to disclose the nature of the matter to you before you two met. I told him that I didn’t feel right in arranging a meeting on a matter that obviously was of great importance to him without giving you at least some idea of what he and you were to discuss.”

“Thanks for watching my back.”

“No problem. What’s a dad for? Anyway, here’s the kicker, Son. He then looked straight at me, and it looked almost like he had tears in his eyes, and said, “I would like for Sean to meet my daughter, Sarah”

“What? Did he really say that?”

“Yes. At first, I didn’t fully understand what he was really trying to say; I simply laughed and said, ‘Is that all? Sure! We can have you and the family over for dinner one night and he can meet the entire family! It is a little strange that we haven’t done it sooner. I still haven’t met your wife and daughters.’ He shook his head slightly and told me, “You don’t fully understand what I have asked. I would like to ask Sean if we…” I thought ‘we’? “Could introduce the two of them so that they may, how do you say: get to know each other. It would also give your family and mine a chance to meet and get better acquainted.” I was astonished! I said to Adib, ‘If I’m not mistaken, you’ve just asked me to help you begin arrangements for my son to marry your daughter: is that what you’re asking me?’”

“That’s exactly what he’s trying to say, Dad.”

“I realized that then. He then sat back in his chair saying, ‘It’s more like an introduction. I am not asking for anything more than that they meet, and that we all meet as two families in a social setting. If he and Sarah express a mutual interest at the end of the evening to get to know each other better, then they can agree to spend more time together to become better acquainted. If either Sean or Sarah feels that they aren’t interested - for whatever reason, then their meeting is nothing more than two families having a sociable dinner. Again, I’m not asking for anything more than for the two of them to be introduced to each other and talk. It’s not my intent or desire to force my daughter or your son into something that neither of them wants or is uncomfortable with. My only request of Sean is that he and Sarah meet: nothing more.’”

“Dad…”

“I still couldn’t believe what my friend had just asked me.”

“Daad?”

“Stop interrupting! Let me finish! So I asked him, “Why Sean? Why now? I don’t keep track of his personal life, and I’d never try to ‘suggest’ to my son whom he should or shouldn’t meet: it’s just not in our culture to do these things. He’s a grown man and free to make these decisions on his own. So, I again ask you: why Sean?”

“Adib went on to tell me, ‘For several reasons. First, they are both Muslim, but…’ and with that he raised an eyebrow and continued, ‘Muslims with similarities in life: they’re both academically advanced, both with higher IQs, although she’s not to the degree as Sean; and advanced in studies above their peers. They also share some of the same insecurities that go along with that. Sean is an honest man who has shown he is in control of himself, of amiable temperament and has an open mind. He is also helpful and understanding with a gentleness beneath his outward confidence.’”

“A little shocked, because it appeared that he was speaking about my son with the intimate knowledge of a close friend or someone who’d spent a lot of time with you, so I cautiously asked him, ‘How do you know so much about Sean?’ Adib went on to tell me, “I was impressed very much at our first meeting and conversation, and I have, of my own confession, ‘followed his progress’ since then.””

“I figured that I’d heard enough for the moment, and told him, ‘I’m a little taken back by your admission of having ‘followed Sean’s progress’, and I’m not quite sure what that means, but I cannot and will not give you any assurance that Sean will meet with you on this topic or even agree to your request. Even if, after approaching him, he chooses not to, will this impede any further relationship with me, my son or future business dealings?’ Adib warmly smiled saying, ‘My dear friend, our friendship will certainly endure, as will my admiration of you and Sean. I will respect Sean’s decision either way. I’ve done what I feel is my duty as a father and have made my request known for consideration. If it’s the will of Allah, it shall all come to pass. I will take my leave for now, good friend.’ He then offered his salaams and left. All right, now you can give me your take on the matter and say your peace.”

“Dad…” I began, as I tried to recollect facts and get my thoughts together, “Yes I’m a Muslim, but a rather new convert to the faith and not fully versed on all of the workings of certain aspects of the faith: one of those namely is courtship and marriage. If my understanding of some of what I’ve heard from other Muslims is true, they don’t ‘date’, like westerners think of dating. The parents are the primary catalyst for the marriages of their children both men and women and most children won’t marry someone their parents don’t approve of. Parents select potential spouses for their children based on criteria other than physical attraction. Namely, attributes of faith, education, personality traits, social standing and status, and things like that. Kind of like these new online dating services that advertise compatibility profiles. Anyway, after the parents select a suitable suitor, they approach his or her parents to arrange an introduction. This is all done in a closely controlled and chaperoned environment. To the parents, physical attraction is not a consideration, but a plus. They will use it to get the couple to desire to know more about each other, but its not necessary because primary attention is given to whether they both like each other’s qualities as a lifetime partner to ensure a life long marriage. This is what should decide whether or not the couple actually does marry. Both parties, meaning the potential couple, must agree and consent to a courtship and mutual consent to marry each other or the marriage is declared invalid. I really do believe, Dad that devout Muslims don’t force their children to marry against their will. From what I’ve just told you about my understanding of Muslim courtship, Mr. Haaseem is politely asking me to consider his daughter for marriage. He’s going through you, the head of the family, as is the custom. Does this make sense to you, Dad?”

Silence…

“Dad?”

Still more silence…

“Dad? Are you there?”

“Yes son, I’m still here, just totally shocked: un-fucking-believably shocked as a matter of fact. Aren’t you? Damn! What now? They don’t teach this shit at Princeton business school!”

“Well Dad, I’m not sure why I’m not shocked. Quite surprised as to why me and the timing, but not shocked. That’s probably why he engineered you into that cultural learning curve idea with a detour to get to know his daughter. Don’t get me wrong, I agree with the learning curve idea, but it’s also a win/win situation for him. He didn’t exactly lie to you about the arranged marriage part; he just redirected the conversation. Let me ask you, Dad, just how good a friend is he? How sincere do you think his motives are?”

“I feel he was truly sincere and to answer your question, he’s a very close and steadfast friend. That’s why I’m so floored by this. I thought I really knew him better than that; I never saw it coming. How could he do this to me?”

“Wow, my first adult glimpse of fallibility in my father! I think he truly believes he’s doing the right thing for his daughter and family. That motivation makes people do strange things sometimes. Well then, just for the sake of conversation, what would it hurt to simply meet the girl, what’s her name? Oh yeah, Sarah. The least that can happen is that we have a nice sociable dinner together, I meet her and that’s that. The worst that could happen is that I get swept off my feet. Ha, Ha! But then again, do you think that the tension around the event would make for an uncomfortable setting for both our families?”

“I can tell you this, Son, all eyes and ears would certainly be either directly or indirectly on the two of you! I was so floored by the conversation that I didn’t even get any info regarding his daughter, you know: what she looks like, age, all that other stuff.”

“He probably wouldn’t have given you much anyway. Like I said, they’re more concerned about the qualities that make a good spouse, not the physical aspect. Dad? Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I certainly do, but I also believe that even though it happens a lot, it’s not a common thing — not true love anyway.”

“So what are the odds: a thousand-to-one, a million-to-one? I say we play the odds and accept his request; we make a dear friend happy and leave it at that. You always told me I needed to adapt to ever changing circumstances. I’ll meet many more people under strange situations before my life is over. Why shy away from it from the start?”

“It’s up to you, Son; I’m not going to tell you either yes or no. Yes, he’s my good friend, but you’re a man and it’s your decision whether this is the right thing to do or not.”

“Tell you what. I’ll pray about the situation and think it over. I’ll be leaving day after tomorrow and I’ll give you my decision when I get there. How’s that sound to you? Make sense?”

“That makes good sense to me, Son. Whether you pray to Jesus or to Allah, praying to God never hurt any man’s cause.”

“Good. Now, how’s Mom? Does she like it there?”

“Mom’s fine. She’s having a great time! She spends most of her time sightseeing and spending a lot of my money of Indian art objects. Son, do you want me to…”

“Yes, Dad, tell her about it. She needs to know. If it happens, she’ll be as much involved as everyone else in the room. Besides, I’d kind of like to hear what her take is on all of this.”

“Okay, Son. I can hear her now. She’ll have a golden cow! By the way, I’m sure I’ve got your flight information somewhere, or my secretary does, but give me a call before you take off with the your arrival time and flight number will you?

“Sure, and Dad? Don’t worry about this too much. Like he said, it’s all in Allah’s hands. If it’s ordained to happen, it will. Tell Mom I love her and may the peace of Allah reassure your heart and hers. I love you, Dad.”

I love you too, Son. God bless and I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye now.”

“Bye, Dad.”

I hung up the phone, and then turned to resume my task of making myself some dinner. As I took out some veggies and began to dice them up for a quick stew, I began to mull over the strange conversation I’d just had with my Dad. I wondered, why?’ Behind every action is a motive. What was Adib’s motive? Was it simply to arrange a marriage for his daughter because he truly felt I was a good candidate? Was it power? He seems to have plenty in the Indian government. Was it money? Getting a daughter married to a wealthy American definitely has its advantages, and maybe using this as leverage for yet other motives. He has definitely proven himself a cunning, patient man: he sure stood Dad on his ear and that’s pretty hard to do!

I decided to follow the route of my potential adversary with patience and cunning. I’ll meet with Mr. Haaseem and try and use this ‘matter close to his heart’ as a pry bar to try and see what was under his proverbial rock. With that, I piled all the veggies in the pot, set it to boil then decided to check out what’s on the tube. Finding nothing worthwhile on TV, I decided to eat and hit the sack early.

I awoke with a start when the alarm went off at 6am. I lay there for a minute until my head cleared enough to focus, and then started to move. Groggily, I rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom for my morning ritual of relief, shower and shave, then got dressed for morning prayers.

At the conclusion of my morning prayers, I repeated the du’a I had made the evening before, again asking for guidance about things and events associated with my move to India. Again, when I’d finished I felt a strange calm about everything. I cautiously thought to myself, either Allah is in total control, or I’m a fool walking into the lion’s den… Feeling the pangs in my stomach, I headed down to the kitchen for something to eat.

Abby, right on time like the old days, was setting a plate of eggs and home fries on the table with her usually cheery “Hi, sleepyhead!”

I smile and look at her for a moment with a sudden fond remembrance and reply, “You’re always there for me aren’t you?”

“Always am, always will be. Look, Sweetie, I hate to cut you short,” talking while removing her apron, “but I’ve got a lot of things to do today, so I better get an early start, so if you don’t need anything else, I’m off. Oh by the way, there’s a fresh pot of coffee on the counter. Bye, love ya, see you later.”

I sat holding my fork, I grinned and shook my head saying, “Love you too, see you late…r,” she was already out the door.

My day was pretty much preplanned, namely, packing and getting ready for my flight to New Delhi early the next morning. I did several loads of laundry, folded it and got it packed. I’d get a laundry service over there to iron what I wanted later. Thankfully, Abby sent a few of my favorite suits to the cleaners and they were hanging in the laundry room along with a couple of light weight suits I had ordered online, ready to pack.

With the majority of my packing finished, except for some minor last minute things, I said my evening prayers, ate a friendly dinner with Abby, discussing my future plans, then decided to call Dad with my flight arrangements before turning in.

Dialing my Dad’s number, the phone rang three times when a woman answered, “Hello? Michaels’ residence.”

I asked for my Dad, and the voice on the other end responded for me to please wait a moment.

“Sean? Good to hear from you again. Are you packed and ready to go?

“Yes, Dad, just a few last minute things to put together. I called to give you my flight info. I’m flying Northwest, but the last leg is handled by KLM. I take off from BWI at 7:30am tomorrow and land in New Delhi on Sunday evening at 10:30pm with an overnight layover in Amsterdam on Saturday. My flight number is 2345. I hope the late hour doesn’t pose any real problem for you.”

“No problem, Son. Mom and I’ll be there to pick you up. Any last minute jitters?”

“No, Dad, it’s just I hate those long flights.”

“Well, I’ll let you go to get some rest for the big trek tomorrow. Thanks for the flight info and we’ll see you at the airport, okay, Son?”

“Sure, Dad. See you Sunday night. Love you; tell Mom I love her too.”

“See you, Son, we both love you too. Have a safe trip.

Bye, now.”

“Bye Dad.”

With that, I went to bed.