A Gift to Give Away

By Sajda Zahir

Dada-Abu - paternal grandfather.

Dadi-Ami - paternal grandmother.

Allah - God. 

“Her name will be Toufah, her beauty is a gift from Allah.”

Toufah was named by her Dada-Abu and Dadi-Ami. God gifted them with a beautifully alluring granddaughter and so they gifted her with the name that meant “gift”. She knew she was their gift and they made sure she knew. Dada-Abu and Dadi-Ami gave her warmth with their presence, she sought their guidance through all toiled difficulties, they let her breathe in a life that would have never existed if her parents raised her. She never felt the absence of parental love, her mother passing away minutes after her birth while her father abandoning her hours after her birth. Dada-Abu and Dadi-Ami were always there. She was showered endlessly with their love as the youngest granddaughter, being a far 13 years younger than her older cousin. 

“O’ Allah! Keep our Toufah as our gift! Keep our Toufah beautiful! O’ Allah, keep our Toufah safe and always guided back to you.”

Toufah felt the most loved in those moments. When her Dadi-Ami rested in a sitting position on the prayer mat, hands cupped in front of her face, soft whispers. When Toufah heard the prayers, she always found herself beside her Dadi-Ami, responding to the prayers,

“O’ Allah, thank you for making me their Toufah.”

Chacha - father’s brother; uncle.

Chachi - father’s sister-in-law; uncle’s wife. 

MashAllah - as Allah has willed. 

“Bring me some chai Toufah.”

Chacha leaned against the old velvet seating in Dada-Abu’s living room, his legs propped up against the small culinary table in front of him while his hands were sprawled against the edges of the sofa. Toufah didn’t like Chacha, all he talked about was property and dowry but didn’t know how to respect her parents’ property. She didn’t care if he was fatigued; his feet didn’t belong on the culinary table that was once her mother’s which was gifted to her when she was brought into this house as a new bride.

Toufah couldn’t say anything to protest against him, she never had and never would be able to. She had to respect him. He was her Chacha and family elder. She went into the kitchen and settled the kettle onto the stove, as he had instructed her. She examined the boiling water in the kettle. It was beginning to brutally bubble and heat up. That was how her head felt when she was around her Chacha. Unbearably hot.

“You’re becoming even more beautiful MashAllah.”

Chachi, Chacha’s wife, brushed Toufah’s hair back from her face and pinched her cheek with her thumb and gold-covered finger. She wore gold everywhere; from her neck to her toes. Toufah joked that Chachi probably bathed in gold. She joked about it but felt empty knowing that her mother could have bathed in gold like Chachi. 

“More suitors will be coming in, maybe it’s time to consider them.”

Toufah smiled shyly at her Chachi, internally rolling her eyes knowing that this was a routine conversation between the two of them. She gave up on bickering a while ago after realizing that her beauty brought about casual comments on marriage and becoming a bride, even though she was only 16 years old. Toufah had other plans in mind, plans that these people were never going to engage in.

“Let’s see what happens,” Toufah sarcastically smiled at Chachi, grabbing some biscuits from the counter and placing them in a bowl. She walked out of the kitchen toward the living room, and she had barely entered when she heard her Dada-Abu and Chacha arguing.

“He will come in two days! Have her ready!” Her Chacha demanded. Toufah heard her Dada-Abu shuffle beside him.

“Are you sure he’s a good man? Are you sure he’s okay for her?” Her Dada-Abu’s old voice had the slightest bit of shaking, something that Toufah did not recognize.

“Of course, Baba! His father owns acres and acres of land, his son will live in his own house. She will be wrapped into a family of blessings and money. It’s better to marry her in the caste too before she finds interest somewhere else.”

Toufah made sure to spit on the biscuits before setting them onto the culinary table where her Chacha’s legs rested. 

Shaadi - marriage.

Toufah didn’t want to look at Ilyas, the person who she had promised so much to in her dreams. They were neighbours and former best friends in their childhood. Growing up, they continued being neighbours, but time and gender-segregated schools no longer allowed them to maintain their friendship. Even through Toufah’s attempts of starting conversation or trying to meet, Ilyas brushed her away. 

Here he was listening to her screaming sobs and punches against the hard cement that made up the side of her home. 

“My shaadi? My shaadi?” She kept crying out in between sobs and punches. She knew her beautiful face had grown red and raw from the constant tears and anger; but she didn’t care, even if Ilyas was there. 

His tanned skin had turned the slightest shade of pink, the top of his ears red in colour, and he stared at the ground below her. “It’s good to get married Toufah, you’ll live a happy life.”

Toufah looked up at him. “Then why don’t YOU marry me?”

He gave her a cheerless grin. “I cannot give you that life, and I’m not from your caste.”

She didn’t have to ask him to know. Ilyas was only two years older than her, he had just begun undergraduate studies. He came from a decent family, but they would never permit him to marry so young since he was a boy. He needed to find a job, build a home, and then have a family. Toufah sobbed harder knowing that she was never to be in this future, in his future. He wasn’t even a candidate for her family, they were never meant to be.

Ilyas came closer to her and patted her shoulder with his palm, keeping a distance between them. She hated his manners.

“I was going to go to London again,” Toufah cried out. “I was going to become a writer, live a life where I don’t have to serve chai and  I can live freely. I was going to marry you, Ilyas!”

Ilyas began crying, he was powerless. His body trembled knowing that he was in no position to help. He had no gold to give, no education to show off, no land to offer. 

She was his Toufah that he couldn’t receive, that he could only admire from a distance. She was never his gift to claim. 

Puhpuh - father’s sister; aunt.

Saas - Mother-in-law.

InshAllah - if Allah wills. 

Toufah sat with her Puhpuh, who was seemingly playing the “mother” role in her marriage. She knew that Puhpuh was only here because she wanted the gold, the clothes, and all the other dowry delights that come with South Asian marriages. She held Toufah’s hand, giving it an uncomfortable squeeze every time Toufah’s future Saas talked.

“Toufah is so beautiful,” Future Saas said. “She lives without her parents but still manages to maintain her image. It’s hard without a mom.” 

Toufah noticed her fingers were covered in gold, like Chachi, but she held heavier gold. It looked like her fingers were going to snap off, and her neck was going to break with the heavy set she wore right now. “My son saw her picture and immediately begged us for her hand. He couldn’t get over how beautiful you are.”

Puhpuh laughed and brushed Toufah’s hair behind her ear. “Our Toufah is very beautiful, InshAllah she will look even more beautiful on the day of the shaadi.”

They continued laughing while Toufah robotically smiled between them. She owed this to Dada-Abu and Dadi-Ami, her fingers will be filled with gold in a few years, then she’ll be happy. She will be like Chachi and her future Saas.

She bit her finger.

Dulhan - bride.

Dulha - groom.

Jodi - couple.

Beti - daughter.

“MashAllah! MashAllah!”

“Did you see the Dulha, he’s so handsome!”

“They make a beautiful jodi!”

Chachi and Puhpuh awed over a dulhan Toufah, her neck covered in shining gold matching the embroidery in her red wedding dress. Her eyes were coloured dark in eyeliner and black eyeshadow, and her skin was painted a bland shade of white, much paler than that of her normal complexion. Her hands were covered in henna stains of flowers and swirls, while her nails were perfectly filed into shapes of circular rectangles. She stood in front of a dresser with a cracked mirror, also belonging to her mom. Toufah looked at herself. She looked so beautiful it almost took her own breath away. Not breathing, it sounded like a good idea. 

Her eyes became glassy with tears.

Chachi uncomfortably shuffled toward Toufah, and Puhpuh held her head high. “You can’t cry, your makeup will be ruined.”

Toufah managed to speak despite the heavy lump that rested in her throat. “I thought I was their gift, Dadi-Ami prayed to Allah for me.”

Chachi and Puhpuh exchanged looks. Toufah caught a hint of their smirks to each other and clenched her hands into a fist. Puhpuh sighed and faced Toufah, her own new gold sterling in the light of the dresser. 

“Beti, your Dada-Abu and Dadi-Ami are getting old,” She said, emotionless. “They need to live their retired years without your burden. Getting you married early allows them to be there while they are still somewhat young and let you live your life somewhere else than with them.”

Toufah looked at Puhpuh and smiled. She smiled a beautiful dulhan smile, the one that radiated pure contentment and love for what this marriage has in store for her. 

“I’m sorry Puhpuh, I’ll be happy.”

Toufah - gift.

Toufah looked at herself in the mirror of the dresser while touching up her makeup. She managed to make herself look like the dulhan she was hours ago before her tearing up in front of Puhpuh and Chachi. She smiled in the mirror, admiring her perfectly aligned teeth and beautifully constructed cheeks. Dada-Abu and Dadi-Ami were right, she was a gift of beauty from Allah and she was grateful for it. 

She smiled once more as tears began to stream down her cheeks. She held two pieces of sharp glass that she managed to break off of the cracked mirror in both of her hands. She lifted them up to her cheeks and closed her eyes. She whispered softly,

“O’ Allah, you gave them their Toufah—

—but I was just a gift to give away.”

She brought the shards of glass down her cheeks.

Toufah - a gift to give away.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sajda Zahir is a dysfunctional 17-year old that likes to think she’s cultured, but cries at the sight of a green chilli. She loves to read novels that are twice the size of her hands, and is a writer driven by tragedies and experienced failures. She hopes to make herself known through her writing one day.

RELATION TO THEME - FAMILY

Family, in South Asian culture, is a very significant aspect to a woman’s life. Women are expected to make every and all sacrifices for their family, whether it is to protect the honour of the family, or simply start their own. For many brown women, these sacrifices are initially taken through forced or unwanted marriages. The main character of my piece, Toufah, goes through a similar situation whereas she is forced to get married to become less of a “burden”. Each of her family member plays a different role in the story, but not a single one protects her as their “gift”. This is the reality that many South Asian, and other women with Asian-decent, face when it comes family. They are expected to be a certain way or do a certain thing to accommodate to their family’s interests instead of their own, as Toufah did.

WHAT THEY LEARNED AND INCORPORATED INTO THEIR PIECE

Typing “Pakistani Documentaries” into Youtube gave me suggestions and results that really took me by surprise. Some of them varied in topic, but most that caught my eye had “honour killing” or “forced marriage” in the title. As I watched various documentaries about women who grew up in the same way I did but being killed or tortured because they refused a marriage proposal or rebelled against their family’s decision, I was horrified. All I knew from being a part of a big family was pure love and acceptance. Realizing that this is not the case for many South Asian girls, I wanted to make my story about a girl who is initially given fondness and love from her family; but it changes when her role becomes more burdensome rather than loving. This was and still is the reality of many South Asian girls today.