Day 6: From Miss to Mrs on one foggy morning


It was a very foggy morning. The kind that is typical of late December mornings in Lahore. When you wake up to window panes covered with a mixture of dew and fog and you can barely see through the porch to the main gate of your house. On that particular morning, I left my house at
8am, with an entourage of family and friends, drove to the beautiful Badshahi Mosque and got my marital status changed from Miss to Mrs.
My parents had strictly told me to go to bed early the night before and I had agreed because I didn't want to do the most important signature of my life while yawning with puffy eyes. But hours in bed and I was nowhere close to sleep. I gave up and made several trips out of the room to hang out with my friends doing last minute dance practices, each time I was scolded and sent back to bed. It was an unusually long night and I can't explain what kept me awake. The only thing I'm sure of is that I wanted the sun to rise a little earlier that day. 


It was definitely the quickest I had ever jumped out of bed for fajr prayer. I went down and saw my parents up and about, they always find some chores to do, don’t they? The house was dark, a foggy morning kind of dark, and quiet. It was serene. I spent an hour having breakfast, taking in the tranquility and the surreality (if that’s not a word, well then I just made it up) of the situation. Gradually, everyone else woke up but the voices were still hushed. There was almost something sacred about the atmosphere even as everybody started getting dressed. Maybe because we all knew that this is the real deal. This is the essence of it all. Three words, one signature and it's all done. Each moment was precious.


I wore my mom's wedding dress, the one she had worn 26 years ago when she did those signature, in which her rukhsati had happened. That's pretty much all the 'getting ready' part there was to my preparation, unless putting on a BB cream, an eye pencil and a lipgloss counts. There was no jewellery except bangles and a minuscule pair of earrings. It might sound weird but this was my idea of keeping the whole thing entirely genuine and pure. I was warned that my pictures may turn out less-than-perfect because of, let's say, insufficient make-up. But then perfection holds a different meaning for everyone. In that moment, for me, perfection was getting a picture taken with my parents' wedding portrait, wearing the same dress as Ami.

We drove across foggy Lahore, it was the most beautiful the city had looked to me. The car was mostly silent, except for my mom’s whispers of the prayers she kept reciting. We reached, dot on the agreed upon time, the other side arrived right after us. The families met and there were mubarikbaads all around. I was still in the car and was constantly being informed about my soon-to-be husband’s whereabouts. One of my friends jokingly said he was coming towards the car to meet me and I almost screamed that he cannot. I have no idea why. I had known this guy for years, seeing each other was not something that had not happened before but there was just something about that moment. I can still feel those butterflies in the tummy when I think about it.


Once inside the mosque, I walked the red carpet with bare feet (remember the foggy winter morning?) towards the place of the nikkah. We had chosen the early morning slot for the peace and quiet and that’s exactly how it was. There were barely any other people around and I loved how our whispers echoed around the high ceilings. The ceremony started, I could hear the maulvi sahib’s recitations on the microphone. There was prayers for us and verses from the Quran about the sanctity of marriage. I had heard them all before but in that moment, they held a deeper meaning than they ever had. Before I knew it, my father was sitting in front of me with those papers in his hands. It was time to Qabool the groom and sign the deal. I could hear my mom sobbing behind me and my brother trying to cheer her up (some miserably lame jokes he made, as usual). I dropped the pen twice, was my hand shaking? I wouldn’t admit. My dad smiled and put his hand on my shoulder, I did all the required signatures and Abu planted a kiss on my forehead, saying ‘Khush Raho’. The ball was in the other court now. The words came, my groom was asked if he ‘Qabool-ed’ me? And guess what? He did! All three times. I looked around to see my friends and sister-in-laws winking and giving 100-watt-smiles. Everybody waited for the dua to end and then there were hugs and kisses and mithai all around.


My freshly made husband came to the scene. It was the most awkward we had ever greeted each other, I could feel everybody’s eyes were on us. Some family pictures and hugging sessions later, off we went with our photographers. Spent about an hour walking bare feet around the picturesque courtyard and corridors, not knowing what was being recorded and shot. The sun was only beginning to peek through the clouds when we left the venue, God had been too kind. 



Oh and remember those warnings about bad pictures? Well, when the pictures did come, there was immediate unanimous agreement that the Nikkah pictures came out the best. They said something about the bride and groom looking completely natural. I don’t know what they were talking about.

Check out more posts from the wedding series here.

10 comments

  1. Nikkah in Badshahi mosque was a dreeeeeeeeeam. Then I had to move to Karachi, hmph! Beautifully written, I could feel the atmosphere :) Wishing you a blessed life!

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  2. Thanks Farwah! Badshahi Mosque is LOUVE <3 Hope you find some other gorgeous place in Karachi, that is if you haven't already been nikkkahofied :)

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  3. Loveeeeee that lehnga, its gorgeous!!! I wish my mom had kept hers that I could wear :(

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  4. This is the most nostalgic piece so far prolly because it was a trip down memory lane to my own nikkah event.
    Loved every bit of it. It seems genuine and warm.
    MBS

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    1. Thanks girl, for genuine and warm comments :)

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  5. Tears in my eyes while reading this, full of emotions, brings back my wedding days.
    Leaving home in which you lived like almost 26 years, leaving your parents, siblings is way hard and living miles away from them is even harder.

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    1. Aww i didn't want to make anybody cry :(
      But but but I totally get what you're saying. Moving abroad after after shadi and not being able to see your family whenever you want to ... makes it all the more difficult.

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  6. This lehnga is so similar to my mama's lehnga she wore at her wedding and after 23 years my sister wore it on my wedding.
    And yes this post made me teary just because... Love the pictures.
    MAHAM

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    1. Aww thanks Maham! Mom's old lehngas are the best :D

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