“Who was this modelesque young woman?” they’d ask; “didn’t we see her on the front cover of Vogue last month?” Ravinder remembered feeling quite strange at the time, being married to someone he had just met three months ago, hardly knowing her but enjoying the cache of having undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women in town as his wife! He had just been married in London a few days earlier in typical Indian style, with 450 guests, a traditional Sikh ceremony in a beautiful Temple, days of music and festivities, songs and dancing. Part of the ceremony was for guests to contribute money to the happy couple and they received about £15,000 – not bad for a day’s work! His parents were delighted with themselves, after 10 long years of exile from the age of 21, living his own life away from his Sikh culture, he had come back home and went through what he never believed he’d ever do: have an Arranged Marriage. However, events that evening in Ashand’s Restaurant were to take an unexpected turn. Six months earlier, he was living in Scotland and had just completed his MBA degree the year before. He had been living a life of exile from my family as he had cut his hair and gone against the foundations of his family’s beliefs, severing his ties from his culture. Sikhs are not supposed to cut any hair on their body, although the women mostly do and most younger men would trim their beards. However, he was the first one in the entire history of the family to cut the long hair that grew down to his waist and as a result, they vowed never to forgive him. Just as in strict Catholicism, religious beliefs can dramatically influence one’s life, but Ravinder was determined not to live a lie, so he felt justified in his actions. He remembered a letter from his mother waiting for him in his flat after a particularly wet and miserable Saturday afternoon in Edinburgh and it must have been important as it had “Urgent – please read” written all over it. He would never get any phone calls from his family so writing was the only form of communication. Mostly he would never open the letters because they were always full of the same emotional blackmail, accusations, pity and guilt. However, sensing something very wrong, he made an exception and opened the letter to read that his father had been admitted to hospital with a heart attack, so of course he had to go. Firstly however, he had to look the part, so he opened the long forgotten box in which he kept my pristine turban and put it on. How unusual it felt and what a feeling of regret it brought with it. Luckily, he had grown a ‘George Michael’ style beard at the time, which with the white turban, would pass me him as an acceptable Sikh in anyone’s book. He arrived at the hospital and saw his father, Raj Singh Rathor, in a bad way; he had suffered a major heart attack and needed urgent bypass surgery. Despite all the bad feelings, it was good to see them again and it was as if a light had come back into their lives and it felt right to be there. In any case, three months after the successful operation, his father made a full recovery and it was time to talk. Their only request was that he should be married straight away to a Sikh girl, re-grow his hair and put on his turban. Not much to ask you might think? Well, he decided there and then that after 10 years of being away he would do it, so he duly complied. The procedure was well tried and tested; a number of suitable girls were located and then father, mother and son would drive off every weekend to visit the girl’s family home. Upon arrival, with curtains twitching as they drove up, they would be seated in the best room and her family would be one side, with the Rathors on the other, asking questions like “what’s your income?” and “how tall are you?”. Then the intended herself would walk in, dressed in traditional Indian silks and adorned with jewellery, carrying a tray of tea and the customary Indian sweets which were a fabulous and much needed distraction. After tea, they would talk and if there was a ‘connection’, the budding couple were to report back to their respective parents and then things would progress, but in 5 out of 6 cases for Ravinder, it did not progress. He met some interesting people on these jaunts, but no-one that tickled him pink, so to speak. After the fifth excursion, he decided that enough was enough and he would not do this anymore, but reluctantly agreed to one more meeting and that’s when he met his wife to be… Who could have possibly forseen what was to happen that night at Ashands Restaurant some 3 months later, with her scratching and kicking, shouting out that “the snakes are coming!” and foaming at the mouth. At 4am the next morning at the hospital in New Delhi, the doctor took Ravinder into a private room and gave me the terrible news about his wife… (to be continued…)