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Because while it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single Muslim man must be in want of a wife, there’s an even greater truth: To his Indian mother, his own inclinations are of secondary importance.
Chai was so much more than a caffeine kick for her. She knew how every member of her family liked to drink their tea, how much sugar or honey to put in each cup. Chai was love, distilled and warming. She drank and relished the silence.
“‘Self-love is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting,’”
What do you see when you think of me, A figure cloaked in mystery With eyes downcast and hair covered, An oppressed woman yet to be discovered? Do you see backward nations and swirling sand, Humpbacked camels and the domineering man? Whirling veils and terrorists Or maybe fanatic fundamentalists? Do you see scorn and hatred locked Within my eyes and soul, Or perhaps a profound ignorance of all the world as a whole? The crowd roared. Her body swayed slightly, eyes liquid and focused on a spot at the back of the room. She continued. Yet . . . You fail to see The dignified persona Of a woman
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there were posters of Shakespeare and Jane Austen on the wall. She smiled a greeting to both as she unpinned her hijab
“Young people. Do you think you invented love and romance?”
“A girl should know how to cook at least three different types of rice, twelve or more meat dishes, and at least as many vegetable curries. When I was married, I had sixty-five recipes memorized,” she added. Farzana nodded. “Finally, she should show a deference and modesty of character. She must not speak when her elders are talking. She must be quiet and refined, never gossip or joke. I find a girl who laughs in public has been raised in a very inferior household. She must never talk back to her mother-in-law, and should spend her days sewing, cooking, and reading the Quran.” Ayesha smothered
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“Oh, honey, nobody knows how this thing works. It just happens. Your heart and gut take over, and your mind has to go along with them, because it’s going to happen no matter what. Sometimes you get a sign, and sometimes the sign gets you.”
That sealed it. Khalid did not deserve to know her real name. He just wanted to put her in a box he could label; she wasn’t in the mood to be so easily defined.
No sooner met but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved,’” Ayesha quoted softly. Saleha was startled. “Why did you say that?” she said. “Who told you about that?” “It’s from As You Like It, Mom. Shakespeare.”
“Men always expect women to pick up the pieces and then they swoop in and claim all the glory,” she said, her voice flat. “If you ruin everything, you’ll only prove me right.”
You’re not Jane Eyre. I’m going to find my Mr. Darcy, and all my problems will be solved!” “I think you mean Elizabeth Bennet, not Jane Eyre,” Ayesha said. “Mr. Darcy is the hero of Pride and Prejudice.”
“Not everything needs to be measured. The most important step is to mix well and give the ingredients time to sit together,”
her first impression had been right after all: He was a judgmental conformist, content to bow mindlessly to tradition and the expectations of others.
“‘Better three hours too soon than a minute too late,’”
“If I do not weed my garden, my beloved flowers will die, asphyxiated by vicious forces whose only goal is colonization. If you choose to plant the flowers, you make a choice to be responsible over other living things.
Live like you’re in a comedy, not a tragedy,’ right?” Ayesha said. Nana smiled, relieved. “This is simply the plot twist at the end of act four.”
