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analogy very much to heart. Despite the notion of “click” being absent in cultural norms of marriage, they were open and conscious of exploring this concept as a result of what their faith described to them. They constantly wanted to learn from the stories of the Qur’an and the prophets in Islamic history. From the earliest accounts of marriage, having the family involved was also no bad thing. It wasn’t considered interfering: it was thought of as advice and support, and it was very welcome. Love and relationships were everyone’s business because they affected everyone. Besides, parents had more experience and wisdom from life, which was helpful in making such huge choices.
    In the process of making a decision to turn down one suitor, I had set in motion a greater journey: to look for the love of my life. The precedent was set: Finding the One was my mission, and in looking for love, I would find myself, my faith, and Divine Love along the way.
    I had declared the Search officially open.

TWO
Hyphenated

Innocence
    A t the age of thirteen I knew I was destined to marry John Travolta. One day he would arrive on my north London doorstep, fall madly in love with me, and ask me to marry him. Then he would convert to Islam and become a devoted Muslim.
    My school friends had similar reveries, apart from the converting to Islam bit. I was a teenage girl with typical adolescent fantasies. Except for the matter of religion. Whoever was destined to be my Clark Kent would certainly become a Muslim before any romance. This would lead directly to marriage, and it would be a short path between the two. There was to be no frolicking before the nuptials. Through my youthful eyes, I was sure that I was such an appealing prospect that conversion to Islam would be an obvious, uncomplicated, and easy choice for the lucky man.
    I was told by the Buxom Aunties that I was an unattractive teenager, skinny, and with one curse considered by Asians to be worse than death: I was considered “dark.” Asians are notoriously color-conscious: to be fair is to be beautiful, to be dark is to be ugly. Being pale of skin is a sign of status and a hugely desirable quality in a future daughter-in-law.
    It is most often the hero’s mother that makes the selection as to who should be introduced to her son to consider for marriage. Mothers-in-law preferred to show off pale-skinned brides. I grew up believing I was unappealing and unattractive. When desperately searching for compliments, the Aunties would comment about “how charming she is” or ask, “Aren’t her features unusual? ” When faced with pale-skinned girls they would coo, “My goodness, she’s so fair and beautiful! ”
    As a child I had been both fair and adorable. I had thick glossy hair and rosy chubby cheeks. “All the better to pinch you,” squealed the grown-ups. I was extremely alert and very content, happily playing for hours on my own.
    My greatest distinction was being a diligent student, even from a young age. I loved going to school and doing my homework. Each evening I was questioned by my father as to whether I had completed my schoolwork, and often I would do more class exercises than necessary. In my childhood memories, my mother and father are both constantly present, spending as much time with me as they could. I basked in their love and grew up very much a golden child.
    I was permitted to stay awake until eight in the evenings to watch television. It was only rarely that I saw those reflecting my skin color and background on the small black window that stood in the corner of our living room. I was raised in the dark ages before the advent of the remote control. As the child in the family, it was I who was forced to jump between sofa and television to change channels at the whim of the adults. There were only four channels at the time, a very primitive situation. It was programs like Mind Your Language , In Sickness and in Health , and It Ain’t Half Hot Mum ,