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St. Valentine may be horrified by the
cherubs touting candy, flowers or jewelry. The overemphasis of eros, or
romantic love, may have merged out of rampant marketeering. Between Christmas
and Easter, after all, is a lot of retail silence. In modern society, with
women marrying later, and partners divorcing earlier – not waiting for children
to grow up – does love still exist?
Fresh from an unlikely, whirlwind romance
in the desert, I sat down to explore in fiction the difficult choices facing
young Qatari men and women amongst the myriad dilemmas of love, choice, honor,
and duty.
The Qatari characters were based on a meld
of dozens of stories I knew of real people; but the insertion of a South Asian
girl into the love triangle was all my own.
I put Abdulla, the male protagonist, and
Sangita, the unexpected loved interest, in a small London apartment. And waited
for sparks to fly. In a Disneyesque-romantic genre, move, they were on a
countdown; three days.
But nothing was happening. There they were; young, attractive, in close proximity, and I couldn’t believe that they were falling in love. All the elements were there but the emotions were missing.
I started asking everyone: “How do people
fall in love?”
My older Indian friends were surprised.
“Didn’t you have a love marriage?” They
asked me, products of the arranged marriage system. “Don’t you know?”
“Seems so long ago,” I muttered, well out
of earshot of my husband.
“I loved your book,” another friend said.
“I’ve never known what love is…” she said, with a dreamy look in her, having
been arranged to her husband.
“It’s all the same after a while,” I said
to her dryly, watching our husbands on their mobile phones while we mothers ran
after our children.
“But how can they fall in love,” I asked my
Qatari friends, growing desperate for realism as the book entered a seemingly
endless cycle of revisions.
“She has to be hot,” one of my male beta
readers said, in all honesty.
Chemistry. Right. I forgot that part,
somehow, settling into comfortable domesticity.
Abdulla and Sangita did eventually find
their way in the story. The sequel to the book is in progress and explores an
equally murky area: what happens after the spark? Are the chances for survival
of ‘falling into’ love greater?
I grew up with the idea that no, falling in
love did not guarantee romantic success; making allegiances between well
researched partners was stacking the cards in your favor. My parents’
anti-falling in love argument was the 50% divorce rate in America.
We’ll see what happens for Abdulla and Sangita as they try to grow their spark into a fire to heat their home.
Mohana Rajakumar
About the Author
Mohanalakshmi Rajakumar is a South Asian American who has lived in Qatar since 2005. Moving to the Arabian Desert was fortuitous in many ways since this is where she met her husband, had a baby, and made the transition from writing as a hobby to a full time passion. She has since published seven e-books including a mom-ior for first time mothers, Mommy But Still Me, a guide for aspiring writers, So You Want to Sell a Million Copies, a short story collection, Coloured and Other Stories, and a novel about women’s friendships, Saving Peace. Her recent books have focused on various aspects of life in Qatar. From Dunes to Dior, named as a Best Indie book in 2013, is a collection of essays related to her experiences as a female South Asian American living in the Arabian Gulf. Love Comes Later was the winner of the Best Indie Book Award for Romance in 2013 and is a literary romance set in Qatar and London. The Dohmestics is an inside look into compound life, the day to day dynamics between housemaids and their employers. After she joined the e-book revolution, Mohana dreams in plotlines. Learn more about her work on her website at www.mohanalakshmi.comhttp://www.mohanalakshmi.com/ or follow her latest on Twitter: @moha_doha.
