Based upon the amount of chocolate on sale, we can safely conclude that Valentine’s Day is right around the corner. Whenever I think of Valentine ’s Day, I picture my dad singing a line from an 80’s song. It’s the only line he knows. “What’s love got to do with it?” Without lyrical context, I don’t know what ‘it’ is. A holiday’s commercialization, sex, life or everything? I usually look at the question philosophically and ask myself, “What exactly is love?” Once again, my thoughts go to my parents.
Papa Latif got divorced when I was four. It was ugly. Friends advised him to fly back to Pakistan and abandon his three kids. A brown man can’t win custody in court. My grandmother was on her death bed in Pakistan. She was uneducated and had lived most of her life in uncertain poverty, but for Papa her word was law. She encouraged him to keep trying.
On the other side of the world, my stepmom—hence forth referred to as Mom (or Mama)—got married. She had delayed marriage for her education. Then her parents fell ill, and she remained single so as to care for them. She was in her late thirties when she finally accepted a proposal. He was a "good man", a somewhat older widower. Muslims in South Asia generally have a two part marriage. My mom’s wedding was exciting, and as everyone said, long overdue. Her husband died shortly afterwards.
Papa won custody after a long struggle. Life was not easy for a single father with three kids. He began looking for a life partner, but the odds were against him.
Mama refused inheritance from her husband. Her life was covered with a black cloud. To be widowed so soon is tantamount to being cursed in her culture.
Grandma saw a lonely son and motherless kids. She heard of a well-educated woman with bad luck who dreamed of having children. She connected the dots. Papa says the marriage was her dying wish.
It’s been 15 years. Papa picks on Mama, poking fun at the unique way she laughs. Mama protests, and Papa tickles her. When my father lost his job, Mom broke the news to me. She gave my Dad eye drops every night when he got cataracts. She laughs at his jokes even when they don’t make sense. He scolds me for not calling my Mom enough. They both cried when their three kids went off to college. I’ll ask again. What’s love got to do with it? What exactly is love?
On Valentine’s Day, we give out chocolates and roses as symbols of our love. That doesn’t work for me. Chocolate tastes really sweet, and gives a sugar high, but it results in a crash and burn. Plus too much of it gives indigestion. Roses are beautiful, but when you hold them, all you feel is thorns. The love of my parents is more like the curry my Mom makes. It starts with onions and garlic. Earthy, teary-eyed, maybe not the best circumstances. But you add spices, veggies and meat, and a dish is born. It doesn’t always look pretty, but its tastes great. Occasionally you get indigestion, but you always keep eating.
My parents don’t meet the standards of Hallmark cards. They don’t obsess over each other, and I’ve never heard them profess their love to each other. Their love is not the love of movies. It is one of care, patience, respect and common goals- with a little passion mixed in. They love the person who they want to and have grown old with, and they love working together.
I disapprove of arranged marriages because of the lack of self-determination, but they do show that love is not perfection, but something which should and can grow. My grandparents were arranged. Grandma passed away before my dad got married. A few years ago I saw my grandpa sitting on a bench looking into the distance. He typically doesn’t say much. “What are you thinking about?” I asked. He answered solemnly, “your Grandma.” They did not know each other when it started, but they came in willing to care. And their love developed, as it did with my parents.
The most famous love stories involve loss and distance. Majnun is crazy about Laila, but he never reaches her. Romeo kisses Juliet only when they die. Mama and Papa exemplify nearness and fulfillment—not madness. They are familiar with every spot that aches on the other person’s back. Unlike the stories, they literally cannot live without each other. Not because they would die of lovelorn loss, but because Dad wouldn’t even know what to wear and Mom wouldn’t know where to turn the car. Love is more than tragic desire; it is also touching, feeling, embracing, and enduring the twists and turns of life together.
“What’s love got to do with it?” I don’t know, Dad. You are telling me.
Abdul Latif is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Friday.
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