When East Meets West & They Tie the Knot!

I’m absolutely certain that everyone has seen a photo like this at least once in their lives – people of obviously different races posing together at wedding ceremony. Yet, it does require some explanation and of course, it would be a long and complicated story. So, let me start with this photograph.

This was taken on my wedding day, Saturday, 12th November 2005, in a cute little mosque behind my house in a small quiet town called Sungai Petani, Kedah. Yep, I married a ‘Mat Salleh’, a Frenchman to be more precise. There we are – my hubby Xavier and I – right in the centre of the entire line. Standing from left to right: my elder brother (Iqbal), his lovely Chinese then-fiancee now-wife (Mun Pheng), my beautiful sister-in-law (Anne), my wonderful mother-in-law(Elizabeth), my darling hubby (Xavier), moi, my sweet younger sister-in-law (Marine), my eversupportive sister (Azlina) and my very understanding dad.

Through a simple ceremony whereby my very French hubby vowed, in one breath, in Malay and without any paper to guide him, “Aku terima nikahnya Aniza Mohd Hussain dengan mas kahwin sebanyak seratus satu ringgit tunaaaaiiii”, exchange of wedding bands and our two families were united. Suddenly, I realized that I’ve embarked on an independent journey in starting my very own nest, away from both my families in Malaysia and in France. Quelle aventure!

Who would have thought that this could have happened? That I would marry outside of my race, my culture, my religion and my country? Certainly I didn’t! Nevertheless, it didn’t exactly take me by surprise either. My siblings and I used to laugh about how the three of us grew up to be confused children, especially when it came to our choice of life partners. We blamed our circumstances on my parents.

You see, we are products of a mixed marriage. My dad is an Indian-Muslim or mamak, and my mom is a Chinese-Muslim who was adopted by mamak parents since birth. The three of us were raised very differently from other typical mamak children (trust me, in my extended mamak family, arranged marriages are still going on in this day and age!). Given this reason and the fact that all our friends are non-Malays and non-Muslims, we tended to lean our affections towards the non-Muslim (or rather, non-mamak) race.

I come from a sleepy little town where the community is still quite conservative. The mamak community (in spite of our differences, it is the only community to which we can remotely say we belong) is a close-knit cluster of families, all looking to expand the mamak race by arranging marriages between their children, to procreate offsprings of pure mamak strain, only to later arrange marriages for them the same way it had been done unto them.
So you can imagine the culture shock this community received when my dad announced that I would be married to a Mat Salleh. Nevertheless, they were rather supportive once they learned that Xav and I would still be following the traditional rituals of marriage.

But nothing had prepared them for the cultural divide that was so apparent during the few days when they met and spent time with Xav’s family. First there is the language barrier and then the shyness of the older Malaysian generation to mix with people outside their circumference of familiarity. Of course, what to call Xav’s family was another question. In Western culture, it is common to call people by their first names, and if that seems too rude, then calling them by their titles (such as Mr or Madame) would be appropriate. In our Malaysian culture, we call the older generation ‘Uncle’ or ‘Aunty’, which for Westerners, seem weird since there are no blood ties to these ‘uncles’ or ‘aunties’.


For Xav’s family, going through the traditional marriage ceremony of both the Malay and the Indian cultures, was quite an unforgettable experience. They thoroughly enjoyed shopping for Indian clothes and accessories in Little India in Penang. They are a heck of a lot better at bargaining than I am too – imagine getting a Punjabi suit, lenggha, additional scarves, alterations and re-tailoring at the price of RM250!

Xav and I went as traditional as we could without it being too bizarre for his family. It began on the day before the marriage itself, with the inai ceremony (henna-dyeing for hands and feet). I excluded Xav from this, despite what everyone said that the dye would come off in a couple of days (it has been two months and mine is still visible!). Xav had just started his new job in Tahiti, and I think he would feel hard-pressed to explain to his employers the so-called necessary ritual of dyeing the last three fingers as an act of marriage.

All my best friends from since I was 10 years old were there during the few days before and after the marriage. Pavi, a doctor in Alor Setar General Hospital, did a wonderful job on thehenna for my hands and palms. She also tied the sarees for Anne and I, and made sure all the Indian accessories were where they were supposed to be. Shih Lene came all the way from Singapore and was the official make-up artist for my wedding. Thanks to her, I didn’t look ghostly pale in the wedding photos! Su Heng was the photographer, snapping away and capturing on film the sweet beautiful (and some censored) moments that we all had together.
The four of us had wonderful heart-to-hearts during the few days we were together – so much for sleeping early for the bride! Two nights before the wedding, we slept, reluctantly, at 3am, after gobbling some mamak mee that my brother bought for us. The night before the wedding, again we slept at 3am, chit-chatting about relationships, marriage, career – girl talk basically.


My reception was also the talk of the town simply because we followed traditional Indian style. I wore a maroon wedding saree and Xav looked absolutely delicious in his sherwani. My dad received some comments about how the reception looked more like Hindu wedding than a Muslim one. I just retorted to all who cared to listen (and more who pretended not to) that at the very least, I did not forget my culture (I AM an Indian by race, Muslim by religion, duh, that IS what mamak people are!), unlike many other mamak weddings where the bride and groom turn up in a tux and a white wedding gown.

It amazes me that Malaysians so easily accept all that is Western but frown at the assimilation of one Malaysian culture into another, eg. Indian costumes in a Muslim wedding. Are we so ashamed of Malaysia’s melting pot of cultures, that which foreigners find so fascinating and intriguing? I wonder if Malays realize that the culture of exchanging trays of wedding gifts or ‘hantaran’ and sitting on a raised dais for the blessing ceremony or ‘renjis di pelamin’ are both derived from the Indian culture? It is surprising that in our country of multiple races and religions, there still exist bouts of hypocrisy and racism.

Let’s just set aside the negative comments or small talk from small-minded people.

All went well. I was so happy that people nearest and dearest to my heart dropped everything they had planned and made time in this crazy rat race world, to come and see me make my transition from woman to wife. Most of these people would now be reading my blog.

Thanks, guys, for being there for me. Your presence at my wedding truly made the happiest day of my life even more special!