Razia

by Abda Khan

  She was just a few feet away from Ali when her mobile phone rang.

  ‘Excuse me one minute, Ali,’ she said, looking down at it. ‘I have to take this – it’s my mum.’

  Ali nodded, and then he walked to one side to give her some space.

  ‘Hi, Mummy. How are you?’ Farah asked.

  ‘I’m fine, darling, but more to the point, how are you? And when are you coming back home? You were very upset about Razia when I last spoke to you. Understandably so. But still, I have been really worried about you. What can I do? I’m a mother after all. I can’t help but fret about you, especially as you are so far away.’

  ‘I’m feeling a bit better now, Mum. It was just such a massive shock at the time. I hadn’t expected it at all. Anyway, you can stop worrying, as I will be coming home soon; I will let you know just as soon as I’ve sorted out my return flight. I’m just about to go out now to do a bit of sightseeing, but I will call you later, or first thing in the morning. Give my love to Dad.’

  ‘OK, beti. We are looking forward to seeing you. You go off and enjoy yourself, but please, be very careful, there are pickpockets galore in the touristy areas.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ replied Farah.

  ‘Before you go, there is just one thing I wanted to ask you. I’m pretty sure I know what the answer is going to be, but there is no harm in asking, is there? Just in case!’

  As she spoke, the pitch of her voice grew in intensity.

  ‘What is it, Mum? Go ahead, ask me.’

  ‘You haven’t, whilst you have been out there, by any chance, met a nice Pakistani man who is also an eligible bachelor?’ Farah could hear the tongue-in-cheek attitude in her mother’s voice.

  Usually, Farah would have half-heartedly scolded her mum for asking such a predictably annoying question, and then she would have laughed, because in the end she would have found it funny. They both would have giggled. But today, as soon as her mum said what she said, Farah looked straight at Ali. She was staring at him, and she couldn’t help herself. She had to stop this, she told herself, for so many reasons. He was a colleague, and there was the first red flag. He treated her like a child sometimes, which irritated her enormously. They lived thousands of miles apart; her life was in England, and she would be leaving soon. They were too different; she was far too British, and he was way too Pakistani.

  She ended the call quickly.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Ali asked, as she approached him.

  ‘Yes, fine, thank you,’ Farah replied quickly. ‘Shall we go?’

  Ali told her he was taking her to Daman-e-Koh. He was driving the car himself today.

  ‘Tell me about this place that we are going to, and why you’ve decided to take me there,’ Farah demanded, as soon as they were on their way, driving through the capital’s traffic.

  Ali gave Farah a sideways look and smiled. In contrast to his sometimes erratic behaviour, he seemed happy today, and if he was trying not to give away just quite how happy he was, he was not doing a very good job.

  ‘The name Daman-e-Koh literally means foothills; in this case, the foothills of the Himalayas. We are going to a viewpoint which is about halfway up Margalla Hills and provides the most spectacular sight of the capital. By going at this time, as well as seeing its beauty in the daylight, we will also get the evening view in a short while; you’ll like it, I promise.’

  The drive up the hills was simply staggering. The car zig-zagged and wound its way through a sea of green, and Farah leaned out of the window and took in the view of the peepal and eucalyptus trees, which stretched as far as the eye could see. There was a heady, warm breeze that fluttered through her long hair, and she gently breathed in the musky, woody scent. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt a connection with this land, with all of this space before her; she felt free, and a sense of joy soaked through her, but once again, her euphoria turned to sadness as her mind soon floated towards Razia.

  Ali parked up the car when they reached their destination, and they walked the short distance to the vantage point. There were only a few people around, and even they looked like they were making tracks. A family of four were walking back towards the car park, chatting away. There was a couple still hanging around, gazing at the views. The two of them looked like newlyweds. The young woman wore a red salwar kameez, which was embroidered around the neckline with shiny beads and sequins, and she had her red chiffon scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. She had chunky, traditional jewellery in the form of gold jhumka-style earrings which had a pearl set in the centre of the flower-shaped section that sat on the earlobe. She wore a matching necklace, and clattering red and gold bangles which sang a playful tune every time she moved her hands, or swept her hair back. Farah looked at the earrings as they swayed gently with each movement of the young woman’s head, she suddenly decided that she really liked them, and wondered why on earth she had never worn jhumkas before. They brought to her mind an old Bollywood song that her father often listened to: ‘Jhumka Gira Re’, sung by Asha Bhosle. She remembered the scene from the film in her mind’s eye; the actress was dressed very traditionally in an Indian pink choli and blue lengha with pink trim, and she twirled around and swung from side to side as she sang, and there was a crowd gathered around watching her dance.

  Farah then noticed the telltale sign on the young woman of the recent nuptials; the still bright red-orange henna patterns drawn on the backs of her hands. Her young husband gazed into her eyes, and smiled dreamily at every word she uttered. They looked and behaved like a couple very much in love. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Would she ever know this feeling? she asked herself. Would she ever be this sort of a blissful newlywed?

  Ali led Farah up to the middle of the curved railing, from where a panoramic view of the city was visible. Beyond the gently curving hillsides of Margalla Hills lay the city of Islamabad in all its splendour. Farah noticed that despite the number of buildings that flanked the neat roads and avenues, the city was astoundingly green. Although there was so much to see, one building sat boldly right in the middle of this vast view: the majestic Shah Faisal Mosque. Her eyes could not help but be drawn to the iconic white building shaped like a Bedouin tent, with its four minarets standing proudly around its inner section. It looked so serene, so peacefully situated; she wondered how uplifting it might be to pray in there.

  Ali and Farah sat next to each other on a bench, and they slowly took in the sight. It was still daylight, and the air was warm and soothing.

  ‘This is so beautiful; I mean, just jaw-droppingly amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it,’ said Farah.

  ‘I knew you would like it.’ Ali said. ‘By the way, how was your mum? She phoned earlier, right?’

  ‘Oh, my mum. My mum is fine. She’s as mad as a box of frogs most of the time, but she’s fine. She wanted to check I was OK, and also, she wanted to know when I’m going to be back.’

  ‘I see. Does she have a rishta lined up for you?’

  Was he serious, wondered Farah, or was he just joking when he asked if her mother had a prospective suitor and betrothal in mind?

  ‘Probably, knowing my mother.’

  ‘So, what happened with the marriage that didn’t happen?’ Ali asked.

  Farah thought about the question for a few moments, not sure what to say or where to begin. She started to fiddle with the hem of her dress; the kameez was edged with a pretty, pale pink lace, which matched the pink flowers in the print of the material.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,’ said Ali.

  ‘No,’ Farah responded. ‘It’s OK. To be honest, it might do me good to talk about it, because I haven’t really spoken about it much to anyone. There was someone at work – he still works there. Tahir, his name is. We were attracted to each other pretty much from the day we first met. I hadn’t felt like that about anyone before. He felt the same way; we fell for each other, and neither of us felt that we could stop it.’

  Farah paused for a few momen
ts, as she remembered the pain she had gone through. She hadn’t realised but it still felt a little raw. Ali waited quietly, and she continued.

  ‘But there was a problem. A big problem.’

  ‘What was that?’ Ali asked.

  ‘He was already married,’ Farah replied.

  ‘Oh,’ was Ali’s short, sharp response. She wondered what he must now think of her.

  ‘Well, he was separated, to be precise. He had been coaxed into a marriage quite a few years ago that had been arranged by the elders. He hadn’t had any say in it. By the time we met, she had been back at her parents’ house for a while. He said he was planning to divorce her, but then for one reason or another it didn’t happen. On top of that he was twelve years my senior, so there were multiple issues that my parents were going to have a problem with. The age gap wasn’t a deal breaker, but obviously his marital status was. Eventually he got around to talking to his family about giving her a talaq, but his next idea took me by complete surprise.’

  Farah hesitated.

  ‘Go on,’ Ali urged her.

  ‘He suggested that instead of divorcing her … I become his second wife.’

  Ali sat up straight upon hearing this.

  ‘Wow,’ he said in response.

  ‘Wow, indeed! I could hardly believe my ears. But he meant it, and that signalled the end for me. We split up. He all but begged me to give it another go, but I couldn’t go back. I felt as though he had deceived me. Maybe he hadn’t; looking back, I don’t think he intended to, and he was certainly put under a lot of pressure by the elders to preserve the family izzat. But that’s how I felt – betrayed. I had wasted my best years on him. When the feeling’s gone, it’s gone. I wanted to put it behind me and move on. And that’s it really.’

  Ali didn’t say anything. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he think badly of her? Not that it should matter. She would soon be on her way back home and they would probably never see each other again.

  ‘Are you disappointed in me?’ Farah asked. He looked straight ahead at the vast city that lay before them.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he said finally.

  There was a long pause. Farah felt as though she was holding her breath without even meaning to. Ali turned his gaze away from the view and looked at her. His face was serious.

  ‘What an idiot. I wouldn’t have done that to you. I would have realised what a good thing I had and never let you go!’ Ali said, still gazing straight at her.

  Farah was taken aback. What he thought of her mattered; it mattered to her. She didn’t know why his having a good opinion of her was so important to her, or when this had become a reality. But it was.

  ‘What about you then?’ Farah asked.

  He looked away pensively into the distance, and as he did so, it was as though he had drifted somewhere far, far away. There was a long silence, and then he began to speak.

  36

  NEW YORK

  The summer heat was now just on the right side of bearable, and today in particular, the weather was very conducive to an afternoon walk through Central Park. They had just finished an Italian lunch. A walk helped to reduce, at least for Ali, the sleepy effects of the carb-heavy, cheesy meal in which he had overindulged. Sofia, on the other hand, had barely picked at her seafood dish.

  Central Park was teeming today with walkers, joggers, sport enthusiasts, tourists and entertainers. Ali and Sofia headed out of the park through the gate by the Met museum.

  Above the short back and sides, Ali’s hair was brushed back neatly off his face and fixed into place with expensive clay that ensured it didn’t budge all day; he wore dark blue jeans today, and a red polo shirt added a splash of colour.

  They walked by the roadside to try and avoid the further throngs of tourists that were gathered nearby, mainly on the wide steps leading up to the iconic museum building. Many of the tourists were posing for photographs on the famous stone steps, wherever they could find a small space. The girls posed, as still as mannequins, leaning one way or the other after each shot, pouting ferociously, as their other halves did their best, before someone walked into view, to snap an amazing photograph that would be worthy of being uploaded on to Instagram. New York was as noisy as ever; a symphony of voices and car horns glided through the air as though the wind itself carried it all right past your ears in a continuous flow.

  Ali reflected on how it was an ever prevalent hum that, once you got used to it, you barely noticed, for it was as much a part of the fabric of the city as the imposing skyscrapers and the dazzling lights. And it was like this no matter where in New York you happened to be, whether in the financial district in the morning rush hour, or outside Bloomingdale’s around lunchtime, or in Times Square at night. After so many years, Ali had got used to it, but there were times when he desperately craved silence.

  ‘Why do you have to go to Pakistan now? It’s not exactly great timing with our engagement only two weeks away,’ said Sofia in her polished American accent, as she walked along with Ali. She had her arm tightly locked inside his.

  ‘You know why,’ said Ali. ‘Amir is my oldest friend; we went to school together. I have known him since the age of five. He is opening his own law firm, and it’s a big deal for him. I feel I should be there to support him. I will be back in a week, along with my parents; my mum is going on about bringing presents for you and your family and wants me to help her choose.’

  Sofia let out a wispy sigh.

  ‘Well, I suppose it will have to be OK; if you promised him then I guess you must go. Just as long as you don’t forget about the engagement ring!’ she said, wagging a finger at him.

  ‘As if you, or my mum, would allow me to forget about that! I’ve heard of nothing else these past God-knows-how-many weeks, months even. No, my life wouldn’t be worth living if I did that. Rest assured, the ring will be ready for collection from Tiffany’s just as soon as I get back.’

  Ali was now keen to get on with things; the engagement was just around the corner, and he would be relieved once it was out of the way so they could finalise things for the wedding.

  ‘I meant to ask, have you read my latest blog?’ Sofia enquired, as she flicked her dead straight, streaked brown hair off her face. It didn’t really need flicking. It was just a habit of hers. She always flicked strands of her hair at timely intervals, without thinking. She did have beautiful hair, thought Ali. In fact, she was beautiful full stop, even if he didn’t tell her that as often as he ought to.

  ‘No, honey. Things have been absolutely mad at work. Sorry. What’s it about?’

  ‘Botox.’

  ‘Botox?’ asked Ali. He stopped in his tracks. He didn’t know whether to laugh or feel exasperated that she spent so much time on such shallow stuff.

  ‘Yeah, silly, you know what Botox is,’ said Sofia. She placed her well-manicured hands on her hips, and thereby accentuated her thin waist. Ali noticed her bright red gel nails, which glistened. He saw that her short, fitted red top matched almost exactly the colour of her long nails. The top, coupled with her skinny designer jeans, showed off her slim figure. Sofia always had time to strike a dramatic pose, he thought, no matter where she was and what she might be doing. At times Ali found it amusing, and at other times it was plain irritating.

  ‘Of course I know what Botox is! Why are you writing about it?’

  Sofia rolled her eyes.

  ‘Because that’s what beauty vloggers do! And don’t you dare say it’s not real work. Botox is so important nowadays. It’s pretty much the same as having your hair done or having a pedicure. It’s as normal as applying make-up.’

  Ali shivered at the thought. Why women felt the need to stick needles in their faces to achieve some phoney kind of beauty was beyond him.

  ‘Actually, I was thinking of it for myself,’ she added.

  ‘Why would you want Botox? You don’t have any wrinkles.’

  ‘No, I was thinking of it more for plumping up my lips. The fullness of your lips does di
minish as you get older,’ she said, and then promptly pouted her lips.

  ‘You’re pretty enough as you are,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I know. And you enjoy my full lips right now, don’t you? But what about when we’ve been married a few years, and I’m getting on a bit, huh?’

  ‘You don’t need Botox now and you won’t need it then either!’

  ‘Honestly, you’re so old-school,’ Sofia teased.

  ‘And you’re so am-dram!’

  Ali hailed a taxi. The cab driver pulled over, and they jumped in.

  ‘Let’s not fight,’ said Sofia. She snuggled up tight next to Ali in the back of the cab. She placed her head on his shoulder. He gently placed one arm around her; he enjoyed these quiet, thoughtful moments. Ali’s life hadn’t always turned out as he had planned, from moving to the States as a teenager, through to the choice of his life partner, but he was a realistic optimist, and always tried to embrace the good in whatever situation he happened to find himself.

  ‘I can’t wait for our engagement party,’ said Sofia. ‘The venue is amazing, my dress is gorgeous, the food is going to be fine dining at its very best; it’s all just as I wanted it. It’s going to be perfect. Just perfect.’

  ‘Nothing in life is perfect,’ said Ali, looking straight ahead at the busy traffic along Fifth Avenue.

  ‘Less of the negativity, please. I only want happy, positive vibes!’ said Sofia, before she landed an affectionate kiss on his cheek.

  She was right, thought Ali, life was for living, and perhaps he ought to lighten up a bit.

  Ali’s mobile phone rang. He whipped it out of his pocket and saw that it was his mother phoning from Pakistan. He answered the call immediately. He loved to hear her soft voice; it instantly made him feel at home.

  ‘Hi, Mum. Yes, I’m well. So is Sofia, and her parents. I’m flying from JFK tomorrow evening. I will message the flight details to you in a bit, and give you a call later on.’