by Ayisha Malik
‘Haan. The ones your baba gave me last year for our anniversary. O-ho, the ones with the rubies in them.’
T attempted to swaddle the baby as Auntie Reena looked over and said the swaddle wasn’t tight enough. Auntie Scot said it was too tight. I could see beads of sweat running down T’s face.
‘Rubies?’ I asked.
Mum tutted at T. ‘O-ho, this is how you do it.’ As Maria watched the three of them, fussing over the baby, she burst into tears.
‘Tst, Beta,’ said Auntie Reena, ‘chalo, chalo, you don’t cry. Men don’t know these things. They don’t have wombs, nah.’ She walked over and sat next to Maria, hugging her.
Tahir took the baby to Maria. ‘Babe, look at him.’ He sat on the arm of the sofa. ‘He looks just like your dad.’
Maria nodded and smiled through her tears. Mum’s eyes filled and I headed up the stairs to get the gold bangles so I could cry alone in my room.
2 p.m. ‘Sofia! Door!’
Honestly, can’t the world even give a girl five minutes to cry alone? When I opened the door I . . . Well, I . . . I was like what the actual fuck? When you’ve spent most nights taking turns to soothe a baby, are covered in dubious-looking samosa paste, and have four women collectively telling one man how to swaddle aforementioned baby, then a person sometimes needs to do a double-take. I thought I was hallucinating.
‘Conall?’
‘Hi.’
I stared at him. I had to look closer because I mean, it certainly looked like him, but he was sporting a beard and looked like he’d wandered out of a prisoner-of-war camp.
‘You going to invite me in?’
I opened the door. He walked in and I followed, bewildered, as he entered the living room. Five faces turned to look at him.
‘Colin!’ exclaimed Mum. ‘You’re back.’
There was a general kerfuffle as the group dispersed and Maria was left holding the perfectly swaddled baby. She looked up at Conall, blowing her nose with a tissue. I went into the kitchen as I heard everyone asking questions, him saying congratulations etc and all I could keep thinking was, what the hell? An aeroplane flew overhead. I watched it make its way over the line of red-bricked houses until it was gone. Gone, gone, gone.
This is a new life. And when you get on that plane, make it yours.
When I turned around, Mum was laughing. Conall sat down, answering questions and looking at the baby. Every now and again he’d stare into space and then be recalled to reality by someone. He looked positively knackered, to be honest. In the meantime, my insides had decided to start hopping around, thumping against my chest, tying themselves up into knots. I walked back into the living room and looked at him. My nephew was equally entranced by this new arrival.
‘Let me get the samosas,’ said Mum as she got up and was followed into the kitchen by Auntie Reena. Auntie Scot and Maria looked at me and then at him.
‘You’re meant to be going to Pakistan,’ I said.
‘I am going.’ He leaned forward, clasping his hands together.
‘Oh. Doesn’t make much sense for you to have come back when you could’ve just, you know, crossed over.’
‘No. It doesn’t.’ He opened up his hands. ‘Not one bit of sense.’
I wanted to cry. Actually cry. Only I’m not sure why. Because he got on a plane and was here? Because he was going to get back on a plane and leave? Or because he’d apparently done something senseless? Whatever it was, something sprang back into a life that wasn’t all about other people’s babies and gold bangles.
Mum and Auntie Reena put the tray of samosas on the coffee table.
‘Hain, you’re going to Pakistan?’ Mum asked.
He was still looking at me and it might not have been the light at the end of the tunnel, but sometimes you think maybe if I make a change I’ll find a tiny bloody ray.
‘Yes,’ I said.
Mum stopped pouring tea into a cup and looked at me.
‘I’m going to Pakistan,’ I added.
There was a moment of silent confusion until I started explaining about Orangi and the shanty town there and this documentary film. He didn’t have to say anything, and it didn’t matter what he said anyway, because I knew I wanted to go to Karachi. I wanted to go to India. I had to leave and do something with my life.
‘Haan, haan,’ said Mum. ‘Lekin what will you do there?’
Auntie Scot had eyebrows raised to high heaven.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’ll find a story.’ Conall nodded at me, as if reassuring me to go on.
Then Auntie Reena said, ‘O-ho, she can stay with Nasir’s cousin. You know, the fat one who thinks she is always wearing the best clothes. Every year she comes to London, showing me her fat face.’
‘I’m not staying with anyone’s cousin,’ I said.
‘Le, taw, who will you stay with?’ asked Auntie Scot, taking a bite out of her samosa. I looked at Conall.
‘With him,’ I said, pointing in his direction.
‘There’s a group of us,’ explained Conall to the bewildered faces.
‘Grrup? What grrup?’ said Auntie Scot.
Conall stood up. ‘I think I’ll leave you to discuss the logistics between yourselves.’
Just like that, he left: a ghost who’d come into the house, made a commotion and disappeared.
‘Sofe,’ said T. ‘It’s not right.’ He was swaying my nephew side to side. ‘All I’m saying is, go to Karachi, but stay with some family, not in a random place where there’s a bunch of people you don’t know.’
‘Just hold your son, Tahir,’ said Maria.
‘You know what things are like in Karachi,’ said Auntie Scot.
I wanted to stuff all the samosas in her mouth to keep any more words from coming out of it. Tahir nodded in agreement and then the baby threw up all over him. The doorbell rang again and it was Uncle Scot who walked in and looked at everyone. Auntie Scot relayed what had just happened and he scoffed. ‘Le, as if we will send our beti with a strange man. And in Karachi too. So unsafe it is.’
He sat down and rubbed his hands together, reaching over for some tea. I was just about to say, ‘I’m going whether anyone likes it or not,’ when Mum interjected.
‘Those days are gone now, Bhai,’ she said.
Maria and I looked at her as she picked the tray up before Uncle Scot had a chance to take a samosa. She walked into the kitchen and placed the tray on the counter. When she walked back in, Uncle Scot was looking around the room, his eyes resting on Tahir.
Mum turned towards me. ‘Soffoo, you are sure this is what you want? You get bored of everything, this will bore you too, nahin?’
I shook my head.
‘Bhabi, girls in our family don’t do this,’ said Uncle Scot.
‘Bas,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll say it only once more – those days are gone.’
2.50 p.m. Extraordinary! Did Conall actually walk through the door two hours ago?
OMG! I’ll be in Karachi while Hamida and Conall fawn over each other! Must go over there instantly. What am I thinking??
5 p.m. Very weird things can happen within the space of a few hours. I was half-expecting Sean to open the door and be like, what are you talking about? My brother’s in Afghanistan. But it was Conall. Flesh, blood and beard. He rested both hands against the doorframe, and this might not be the most PC thing to say, but with the beard and all he kind of looked like Jesus. It actually was like a resurrection, except we don’t believe in that, because, you know, he’s still alive. Just saying.
I walked into the living room. What was I thinking? Why the hell did I say I’d hop on a plane with this man? This wonderful, lovely, painstakingly grumpy man? It was so unreasonable. He was, after all, just a friend. I couldn’t do it. Except the alternative was going back to making samosas for the foreseeable future. This wasn’t just about him.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about your dad, Sofe?’
Suddenly the polka dots on my dress became very interesting to
me.
‘Oh, you know,’ I waved my hand. ‘What was the point?’ I couldn’t quite bring myself to look up. ‘Have you seen your flowers?’ I went into the kitchen to show him that they’d bloomed.
‘Just as well it rains all the time. Broken doorknob,’ I said, indicating to the door.
‘Hmmm.’
I folded my arms. ‘What’ll be next then? After Pakistan and India?’
He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets.
‘I guess planning is for the unadventurous,’ I added.
‘Or the short-sighted,’ he replied.
‘Yes, well, sorry for not being all visionary.’
‘Pakistan’s a good place to start. Now, tell me,’ he said, his voice softening, ‘why didn’t you say something about your dad? No one likes a martyr.’
I had to compose myself. My integrity was at stake, after all. Get your shit together.
‘What’s that, anyway?’ I said, gesturing towards his thick, dark, beard, while I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat.
‘This? Yes.’ He nodded, looking at the floor. ‘Something new I’m trying.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Sofe . . .’
I looked at the ground because there was no holding the tears back. It’s the kindness; it gets me every time. The tears dropped, one by one. I tried to speak. I opened my mouth, but no words came out and then the tears had steadied into a stream. I tried to wipe them away, but before I knew it his arms were around me and I was crying into his filthy T-shirt. His lovely, filthy, T-shirt.
‘It’s just hay fever,’ I mumbled.
‘Of course it is. You won’t get that in Karachi.’
I shook my head. I can’t stay! I have to go. I need to go. I released myself from, quite frankly, a rather embarrassing collapse of emotion, and I didn’t want to get used to his arms around me.
‘Why did you come back?’
He sighed and glanced at the floor.
‘I had some things to sort out.’
‘Oh.’ I focused on the polka dots again. But I couldn’t be too disappointed. What did I think he was really going to say? And what did it matter? He wasn’t Muslim. I know that I want it all. The sensible person in me knows that even if not immediately, some years down the line I’d miss things like us praying together, going for pilgrimage, learning about our faith and growing with it. With each other. And when you feel this way for someone, the way I do right now for Conall, I can’t quite bear the idea of him not being a part of everything. That’s the thing about that ray of light ---– you never find it where you want it.
10 p.m. Surely I’m making a mistake? OK, time to get the istikhara out again.
11.20 p.m. I do think, I’d rather be near him than not.
Lord, I’ve become pathetic! Maybe I’ve always been pathetic??
Monday 27 August
8.30 a.m. Ticket booked! Leaving Friday. Yes, this Friday. So much to do. Haven’t run into any hiccups yet – am waiting for istikhara to show its force and put hurdle after hurdle . . . Although I do have to take my nephew (still unnamed) to hospital. Maria has mastitis and has been admitted. This worries me. I said I’d delay flight because I have a newborn nephew, and all these people who need me.
‘No!’ She leaned over and whispered, ‘Trust me.’ She gripped the sleeve of my blouse. ‘If you don’t leave this Friday, you’ll never leave.’
The girls were in obvious shock. Also slightly concerned about how I’ll get to India, given my Pakistani status. I told them I’ll take Conall to Islamabad when I go to get my visa. In brown countries a white person is like a master key (which I’m obviously annoyed about in principle). I don’t think the girls’ feeling of moroseness lasted very long as Hannah had to go because she’s started online dating and had to fill in her profile, Suj was mid-argument with Charles about him being upset that he’s a secret and Fozia had decided to write a letter of resignation.
‘I’m done. I’ve said bye to Kam, now it’s bye to old job. I’ve always wanted to go to South America and if you can up and leave, why can’t I?’
I smiled to myself at obviously being a source of inspiration before Fozia added, ‘Though who decides to leave the country only to go to Pak?’
‘And India,’ I added.
‘Oh yeah. That’s better.’ She paused in thought for a moment. ‘I’ll meet you there.’ When I asked her about Riaz, she became that wistful person again, but imagine my surprise when she said, ‘He’s waited this long, he can wait a little more.’
I went to Conall’s and he was stuffing the clothes Mum had given him to hand out into his bag. I told him what Fozia said about the boringness of going to Pakistan. He just shook his head and sighed. I’ve realised our relationship largely consists of him shaking his head and sighing at me. What does this mean? He also seems constantly occupied with staring into space unless a person actively engages him in conversation.
‘So, are we going to save the world or something?’ I asked.
‘You’d be a fool to think you could do that.’ He took out some clothes and refolded them. ‘Tell me that’s the last of it, Sofe.’ He zipped the bag.
‘Sorry.’ I handed him another black bin bag. He sighed (obviously) and said, ‘And you’d be an even bigger fool if you never tried.’
Tuesday 28 August
7 p.m. Katie just came to give me a belated Eid present – a new workout DVD, which will apparently change our lives. Tom waved at me from the car.
‘I can’t believe you’re leaving,’ she said. ‘I have India books. I’ll bring them on Thursday. Also, linen trousers. Lots of linen trousers. You’re going to come back so thin.’
Tom beeped at her.
‘But please not too thin. It’s so passé. Call me if you need anything. See you Thursday.’
She was about to leave when she turned around and hugged me. ‘I’ll miss you so much.’ She held me by the shoulders. ‘But it’s going to be epic.’
Love Katie.
Thursday 30 August
9 a.m.
From Fozia: Darling, have you got Hannah’s headphones? Also, I’ll need to borrow Conall’s sleeping bag after all. He won’t need it out there, will he? See you tonight! xxx
12.20 p.m.
From Suj: Toffeeeeee! I’ll be a bit late. I’ve just told the old man about Charles! I thought, fuck it. What’s the worst that can happen? Shit. I have to go. Promise won’t be too late. Love youuuuuuu xxxxx
1.45 p.m.
From Hannah: This guy with the long beard – have you told him I can’t have babies? I don’t want to be set up with a person only to have to explain I’m barren. It’s boring. Actually, I’ll ask Conall myself because you always miss out the details. BTW, if Fozia asks you for my headphones, tell her you lost them. She broke my old ones and there’s no way I’ll get them back in one piece after her gallivanting around South America. Why is everyone leaving the country? Xx
OK, fine, I know I’m going away, but that doesn’t mean I have to forsake the responsibility of helping friends with relationship issues. All I did was ask Conall about Long Beard – the thought just occurred to me, quite randomly. Well, actually, I was thinking about the protest day and obviously recollected Long Beard, and I thought, hmmm, Hannah’s single, I wonder if Long Beard is too. When I asked Conall about LB he looked down at me, oh so sceptically (after telling me off for calling his friend Long Beard).
‘All I’m saying is, he’s a single beardie and she’s a single hijabi and you like him, right? One should never ignore possibilities.’
And you know what Conall did? He sighed (standard) and texted LB!
‘He’s not going to be some weird fundo, though, is he?’ I asked. I mean, a person never can tell.
‘Sofe, he’s one of the best men I’ve ever met.’
It sounded as if Conall should marry him. If only. I wouldn’t feel so bad if that’s the way he was inclined. That made me think of Hottie Abid. I do hope he’s OK.
‘Exactly
how many miles away will you have to be to stop interfering in your friends’ lives?’ Conall asked.
‘Interfering and caring are two very different things. It says more about you that you don’t know the difference.’
He put the phone on the table and laughed. I think that’s the first time he’s laughed since he’s been back.
‘You talk utter shit sometimes.’ What does a person have to do to be taken seriously? Bet Hamida doesn’t talk shit. I’ll try to be a more impressive person. It might be a losing game, but I will try and try and try.
5.30 p.m. I decided to finish off my packing while Maria sat and nattered away, feeding the baby. Mum came in and looked at the hijabs I put in the suitcase.
‘Reena!’ Auntie Reena came sauntering in. ‘Tell Soffoo what Karachi is like. No one wears hijab shijab there.’
‘Haan, Beta. Better to take it off.’
‘There taw girls wear little, little sleeves and capri trousers to their knees only. Very modern they are now,’ shouted Auntie Scot from the toilet – all these voices that carry . . .
‘They’ll say how girls from London are so village.’
I’m sure they will. Hamida will probably think the same – but there are some things that can’t be changed. You can’t help what you love, and I think I’ve at least learned what is and isn’t worth compromising.
11.30 p.m. What an evening! House overrun by people. Sean and Conall came over. Tom delighted Mum with ongoing compliments about the food, but he didn’t look quite so comfortable when Uncle Scot kept going on about the British Raj dividing the Hindus and Muslims. Poor Tom. Suj kept on looking at me shiftily and when I asked her what was wrong she said, ‘What’s going on with you and that Conall?’ I feigned ignorance, though I don’t know why I bother with Suj. She probably already knows. I’ve just come to realise that speaking about matters of the heart can be counterproductive. Conall sat staring at his glass before I caught his eye and he smiled. I love his smile.