Unmarriageable

by Soniah Kamal

  ‘How was your day?’ Alys asked Bungles and Hammy-Sammy in order to give Jena a moment to recover.

  ‘Excellent,’ Bungles said. ‘Darsee and I played a game of squash, enjoyed a very nice continental breakfast by the gymkhana lake, and I took a nap.’

  ‘Sammy and I,’ Hammy said, ‘were recommended some horrid beauty parlour, where the girl flat-ironing my hair didn’t know what she was doing and nearly burnt off my face.’

  ‘Where did you go?’ Qitty looked up from the paper napkin she’d been doodling on.

  ‘Best Salon.’

  Mrs Binat made a face. ‘Whoever recommended Best Salon must be getting a commission.’

  ‘We had a good mind not to pay,’ Sammy said, ‘but that girl probably never received any training, so not her fault. But, still, you have to send a monetary message, and so we didn’t leave a tip.’

  After a second of silence, Lady said, ‘Next time go to Susan’s. She’s the best.’

  Susan’s was Dilipabad’s premier beauty parlour, run by a family whose patriarch had fled to Pakistan during the Chinese Cultural Revolution and never returned.

  ‘Thank God there’ll be no next time,’ Hammy said. ‘We’re out of D-bad first thing tomorrow morning. Bungles can’t wait!’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Bungles gazed at Jena.

  ‘That’s what you said,’ Hammy said. She happily observed that Jena was playing with the beads on her handbag and seemed not at all bothered by who was going and who was coming.

  ‘All I said was it will be nice to be home again,’ Bungles said.

  ‘Tomorrow morning?’ Mrs Binat said very loudly, as if the decibels of her voice alone might compel Bungles to propose. She quieted at the announcement that it was nikah time.

  Everyone in the hall hushed as the maulvi read out loud the relevant verses from the Quran. He turned to Nadir Sheh: ‘Do you accept Farhana Farzana Fecker for your wife?’ Nadir said qabool hai – ‘I accept’ – thrice and signed the marriage certificate. The maulvi turned to Fiede Fecker: ‘Do you accept Nadir Nauman Nazir Nizam Sheh for your husband?’ Fiede Fecker said qabool hai thrice and signed the marriage certificate.

  The Feckers and Shehs embraced to cheers of congratulations, and Nadir’s mother and Fiede’s mother hugged with tears in their eyes. Turning to the newly-weds, they immediately demanded a grandchild. Nadir said that could be arranged. Fiede blushed on cue. Everyone laughed. How cute!

  ‘A few naughty uncles,’ Lady whispered to Qitty and Mari, ‘must surely be imagining Fiede in her wedding lingerie.’

  Qitty began to sketch a naughty uncle on a napkin.

  ‘Disgusting!’ Mari hissed at Lady and Qitty. ‘You both need to get your heads examined before you really head to hell.’

  Bungles returned from participating in the rituals of doodh pilai – in which Fiede took a ladylike sip from the glass of milk meant to give the couple fertility and strength on their wedding night and Nadir guzzled down the rest – and jhootha chupai – in which Nadir had ended up distributing a lot of money to Fiede’s friends and cousins in order to get them to return his shoe, which they’d hidden – and dragged a chair as close as he could to Jena’s. Hammy and Sammy also rushed to sit close to Bungles. And here came Jaans, who was regaling Darsee with tales of recent financial scandals that had befallen otherwise-upright Pakistanis.

  ‘Valentine,’ Hammy said, jumping up, ‘take my seat.’

  Alys watched in amusement as Darsee took her seat. He did not say hello to anyone.

  ‘You look dashing,’ Hammy said to Darsee, and he did, in a raw-silk ivory shalwar kurta with a teal mirrored waistcoat. ‘I swear, you should think about modelling just for fun. I can already see you on a Times Square billboard.’

  Alys longed to say that instead of modelling, it might be better if Darsee enrolled in an etiquette class or two.

  Lady whispered to Qitty, ‘Hammy is making you-you eyes at Darsee.’

  ‘Gigantic you-you eyes,’ Qitty whispered back. ‘Her dailay – eyeballs – are going to pop out.’

  ‘Hammy is right, Valentine,’ Sammy said. ‘Times Square. Modelling a watch. Or underwear.’

  ‘Oye, Begum, Wife, stop talking about other men’s underwear!’ Jaans said. ‘I’d look dashing too if it wasn’t for you.’

  Apparently Jaans was wearing ill-fitting attire because Sammy had packed his pre-weight-loss suit by mistake and, even worse, handed away his brand-new custom-made suit to their driver. Sammy had asked the driver to return it, except he’d already sent it to his village, to a cousin who was leaving for a job in Hong Kong.

  ‘That will be one happy bastard strutting around in my suit,’ Jaans said. ‘Who can train my wife in housewife skills?’

  ‘Not a housewife,’ Sammy said testily. ‘I run a company.’

  ‘Jaans, dude,’ Bungles said, ‘company or no company, pack your own clothes.’

  ‘Bungles beta,’ Mrs Binat said, ‘isn’t Jena looking lovely tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bungles turned red. ‘She is.’

  ‘Mummy! Stop it!’ Jena said.

  ‘What stop it? If a mother cannot point out the obvious, then who can? Bungles, you must stay in Dilipabad for another few days. And if you need anything … but why should you need anything? God has blessed you with everything, except …’ And she glanced at Jena.

  If Jena wished to turn invisible, Alys did too.

  Darsee’s mouth fell open. Never in his life had he heard such a blatant hint. Neither had Hammy and Sammy. Darsee could tell the sisters were stunned. His eyes travelled across the table and connected with Alys’s, who just happened to be looking in his direction at that very moment.

  Now that Darsee had, for the first time, looked directly in Alys Binat’s face, it occurred to him before he could stop it that she had luminous eyes. It occurred to him that even though she was the opposite of everything that was considered beautiful in these parts – an alabaster complexion, long hair, light eyes, a simpering femininity – she was uncommonly attractive. Alys held his gaze for a moment and then, blinking in obvious disinterest, turned away to talk to some girl.

  Darsee was well aware of all the ruses gold-diggers practised these days. The most popular, Jujeena, his only sister, had informed him, was a pretence of disinterest. Although it seemed to Darsee that Alys Binat truly did not care. He found himself stepping a little closer to Bungles and, as it so happened, in eavesdropping range of Alys’s conversation.

  Alys was talking to an ex-student, Sarah, one of her pride and joys, who’d badly wanted to go to university abroad. Her parents had set the condition that she could go only if she got a full scholarship, and Alys had helped Sarah get one. Sarah was in her final year and diligently studying economics plus literature. At the moment she and Alys were discussing potential thesis topics.

  ‘You can,’ Alys suggested, ‘ask if friendships in Austen are more complex between friends or sisters. Or explore who jumps class in Austen and whose class cannot be forgiven, overlooked, or worked around. Or compare coloniser Babington Macaulay and Kipling’s “England’s Jane” with a “World’s Jane”, a “Pakistani Jane”, a “Post-Colonial Jane”, Edward Said’s Jane. What might Jane make of all these Janes? Discuss empire writing back, weaving its own stories.’

  Alys could ignore it no more. She turned to Darsee. ‘You’re clearly enjoying our conversation. Care to join in?’

  ‘No,’ Darsee said, ‘but I would like to know, how do you know all this?’

  ‘Reader’s Digest,’ Alys said, ‘and Good Housekeeping.’

  Darsee stared at her. Mrs Naheed had arrived to say hello in the last seconds and she said, ‘Alys, don’t be silly! Valentine, have you met Alys and Jena yet? Jena teaches English to the middle years at BSD and Alys the upper years.’

  Gin and Rum, dressed again in QaziSensations and looking like disco balls, had been told by their mother to sound their most intelligent in front of Valentine Darsee, and so they proceeded to show off their knowled
ge of international books with titles they’d memorised.

  ‘Miss Alys, do you remember,’ Gin said, ‘when you made us join that summer book club? I still recall Leslie Marmon Silko’s story “Lullaby” and Bi Shumin’s “Broken Transformers”.’

  ‘You made us read’ – Rum squinted – ‘The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, “Désirée’s Baby” by Kate Chopin, and “Everyday Use” by Alice Walker. And then you made us read that novel The Blackest Eye.’

  ‘The Bluest Eye,’ Gin said.

  ‘Yes.’ Rum beamed. ‘The Bluest Eye. We were all so disturbed by the incest in it.’

  Naheed changed colours.

  ‘What my brilliant daughters mean,’ she stuttered, ‘is that Alys is such a forward-thinking teacher who never shies away from any subject.’

  ‘I see,’ Darsee said.

  Alys had no desire to know what Darsee saw. Taking the gift envelope from her mother, she strode to the stage. Horrid man! Listening to her with that mocking look. And thoughtless Gin and Rum for mentioning that particular novel, over which Naheed had very nearly been forced to fire her because so many parents had turned up at the school. Thankfully the author, Toni Morrison, had won a Nobel Prize in Literature, and that had calmed them down.

  Darsee watched Alys leave, and he allowed Mrs Naheed to distract him with her view on school uniforms. By the time dinner was served – a buffet to rival the fare at the mehndi ceremony the night before – Alys was barely on his mind. As he ladled a fragrant mutton biryani onto a plate, Hammy joined him.

  ‘Babes, you must try the rogan gosht,’ she said, ‘before Lady and Qitty gobble it all up. I’ve never seen greedier creatures. Jaans thinks Alys is a lesbian. Agree?’

  ‘Why would Jaans think that?’

  ‘Her hair, babes, her hair.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Darsee said. ‘I happen to think her cut accentuates her eyes.’

  Hammy’s rather ordinary eyes grew wide. Darsee instantly realised his mistake and, nonchalantly popping a mutton boti into his mouth, waited for Hammy’s response.

  ‘My heartfelt congratulations,’ Hammy said, ‘on finding your soulmate in D-bad.’

  ‘So, so predictable,’ Darsee said, shaking his head.

  Hammy gave a feeble laugh. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if the Binat girls really do practise magic. First my brother is bewitched. Now you.’

  ‘I’m not bewitched or any such thing.’

  ‘Your future mother-in-law,’ Hammy said, ‘the oh-so-charming Pinkie Binat, will be so thrilled to have not one but two sons-in-law to paw.’

  Darsee grimaced. ‘Not prime mother-in-law material.’

  ‘Nor are those creatures sister-in-law material!’

  ‘Agreed,’ Darsee said.

  Hammy was relieved not only that Darsee had not complimented Alys further but that he’d acknowledged the appalling nature of the Binat family.

  ‘I wish Bungles would wake up from Jena’s spell or whatever you want to call it.’

  ‘It’ll pass,’ Darsee said. ‘His crushes, unlike mine, always do, which is why I’ve learnt to not fall as easily as he does.’

  ‘And who is your current crush?’ Hammy asked, a little too quickly.

  ‘No one,’ Darsee said. ‘I’m too busy with Jujeena. I should not have gone to do my MBA. I neglected her.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Hammy said. ‘I bumped into your sister a few times this last year and she seemed happy living with your aunty Beena.’

  ‘Beena Aunty took excellent care of her, but’ – Darsee stopped – ‘she has her hands full with Annie.’

  ‘How is Annie’s health?’

  ‘So-so,’ Darsee said. ‘Anyway, I’m back now, and my top priority is my sister, as well as getting involved with the British Schools. No time for crushes.’

  ‘Please knock the same sense into Bungles, at least when it comes to Jena Binat.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Darsee said.

  However, when it came time to leave the nikah ceremony, Bungles asked Jena if her family was planning to attend the walima ceremony in Lahore. When Jena nodded, Bungles instantly turned to Mrs Binat: he, Hammy, and Sammy were going to a charity polo match for breast cancer at the Race Course Park, and could Jena accompany them as their guest?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The next morning Sherry visited the Binats and, over chickpea chaat and chai, Lady and Qitty excitedly informed her of Jena’s invitation to the polo match. They’d been discussing, non-stop, Bungles’s failure to propose to Jena, juxtaposed with the fact that he must really like her to have invited her to the polo match, to which Mrs Binat had so readily and graciously given her permission.

  ‘Of course he likes Jena,’ Mrs Binat said, fishing out a spicy potato from the chaat. ‘Likes, my foot. He loves her. He’s just a shy boy, but, then, not everyone can be bold and daring the way your father was when he asked for my hand in a heartbeat.’

  Mr Binat entered with one of his wife’s shoes in hand.

  ‘But, Pinkie,’ he said gaily, continuing a previous conversation, ‘you guaranteed this Bungles fellow would propose last night and that if he didn’t you would eat your shoe. Come on now, eat up.’

  ‘Oof.’ Mrs Binat pushed away the shoe her husband was thrusting at her. ‘Barkat, you really must get out more. Your attempts at humour are becoming third-class. Put down that filthy shoe. He’s taking her to the polo match in Lahore, where, I guarantee you, he will propose.’

  ‘Mummy,’ Jena said, ‘you led me to believe he was going propose yesterday, and I was so nervous I could barely look at him or speak to him properly. I’m going to go to the polo match with no expectations.’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘You’ll return from the polo match with a diamond ring so big your finger will fall off.’

  ‘Tauba,’ Mr Binat said, helping himself to the chaat. ‘Dear God, what a thing to say.’

  ‘Look, Jena,’ Sherry said, pouring extra tamarind chutney into her bowl, ‘you need to steer Bungles Bhai.’

  ‘Steer him?’ Jena said. ‘Is he a bull?’

  ‘Jena, you need to do no such thing.’ Alys scowled.

  ‘She does.’ Sherry looked from Jena to Alys. ‘Jena, trust me. You need to drop little hints such as “I’m getting so many proposals” or “I’m scheduled for a look-see and if it works out I’ll be getting married.” You know, hints to hurry him along.’

  ‘Vomit, puke, ulti,’ Alys said.

  ‘Alys is a fool,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘Sherry, you are a girl after my own heart and know well the game of grab-it.’

  ‘Thank you, Khala,’ Sherry said. ‘Although if I knew how to grab it that well, wouldn’t I have grabbed a husband by now?’

  Everyone observed a moment of contemplation.

  ‘Jena,’ Sherry said, sipping the last of her chai, ‘follow my advice and if Bungles Bhai has got any smarts, he’ll realise that you are hint-dropping, and then he’ll be in no doubt that you like him.’

  ‘How about I just propose to him?’ Jena said, annoyed. ‘That should clear up any confusion.’

  ‘In Islam,’ Mari said, looking up from the tennis match on the sports channel, ‘women can propose, since Hazrat Khadijah proposed to the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him.’

  ‘Hai!’ Mrs Binat slapped her chest lightly. ‘No one follows religious example properly in this country. If only girls from good families could propose, how easy everything would become. Instead, we have to wait until the man decides it is time.’

  ‘May I remind everyone,’ Alys said, squashing a chickpea with her fork, ‘that Jena and Bungles literally met a day ago. They don’t even know if they like each other, much less love.’

  ‘Love at first sight, followed by rest of life to sit around falling in like. That is the farmoola,’ Mrs Binat said.

  ‘Formula,’ Mr Binat said. ‘Form-you-la.’

  ‘Far-moo-la. That’s what I said.’ Mrs Binat extracted a hairpin from her bun and used the l
ooped end as a cotton swab. She ignored her daughters’ aghast looks. ‘How long does it take to fall in love? Your father looked at me, instant love’ – she snapped her fingers – ‘and immediately he sent Tinkle to find out who I was and, the very next day, proposal.’

  Mrs Binat regaled them with a detailed account of their honeymoon in Chittagong Hills and Cox’s Bazar beach in current-day Bangladesh. It had been her dream to go there, and their father had made it come true.

  ‘He was such a hero,’ she preened. ‘Every day, flowers, frolic, and I love you, I love you.’

  ‘Daddy was a lover boy,’ Lady said, her eyes shining. ‘A romantic hero.’

  ‘I was indeed,’ Mr Binat said bashfully, for he quite loved to hear what a hero he’d been.

  ‘Times have changed,’ Alys said. ‘No one gets married like that any more. Love doesn’t work like that any more, if it ever did.’

  ‘Love is love and will never change its nature,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘One look is all love needs. One look.’

  ‘I can’t wait to fall madly in love,’ Lady said. ‘Acha, Jena, do you love Bungles?’

  Jena tossed a cushion at Lady. ‘Mind your own business. And forget love-shove – why aren’t you studying your algebra? Your teacher at school told me you’re very good with equations if only you’d apply yourself.’

  ‘Who cares about equations?’ Lady said. ‘I don’t need equations to be happy. I need love to be happy. I’m not going to marry anyone unless I fall in love, love, love. First comes love, then comes marriage.’