by Soniah Kamal
Alys braved a peek at the company. Bungles was smiling awkwardly. Hammy-Sammy and Jaans snickered behind their hands. Darsee was simply staring with terrible fascination.
‘Oh, but,’ Mrs Binat said, ‘if one is going to get infected and die, it should be in a facility such as this—’
‘Mummy,’ Alys said, interrupting her, ‘why don’t you go to reception and settle the bill?’
‘I’ve taken care of it,’ Bungles said.
‘First-class gentleman,’ Mrs Binat said.
‘But you can’t,’ Alys said to Bungles. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Please,’ Bungles said. ‘Jena was our guest at the polo match, and my sisters and I insist that we take care of this.’
Alys glanced at Hammy and Sammy. They were insisting no such thing.
‘No,’ Alys said.
‘Aunty’ – Bungles turned to Mrs Binat – ‘I will take it as a personal insult if you do not let me foot the bill.’
‘Hai,’ Mrs Binat said, ‘that we should die before insulting you. May Allah grant you the pocket and power to foot a million such bills.’
‘Jena,’ Lady said, ‘you should stay a whole month now that we are not paying.’
‘Lady!’ Alys glanced at a tight-faced Darsee.
‘It’s a joke!’ Lady said. ‘Alys, you have no sense of humour. So boring all the time.’
‘Alys is not boring,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘Not all the time.’ She dug her eyes into Darsee, who was looking sullenly at the black-and-white-tiled floor. ‘She is also very attractive, and anyone who can’t see that should get their eyes examined. Smart too, in her own way. At her school debate club, Alys was two-time gold medalist, and she was also backstroke champion, though I’m not in favour of girls playing sports. Take swimming. It makes the girls’ necks very beefy, and goodbye to wearing necklaces. Bungles, are you in favour of girls swimming-shimming? You watch Olympics?’
‘I do.’ Bungles nodded even as he made eyes at his sisters and Jaans to stop laughing.
‘You must come watch Olympics with us in Dilipabad,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘Our cook makes the best Chinese food. Humeria-Sumeria, Jaans, you must also come.’ She smiled at Jaans, who gave her two thumbs-up and said, ‘Go D-bad,’ and then she said curtly to Darsee, ‘You also come.’
‘Mummy,’ Alys said, standing up, ‘Jena needs to nap.’
After managing to send her mother and sisters home, Alys disappeared into the attached bathroom to shower and change. As she slipped out of her T-shirt and tracksuit trousers and shoved them into the bag, she hoped that everyone else would leave too. She’d love an evening alone with Jena, the two of them discussing Bungles at the match, and everything else. She emerged a half hour later, after a hot shower, smelling of gardenia-scented shampoo, water dripping off her curls and onto her red V-necked sweater and jeans, delighted to find that Sammy and Jaans had left in her absence after, apparently, quarrelling yet again over whose contribution to their marriage was more vital: her money or his pedigree.
Alys took her Kolhapuri chappals out of her bag and slid her feet into them. She hoped that Bungles, Hammy, and Darsee would leave too. She did not relish the idea of having to endure Darsee’s and Hammy’s company, and she wished that Bungles, sitting beside Jena and looking as if he was going to burst into poetry, would propose soon so that Jena would no longer require chaperoning. Why was Darsee looking at her? Hadn’t he seen a girl with messy hair and no make-up before? She flushed and ran her fingers through her tangles.
Bungles declared Jena was craving Chinese food, and he proceeded to place a dinner order for everyone.
‘Jena,’ Bungles said when he hung up the phone, ‘do you want anything else? Shall I turn the TV on?’
Jena shrugged. Alys could tell she was being extra-cautious and acting all the more aloof. Good. Until she and Bungles were officially engaged, Jena’s reserve was smart.
Hammy took the remote control from Bungles and switched on the TV. The clinic’s film channel came on. ‘Ooh! Pretty Woman.’ She gazed at Darsee, who stood by the window, gazing at the moon. ‘Val, I love this film.’
‘Every woman does,’ Darsee said in a not-too-kind tone.
‘How presumptuous.’ Alys matched the snooty look Darsee gave her. ‘I don’t. It sets up unrealistic expectations.’
Alys was not a fan of updated Cinderella stories, Pretty Woman being a version in which a prostitute cleans up well and ends up earning herself a rich roti – a rich meal ticket – because she has a great figure and a heart of gold. Another version, readily available via Pakistani dramas, was a girl from the lower middle class who earns the respect and love of a rich roti because she’s virginal and, no matter how smart or accomplished she is, allows her husband to put her in her place. Mari approved of these silly dramas, for she believed they were excellent propaganda for teaching women their role in society. Lady and Mrs Binat were big fans too but more for the romance and fashion than the lessons espoused. Qitty watched them in order to people her caricatures.
‘Unrealistic expectations!’ Hammy frowned. ‘I’m surprised you don’t like rags-to-riches stories.’
‘I don’t like rags-to-riches love stories.’
‘Where did you learn to dismiss romance?’ Hammy scoffed. ‘Jeddah?’
‘Jeddah?’ Darsee said.
‘You don’t know,’ Hammy said. ‘The Binats lived in Saudi Arabia for a while, where they attended, I believe, the Pakistan Embassy School.’
Alys glanced at Jena. Surely she’d caught Hammy’s scorn. But Jena was too busy assuring Bungles her ankle was in a comfortable position.
‘The Pakistan Embassy School was quite all right,’ Alys said. ‘However, we attended an international school.’
‘I went to an international school too,’ Darsee said. ‘In Bangkok.’
Alys feigned disinterest, though she wanted to ask him about his experiences.
‘How was your experience?’ Darsee said. ‘Do you miss it?’
‘I miss California,’ Hammy said.
‘Your parents still live there,’ Darsee said. ‘Going to school-in-transit, so to speak, is different. Would you agree, Alys?’
‘Yes,’ Alys said. ‘I’ve lost touch with all my friends.’
‘I wish,’ Darsee said, ‘there had been a better way of staying connected back then, instead of just letters.’
‘Technology makes it easier these days,’ Alys said. ‘There is the email thingy.’
‘The email thingy?’ Darsee smiled.
Alys gave him a cold stare. ‘You should read Reader’s Digest and Good Housekeeping. Keep you updated on technology.’
‘Babes,’ Hammy said, ‘Val is a tech genius.’
‘I take it, Alys,’ Darsee said, ‘you believe I’m not impressed by these two publications that have impressed you.’
‘Have you ever read either one?’
‘Nope,’ Darsee said. ‘The covers—’
‘The covers!’
‘Covers don’t lie,’ Darsee said.
‘That’s not true.’
‘A risk I’m willing to take,’ Darsee said.
‘Of course you are,’ Alys said, and seeing Bungles rip himself away from Jena in order to send his driver to pick up the Chinese takeaway, she took the moment to flee Darsee for her sister’s bedside.
When Bungles returned to the room, he was carrying a bouquet of narcissuses sold by flower hawkers outside the clinic. A nurse followed him with a glass of water. Bungles put the flowers in and placed them by Jena’s side. A delicious scent pervaded the room.
‘My favourite flowers,’ Jena said, caressing a yellow centre surrounded by cream petals.
‘I know,’ Bungles said. ‘You mentioned it at NadirFiede’s wedding.’
‘Bungles is so thoughtful to everyone,’ Hammy said, an exasperated smile on her face as she turned up the volume to Pretty Woman.
In ten minutes, the driver was back with the food. Alys and Bungles took out the containers and paper wa
re. Bungles leapt to fix Jena a plate. Hammy was eager to serve Darsee, except he dashed her desires by helping himself. Alys took a bowl of chicken corn soup.
Everyone ate in silence – except for Bungles, who kept asking Jena if she needed anything. Finally Hammy said, in a saccharine tone, that Jena had sprained her ankle and not her mouth and that if she required his services, she would no doubt ask him. Bungles sheepishly distributed the fortune cookies.
‘Jena,’ he said, ‘what does yours say?’
‘A new beginning is on the horizon.’
‘Mine is so stupid,’ Hammy said. ‘Karma is a witch.’
‘You don’t believe in karma?’ Alys asked. She put her fortune cookie into her bag to give to Qitty, who was creating a food-and-word sculpture.
‘If you don’t remember anything from a past life,’ Darsee said, ‘then how can you avoid making the same mistakes in your present life?’
‘I don’t know,’ Alys said, taking some lo mein. ‘I suppose some people will be born with the same flaws, such as pride, and therefore be prone to repeating history.’
‘Pride isn’t a flaw,’ Darsee said.
‘It’s just another word for smug,’ Alys said.
‘Pride is a strength. Smugness opens one to mockery.’
‘Sometimes,’ Alys said, ‘one can be mocked through no fault of one’s own.’
‘If you don’t give cause, you will never be mocked,’ Darsee said.
‘Let me guess – you’ve never given cause!’ Alys turned to Hammy and Bungles. ‘You need to mock him; otherwise, he really will think he’s perfect.’
‘Oh my God, babes,’ Hammy said, ‘Valentine is perfect.’
‘I’m not perfect,’ Darsee said to Alys. ‘Far from. My biggest flaw in this day and age is that I don’t suffer fools gladly. I hate sycophancy, nepotism, cronyism. I don’t care to be diplomatic.’
‘You can afford to be undiplomatic,’ Alys said. ‘People let people like you get away with anything.’
‘You know what your glaring fault is?’ Darsee said.
Alys glared at him. ‘Do tell.’
‘You take great pride in hearing only what you want to hear, and then you’re smug about your interpretation.’ Darsee scowled at his watch. ‘We should leave.’
‘Yes,’ Hammy said eagerly. ‘Jena’s been yawning away.’
‘Jena, are you sleepy?’ Bungles asked. ‘Should I go?’
Jena, far from being rude enough to say yes, hesitated, and Bungles beamed.
‘Val, you and Hammy go,’ he said.
Hammy flopped back onto the loveseat, and it was clear to Alys that she had no intention of leaving Bungles alone. Alys dragged a chair close to Jena. Darsee offered to help, but Alys said she could manage by herself, thank you. Curling up in the chair, she took out several books from her bag.
‘I see you read more than Reader’s Digest and Good Housekeeping,’ Darsee said. ‘My mother read books one after the other, as if they were crisps.’
‘Alys reads like that,’ Jena said, as she took the water Bungles insisted she drink.
‘I love to read, Valentine.’ Hammy rose to hover between Darsee and Alys. ‘I’m the world’s biggest bookworm!’
Alys began to separate the books into two groups. Darsee glanced at the titles.
‘For class?’ he asked.
‘Analogous Literatures. I’m pairing Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain’s Sultana’s Dream with Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Herland for utopias. Khushwant Singh’s Train to Pakistan with John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath for family stories alternating with socio-pastoral chapters. Gloria Naylor’s The Women of Brewster Place with Krishan Chander’s short story ‘Mahalaxmi Ka Pul’, comparing women’s lives. And E. M. Forster’s A Passage to India with Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird for similar racial issues and court cases.’
‘I’ve read Wrath and Mockingbird,’ Darsee said. He skimmed A Passage to India. ‘I haven’t read much local literature, not that Passage is local per se, though it’s up for debate whether it’s the nationality of the author or the geography of the book that determines its place in a country’s canon.’
‘Val’ – Hammy gave him her most dazzling smile – ‘have you read Love Story? It’s really short and belongs everywhere, for love knows no boundaries.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘Love transcends country and geography.’
Alys and Darsee both gave Hammy equally amused glances.
‘I believe,’ Alys said to Darsee, ‘a book and an author can belong to more than one country or culture. English came with the colonisers, but its literature is part of our heritage too, as is pre-partition writing.’
Darsee said, ‘My favourite partition novel is Attia Hosain’s Sunlight on a Broken Column. Have you read it, Alys?’
Alys shook her head.
‘That book made me believe I could have a Pakistani identity inclusive of an English-speaking tongue. We’ve been forced to seek ourselves in the literature of others for too long.’
Alys nodded, adding, ‘But reading widely can lead to an appreciation of the universalities across cultures.’
‘Sure,’ Darsee said. ‘But it shouldn’t just be a one-sided appreciation.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Alys said. ‘Ginger ale and apple pie have become second nature to us here, while our culture is viewed as exotic.’
‘Precisely,’ Darsee said. ‘At the wedding, you talked of a Pakistani Jane Austen. But will we ever hear the English or Americans talk of an equivalent?’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Alys said.
‘You teach Austen, right?’ Darsee said. ‘My mother adored Darcy.’
‘Oh my God, babes, I love Mr Darcy,’ Hammy squealed. ‘Especially the part with his wet shirt. I could read that scene all day.’
Alys’s and Darsee’s eyes met.
‘Darcy is overrated,’ Alys said. ‘Mr Knightley from Emma won my heart when he defended Miss Bates from Emma’s mockery.’
‘I see.’ Darsee pointed to a bookmarked book. ‘What are you reading?’
‘Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse.’
‘According to my mother, Woolf captured the essence of time plus memory.’
‘She does,’ Alys said. ‘I discovered her in the British Council library. She has an essay on Jane Austen.’
‘You mean Shakespeare in A Room of One’s Own?’ Darsee said.
His supercilious tone cut Alys. Instantly, she recalled that she wasn’t talking to a fellow bibliophile but to Valentine Darsee.
‘Just because,’ she said sharply, ‘you are ignorant about something does not mean that I’m wrong.’
Darsee looked at Alys. He stood up. They were leaving. Yes, Bungles, right now! As Hammy and a reluctant Bungles followed him out, Darsee resolved not to say a single word to Alys the next day. In fact, he wouldn’t show up.
The next morning, Bungles arrived alone, and despite his pleas that she needed to stay on, Jena was adamant that she was absolutely fine. Would Bungles please drop them to their uncle’s house?
Mrs Binat was devastated when Alys and Jena returned home without an engagement ring. Mr Binat was delighted his daughters were back. He, Nona, and Nisar were longing to talk about something other than who had dressed like a complete clown at NadirFiede, who like a partial clown, and how massive a ring Jena should expect from Bungles.
‘Jena, Alys!’ Mrs Binat said. ‘You barely gave Bungles a chance to propose. Nona, have you seen any more dim-witted girls than these two? Instead of practising grab-it, they are mastering push-it-away. Even the likes of Benazir Bhutto and Lady Dayna did not push it away.’
Nona, knowing it was no use refuting Pinkie Binat when she was in this mood, did not answer.
‘Not Dayna, Mummy, Diana, Lady Diana,’ Lady said. ‘Had I stayed with Alys and Jena, I would have made sure Jena did not leave without a ring.’
‘I should have left you there,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘You are the most sensible of the lot. Don’t you dare serve me a shoe, Ba
rkat! If these two nitwits would have stayed, that boy would have proposed, I guarantee.’
‘Mummy,’ Qitty said, looking up from pencils she was sharpening. ‘There’s still the walima.’
‘Chup ker. Be quiet,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘Beheno ki chumchee. Defending her disobedient sisters.’
‘We couldn’t stay there forever,’ Jena said quietly, ‘waiting for him to propose.’
Mrs Binat was about to correct her on that score when Sherry returned from her overnight visit to her aunt – the divorcée, who’d thrived despite social stigma, thanks to a very well-paying job – and offered a sympathetic ear.
‘Of course you are one hundred per cent right, Pinkie Khala,’ Sherry agreed. ‘Jena should never have left.’
Mrs Binat was so gratified, she declared they would order Sherry’s favourite meal for dinner: mutton tikkas, keema naan, and bhindi fry.
‘Qitty,’ Mrs Binat added, ‘don’t you even look at the naan.’
By meal’s end, during which Qitty defiantly ate half a naan, Mrs Binat had calmed down enough to start preparing Jena for the NadirFiede walima, where, she guaranteed everyone, Bungles would propose. Mr Binat pulled Alys aside and reminded her of her meeting with the lawyer the next day to sort out the matter of the land fraud.
CHAPTER TEN
Alys parked her car and stepped out into bustling Mall Road, ignoring the whistles and catcalls of loitering men. She hurried past Ferozsons bookstore, glancing at the window display, past Singhar, the beauty shop fragrant with sandalwood, and, turning into an alley, arrived at the law offices of Musarrat Sr. & Sons Advocates.
Once upon a time, Bark Binat had purchased an acre of land. When he was forced out of the ancestral home, he’d turned to the acre, only to discover that he, along with others, had been conned. The acres sold to them were government land, and the government refused to compensate anyone for being gullible. Mr Binat had been hesitant to hire a lawyer yet again – after his brother’s betrayal, he had no gumption to bring strangers to task – but Alys had not let it go. Even if they never saw a penny returned, they had to at least try, and she’d hired Musarrat Jr. on a friend’s assurance that he was honest and trustworthy. The Binats’ initial petition concerning the Fraudia Acre case had been filed a decade ago and, since then, there’d been no real progress.