Unmarriageable

by Soniah Kamal

  In her turn, Mrs Binat tried to calculate how many years before Wickaam would become a bigshot lawyer and which daughter of hers might be able to wait for this inevitability. Such a beautiful man was sure to ascend in the ranks based on looks alone. She concluded Qitty was the perfect age and that Wickaam needed to stop hovering over Alys and return to dancing with Qitty. Mrs Binat’s machinations were interrupted by Kaleen’s whispered disclosure that he was on the lookout for a wife. He chucked his head diffidently and informed her that he found her daughters bedazzling.

  Kaleen had privately pondered why the Binat girls were still unmarried and concluded it must be because, given their great good looks, they would only deign to entertain the most stellar of matches. Rocking himself to his full height of five foot six, he believed that with his promise of a thriving medical practice and immediate access to the best of society, courtesy of his benefactress, he was on par as a match with the best of the best.

  ‘Your eldest daughter,’ Kaleen said, ‘is a vision of the houris in heaven promised to men after death.’

  ‘My Jena,’ Mrs Binat said proudly, ‘is getting engaged any day now to Modest. You know, Modest wallay. The owners of Modest Sanitary Company. Surely your daughter must be using their products? But …’ Her hungry gaze settled on Alys. It would not be a match to crow about, given that Kaleen was neither prince nor president; however, getting this daughter married off to a future VIP would be nothing to scoff at.

  ‘My second daughter, Alys’ – Mrs Binat gave Kaleen a congenial smile as he rapidly morphed from nuisance into prospective son-in-law – ‘is free for the plucking. Let me assure you she loves children and will treat yours as if they dropped out of her own womb. Frankly, you would be hard-pressed to find a more timid girl in all of Pakistan. Also, she’s a schoolteacher with excellent earning potential.’

  ‘No need for a wage-earning wife.’ Kaleen waved his fists. ‘A woman’s duty is to look after the children and run the household. The only drawback to my success is that I am too busy and so require a mother for my children. But, you see, I must marry someone who will be kind to my children not just in front of me but also behind my back. My children have grown up in an English atmosphere and so they only know stepmothers from Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and other rubbish fairy tales in which stepmothers want to murder the children. I tell them not to fear, for I will only marry a quality Pakistani girl. Also,’ Kaleen confided, grinning ruefully, ‘between you and me, we know men have needs that good women simply do not, and I am but a man.’

  ‘I believe Alys will prove to be exceptional with manly needs as well as motherhood,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘But, Kaleen, you know how even in arranged marriages these days, young girls first want to get to know the boy. Therefore, I suggest that for the time being we hold off mentioning marriage to Alys. Instead, I recommend you endear your good self to her. In fact, if you have no New Year’s plans, you must accompany us to a most coveted walima.’

  ‘New Year’s!’ Kaleen’s toothbrush brows bristled. ‘You mean Satan’s special holiday, barring Halloween. New Year’s is a festivity that encourages the triumvirate of “B”s: Beygarithi, Behayai, Besharmi, Immodesty, Indecency, Shamelessness.’

  ‘True,’ Mrs Binat said, blinking, for she quite enjoyed a New Year’s get-together and the subsequent welcoming in of the new year. Alys had lectured her one year about how time was a man-made concept and that no miracles were going to occur simply because a clock announced that December 31st had turned into January 1st. Mrs Binat prayed that, once wedded and bedded, her daughter would turn into a less opinionated and more cheerful person.

  ‘Oho! Not a New Year’s party but a walima on New Year’s Eve,’ Mrs Binat stressed. ‘After that we will be returning to Dilipabad, and you must visit us at your earliest convenience and stay with us.’

  ‘Done deal,’ Kaleen said, pleased.

  ‘Also, my daughter, Mari, suffers from asthma, and I would be so obliged if you would check her.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Kaleen said. Occupational hazard, and she’d not even cursorily mentioned payment, but then that was relatives for you.

  ‘Oh, but Alys’s health is superb. Do look at her.’ Mrs Binat settled her eyes on Alys, and so did Kaleen. ‘How decorously she laughs. How daintily she crosses her legs. Such a meek creature, my little Alys, no one meeker to be found in Pakistan – therefore, I urge you again that until I give you the green light, not a word about your intentions.’

  ‘Of course,’ Kaleen said, proceeding to the dinner table with sudden gusto. ‘I understand and I approve of Alys’s shyness, as well as the fact that in today’s world it is right and fitting that she must get to know me before marriage. But for me, Pinkie, your assurance that Alys is demure and decent is enough of a guarantee that she will make a righteous wife and mother.’

  After the guests departed, the family settled down over fresh cups of chai to subject the evening to a post-mortem. It was decided that Wickaam was the great hit of the evening – a pity about his lack of wealth but, oh, those dashing looks – and Kaleen was the great miss of the evening, income galore but a dud looks-wise.

  ‘Farhat Kaleen has his own appeal,’ Mrs Binat stressed to Nona and Nisar until they deigned to nod. Mari agreed with her mother, but she kept quiet.

  ‘Mummy!’ Lady said, ‘he’s yuck-thoo! His nose looks like a popcorn! And he’s so unstylish. Why did his kids let him dress like a clown?’

  Mrs Binat reminded Lady that sometimes parents did not listen to children and – she looked sharply at Alys – children also refused to benefit from their parents’ wisdom.

  ‘Qitty,’ Mrs Binat said, ‘did you see how much attention Wickaam paid to you?’

  Qitty nodded shyly.

  Lady snorted. ‘He told me that I was a glamour queen destined for tremendous things.’

  Hopefully, Mrs Binat thought as she rose to go to bed, the wait for Wickaam to become a Rich Man and propose to Qitty would not be too long, and at least Alys would not die in waiting for her Prince Charming, because Farhat Kaleen was truly eager to make her his blushing bride-to-be sooner rather than later.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  On the evening of the NadirFiede walima, Mrs Binat opened the door to Farhat Kaleen arriving a full hour earlier than departure time. He was ablaze in sickeningly sweet cologne and looking, he believed, very sexy in a khaki suit, fuchsia shirt, and a white-and-fuchsia-striped tie.

  Alys had chosen to wear the sari she’d refused at the mehndi ceremony. It was the colour of Kashmiri pink tea, and Mrs Binat couldn’t help but conclude that the coincidence of Farhat and Alys both wearing shades of pink was a sign from God that they were a match made in heaven.

  Jena looked striking in a peach zardozi kameez and seed pearl embroidered open front gown paired with a white silk thang pyjama, a shahtoosh shawl, and Ganju jee’s rubies. The rest of the girls looked their best in lavenders, yellows, and greens, though, on second thought, Mrs Binat decided she was never going to dress Qitty in green again. She looked like a raw mango.

  So it was just as well that Wickaam had sent Nona a thank-you note for the Christmas party with the message that, unfortunately, he would be unable to attend NadirFiede’s walima. Qitty was understandably upset, and all the girls were miffed. Mrs Binat herself was quite peeved at being deprived of his company, and she kept snapping at Mr Binat to stop whining about not wanting to go: even if his brother and sister-in-law were at the walima, he was to merely nod at them and move on.

  When it was time to leave, Mrs Binat put the Quran on Jena’s head and read the Ayatul Kursi – not that there was doubt in anyone’s mind that tonight, at NadirFiede’s final event, Bungles must propose. Since Kaleen had his driver and car – the latest model of an excellent make, Mrs Binat was gratified to see – she instructed Jena and Alys to ride with him. To her annoyance, Sherry climbed in with them – not that it really mattered, because no one in their right mind was going to give Sherry Looclus a second look,
despite the poor thing having dressed up as best as she could in those tacky puffed sleeves and that greasy lipstick.

  Mr and Mrs Binat, Lady, Qitty, and Mari got into Nisar’s car with Ajmer, directions in hand, and they set off for the walima, which was to be held at Nadir Sheh’s family’s farmhouse. In this case, ‘farmhouse’ meant a country villa surrounded by meadows without a single animal, barnyard or otherwise, to speak of. Since the Binats were arriving in good cars, Mrs Binat insisted on idling at the gate in order to be noticed. Alys finally got out of Kaleen’s car, grateful that the ride was over. Kaleen had talked at her the whole forty-five minutes about how many lives he’d saved, when all she’d wanted to do was mourn Wickaam’s decision to stay away on account, no doubt, of horrid Darsee.

  As soon as they entered the gates, Mrs Binat saw Mrs Naheed on the red carpet leading up to the farmhouse, with her husband, Zaleel, and Gin and Rum dressed in flapper-style long frocks. Dear God, Mrs Binat thought, the twins looked like shredded streamers.

  ‘Girls look great!’ she said, greeting Naheed. ‘QaziKreations?’

  Naheed nodded and complimented the Binat girls’ attire. Formalities complete, everyone marvelled at the abundance of flowers wherever they looked. The villa’s main gate and boundary walls were strung with thick floral ropes. A tunnel of candlelit flowers engulfed the brick path from the gate leading to the driveway and a mini-fountain awash in petals. Guests turned from the mini-fountain into a dazzling floral pergola, which took them to the garden and into a tent of flowers, an Eden within an Eden, which meant, Alys couldn’t help but think, there must be snakes too.

  ‘This is what being in a bouquet must smell like,’ Mrs Binat said as she made her way under the floral canopy towards forest-green velvet sofas.

  Nadir and Fiede were wearing matching yellow-and-black ensembles designed by Qazi, for which, it was rumoured, the designer had charged enough to enjoy at least five sumptuous holidays.

  ‘Are NadirFiede supposed to be bumblebees?’ Lady asked as she took an effervescent mint drink from a floral tray.

  ‘I think,’ Mrs Binat replied, squinting, ‘the newly-weds are sunflowers.’

  ‘Mummy,’ Alys said, ‘I think you just might be right.’

  ‘I’m always right,’ Mrs Binat said, ‘even if you and your father seldom acknowledge it.’

  Mr Binat barely registered his wife’s complaint, on the lookout as he was for Goga and Tinkle, his ears buzzing so badly he could barely hear Kaleen’s prattle.

  Kaleen was admiring the fortune the Shehs must have spent to create this plucked paradise. That the Binats were invited to this VIP to-do had duly raised Barkat ‘Bark’ Binat in his esteem. This was proof that Pinkie’s family were not absolute nobodies, and Kaleen shed any doubts over his upcoming nuptials to Alysba Binat. He glanced at Alys. His bride-to-be looked like a rosebud tonight, one he could not wait to have and to hold. She was a little on the dusky side, but no matter; secretly he thought wheatish women equally as attractive as whitish ones. He wished he hadn’t promised Pinkie Binat to keep his betrothal to Alys a secret, for he wanted this illustrious gathering to know that she belonged to him. He wondered what sweet nothings Alys was whispering into her friend’s ear – what was her name?

  Alys noticed Farhat Kaleen giving her another syrupy smile. The thought alone that he may have a crush on her was disturbing, and she focused on the stage. It was fashioned like a bower, on which Nadir and Fiede sat enthroned as if they were Shakespeare’s fairy royalty, King Oberon and Queen Titania, greeting their florally smitten guests. Alys looked around for other characters from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. There were Bottoms galore, wearing ass heads, a category into which she dropped Kaleen. Pucks abounded too, looking for mischief to spread between married couples, be they happy or unhappy, simply for their own amusement. Alys was sure she spied a couple of Helenas, the plain young girl who longs for love but can’t find anyone to woo her. She pointed them out to Sherry, who was quick to remark that she was a Helena and she was sure Qitty felt like one too.

  ‘I wonder,’ Alys sighed, ‘how many Emma Bovarys are here, sick of their rash marriages, and how many of Wharton’s May Wellands, guarding their “property”. And how many girls here are tomboys like Jo March in Little Women and what will happen to make them realise they are only women in a man’s world. And how many of those women will then seek justice for that unfairness in the occult, like the mother in Zora Neale Hurston’s story “Black Death”.’

  Alys pointed to the gathering of Daisy Buchanans, that spoilt little rich girl from The Great Gatsby. How many Myrtle Wilsons were here, nursing the wounds left from a Daisy Buchanan’s emotional hit-and-run? Alys remarked that too many of the men in this room were Tom Buchanans and Meyer Wolfsheims, who believed they owned the women and most of the men, and ruled the world.

  ‘As for Jay Gatsby,’ Alys said, ‘he’s obviously a Wickaam.’

  ‘Jay Gatsby is a crook,’ Sherry said.

  ‘He is a man turned crooked by society.’

  ‘And who are you?’ Sherry asked as they made their way on the red-carpet-covered lawn to congratulate the bride and the groom.

  ‘I’m the omniscient narrator and observer in Austen’s novels.’

  ‘I think,’ Sherry said, smiling mischievously, ‘you’re that character who says no but ends up falling into a yes despite herself: you are Elizabeth Bennet.’

  ‘Elizabeth Bennet,’ Alys said, ‘had to marry Fitzwilliam Darcy, and he her, because Jane Austen, their creator-god, orchestrated it so. And there would be no Charlotte Lucas today because marrying for financial security is no longer the only choice she’d have. Thankfully we don’t live in a novel, and in real life if I met someone as stuck-up as Mr Darcy, I’d tell him to pack his bags, because there would be nothing that could endear me to such a snob, least of all the size of his estate. My views would frighten away a man like Mr Darcy, who ultimately wants a feisty wife but also one who knows her place—’

  ‘Excuse me—’

  Alys stilled at the voice. Turning, she came face-to-face with Valentine Darsee. She reddened. Had he heard her? Not that she cared.

  ‘May I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘You certainly may,’ Darsee said, nodding a polite hello at Sherry. ‘I wanted to give you this,’ and Alys, momentarily flustered, accepted the book he handed her, his fingertips brushing hers.

  ‘Sunlight on a Broken Column,’ he was saying. ‘You said you hadn’t read it, remember?’

  ‘I don’t remember,’ Alys said, though she remembered very well.

  ‘I’d like to know what you think about it,’ Darsee said.

  ‘I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to it,’ Alys said, and then added stiffly, ‘Thank you.’

  The girls walked on and, as soon as they were out of earshot, Sherry propelled Alys towards a secluded spot under a lantern fashioned of flowers.

  ‘That man is definitely interested in you,’ Sherry said.

  ‘Oh please.’ Alys was thankful Sherry hadn’t caught their accidental touch. ‘Who cares.’

  ‘If you play your cards right, and he marries you, that would be the greatest coup.’

  ‘I wouldn’t marry him. He’s unmarriageable.’

  ‘You’d become the owner of the British School Group, and instead of Mrs Naheed hauling you into her office, you’d get to tell her to behave.’

  ‘Even vengeance could not entice me to marry that man. Were Darsee to suddenly declare I was the most attractive woman in the world and not stupid, I would still not marry him.’

  ‘You’ve really got to get over that. He’s a real catch and Jena is right, you weren’t meant to hear what he said about you. Had you not heard it, you’d be delirious with joy that a fish like him is swimming towards your hook.’

  ‘I would not,’ Alys said. ‘You didn’t see the way he cold-shouldered Wickaam at the border ceremony. For all Darsee’s assets, he’s still a jerk.’

  ‘I wish a jerk like that wou
ld fall in love with me.’ Sherry sighed. ‘You and Jena are so lucky. She’ll marry Bungles and you’ll marry Darsee. Your mother is right: all you need is one rich man to become besotted with your looks and, jantar mantar, abracadabra, your destiny is changed. Takes so much more for those of us without looks. So unfair.’

  ‘It is unfair. Especially when good-looking people complain how unfair it is that no one sees beyond their looks.’ Alys laughed dryly. ‘Inshallah, Jena will certainly marry Bungles. But there will be no such ending for me.’

  ‘I know why you are saying that,’ Sherry said. ‘It’s that Wickaam. You are besotted by his looks.’

  ‘I don’t get besotted by looks,’ Alys said. ‘You should know that much about me after ten years of friendship, Sherry.’

  ‘I know that you are human. But as your friend and well-wisher, let me advise you to put Wickaam aside and focus on grabbing Darsee.’

  ‘Will you please not use that disgusting word? You sound just like my mother.’

  ‘Grab it, grab it,’ Sherry joked, half seriously. ‘Grab Valentine Darsee because, trust me, he wants to be grabbed by you. Alys, listen to me: Wickaam seems nice, but Darsee has a lifestyle that only real money can buy.’

  ‘Money is not everything. And too many rich men have a tendency to be horrid because they think money stands in for character, decency, and smarts.’

  ‘Money is a safety net for everything that may not work out in life.’

  ‘Not if your husband is a control freak or a stingy hoarder.’

  ‘I really don’t think Darsee is either. You two even share a love of reading.’

  ‘I don’t want to share a love of anything with him, thank you,’ Alys said. ‘And luckily for both Wickaam and Darsee, I’m not a gold-digger. I refuse to seek a rich roti. I’m going to make my own money and live happily ever after on my own terms.’