by Soniah Kamal
‘Fart Bhai!’ Lady said. ‘Fart Bhai is the big surprise? Is this a joke?’
‘What’s there to joke about?’ Mrs Binat said. ‘He is an up-and-coming EIP, extremely important person.’
‘He’s a purity pervert,’ Lady said. ‘He told me that I shouldn’t wear skintight shirts.’
‘He’s right,’ Mari said. ‘And don’t dare insult pious men by labelling them purity perverts.’
‘Women like you are the biggest purity perverts of all.’
‘Now, Lady,’ Mrs Binat said, ‘do not disrespect Kaleen in any way. He’s coming to check Mari’s asthma, as well as other patients in Dilipabad, and I would like all of you girls – and you too, Barkat – to make yourselves amenable to him.’
‘He is a popcorn-nosed yuck-thoo,’ Lady said. ‘I’m not even going to come downstairs while he’s here.’
‘I will,’ Mari said.
‘I bet,’ Lady said, ‘you’re looking forward to Fart Bhai’s stethoscope roaming all over your chest.’
‘Lady,’ Alys said, ‘have you lost all sense of decorum?’
‘Aunty Alys, who made you the Superintendent of Virtue and Vice? At the New Year’s party I was dancing with Shosha Darling – Shosha Darling! – and you dragged me off the table like a paindu, a yokel. Bungles—’
Jena left the room.
‘Thanks for bringing him up yet again,’ Alys said.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ Lady said. ‘You provoked me. You always do.’
‘Honestly, Lady,’ Qitty said. ‘You are so inconsiderate.’
‘Shut up, baby elephant.’
‘You shut up,’ Qitty said, ‘Miss See-Through Nightie You-You Eyes while Wickaam was here.’
‘Tauba, you girls are too much for me,’ Mr Binat said, also leaving the room.
‘I wish,’ Mrs Binat sighed, ‘that I too could be the sort of parent who can walk away from my daughters. Alys, go see that the guest room is ready for Kaleen. Why are you staring at me? Go. Do as you are told.’
Farhat Kaleen arrived at Binat House exactly on time. Punctuality was a good habit no matter how un-Pakistani, he said, as he exited his car and his driver took out his bags. He beamed at all the Binats standing in the driveway to greet him, a gesture he found befitting his stature. He gave Alys a once-over and approved of her white wide-leg trousers, white eyelet tunic, and the sunset shawl thrown around her shoulders. His nose wrinkled at Lady’s tight jeans and tight T-shirt saying GALZ RULZ on her plump bosom. Ever since his wife’s death, his daughter’s attire had begun to lapse for lack of proper supervision, but – Kaleen smiled at Alys – that would soon be remedied. He was pleased to see Alys avert her eyes from him and proceed indoors. Such was indeed expected of a girl from a good family, and it warmed his loins.
After Kaleen freshened up from his journey, he checked Mari, recommending she continue her breathing exercises. As soon as that formality was finished, he requested a tour of Binat House and, assessing each room with the eyes of a future son-in-law looking to impress colleagues and clients – especially Begum Beena dey Bagh – he was pleased with what he saw.
Dinner was served after the Isha prayers, and Kaleen was delighted at the Binats’ generous spread of mutton karahi, beef seekh kebabs, ginger chicken, eggplant in tomatoes, creamy black dal, potato cutlets, cucumber raita, and kachumber salad.
‘You girls,’ Kaleen said as Mr Binat invited him to begin, ‘must have spent all day in the kitchen.’
‘We have a full-time cook,’ Mrs Binat said tersely. ‘And when he’s on holiday, Hillima takes over. My girls never set foot in the kitchen unless they want to for fun.’
‘I meant no offence,’ Kaleen said. ‘My late wife was an exceptional cook, and I only wanted to pay my compliments to the chef of such delicious fare.’
The cook, Maqsood, was called from the kitchen, and Kaleen, pressed into a corner to perform social obligations, tipped the fellow. Hillima appeared on the cook’s heels, touting her contributions to the meal, and Kaleen delved back into his pocket with a forced smile.
Later, Maqsood and Hillima shared notes and concluded that Kaleen had not been as stingy as Wickaam but they prayed that the next visitor to grace Binat House would not only have money but also be bighearted.
Kaleen filled his plate to the maximum as Mrs Binat handed him entrée after entrée. He was happy to see that Alys ate sparsely and with sophistication. By contrast, Lady had a robust appetite and kept licking her lips.
‘My late wife,’ Kaleen said as he tore apart a roghni naan, ‘believed women who eat freely find it hard to control their desire in other matters too.’
‘What other matters?’ Lady asked naughtily, her fleshy lips glistening with ghee.
Kaleen glanced at her distastefully. ‘Begum Beena dey Bagh also believes gluttony is unappetising in a woman.’
Alys wished she’d overfilled her plate like a glutton supposedly might, however she had little appetite. The phone had rung earlier that evening, and she’d seen Jena’s face light up and then fall when it had turned out to be Mari’s friend. Now Jena played with a teaspoon’s worth of food on her plate, and even though their mother had instructed the cook to prepare Jena’s favourites round the clock – spaghetti keema and Kashmiri mustard greens with white rice – she barely ate.
‘Beena dey Bagh was not at the NadirFiede wedding?’ Mr Binat asked.
‘Rest assured,’ Kaleen said, ‘she was the first luminary to whom an invitation was sent. Unfortunately, Begum Beena dey Bagh has been unable to attend many functions this winter on account of Annie suffering a setback. Far be it from me to ever brag, but they are lucky to have discovered me – otherwise, who knows what state Annie may have been in by now. She could even be dead. In which case, I tell mother and daughter, I am not just a doctor but also a saviour, Annie’s hero.’
‘Is such self-praise,’ Mr Binat asked with a straight face, ‘spontaneous or practised?’
‘Both,’ Kaleen said. ‘For example, the food on this table deserves spontaneous praise, and so I gave it, but in homes where the food is tasteless, practised praise is required. Same rule applies for the accomplishments of men and the looks of ladies.’
‘The looks of ladies?’ Mrs Binat said.
‘Yes,’ Kaleen said. ‘Praising plain and ugly girls makes their day, so they tell me. I now regard it as sawab ka kaam, God’s own good work.’
‘What’s wrong with Annie?’ Alys asked, for she was curious about Wickaam’s and Dracula’s cousin.
‘Sad story,’ Kaleen said, ladling a hefty amount of ginger chicken onto his plate.
Annie was once a vibrant girl standing five foot eleven in her bare feet and studying at Berkeley, after which she’d planned to return to Pakistan to join her mother’s business. Along the way, Annie was discovered at an airport by a fashion designer, and next she knew it, she was walking runways. One weekend she’d gone on a camping trip, after which her health began to fail rapidly. She’d sought Kaleen out at a medical conference where he was a guest speaker on autoimmune afflictions. ‘I’m Pakistani,’ she said, ‘you’re Pakistani. Please help me. Not too long ago, I was walking in stilettos, and now here I am with a walking stick. Nothing shows up in my blood work and doctors insist it’s all in my head. Please help me.’
‘I helped her,’ Kaleen continued. ‘Within days, thanks to the guidance of Almighty God, she was better. But once the conference ended I returned to England, and next I know, Begum Beena dey Bagh is offering me a dream package to move to Pakistan, and here I am.’
‘Inshallah,’ Mari said, once Kaleen was done, ‘may Annie dey Bagh and every other human being suffering from disease and illness be fully restored to health.’
‘Ameen,’ everyone at the table said, cupping their palms and looking skyward.
‘Summa ameen,’ Kaleen said, invoking a double blessing as he appraised Mari anew. His eyes lingered on the gold Allah-in-Arabic pendant nestling in her cleavage and visible beneath her muslin dupatta.
Perfectly pious but, compared to Alys’s striking looks, quite insipid.
Dessert was brought out – a vibrant beetroot halwa and chai, after which Kaleen asked to retire for the night. He gave Mrs Binat a special look, which she rightly interpreted as his wanting to be fresh for the life-altering event the next day. After bidding him sweet dreams, she sent everyone to their rooms for an early night. They should all rest, she decided, for tomorrow would bring one long celebration.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Farhat Kaleen came down for breakfast with his heart beating fast. He’d never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d have to propose twice in his lifetime, but this was obviously God’s plan. He entered the dining room and was pleased to see that the Binat girls were still at breakfast. His eyes glanced at the food first – fried eggs, Pakistani omelette brimming with cumin and green chillies, potato bhujia, French toast, and cornflakes – and then at Alys, who was nibbling on a boiled egg and sipping black coffee.
She was reading the newspaper, which was all right by him – being a good woman did not mean being uninformed. But he frowned for a moment at her tracksuit bottoms and T-shirt that read NOT YOUR AVERAGE BEHEN JEE. Then he smiled. The casualness of her outfit at this most momentous of events for her would be but their first sweet memory.
Best, Kaleen decided as he looked for a place to sit, to do the deed on a full stomach. Mr Binat was not present. Alys was at the foot of the table, flanked by Mari, drinking the herbal tea he’d prescribed, and Qitty and Lady, who sat in a nightie too flimsy for his comfort. He glanced at the empty chair beside Jena. Best not to sit next to her either, since she was getting engaged and so belonged to another man. He finally settled beside Pinkie Binat and took hefty servings of everything.
Mrs Binat gave Kaleen an encouraging maternal smile, even as she wished he’d dressed differently. He was wearing a skintight red T-shirt and pale-grey trousers. This ensemble may have looked snazzy on the K-pop musicians Lady and Qitty watched on MTV Asia, but on Kaleen it failed. For one, his nipples were pointedly on display through the fabric. Lady and Qitty were smirking and Mrs Binat glowered at them to stop, as did Mari. Mrs Binat wished Kaleen would hurry his breakfast before Alys left, and as soon as he swallowed his last bite, she scrambled up and ordered her daughters to come with her.
‘Except you, Alys meri jaan, my darling, you stay,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘Best daughter of mine, I’ve given my blessings to Kaleen, but it is only fitting that in this brave new world you get to say yes yourself.’
Alys stared at her mother. Things fell into place. How could her mother believe that she and this man could be a match? Her sisters exited with sympathetic looks – even Lady looked sad – and, before Alys knew it, she was alone with Kaleen. She abruptly rose from her seat, and Kaleen rose too. He plucked a droopy gladiolus from the vase on the table and held it to his heart.
‘Alys,’ he began, even though Alys raised her hands to stop him, ‘my sweet Alys, you are the sweetest creature. And believe me, my late wife would have agreed. Sweet chaste Alys, make me the happiest man in all of Pakistan, in the world, and marry this humble servant of yours?’
‘No!’
‘I know good girls are trained to say no at first, for eagerness does not become them—’
‘Stop! Please stop! My no means no.’
‘Sweet, sweet Alys, unsullied Alys.’ Kaleen tried to hold her hand. ‘Demureness becomes you, my sweet!’
‘I am not demure.’ Alys clasped her hands behind her back. ‘Trust me.’
‘Sweet, sweet Alys, with such sweet, sweet lips, from which emanates such sweet bashfulness, stop playing with my heart, my sweetheart, and agree to be my virtuous wife.’
‘Please stop proposing!’
‘So coy. So coy. This was my late wife’s reaction at first too.’
‘Kaleen Sahib’ – Alys took one step towards the door – ‘I have no idea why your first wife changed her mind, but I’m not going to. We are incompatible, and I genuinely apologise if anyone in this family has led you to believe otherwise.’
‘Sweetest purest Alys.’ Kaleen took two steps towards her, thrusting the gladiolus at her. It fell to the floor. ‘Even your pretend denials are sending shivers through my heart and other regions. How dearly my late wife would have approved. Our union will be blessed by Begum Beena dey Bagh herself, and we will make a power couple the likes of which Pakistan has yet to see. Were I younger, indeed, sweet innocent queen of my heart, I would be proposing to you from astride a stallion, but—’
Alys burst out of the dining room, only to bump into her mother, whose ear had been glued to the door. Pinkie Binat reached out to seize Alys, but she dodged her mother and fled to her father’s study. Mr Binat was in his armchair. He was toasting his toes at an electric heater, the double rods glowing a fiery orange, and he glanced up at her from a compendium of Rumi’s ruminations.
‘Why are your feathers aflutter, Princess Alysba?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Daddy, did you know why Mummy invited that odious uncle to our house? Did you know?’
‘Know what?’ Mr Binat sat up at the distress in his favourite daughter’s voice.
‘She wants me to marry that buffoon.’
‘Not a buffoon,’ Mrs Binat said, entering and banging shut the study door. ‘He’s a first-rate catch for the likes of you!’
‘He’s hardly a first-rate catch for a clown, let alone for the likes of me,’ Alys said.
‘What is going on?’ Mr Binat asked.
‘Farhat Kaleen wants to marry this ungrateful fool,’ Mrs Binat said, ‘and she is refusing.’
‘Daddy, how can I marry that man?’
‘How can you not?’ Mrs Binat roared. Alys was nearly thirty-one years old. Soon her waist would thicken and she would grow stout. Her hair would thin and what would be left would turn to grey wires and she’d be dependent on hair dye for the rest of her life. Her skin would wrinkle, her neck would droop, and her eyes would go from being beautiful to just another pair of fine eyes. A woman’s curse, Mrs Binat reminded Alys, was to age, no matter what Alys believed.
‘Barkat, you’d better make your daughter marry Farhat Kaleen, or I swear I’ll never talk to her again.’
‘Alysba is not going to marry him,’ Mr Binat said. ‘And perhaps, Pinkie, my love, it might be best for your nerves if you do stop talking to her.’
Alys gave a sigh of relief. Her father had ended the matter, for had he sided with her mother, she would have faced a formidable battle. Alys turned victorious eyes on her mother and, fleeing to her bedroom, she cried in relief.
Mrs Binat’s heartbroken shrieks must have surely reverberated all the way to Sherry’s house, for Sherry, who’d been preparing breakfast for her family, decided that she must pay the Binats a visit. Farhat Kaleen was visiting them, and she wanted to request he take a look at her diabetic mother’s swollen feet.
As soon as breakfast was done and she’d washed and dried the utensils and fed her cat, Yaar, Sherry grabbed the translations Alys had requested of Manto’s story ‘Khol Do’ and Ghulam Abbas’s ‘Anandi’, and she hummed her way to Binat House.
Lady and Qitty opened the front door. Sherry thought she could hear shouting coming from inside the house.
‘You’re in for a treat,’ Lady said, pulling her in. ‘The house is in an uproar.’
Sherry had never ever known the fifteen-year-old Lady to whisper.
‘Has Bungles, thankfully, finally proposed to Jena?’
‘Fart Bhai has proposed to Alys,’ Lady cut in.
Sherry blinked. Alysba and Farhat Kaleen?
‘And Alys,’ Qitty said, ‘has point-blank refused. Our parents are yelling so loudly I’m sure Fart Bhai, who slunk into the guest room after Alys’s rejection, can hear them too.’
‘I thought it was going to be yet another boring day Chez Binat,’ said Lady, linking arms with Sherry and Qitty as they walked to the living room. ‘But this is better than my wildest dreams. Fart Bhai and
Alys up a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Fart Bhai told Alys that if he were younger, then he would have come for her on a stallion. Can you imagine that purity pervert on a horse? Waise himmat dekho popcorn naak ganje ki, Alys se shaadi! Imagine the popcorn-nosed baldy’s boldness in proposing to Alys!’
‘He’s a decent catch, Lady,’ Sherry said, sighing.
‘You and my mother always think alike,’ Lady said.
Sherry shrugged. A marriage was a marriage and Farhat Kaleen was no ordinary frog, and Mrs Binat, poor woman, could see that, even if her daughters refused to.
They stepped into the living room. Mrs Binat lay on the sofa while Mari gloomily applied headache balm to her mother’s temples.
‘As-salaam alaikum, Pinkie Khala,’ Sherry said, sitting beside her.
‘Walaikum-asalaam.’ Mrs Binat managed an anguished smile. ‘Have you heard what your foolish friend has done? I ask you, if something was wrong with Kaleen, would I insist upon my daughter marrying him?’
Mrs Binat took a moment to blow her nose into her dupatta – not a very classy thing to do, she knew, but given the circumstances who could blame her? Such a decent proposal, and Alys had broken her heart by not only snubbing it but also running to her father for protection. The same father whose family was the reason they were stuck in Dilipabad with no worthy proposals to begin with.
‘Is not Farhat Kaleen marriageable material?’ Mrs Binat implored of Sherry. So what if she herself would never have considered him back in her day? That was then, and this is now.
Sherry nodded. ‘Any sensible girl would deem him a great grab.’
‘My daughters are not sensible.’ Mrs Binat gazed with hurt eyes at Sherry. ‘You must make your friend see sense, Sherry. It is all up to you now. Promise me you will make your foolish friend marry him.’
Before Sherry could promise anything, the living room door swung open and Jena and Alys entered.
‘Sherry,’ Alys said. ‘I heard you’d come.’
‘Here she is!’ Mrs Binat flared her nostrils at Alys. ‘The most thankless daughter in the universe. God knows I love my daughters equally, but you, Alys, have always been my least favourite, for you put yourself before the well-being of this family. It’s your father’s fault. Always indulging you. What’s your life plan now? To become Teacher of the Year and die an old maid? Oh God, better to remain barren than birth a disobedient child.’