Unmarriageable

by Soniah Kamal

  ‘Good for you, my dear,’ Nona said. ‘Now, remember to behave there.’

  ‘Goodness, Aunty Nona, you’re as boring as Aunty Alys. What are our plans for tonight?’

  They went out to dinner at a new Thai restaurant, after which they picked up the latest Indian film, Dil Chahta Hai. Alys declared it excellent for its blend of a serious topic with commercial flair, though her three seminal films remained Dhool Ka Phool, Umrao Jaan, and Insaf Ka Tarazu, all judged by Lady to be much too gloomy to do anyone any good.

  Overall, Alys decided that night, as she slipped into bed, she was glad she’d come to Lahore, though she wished Lady was not going to Karachi or that Jena was not sitting depressed in Dilipabad. Opening up Sunlight, Alys read a chapter on the protagonist, torn between a duty-bound life and her own desires, and gradually drifted to sleep.

  The next morning, Nona and Alys dropped off a deliriously excited Lady at the airport. Once they returned home, they saw her note stating she’d ‘borrowed’ Nona’s designer sunglasses and blow-dryer but that she really, really needed them in Karachi. Together, Nona and Alys shook their heads at Lady’s audacity and wished Karachi well.

  They began to plan their excursions for the next two weeks. The first week passed in relaxation and merriment. Upon Nisar’s insistence, each day was begun with a leisurely breakfast at home after which they’d visit the site of the day, enjoy dinner out, and end their evening back at home chatting over chai and a board game.

  At the start of the second week, Nona had two final cake deliveries, after which, she assured Alys, she was truly all hers. Alys joined her in the kitchen to help prepare the cakes, a dark-chocolate globe and a rose-flavoured rose garden. The cakes were ready to be delivered by late afternoon. Nisar, Nona, and Alys all got into the car because, after the deliveries, they planned to go for an early dinner. Alys volunteered to go into the houses, and she delivered the globe cake to the mother of an excited birthday girl. The second house was in a very posh area of town, and Nona read from the address, ‘Get ready for this, Alys: Buckingham Palace.’

  Alys chuckled. ‘Did I tell you Beena dey Bagh’s humble abode is named Versailles of Pakistan?’

  They arrived at Buckingham Palace, with its towering metal gates topped with ornamental spears and boundary walls lined with shards of glass glinting like the broken bones of crystal birds. A sleepy-eyed guard opened the gate to their honking, and they proceeded up the long driveway lined with sculpted conifers alongside a vast landscaped garden. Her father would love it, Alys thought as she got out of the car.

  Alys carefully balanced the cake box in her hands and made her way up marble stairs to an elaborately carved front door. She elbow-rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she tried the handle and entered an airy foyer with bright-yellow walls covered with black-and-white sketches of whirling dervishes.

  ‘Hello?’ Alys called out. She walked in farther, finally arriving at stained-glass double doors, and stepped into a large room. Sunlight poured in from a panelled skylight, and floor-to-ceiling windows looked out to a rock plunge pool with a waterfall. A broad-shouldered girl sat cross-legged on the marble floor with her back to the double doors. She was playing a sitar. Her music teacher, Alys presumed, sat before her, bobbing her head to the girl’s strumming. The teacher stopped when she saw Alys. The girl turned around.

  ‘So sorry to have barged in,’ Alys said, ‘but I’m here to deliver the rose garden cake from Nona’s Nices. I rang the doorbell several times.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ the girl said. ‘My teacher, Rani-ul-Nissa jee, and I get so engrossed in practice, we hardly hear anything else.’

  The girl got up, her smile shy but warm as she asked Alys to set the cake on the octagonal coffee table. Alys had seen the girl’s face before. But where? Dear God. She nearly dropped the cake. It was Jujeena Darsee. Not in a bathing suit in a Maldives resort pool with Bungles’s arm around her but towering over Alys in simple cotton culottes and kurti, her hair cut in waves that framed her square chin, her wide feet clad in plush Gucci mules. Jujeena Darsee in the flesh.

  ‘Do you have the receipt?’ Jujeena asked.

  Alys crammed it into Jujeena’s hand. Was Darsee here? She needed to leave as soon as possible.

  ‘Let me get my wallet,’ Jujeena said.

  ‘Juju beta,’ Rani-ul-Nissa said, slipping on her chappals, ‘I think enough for today. Also, I was hoping to see your brother. I wanted to thank him again for his tremendous help towards my husband’s treatment and wheelchair purchase. The generosity has saved his life. A lot of people have money but do not have giving hearts. Your brother is a saint. God bless him.’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ Juju said. ‘But you know he’ll only be embarrassed.’

  ‘I’ve yet to meet a man,’ Rani-ul-Nissa said, strapping on her motorbike helmet, ‘who’s been blessed with so much and yet is so humble.’

  Alys was taken aback at this appraisal of Darsee. She tried to reconcile ‘Darsee’ and ‘humble’ in the same sentence. She couldn’t. Still, this praise was unsolicited and, she could tell, heartfelt. Alys watched Juju and the music teacher exit the room, and then she looked frantically for an escape route in case Darsee appeared. She wished Juju would hurry up with the payment.

  Alys’s eyes flicked over the expensive rugs on the floor, the decadent black-crystal chandelier, the ebony-and-silver floor lamps flanking ivory sofas arranged in semicircles on either side of the room, the forest green silk cushions, and glass vases with white gladioli everywhere. She looked at the huge sepia watercolour of two young women gossiping in what looked like the Thar Desert, the only dashes of colour their ochre dupattas, and, on the opposite wall, the large abstract with swirls and shadows of coppers and russets suggesting a figure on a divan.

  Jujeena returned with the remaining payment. Alys took it, sighing with relief that Darsee had not found her in his house. And then there he was, coming through the doors, dragging in a huge cardboard package.

  ‘Juju, guess—’ Darsee’s voice faded.

  ‘I didn’t know this was your house. I came to deliver the cake. Rose garden. Nona’s Nices. She’s my aunt. Nona is. I didn’t know this was your house. I’m leaving, though, so, bye, thank you.’

  Alys was halfway to the car when she heard footsteps behind her.

  ‘Wait, Alys,’ Darsee called. ‘Come back. I’d like you to meet my sister.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Alys said. ‘My uncle and aunt are in the car and—’

  ‘Ask them to come in too,’ Darsee said, ‘please. You can’t come all the way here and then leave like this.’

  Why not? Alys thought as she tapped on the car window and apprised Nona and Nisar of the situation. Suddenly there was Darsee next to her, inviting them in, using a tone of voice she’d never heard, a tone in direct opposition to the cold tone in which he’d spoken when he’d handed her his letter in the park. While the contents of the letter had certainly softened her assessment of him, Alys wondered what was causing him to so respectfully invite her family members inside for chai. It was always polite, of course, to offer guests, invited or uninvited, a cup of tea, but Darsee was insistent. He was holding open Nisar’s car door and leading him and Nona indoors and introducing them to Juju, who was putting away her sitar in a corner between two decorative tablas.

  ‘Juju,’ Darsee said, ‘this is Alys Binat and her uncle and aunt.’

  ‘Nona and Nisar Gardenaar,’ Alys said. ‘My uncle Nisar is my mother’s brother, the pulmonologist you may remember us mentioning when my sister twisted her ankle.’

  Darsee’s blink was so rapid that no one save Alys noticed. And she only did because she was on the lookout for his disdain the second her mother and anyone related to her mother were mentioned. Instead, Darsee smiled at Nisar and Nona.

  Alys was glad her aunt and uncle were doing her proud. They were not ones to be impressed by money and social status, and thus, instead of fawning over Darsee, they were treating him like an equal. Juju asked he
r to sit down. Alys sat down. Juju sat beside her and kept giving her shy glances.

  Alys smiled at her. So this was the nervous young girl who’d been taken in by Wickaam and become pregnant and opted to have an abortion. Seeing Juju with her slumped shoulders and trusting smile and her gentle demeanour, Alys couldn’t help but feel protective. Shame on Wickaam for duping this girl. And shame on him for duping the maids who hadn’t even Juju’s privileges. But, then, Alys fully knew that the lure of a handsome face and flirtatious manners was one that could easily bridge class and prove equally irresistible to maid and mistress.

  ‘I love your kurti,’ Alys said to Juju. ‘The colour suits you.’

  ‘Really?’ Juju said. ‘Everyone always tells me that I look good in baby pink, so I wear it a lot. I like your T-shirt so much.’

  Alys was wearing white linen trousers and a black T-shirt saying NOT YOUR AVERAGE AUNTY.

  ‘Thanks. My sister Qitty makes these for fun. How long have you been playing the sitar?’

  ‘A year,’ Juju said. ‘I’m not very good.’

  ‘I thought you were playing beautifully.’

  ‘Was I? I do try to practise every day. I wanted to learn the guitar, but my brother said first sitar and then the guitar, and I thought, why not listen to him for once?’

  ‘How very kind of you!’ Darsee smiled indulgently at Juju.

  Alys looked from brother to sister and concluded that Darsee was most definitely not the envious sibling Wickaam had branded him.

  ‘You live in Lahore, right?’ Darsee said, turning to Nisar and Nona.

  Alys braced herself for his grimace at the answer, Jamshed Colony. Instead, Darsee mentioned a dhaba in Jamshed Colony that made the best chicken karahi in town.

  ‘Don’t tell our cook that, though,’ Darsee said. ‘Hussein is quite sensitive.’

  ‘We’ll try not to,’ Nona joked. ‘In fact, that dhaba is one of the reasons we’re reluctant to move from Jamshed Colony. We’ve been living there forever. I’m happy with the schools and my children are well settled, and to dislocate them for a bigger house in a more prestigious area makes little sense.’

  ‘I understand,’ Darsee said. ‘It’s hard to let go of geography. Although – and I’ve told Alys this several times – I believe people like her and me have an advantage having grown up for a time period without any set roots, and so we are quite comfortable letting go of places. We’re the sort of people who believe home is where you make it, and borders are ridiculous, and airports are the most harmonious places on earth.’

  Alys smiled. ‘You make the nomad’s lifestyle sound so ideal, but depending on your personality, it can be really hard to get up and move, physically as well as emotionally.’

  ‘True,’ Darsee said. ‘What are you doing in Lahore? Is your family here too?’

  Alys stared at him. He was asking about her family? With such congeniality?

  ‘My family is in Dilipabad, except for my sister Lady, who’s visiting a friend in Karachi. I’m here to tour Lahore with my uncle and aunt.’

  ‘Hoping to get tickets to the Naseeruddin Shah–Ratna Pathak play in town,’ Nisar said. ‘I had a friend who was supposed to purchase them, but by the time he got around to it, they were all pretty much gone.’

  ‘Ismat Apa Kay Naam?’ Darsee asked. ‘In the Name of Ismat Apa?’

  Nisar nodded.

  ‘We’re going to see that tomorrow evening,’ Darsee said. ‘Are you free? Were you looking for three tickets?’

  ‘Four,’ Nona said. ‘Me, Alys, Nisar, and our nephew, Babur.’

  Darsee phoned someone named Pacman to ask if four more tickets for the play could be arranged. He was put on hold for a moment before being told yes. Darsee refused to take ticket money from Nisar. Next time it could be Nisar’s treat, he said. Alys blinked. When exactly had Darsee learnt good manners? And why was he going out of his way for them? Alys avoided Nona’s glance: this is the rogue who robbed Wickaam of his inheritance?

  ‘Alys,’ Darsee said, ‘Bungles and party are coming to the play tomorrow too.’

  Alys nodded as casually as she could. She turned all her attention to the maid rolling in a tea trolley with silver spoons resting on bone-china platters holding potato cutlets, chicken sandwiches, savory dahi baray, and the rose garden cake, which, it turned out, had not been ordered for a special occasion but because Juju was craving it.

  ‘Daane daane pe likha hai khane wale ka naam,’ Nona said, grandly reciting the proverb – on every grain is written the eater’s name – and she laughed as she took a sliver of her very own concoction. Juju rose to serve everyone tea and snacks.

  How well mannered Juju was, Alys thought, as she accepted a delicate bowl and helped herself to the dahi baray, topping it with deep-fried crackers and fresh chopped coriander. After one bite, Alys declared the mashed white-lentil balls in cumin yoghurt sauce superb.

  ‘I have a friend Sherry who is an excellent cook,’ Alys said. ‘But your cook would give her a run for her money.’

  ‘Are you talking about the Sherry who recently married Farhat Kaleen, my cousin Annie’s doctor?’ Juju asked.

  Alys nodded. She wondered how ridiculous Kaleen had been in front of Juju.

  ‘I met Sherry at my aunt Beena’s house. Sherry is so good-natured and kind.’

  Alys was delighted to hear the compliments.

  ‘And Dr Kaleen is so nice too,’ Juju said. ‘He takes such good care of Annie. A friend of mine tore his ACL, and he also sings Dr Kaleen’s praises.’

  Alys was pleased to see that Juju Darsee, far from being stuck up, instead shared Jena’s propensity for finding good in everyone. The thought of Jena back in Dilipabad saddened Alys. She glanced at Darsee. He looked at ease, perhaps because he was home. But perhaps this persona was the real him, and that other persona, which had earned him the nickname Dracula, was someone else; he sounded nice and friendly, and certainly not like some busybody who would interfere in his friend’s life. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

  Darsee and Nona were talking about the paintings above the sofa sets. Nona admired both the geometric abstract and the women in the desert. She was familiar with the artists, she told Darsee, and she congratulated him on buying art that spoke to him.

  ‘Aunty Nona’s pet peeve,’ Alys said, ‘is people who buy art to match the decor.’

  Upon discovering that Nona had attended the National College of Arts, Darsee had a question for her. He went to the cardboard package he’d dragged in. Nisar helped him open it and they took out a huge pastel in beiges and pale pinks of Lahore’s inner-city rooftops and children flying kites.

  ‘I either got it for a steal,’ Darsee said, ‘or I’ve been robbed.’

  ‘Why?’ Nisar asked.

  ‘Because,’ Nona said, smiling, ‘it’s either real or an imitation. I wish I’d invested in a few of Iqbal Hussain’s paintings back in the day before they became so expensive. Where did you find this?’

  ‘Gallery,’ Darsee said. ‘Owner’s private collection. He said it’s authentic. Except the only art I’ve ever seen by this artist is of women from the red-light area. There is a signature at the back.’ Darsee tilted the painting so Nona could look at it.

  ‘It’s genuine,’ she said. ‘One of his earlier works. Iqbal Hussain was my professor at NCA; if you’re interested, we can visit him and he can confirm it for you.’

  ‘I’d love that,’ Darsee said. ‘In fact, I’d love to meet him.’

  ‘I’ll arrange it, then,’ Nona said. ‘I believe he’s out of the country at the moment, at a conference, but as soon as he’s back.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Darsee said.

  ‘Can I come too?’ Juju piped up. ‘He’s a brilliant artist, the world knows that, but for me, it’s that …’ She stared into her lap. ‘It’s that he doesn’t shy away from who he is and where he comes from. He celebrates his origins. Actually, he thrusts them in the faces of society and says, “Deal with my inconvenient truths.” And he’s getting the last lau
gh, as his stock goes up and respectable women purchase his red-light-area paintings to hang in their drawing rooms, and so it is that women they wouldn’t deign to sit with perpetually look down at them from their walls. I wish … I wish we could all find the courage to tell our truths.’

  Alys’s and Darsee’s eyes connected.

  ‘Of course you can come too, Juju,’ Alys said. ‘You don’t have to ask. In fact, that will be the first step in finding your courage.’

  Juju smiled shyly. Alys caught Darsee’s grateful look, and she hurriedly looked away.

  ‘Please stay for dinner,’ Darsee said, inviting them all.

  ‘We were actually headed to the inner-city Food Street,’ Nisar said, ‘as part of our Tour Lahore. Alys is very fond of Lahori fried fish. Please, you and Juju must join us. But I warn you, this is my treat.’

  Darsee did not hesitate to accept, and they left, only to reconvene on a bustling street lined with open-air eateries, some established as far back as pre-1947 partition. They managed to find a table for their large party in front of a tandoor lit with a string of naked light bulbs and proceeded to order mango lassi and items on a menu they could smell long before they appeared – grilled meats marinated in spicy yoghurts, freshly baked naans glazed with white butter, and onion, ginger, garlic frying in cauldrons, the sizzle and crackle and pop in the open air.

  Soon their order was served, and Alys passed Juju the chickpea-batter deep-fried fish. She asked Juju her interests and hobbies besides music, even as she kept one ear on Darsee, Nisar, and Nona, who were munching away as they discussed the demand for bottled clean air given the rise in pollution worldwide – ‘Laugh, laugh,’ Nisar said, ‘people laughed at bottled water too, but I would advise investing in bottled air; fortunes to be made’ – and the future of Pakistani art and music and its growing popularity internationally.

  Alys could not recall a more pleasant evening, and she was sad when dinner was over. She went to bed happy. Darsee’s stellar behaviour had surprised her and it also thrilled her, and she knew, suddenly, that had he always behaved like a gentleman, things might have been different. She snuggled under the quilt and caressed the spot on her hand where his fingers had so briefly touched hers at the NadirFiede wedding. She flushed. She thought of how he’d come running after her at his home, insisted he wanted his sister to meet her, how graciously he’d welcomed her aunt and uncle, how he’d gone out of his way for tickets, how animated he’d been at dinner, how carefully he’d heard everyone’s views, especially hers, and how respectfully he’d disagreed if he had to, and, when dinner ended, how sincere he’d sounded when he told them that he was looking forward to seeing them the next day. Alys caught her breath as she recalled how he’d glanced at her at that moment.