‘Those Laeeqs! Always so sneaky, I’m sure they kept it on purpose. Their daughter Shazia, bechari, is so plain compared to our girls.’ Jameela said. ‘Even though she’s the only daughter and will inherit property,’ she added with a tinge of resentment.
He produced a thick cream envelope containing a stack of gilt-edged invitation cards from behind his back with a flourish.
‘Oh, Jaadu, you’re the best,’ squealed Jameela. ‘Girls, girls, look what your father has brought!’
The girls trailed into the room. The youngest two were giddy with excitement, and immediately started discussing potential outfits. Their mehndi outfits must be particularly eye-catching. It would be so much fun. They would dance the night away and take a million selfies! Jahan also looked pleased, but Elisha acted cool though she was also excited to be going to one of the year’s biggest society weddings. While they would always have some cachet as a former landowning family, they couldn’t afford to repay anyone’s lavish hospitality, and invitations had dwindled. Jameela was going to make sure this wedding wasn’t a wasted opportunity.
That weekend when the Baig family piled into their trusty white 1999 model Toyota Corolla, the girls were dressed to the nines. Care had taken the place of expense, and their clothes, made by a local tailor, looked as good as anything seen in shop windows. More than their ensembles, it was their youth and their barely suppressed excitement that made them radiant. Jahan was wearing a white gharara spangled with silver-gold ganga-jamni embroidery from her mother’s trousseau, channelling a Mughal princess from a period drama. Elisha was pretty in a pale pink kurta pajama with a delicate ruby jewellery set in yellow gold, her dark, lustrous hair swishing at her waist. Khadija and Leena were vibrant in lemon and lime, traditional mehndi colours, with matching glass bangles tinkling on their slim wrists.
Jameela had chosen a gold organza outfit for herself, a trifle garish at her age, but she had never been one for subtlety. She had applied bright red lipstick and her heavily highlighted blonde hair had been backcombed into a mini-bouffant. One could tell that she’d been pretty in her youth, but she couldn’t afford a dermatologist’s fees for regular fillers and Botox like her friends. She covered up her skin, a little saggy and sallow from menopause, with a thick layer of foundation, powder, and rouge, that only seemed to enhance her wrinkles, and age her beyond her years.
The Corolla drove up the congested street of the bride’s family home with bright, white spotlights illuminating the way, as few of the public streetlights were functional. A huge yellow generator, parked in front of the house, roared and groaned in turn. Cars snaked around the house, with wedding guests being dropped off by chauffeurs at the entrance. The pulsating beat of the dhol could be heard even at a distance. Javed dropped his family at the gate, thronged by guards, and drove off to park his car in a vacant plot of land near the house. Once inside, he spent his evening with old family friends and didn’t see the ladies again until it was time to leave.
A lush canopy of red roses interwoven with twinkling fairy lights decorated the entrance, flanked by massive wrought iron candelabras. The entire house was covered with white fairy lights. Guests could tell that the Mirzas had spared no expense in hiring a fashionable event planner to handle the décor. An all-encompassing velvet marquee covered the sculpted garden, converting it into a makeshift ballroom. An illuminated dance floor blinked with coloured disco lights in the centre, below a contrived floral ceiling lit by myriad LEDs. A flower-bedecked platform bearing a traditional carved wooden swing for the bridal couple had been placed next to one side of the dance floor, so that the two could watch the action. The younger lot had been practicing choreographed Bollywood dance routines for a month.
Round dining tables shrouded in white table cloths and accompanied by acrylic chairs dotted the back of the lawn that was edged by buffet tables. These would later be groaning under the weight of a vast array of elaborate entrées and sides. Golden satin sofas were lined up for the expectant guests, the front ones reserved for the all-important bridegroom’s family. Massive flower arrangements were perched on tall cocktail tables and added height in the mingling area. A tall mirrored bar, upon which bottles of Black Label, Grey Goose, and French table wine were proudly displayed, had a throng of early-bird drinkers in front of it, loath to end their happy hour anytime soon. The bartenders in their starched white uniforms already appeared a little sozzled as well, mixing drinks for the guests while sneaking shots for themselves behind the bar.
The giggling girls sauntered off to join their friends, where they stood possessively by the colourfully decorated henna platters dotted with tiny birthday candles. The girls chosen for the all- important role of carrying the henna platters and walking alongside the bride as part of her entourage were considered the bridesmaids and had all eyes on them as they carried out their special tasks. Enjoying their time in the limelight, they pouted and posed for selfies for their Instagram and SnapChat accounts, some being picked up by glossies always on the lookout for pretty faces at society weddings.
‘Look, look,’ Aneela said to Jameela, who was blowing air kisses to her acquaintances. ‘Those are the boys from Dubai I was telling you about.’
Tall and handsome, though with the hint of a frown, Faiz Dar was dressed in a black kurta shalwar, and had a physique that suggested regular visits to the gym. Bhatti was leaner, of moderate height, and had an open smile. He was dressed in a snowy-white kurta shalwar. The two young men, who had unwittingly become the talk of the town just by showing up, were chatting while watching the groups of chattering girls parading for their benefit, Dar with slight disdain and Bhatti with some interest.
The bride’s brother, their friend, Kemal Mirza, pointed out various personages to them, particularly, the more attractive girls. He wanted to show all his out-of-town friends, some coming from as far as London and NYC, that his city was also sophisticated, enjoyable, and boasted of some of the finest looking young women in the world. Faiz, who had grown up in Lahore, didn’t look very impressed.
‘Look, the Baig girls have arrived. Jahan and Elisha are pretty hot! That one with the really killer figure is Leena, she’s still way too young. But you should dance with the older two, they’re attractive,’ Kemal said to his friends, sotto voce, as the sisters stopped near them to kiss some of their friends hello.
‘I don’t do bhangra, sorry,’ said Dar, even though he enjoyed dancing, he was just so sick of incessantly being set up. ‘Yeah, Jahan’s quite pretty, but Elisha is just OK. She isn’t hot enough to tempt me.’
Elisha was standing near enough to hear Dar voice his opinion, but acted as though she hadn’t, and laughed with much fake mirth at her friend Shazia’s joke. What an arrogant prick, she thought furiously, nostrils flaring. What’s his problem?
She shot him a look of utter disdain just as he looked up and caught her eye. Realising she’d overheard his offhand remark, he felt his face heating up. She looked away and laughed at what her friend was saying. A look of disdain from a single woman? Could it be that she wasn’t interested in him? The situation was unheard of. He smiled, in spite of himself. When he looked up again, she was gone. He found himself looking for her through the crowd.
Kemal beckoned a chubby guy dithering at the edge of their group hoping to join them. Chughtai was a balding bachelor in his late 30s with a distinctly seedy look to him and an over-friendly manner.
‘Kemal! How are you, yaar? Have you seen Elisha anywhere? My cousin always runs off when she sees me, she’s such a shy girl. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she didn’t like me.’ He laughed raucously. ‘She’s pretty hot now that she’s all grown up! Yaar, are you from out of town?’ he said to Faiz. ‘I haven’t run into you anywhere before, I am sure, and I go everywhere!’ Chughtai said, putting an arm chummily around Faiz’s shoulder. Seeing the latter frowning, he thought it best to remove it. Faiz walked off without answering.
Walking through the party, Faiz was mystified to find himself st
ill looking for the girl who’d shot him that look. He found her standing near the dance floor with a gaggle of young women, all of whom smiled as he approached.
‘Faiz, beta,’ bellowed a matronly woman dressed to the hilt in all her finery. ‘There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. Why aren’t you dancing and enjoying yourself like all the other young people?’
Not waiting for him to answer, Polly, as she was known to young and old alike, pulled her oldest friend’s son roughly by the hand and shoved him towards Elisha. ‘She isn’t dancing either, I don’t know why. Go on, you two!’ she said, high-handedly. They gently collided.
‘Er hi…I’m Faiz Dar. Sorry, but it looks like we’re dancing together. Polly doesn’t take no for an answer and will just harass me till I do what she wants.’
‘She just wants you to dance, she doesn’t care who you dance with,’ Elisha said.
‘She literally pushed me at you,’ Faiz said, raising an eyebrow and risking a smile.
‘I’m sure there are plenty of girls who would dance with you, but I’m not one of them.’
Faiz looked at her, unsure as to whether she was being serious or mocking him.
‘I really don’t dance with people I don’t know or haven’t been properly introduced to,’ she elaborated. ‘Especially if they think I’m just OK. I have some standards!’
‘I suppose I deserved that,’ Faiz said, looking so sheepish that Elisha laughed in spite of herself. She looked at his outstretched hand and slowly placed her slender palm in it.
To the envy of the girls around them, they began dancing to the remix of a soulful Rahat Fateh Ali Khan ballad. Faiz was rhythmic but restrained compared to the brisk young men that dominated the dance floor. Fuelled by their heavy drinks, they were leaping with such exuberance that the dance floor trembled.
The worst offender was a happily high Chughtai who could be seen bopping up and down vigorously on the floor, his arms and legs flailing in multiple directions. He interspersed this with loud whooping. His kurta was unbuttoned to reveal twin mounds of hairy flesh—B-cup moobs, and a gold chain that lay nestled in the valley between. Tiny beads of perspiration created a misty halo around him as his cloying cologne mingled with his wafting body odour. Shazia Laeeq, his dance partner, looked relieved that she wasn’t dancing alone at the periphery for once.
‘So, you’re from out of town, aren’t you? How do you find Lahore?’ Elisha sought safety in asking the generic question that every visitor is asked, as she swayed sensuously to the music.
‘Well, I grew up here, but I haven’t lived here since I was eighteen. It’s been a decade already.’
‘It’s probably still the same in most ways, isn’t it…where’d you go to university?’
‘Exeter in England. Then I started working in Dubai to be near enough my parents without giving up my independence.’
‘Didn’t they want you back home, though?’ asked Elisha with surprise. Most people who inherited sizeable incomes returned to their parents’ homes after acquiring polish overseas.
‘See, that’s where I draw the line. I wanted to make it on my own, not take the easy way by joining the family business.’ Faiz was unused to speaking so easily, especially to a girl he’d just met.
‘Yes, I understand,’ she said. He’s not such a dick after all. ‘I want to make my own way too.’
They were oddly comfortable speaking to each other, yet not relaxed for being hyper-aware of the other’s presence. A little quickening of the heartbeat could be due to the physical exertion of the dance, their proximity magnetically pulling the two in a seemingly synchronised movement. The rest of the world dimmed and they felt a golden otherworldly glow around themselves, perhaps due to the ambient lighting.
‘You mean you want to find your own husband and not have an arranged marriage?’ he said with a smug, tight smile as if he’d figured her all out.
‘No,’ Elisha said sharply. ‘I want to have a career, a proper career. I’ve always enjoyed reading and writing—I grew up surrounded by my father’s books, which I read cover to cover several times,’ she explained passionately. ‘I love stories, writing, and want to become a journalist. I know it doesn’t pay very well, but that’s what I’d love to do: become a professional writer. I’d go crazy trying to run a house!’ She smiled. ‘My mother hates that I don’t want to be a housewife, but I keep telling her the world doesn’t revolve around men any longer.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. Trust me, I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve been pursued by many matchmaking Aunties, and got hit on by plenty of single girls on this trip.’
Elisha raised her eyebrows at his arrogance.
‘I could be the serial killer from American Psycho for all they know,’ he continued, ‘just as long as I’m single, it seems to be enough for them. Most don’t even try to be subtle. I wish I could swipe people away in real life as easily as on Tinder. Takes all the fun out of the chase.’
‘Oh, really? Maybe you should take it as a compliment that they find you so irresistible and think you are the most eligible man on Earth,’ she replied, with an edge in her voice.
‘I am the most eligible man on Earth,’ Faiz said, drily. They both laughed.
‘Saif and I are here for a week. Are you going to attend the other functions?’ Faiz found himself asking to his own astonishment.
She sighed. ‘Well, I’m expected. I’m not sure why weddings are so never-ending that the bride and groom are left drained and exhausted at the start of their new life!’ she stopped and flushed, remembering how close Faiz and Kemal were. ‘I shouldn’t complain, of course. It’s a beautiful wedding, and it was very kind of Uncle Jehangir and Aunty Momo to invite us.’
Faiz laughed at her refreshing artlessness.
‘It’s OK, I totally understand. It can be a bit much. I’m only here because I’ve known Kemal since our Aitchison days. We always got called in to the headmaster’s together. He’d kill me if I missed any of his sister’s wedding. Well, I’m glad you’re going to be here.’
‘Let’s see,’ she said, fully intending to be at every event but not wanting to give him that reassurance.
He smiled. Finally, a girl not bending over backwards to see him again.
The song came to an end and Dar put his hand on the small of Elisha’s back to guide her through the crowd. Nearby, Chughtai was still prancing up and down. Just then, he stomped on Shazia’s toes. The poor girl let loose a cry of pain that was mercifully drowned by the music, and skipped just out of his reach. Elisha couldn’t help but chuckle.
The smile fell from Elisha’s face when she noticed Leena on the dance floor, grinding with Dilawar. They were far too close. She glanced around to see who else was watching her sister drape herself around the young guy. What the hell was she doing, behaving like she was in a music video at a wedding full of friends, family and not-so-well-wishers? Elisha stalked up to her.
‘Leena! Do you know how you look?’ she hissed.
Dilawar immediately disengaged himself, leaving Leena to slump onto her sister.
‘You come with me!’ Elisha said, holding her wrist, trying to remove her from the dance floor without making a scene.
‘Aaaapa!’ Leena whined. ‘We’re having so much fun. Don’t be a bore.’
‘Have you been drinking?’ Elisha whispered aghast, catching a whiff of her breath.
‘I just took a sip of Dilawar’s cranberry juice, I was thirsty. Wanna try some?’
‘She grabbed it from me, Elisha, and downed it,’ Dilawar said quickly. ‘I didn’t give it to her. What can I do? She’s old enough.’
‘She’s only sixteen!’ Elisha shot him a threatening glance as he walked away.
Leena tried to follow him, pulling Elisha behind her with such force that Elisha felt herself losing her balance.
Oh God! It will be an utter disaster if we collapse on the dance floor in front of all 800 guests like a pair of drunkards, Elisha thought in blind panic.
Just then, a strong, steadying hand was thrust forward to help her. It was Faiz. Elisha raised her eyes to silently thank him for sparing her further humiliation and vaguely noticed his mouth was pursed and body had stiffened in disapproval. He must be shocked at Leena’s behaviour, but surely, he’s seen worse, and indeed, done worse himself. Typical double standards, she thought, disappointed. She pulled a reluctant Leena towards her mother who was chatting with Aneela in her customarily loud voice.
‘Dekha, I told you my girls will do well. That Bhatti boy has been talking to Jahan all night,’ she said giggling like a schoolgirl. ‘And Faiz Dar has been dancing with Elisha. If I have told them once, I have told them a hundred times, the importance of making a good match. No more tension for me!’
Elisha blushed to the roots of her hair on hearing her mother spouting embarrassing nonsense, instead of keeping an eye on Leena who was young and silly and whose every emotion announced itself on her face. She saw some of the other girls her age drinking and flirting and sought to copy them, not yet understanding that her family wasn’t rich or well-connected enough to get away with that sort of behaviour. The Baigs would be torn to shreds by gossipmongers, who, as it is, had a field day with Jameela’s utter lack of discretion. It’s different when Old Lahore or the children of the very affluent are spotted drinking and dancing, pressed up against some other rich kid – people only criticise who they dare.
She looked around to see who else may have heard her mother and was mortified to see Faiz following her at a discreet distance. He must have heard everything about her mother’s purported matchmaking. She knew exactly what he must be thinking, that she’d been a willing part of this plan, that she was like every other girl here. To her immense horror, Elisha realised that embarrassment aside, what Faiz thought of her actually mattered to her.
‘Mama, take care of Leena, she’s not feeling well,’ she said and deposited her burden on to the sofa beside her mother and aunt. ‘Maybe we should leave soon?’
Austenistan Page 2
