‘How is Masooma?’
‘She’s loving the States’, Saira said. ‘I wish she didn’t like it so much. I miss her. She rang the other day to ask if I’d mail her a Vital Signs cassette. She heard a song at one of her Pakistani friend’s houses there and she thinks they sound great!’ she added, laughing.
‘That Junaid Jamshed is so cute,’ Nina said, giggling. ‘Our kids will have it better than we did, Saira. See how young people are doing things in Pakistan? Now Zia’s gone, things can only get better. Though you know what they’re saying about Benazir. That she’s married that slimy Zardari and that’ll be the end of her. I hope not.’
Saira and Nina sat back on the sofa. Saira’s eyes scanned the room. The men wore either designer suits or starched white kurtas with fitted black waistcoats, and grouped together in vigorous debate. The women were swathed in vibrant saris and shalwar kameez, bedecked with shimmering jewels and extravagant hairdos that smelled pungently of Aqua Net hairspray, mingled with Calvin Klein Obsession. Several guests held wineglasses filled with orange and pomegranate juice, no doubt spiked with a little something from the hidden backstage bar. There was an assortment of savoury hors d’eouvres going around; one woman was struggling to eat a flaky vol-au-vent without cutting a swathe through her glossy burgundy lipstick.
‘Those samosas look good’ Nina said.
‘Shall I get us some? You keep my seat.’ Saira rose and headed towards the crowd. Now that she was looking, there wasn’t a waiter in sight.
‘Look at her, wearing that loud outfit, baring all that skin, strutting around like Madonna,’ she heard from within a knot of people. The voice was so familiar, she stopped to listen.
‘I actually think she’s quite attractive,’ said another voice, one she’d not heard before.
‘You’re new here, na, you don’t know. If being married didn’t stop her from flirting with everyone’s husband, being widowed definitely won’t.’
Saira flushed and backed away, though not so far that she couldn’t continue to eavesdrop.
‘Did she ever…?’ asked the other lady, incredulous.
‘That I don’t know.’ Saira figured out whose voice it was. Her older cousin, Sabrina. The one Iqbal had been due to marry. ‘But who knows what a woman who can turn on her own relatives is capable of.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, that’s a story for another time. Come, let me introduce you to Tammy Khan. If you know her, it’s like knowing everyone in town.’ The voices faded as the women walked away.
After all these years, despite being married with three children of her own, Sabrina still couldn’t get over what she saw as Saira’s betrayal. She’d given her the cold shoulder at family functions and chimed in, Saira knew, with everyone who’d ever cast aspersions on her through the years. They were all floating about here somewhere, she thought, as she stepped out of the crowd to catch her breath.
And yet, she thought, in spite of it all, there was something she loved about Lahore. It was the city of her birth, of lazy childhood days dancing in the monsoon rain, and sweaty days cursing the summer heat. It was the city where she’d been wed, where her daughter had been born. Where she could always find ways and means of getting what she wanted, either openly or discreetly, through a network of friends, relatives, maids, drivers, and so on. It was a city where the men in the bazaar would either stare at her lasciviously trying their best to brush their hands against her rear, or else lower their eyes and treat her with the utmost respect. It was where the wives of her husband’s colleagues would praise her almond-shaped eyes, her long lashes and the dimple on her smiling cheek, while simultaneously spreading vile rumors about her. Lahore was a city of contradictions and extremes. Nina had, for a long time, been pushing her to move, to make a fresh start in a new city where she wouldn’t be weighed down by everyone’s judgement, but Saira knew, without a doubt, her life wouldn’t be as exciting anywhere else. She couldn’t imagine living in some isolated rural suburb in the West with nothing to entertain her. It was excitement she had always craved, that feeling of being desired or despised, but with a passion. She felt she would rather die than live without passion.
She returned to Nina on the sofa.
‘Couldn’t find the samosas, sorry’ she said.
‘Never mind that, darling! Look over there, by that large bouquet of tuberoses, it’s your little sister and her boyfriend. Her fiancé, right?’ Nina’s eyes glittered with mischief. ‘Does she know that Ghalib once had eyes only for you? That he practically proposed to you every day in college?’
‘Oh, Nina, how could you even say that? That’s all in the past. Shahana only needs to know that now Ghalib loves her and only her.’ Saira glanced over at her sister, trying to catch her eye. A stranger wouldn’t have known Shahana was Saira’s sister. Where Saira had taken her mother’s fine features with her high cheekbones and dimples, Shahana had a solid, homelier aspect and lacked Saira’s quick wit. Still, she looked very pretty today, Saira thought, with a fresh perm, in an oversized red cardigan with shoulder pads over a cheetah print kameez. What Nina had said was true. But what Saira had never told her, or indeed anyone, was that she’d actually been tempted to marry Ghalib before Iqbal – a much safer bet – had shown up. She couldn’t imagine how angry Shahana would feel if she found out. ‘Now, don’t say anything inappropriate in front of them. My sister is quite in love with this one. They’ve been together for more than a year, although, rascal that he is, he keeps delaying when she suggests a date.’ She waved at Shahana and Ghalib till they saw her and began to walk over.
‘I’m telling you,’ said Nina. ‘There’s something I don’t trust about that man. You told me yourself, he was Mr. Casanova in college. Ooh, excuse me darling, I have to say hello to Saeeda! SAEEDA!’ she shouted in the direction of a woman walking in, speeding in her direction.
Ghalib and Shahana joined Saira at the sofa. The two sisters hugged and kissed. Ghalib warmly, and rather unexpectedly, embraced her. ‘How are things, Ghalib?’ she said. ‘And how are Mama and Papa?’ she asked Shahana.
‘The usual,’ Shahana said, rolling her eyes. ‘Always talking about you, wondering when you’ll come to visit, thinking of potential matches for Masooma.’ As Shahana bent down to sit, one of her heels got stuck in the threads of the carpet beneath them, and she stumbled. Bent over at an awkward angle, she attempted to unwind the threads from her thin heel. Saira noticed that Ghalib didn’t even offer to help her.
‘Sit, Shahana,’ she said. ‘Let me help you,’ Saira said, freeing her sister’s shoe.
‘If only our parents had spent this much time thinking about me, I wouldn’t be such an old maid now.’ Shahana laughed away the remark, but Saira knew she meant it. Five years Saira’s junior, Shahana felt like she had grown up in the shadow of her glamorous older sister. She’d resented her when every relationship of hers had fallen through in the past. She felt like she’d spent half her life chasing men, while Saira just had to sit back and look disinterested and they all came running.
She looked over at Ghalib and smiled. ‘Well, hopefully not for too long.’
Ghalib ignored the pointed comment. ‘You’re a vision, today, Saira. And it’s good to see you out again.’ His eyes glossed over her outfit, spending a fraction of a second too long taking in the view of her exposed waistline. ‘I still remember the first time I saw you all dressed up with powdered skin and blush. It was on the night of the Annual Play at Government College. Do you remember?’
‘Oh, Ghalib,’ Saira said, laughing. ‘Why are you reminding me of our college days? That was eons ago. In fact, it’s been more than twenty years.’ She remembered how his handsome face and wry humour had made the girls swoon. She’d not been totally immune herself but she’d acted as if none of that had any effect on her. And anyway, she was betrothed to Iqbal two years later, leaving college before completing her degree.
‘Apa,’ Shahana said, feeling left out. ‘Are those grey hairs I see? Ha
ve you stopped dyeing?’
Saira glared at her, and she smirked.
‘When are you going to come visit? Mama and Papa are always worrying about how you’re all alone in that house.’
It was true. Saira lived on her own now, with just a couple of servants for company. Her mother-in-law had died a few years ago, then Masooma had left for college. Without Iqbal to talk to, she often felt like a shadow floating from one room to the other.
‘I’ll come on the weekend as always, Shahana. I’ve just been busy trying to redecorate.’ Sometimes she pretended it was a brand new house that she’d just moved into. As if it were a new life. ‘You both must come visit me soon and see all the changes.’
‘Where is the house again?’ Ghalib asked. ‘On Gulberg Main Boulevard? I think Shahana pointed it out once when we were driving past. It’s the one with the bright green gate, right?’ Saira nodded. He stood up. ‘Would you excuse me, I have to find a few friends here. See you both later.’ He gave Shahana’s shoulder a squeeze, and looked at Saira as if he was about to say something but then thought better of it.
‘I really wish Mama and Papa wouldn’t worry about me. I mean, I’m forty years old, for God’s sake. I’ve spent half my life taking care of my own family’, Saira said to Shahana, who rolled her eyes again. It was a most unbecoming gesture. ‘Now tell me’ she said, ‘how are things really going with Ghalib?’
‘What exactly do you mean?’
‘Oh, please, Shahana. I’ve known him far longer than you. I know what he can be like. Especially when it comes to women. Not for nothing has he never married. Have you two set a date yet?’
‘In fact,’ Shahana said in hushed tones, ‘we’ve finally decided to get married in October. Ghalib doesn’t want me to tell anyone yet. Now we just have to decide which weekend.’ She beamed like a little girl who had just been handed a prize. ‘Isn’t that wonderful?’
Saira sighed. ‘Well, yes, of course. That’s great.’ She didn’t sound convinced.
‘How is Masooma? Can we expect to see her soon? I hope she’ll be here for the wedding.’
‘She’s graduating in May, but just the other day she said she wanted to stay on in America for a bit to see if she could look for job opportunities. What kind of a mother would I be if I told her not to? But I can’t imagine living so far away from her. I was thinking maybe if she had some incentive to stay, she’d forget all about the US.’ She looked at Shahana with a mischievous grin.
‘Aapa, what exactly are you planning?’ Shahana asked, accusingly.
‘Well, I haven’t found a rishta just yet. But I do have someone in mind.’ Saira surveyed the crowd, which had mostly moved in the direction of the food.
Eventually, the sisters proceeded to the the buffet table where they were split up by people squeezing between them, displaying the customary Pakistani reluctance to queue. Saira ladled a small serving of chicken biryani onto her plate, looking around to see if she could spot someone she might want to sit with. Saira saw Nina waving wildly to her from afar, but she didn’t relish the thought of having forced conversation with her husband. He wasn’t sleazy like other Lahori men but he was dull, which wasn’t all that much better. Where, oh where, was Azaad Kamaal, the 30-year-old heir to Kamaal Industries? Saira had heard rumours that his parents were looking for a potential wife for him. Iqbal and Saira had been well-acquainted with his parents, often invited to lavish dinner parties at their ancestral haveli. She felt, perhaps, that she had a slight upper hand. Well, it wasn’t just that, of course. She had got to know him a little more intimately than she’d wanted.
A 19-year-old Azaad had once found her standing alone on one of the many terraces of his house, annoyed. She’d just fielded one of Tammy Khan’s snide remarks, ‘How lovely that Iqbal bhai isn’t one of those jealous cave men types. Most Lahori men blow a fuse if a woman so much as says hello to another man! Iqbal bhai is so evolved.’ Saira’s lips had pulled into a thin smile at essentially being called a slut, albeit not directly, and instead of letting the cow think she’d touched a nerve by losing her cool, she’d excused herself for a breath of fresh air.
When Azaad found her, she’d been standing there in another one of her silk Banarsi saris, having a cigarette and resting her free arm on the terrace railing.
‘How come you aren’t downstairs, enjoying the party, Auntie?’
Saira nearly choked on the smoke. She was little more than a decade older than him. ‘Auntie? Please, darling. Do me the favour of not making me feel so old. Just call me Saira. And as to your question, well…there are certain people I wish had never been born. Except they were. And they’re at this party.
So I’m giving myself a little time-out to recoup.’ She offered him a cigarette. He was a little shocked, but took one. ‘Now, your turn. How come you’re not at the party? Your parents must have asked you to make an appearance, now that you’re a college boy, visiting from England and all.’
Azaad scoffed. ‘Yeah, more like, they instructed me to attend.’ He looked out into the starless night with a sneer.
‘Everything okay?’ Saira asked. She turned to face him. ‘Really. I’m very good at keeping secrets, and even better at giving advice,’ she said, followed by a conspiratorial wink.
‘Thank you. That’s really kind. But I’m fine, really. I’m just not in the mood for people, you know.’ He took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘My dad’s very big on that, getting me to know people who matter.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ Saira said. ‘But I’m guessing you’re more interested in having fun. A dinner party full of stuffy old people probably pales in comparison to all the other, more exciting things you could be doing.’
‘Well, firstly, not everyone here tonight is old and stuffy. I can name at least one person who’s pretty interesting.’ He smiled.
‘Flattery will get you nowhere, darling,’ she said laughing, till he reached forward and held her hand.
‘I think I’m right where I want to be.’
Saira blushed, immediately realising that she’d been too open, too casual with him.
She laughed nervously, while extricating her hand from his. ‘Aren’t you just a sweetheart! Trying to make your Auntie feel young again.’ She put the cigarette out on the railing and left it there. ‘You know, I probably should be getting back to the party. Before Iqbal sends out a search team for me.’ She put her hand on his shoulder, in as maternal a way as she could manage. ‘It was so nice to see you. All dashing and grown up.’ She began to walk back inside.
‘You know, you didn’t have to do that,’ he smirked.
She turned halfway around. ‘What?’ she asked, innocently.
He walked towards her, with his jaw clenched. For a moment, Saira thought he might hit her. But instead, he tenderly placed one hand on her cheek, and the other on her hip, pulling her close enough to him that she could feel his warm, whisky breath on her face. ‘I’m not as young as you think, you know. And I’m sure we could have a much better time if we both ditched this party.’
Panicked, she pushed him away and fled to the nearest staircase. Her pulse raced as she scurried downstairs and into a bathroom before anyone could see her. Locking the door, she took a deep breath and just stared at herself in the mirror. How strange, she thought. That hadn’t gone at all as expected. At first, she giggled like a schoolgirl and then started scolding herself. Why would he say such a thing? She didn’t know what bothered her more – the fact that he’d hit on her, or the fact that it gave her such a thrill.
She re-joined the party that night, but every time she saw Azaad thereafter, he’d make a point of getting her attention. Sometimes he’d wink at her from afar, or brush his hand against hers. Once he even whispered in her ear when no one was watching, ‘Looking hot, Saira.’ Each time she’d get that flip-flop feeling in her stomach, and then curse herself for being so silly. The only time she’d known him to be restrained had been the last time she had seen him, at Iqbal’s funeral.
&nbs
p; Now, as she continued to scan the wedding guests, holding her plate and taking small bites, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
‘Looking for me?’ And there he was. She quickly dabbed the corners of her lips with a napkin and turned to face him. ‘It’s nice to see you, Saira.’ He was wearing a well-tailored suit with a white, button down shirt and a black bowtie. He had a blue and green checked handkerchief peeking out of his chest pocket and his hands tucked away in his pants’ pockets in an irritatingly self-assured way. ‘It’s been a while,’ he said.
‘Y-yes, yes, it has,’ she stuttered, coughing away her sudden nervousness. ‘How are you, Azaad? I had heard from your parents that you were in town and already taking over the family business. How does it feel to be back?’ She leaned towards the nearest buffet table and placed her uneaten lunch there. She had suddenly lost her appetite.
‘That’s right, I’m back. I got tired of living abroad and working like a dog for the Man. That life just wasn’t for me.’ He took his hands out of his pockets and crossed them over his chest. She wasn’t getting any flirtatious vibes from him at all. ‘Plus, it was getting lonely. And my parents were pressuring me to come back. So I just bit the bullet, quit my job, and packed up.’
Saira knew it was crazy to have had the tingles from the same man she wanted for a son-in-law. But she knew Azaad would give Masooma a comfortable life. He’d keep her in Lahore. And, perhaps, she hoped, he’d exhibit the same passion towards her daughter that he’d once shown her. Masooma, she thought, was smarter and kinder and more sensitive than Saira had ever been and Saira hoped she would get to experience love, not just marriage.
Austenistan Page 4
