Ayesha At Last(22)

Ayesha was confused. “No, we bought them from the grocery store.”

The other lady, older and severe looking despite her bright-blue hijab and orange shalwar kameez, frowned. A massive gold bangle, two inches in diameter and inlaid with red stones, dwarfed her small hand. “My son is so fond of homemade samosas. Tell me, what do you cook at home?”

Still confused, Ayesha answered, eyes on the winking, opulent bangle. “I’m not much of a cook. My Nani is a gourmet. She spoils us rotten.” She smiled at her grandmother. “I’m very busy with work right now.”

Severe Aunty frowned even more, cementing the lines on her face. She looked dissatisfied as she gave Ayesha the once-over, taking in her entire outfit from top to bottom.

“Are you a receptionist of some kind?” she asked Ayesha.

“I teach high school.”

“I suppose that is an acceptable job for a woman. After marriage, you will quit your job.”

Her words dropped like a bomb in the room, and Ayesha couldn’t help herself. She laughed. Severe Aunty and Foundation-Mismatch Aunty both stared at her, highly affronted.

Samira Aunty interjected. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Farzana and Aliyah. This is my eldest daughter,” she said, indicating Hafsa. “Ayesha is my niece. She is seven years older than Hafsa,” she added.

Both women turned to look at Hafsa and examined her with more interest. They began their interrogation without giving Ayesha another glance.

“Did you fry these samosas?” Aliyah, a.k.a Foundation-Mismatch Aunty, asked.

“My sisters did. I made the cookies, though,” Hafsa answered.

Farzana, a.k.a. Severe Aunty, picked up the biscuit—store-bought Chunky Chips Ahoy, Ayesha noted—and took a bite. “My son likes cookies,” she said.

The questions came lightning-fast:

Do you pray five times a day?

What did you study in school?

What are your hobbies?

Do you know how to read the Quran? Can you recite Surah Yaseen by heart?

Hafsa answered as best she could, stammering and blushing prettily. Samira Aunty and Nani were shocked into silence by the interrogation, until finally Ayesha interrupted. She could stand their rudeness no more.

“Where is your mysterious son?” she asked.

Both aunties shifted uncomfortably. “He is very shy. We are here to arrange matters for him,” Farzana said. “If things go well, I will show him a picture of Hafsa and let him decide.”

“I think the girl in question might have some say in the matter,” Ayesha said evenly. “Hafsa, do you have any questions you would like to ask? Maybe the boy’s name?”

Hafsa blushed. She clearly did not appreciate Ayesha’s question, or her lack of rishta game.

“How about his age, his job, his hobbies, whether he prays and if he can recite Surah Yaseen by heart?” Ayesha asked sweetly.

Samira Aunty cut in. “How long have you lived in the neighbourhood, Farzana?” she asked.

“A few months only. Your husband does well, I see,” Farzana said, looking at the ornate furnishings. “How much money does he make every year?”

Ayesha looked sidelong at her Nani, who was sitting ramrod-straight and observing the conversation impassively. Nani squeezed her hand, trying to compel Ayesha to hold her fire before it became a bloodbath.

“How much money does your mysterious son make?” Ayesha asked, undeterred.

Farzana looked at her dismissively. “It is so difficult to find a truly well-trained girl these days. So many modern ideas about education and careers. When I was growing up, a girl knew her role.”

“So true, Farzana,” Aliyah said. “A girl should know how to cook at least three different types of rice, twelve or more meat dishes and at least as many vegetable curries. When I was married, I had sixty-five recipes memorized,” she added.

Farzana nodded. “Finally, she should show a deference and modesty of character. She must not speak when her elders are talking. She must be quiet and refined, never gossip or joke. I find a girl who laughs in public has been raised in a very inferior household. She must never talk back to her mother-in-law, and should spend her days sewing, cooking and reading the Quran.”

Ayesha smothered her laughter. “I never met such a woman,” she said. “Such a young person does not exist outside Pakistani dramas. Besides, any man who would be happy with such a dud is probably not worth marrying.”

The two aunties stood up. “Thank you for the visit,” Aliyah said. They hugged Nani and Samira Aunty, smiled at Hafsa and turned their backs on Ayesha.

Ayesha was clearing the dishes when Samira Aunty returned from walking Farzana and Aliyah to the door. “Jaanu, if it’s all the same to you, next time you should probably just stay at home.”

AYESHA left without saying goodbye to her cousins, anger increasing her pace to a walking run. Nana was right; she wanted no part in this outmoded dating ritual! She was halfway to the townhouse when Hafsa caught up to her.

“You walk fast,” her cousin said, panting.

Ayesha slowed down. “I don’t know how you could just sit there. Those ladies were awful.”

“I’ve read worse on the rishta forums.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The subreddit, Ashi Apa. Compared to what some girls post, those aunties were baby dragons. Though it was a little weird they didn’t bring their son. Maybe he’s really hideous. Or maybe he’s really famous!” Her eyes lit up. “What if he’s a Bollywood movie star?”