Ayesha At Last(54)

Nani shook her head. She remembered Farzana’s strange rishta visit, her deep antipathy to Ayesha. Farzana and her friend Aliyah had levelled a barrage of nosy questions at Hafsa and then left the house after only thirty minutes. Their rude dismissal of her granddaughters had left Nani in a foul temper for days afterwards. She had no idea how such an engagement could possibly have come about—and so suddenly, with no word of warning to her or Nasir!

For the engagement to take place so soon after that strange cooking lesson was enough to raise her suspicions. Khalid and Ayesha had not stopped staring at each other while they rolled out their parathas; it was clear they were quietly falling in love. Had Farzana clued in and decided to do something about it?

She did not know Farzana well, as she was new to the neighbourhood and to the mosque community. But from their brief interaction during the rishta visit, Laik had formed a clear picture of the woman’s character. If Farzana suspected her only son was in danger of finding his own wife, she would consider it an attack on the very soul of her family traditions.

It was all so worrying. Yet Nasir continued to sit at the kitchen table and drink his chai and read his newspaper as if the fates of their grandchildren were not at stake.

“The seniors’ social circle meets at the mosque in an hour. I must speak with Sister Joanne. Hurry up, jaan,” Nani said to Nana. Sister Jo was on the executive board, and she volunteered at the mosque almost every day. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be her.

Nana stood and neatly folded his paper. “Laikunissa Begum,” he said, calling his wife by her full name. “What are you up to?”

“I made a promise to Ayesha to get to the bottom of Hafsa’s engagement, and I intend to keep it,” Nani said in the determined tone her husband knew so well. He swallowed the dregs of his tea and went to change.

The seniors’ social circle was a weekly meeting of all the older aunties and uncles in the neighbourhood. Today the men were gathered in the cafeteria while a small group of women attended yoga class in the gym. Nani nodded at the women as she made her way through the group. Her friend Maryam signalled to her and made room on her purple yoga mat.

“Have you heard of yoga?” Maryam said. “It’s the latest thing, Laik. So good for posture and breathing.” Maryam was a cheerful woman from Sudan in her early sixties, the matriarch of a large family. She was usually busy babysitting her grandchildren; Nani had not seen her in months.

“I think I may have heard about this yoga,” Nani said. “Is Sister Jo here today?”

“She’s our teacher. She’s running late, but this will give us a chance to catch up.”

Nani settled next to her friend, and they chatted about their grandchildren. Maryam was halfway through a long-winded anecdote about her youngest grandson when Sister Jo walked into the gymnasium, unbuckling a bicycle helmet and apologizing profusely. She was a long-faced white woman in her late fifties, dressed today in a tailored white hijab tied close to her face, a white turtleneck with long sleeves, its hem brushing her knees, and black yoga pants. After a quick greeting, the class began.

Nani followed along as best she could, moving stiffly from child pose to warrior stance. “I hear Sister Farzana is on the mosque executive board now,” she whispered to Maryam when they stretched into cat pose.

Maryam wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like that woman. So bossy and old-fashioned. She told me I should wear a black abaya and slippers when I come to the mosque. What is wrong with track pants and Nike shoes?”

Nani nodded in sympathy. “I hear she has only one son.”

Maryam clucked. “Yes, poor thing. That’s the problem. She doesn’t have anything else to occupy her time. No job, her husband died last year and her daughter lives somewhere else.”

“What is her son like?”

Maryam shrugged. “Rasool sees him at prayers.” Rasool was Maryam’s husband. “Khalid is quiet but close to the imam. I think he is helping with that conference.”

They were in boat pose now, and Maryam leaned close to Nani. “Farzana was boasting to me only last week that her son would marry a girl of her choosing.” She giggled. “When I tried to introduce my children to suitable spouses, they laughed in my face. They are all married now. Children must be allowed to lead their own lives, Laik.”

After the class, Nani approached Joanne, who was rolling up her yoga mat.

“Sister Laik, I know that look on your face,” Sister Jo said, smiling. “What are you up to?”

“You sound like Nasir,” Nani grumbled. “What do you think of Farzana?”

Sister Jo’s smile dimmed slightly. “I don’t really know her. She invited me to her house for an impromptu party. I think she is trying to make friends and find her place.”

Nani kept her tone casual. “Was there any particular reason for the party?”

Sister Jo looked uncomfortable and reached down to pick up her bicycle helmet, fiddling with the chin strap. “I don’t like to gossip, Laik, but it was very strange. I thought it was just a dinner party, and I brought chickpea salad. When I arrived, all the women were dressed up in fancy outfits and putting henna on their hands. Around ten, her son, Khalid, came home.” She paused, uncertain how to continue. “I found out the party was actually Khalid’s engagement celebration.”

Nani nodded, thinking. “Was Khalid happy?”