Unmarriageable(17)
It was quite acceptable in Pakistan to bring an uninvited guest to a wedding, for in a gathering of hundreds, what was one more?
‘Your mother,’ Sherry replied, smiling, ‘will not be happy to have me tag along.’
‘Mummy will be fine,’ Alys said, knowing full well that she’d be annoyed. ‘Please come. The NadirFiede spectacle will actually be fun with you there.’
Sherry shrugged an okay.
‘Yeah! You’re coming with us! And who knows, you might very well meet your Prince Charming at the mehndi.’
The friends laughed. They ground out their cigarettes in the grass and popped chewing gum into their mouths. Then, linking arms, they strode out of the graveyard towards their homes.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Binats parked in the overflow car park and headed to the gymkhana gates for the NadirFiede mehndi ceremony. The security guard at the gate beamed when he saw Alys, Jena, Sherry, and Mari. The four women had long been tutoring low-income children for free, and Jena asked the guard how his son’s exams had gone.
‘Excellent,’ he said, blessing them with happiness and long lives as he let them in.
‘Such a good omen,’ Mrs Binat chirped, ‘to enter such an event with the blessings of a menial. You watch, Alys and Jena, this wedding will end well for both of you.’
‘Mummy, shh,’ Alys said, as they joined other guests walking up the candlelit driveway towards the vast grounds and into the wedding shamiana, the huge multicoloured tent shot through with gold thread. The scent of perfumes and colognes mingled with that of beef seekh kebabs and chicken tikkas cooking on coal grills. Guests stood in clusters, chattering, and children ran underfoot followed by ayahs preening in last season’s cast-offs.
The groom and his entourage had yet to arrive. A gaggle of young girls – Fiede’s cousins and close friends – sat on the makeshift dance floor in front of the bride-and-groom stage with a dholak between them, though clearly none of them knew how to properly play the double-sided drum. Lady was an expert; she elbowed her way into the group, and soon she was playing the drum and bellowing Punjabi wedding songs – ‘lathe di chaddar, chitta kukkar banere, sadda chidiyan da’ – with such gusto and to such ear-shattering whistles that several guests asked if she was Fiede’s best friend.
Mrs Binat spied Fiede Fecker’s parents – Mr Fecker, in a navy raw-silk kurta, and Mrs Fecker, in hideous tangerine organdy – and she and Mr Binat proceeded to congratulate them. Mr Fecker shook hands with Mr Binat. Mrs Fecker’s gargantuan eyelashes, supposedly imported from Milan, were apparently weighing down her eyes, because it took her a moment to recognise Mr and Mrs Bark Binat, after which she thanked them for coming before moving on to the next guest.
Mrs Binat glowed as moneyed folk flitted around. She recognised acquaintances from when she too had been moneyed folk, and she chose to overlook the women’s cool greetings. Instead, she basked at the welcome their husbands were giving Barkat. They were embracing him and exclaiming that they hadn’t seen Bark-Bark in years, which was true, for Mr Binat had chosen to become something of a recluse since his elder brother’s betrayal.
In fact, Mr Binat had been reluctant to attend NadirFiede, for fear that his brother and sister-in-law might be there. It was only after Alys reminded him that it was the perpetrators who should be mortified and stay away and not the victim that Mr Binat agreed to come. As their father stood among old friends, a little bit of his former self returned, and all the Binat girls stood taller as he introduced them to uncles who remarked how much they’d grown and how lovely they’d become. Soon the wives steered their husbands away from Mr Binat’s daughters, and Mrs Binat, refusing to allow any slight to upset her this evening, proceeded to lead her brood to one of the fuchsia velvet sofa sets arranged around coal stoves.
She was pleased to note the number of eyes following Jena as they walked down the Afghan rugs covering the lawn and into the seating area. She’d dressed her daughter well. Jena was in a dove-grey silk sari, the muted colour enhanced with a darker grey sequinned blouse and a kundan-and-emerald choker set – the gems fake, of course, thanks to Ganju jee, but no one was the wiser. At an event where everyone was dressed like a Brazilian parrot, Jena’s understated elegance as the African parrot stood out. If it weren’t for the wretched Tinkle’s smear campaign, Mrs Binat knew, women seeking brides for their sons would have been coming up to her in order to make enquiries about Jena’s age, occupation, and intentions for marriage.
Still, Mrs Binat knew beauty had the potential to defeat the slurs of a jealous relative. Jena had only to sink her hooks into a prospective Rich Man, who would subsequently be so besotted by her looks that he would ignore rumours about her family. Alas, Mrs Binat thought as she smoothed a wrinkle from Jena’s pallu, none of her daughters were proficient in the art of hook, reel, grab. In fact, except for Lady, her daughters were discomfited by the very notion of catching a husband, despite the number of times she’d told them that one had to seek out a good proposal as one would a promotion or a comfortable shoe.
It was all this nonsense about falling in love that was making catching a husband unseemly. Of course one must fall in love, but let it initially be the man who falls and then, once his ring is on your finger, you too may allow yourself to fall in love – though within reason, Mrs Binat always cautioned, for the best marriages were ones where the husband loved the wife more. She sighed. It was her full-time job as a good mother to get her daughters married well, and she was determined to do her duty regardless of all obstacles, even Alys’s obstinacy.