Unmarriageable(18)

Despite Mrs Binat’s copious pleas for Alys to wear a new sari like Jena’s, the disobedient girl had dived into the trunk and picked out a lacklustre outfit. Couple that disgrace with barely any make-up at an event where women were wearing so much they would have to use scalpels to scrape off the cosmetics. Not that any of her daughters required any make-up, Mrs Binat thought with pride, but, still, didn’t all girls like enhancing their assets? Sometimes she feared Alys was serious when she said she didn’t want to get married. What sort of girl did not want to get married? What sort of girl did not want children?

Mrs Binat had, a few years ago, made Jena, closest of Alys’s confidantes, put her hand on the Quran and swear that Alys was not a lesbian. Asking Alys directly would have been useless; she would have defiantly said, ‘So what if I was?’ and given her a lecture. Mrs Binat had also considered asking Sherry, but she did not trust friends and so did not want to give Sherry any ammunition to start rumours about Alys.

Poor girl, Mrs Binat thought, as Sherry settled on a sofa. Did she have no other wedding wear but nylon satin monstrosities? The only plus going for Sherry was her skinny body, luckily for her in vogue. But a side effect of being so thin was also to be completely flat-chested, a setback given that even the most shareef – pious – of men wanted a wife with some breasts.

Mrs Binat was rescued from further rumination by Mrs Naheed and her two daughters, who were making a beeline towards them. The head teacher had on a decent Chantilly lace sari in a tolerable puce, but those stubby daughters of hers – why in the world had she allowed them to wear patiala shalwars with crop-top tunics that made their limbs look like cocktail sausages?

Mrs Binat rose to air-kiss Naheed, and she decided it was just as well that Gin and Rum displayed zero sartorial sense and sensibility, for that meant even more opportunity for JenaAlysMariQittyLady to shine.

‘Salaain-lai-kum, Mrs Naheed,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘Gin and Rum are looking like visions of perfection.’

‘As-salaam-alaikum, Pinkie,’ Naheed said. ‘They’re wearing the best of the best. QaziKreations’ new line, QaziSensations.’ Naheed turned to Mr Binat. ‘Bark, I see Pinkie continues to look just as dazzling as your daughters.’

‘Hello, Naheed, yes, Pinkie outshines us all. And how are you? How is Zaleel?’ Mr Binat asked, referring to Naheed’s husband, Khaleel, by his nickname.

‘Zaleel couldn’t make it today,’ Naheed said. ‘He was lifting weights this morning and dropped a dumb-bell on his foot.’

‘That’s dumb.’ Mr Binat guffawed at his own joke. ‘But let’s hope for a quick recovery.’ Then he returned to surveying the tent for his brother and sister-in-law.

‘I must say,’ Naheed said, ‘Fiede has outdone herself with the classy decor and arrangement. So striking, so mashallah.’

‘Striking, mashallah,’ Mrs Binat agreed. Everything was very nice: the soft lighting in the tent, the fresh flowers, the low-backed sofas with faux pearl-encrusted sausage cushions, the heaters, the fairy lights looped around the tent poles, the arrangement of the buffet to be served in a separate tent.

Naheed said, ‘A friend of Fiede’s has started event planning, and Fiede handed the wedding over to her – no charge, of course. But, then, this is how her friend will garner business in the future, for everyone will want Fiede Fecker’s event planner to plan events for them. I have always said that the most troublesome students turn out to be the greatest assets, and Fiede Fecker is a true asset to the British School of Dilipabad. Hello, Alys, Jena. What an absolutely breathtaking sari, Jena, and such lovely jewellery.’

Jena nodded thanks at the compliments.

‘Qitty, have you lost weight? I was expecting a watermelon, but you look like a cantaloupe tonight. You have such a pretty face; why don’t you try to lose some of your chunkiness? Look at Lady! Slim ’n’ trim!’ Naheed said approvingly as Lady rejoined her family. ‘But, Lady, aren’t you cold in sleeveless? Mari, you look very un-fresh compared to your sisters. Sherry, oho’ – Naheed gave Sherry a terribly sweet smile – ‘tum bhi pahunch gayee NadirFiede. You’ve also managed to make it to NadirFiede.’

Sherry flushed, but before she could answer, Gin and Rum decided to greet everyone with air kisses and cries of ‘Bon-joor, bon-joor, bon-joor.’

‘Hain? What?’ Mrs Binat said, air-kissing the fidgety girls. They had so much foundation on, she could smell the chemicals.

‘I’m so sick of the girls’ French!’ Naheed said, clearly not sick of it at all. ‘Ever since they’ve earned their fluency certificates from the Alliance Fran?aise, it’s parlez vois this and parlez vois that.’

‘Not vois, Ama, vous, vous,’ Gin and Rum said together. ‘Vous. Vous.’

Naheed swallowed a withering reprimand to her daughters. ‘I keep reminding these two future Dilipabad superstars to stop the French talk with me and wait until they go to fashion school in Gay Paree.’

‘Gaypari?’ Mrs Binat asked. ‘O kee? What is that?’

‘Paris, Aunty, Paris,’ Rum said. ‘Paris is also called Gay Paree, because it’s fun time all the time and not because of any gay thing, in case you were wondering. Not that there’s anything wrong with anything gay. It’s becoming very fashionable these days to have at least one gay friend, and we hope to make one once we get there.’