Unmarriageable(26)

Waiters in white uniforms with gold buttons were serving fresh seasonal juices, and soon the Binats were sipping foamy pomegranate juice. Slowly, the hall began to fill up. Men arrived in suits and ties and women in multitudinous loud hues, their ears, necks, wrists, and fingers drowning in gold, diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. As Mrs Binat suspected, her daughters once again stood out, this time like graceful nymphs among the gaudy and the gauche.

‘There should be a mandatory note,’ Mrs Binat mumbled to her daughters, ‘on wedding invitations, saying: “Please do not try to out-bride the bride.”’

‘Mummy,’ Lady said, starting in on her third glass of juice, ‘you are always so right. We will put that note on Jena’s wedding invite and also on mine.’

A ripple went through the guests at the news that the governor, or at least one of his family members, was to make a special guest appearance, as was a general who might or might not be harbouring dreams of coups and presidential palaces. But Mrs Binat had eyes only for Bungles’s arrival.

The groom and his retinue arrived respectably late, amid the customary fanfare of beating drums and rose-petal shower. Nadir Sheh, in a custom-made sherwani with a tall crimson turban, graced the stage and sat on a velvet sofa. Fiede Fecker, soon to be Fiede Sheh, had all this while been secreted away in a bridal waiting room with her excited friends, impatiently anticipating Nadir’s arrival. When Fiede made her grand entrance, everyone fell silent.

‘Someone must have had a few words with Fiede Fecker,’ Lady whispered to Qitty, because Fiede was walking with her head bowed like an obedient bride, or else the bulky crimson dupatta she had pinned to her bouffant was weighing her down.

Flanked by her parents, Fiede took her time walking down the red carpet all the way to the stage, because one only walked this walk once. The usual murmurs from the guests accompanied her: ‘beautiful bride’, ‘stunning outfit’. Though the truth was, Mrs Binat muttered to Jena, Fiede’s crimson-and-gold gharara was too ornate for her small frame. She looked like a child hiding in a pile of brocade curtains.

Fiede’s mother picked up her daughter’s voluminous skirt and helped her up the stage steps and seated her next to Nadir Sheh. It was announced that Fiede had not asked for the right of divorce on her marriage certificate, since to ask for this right was to begin one’s marriage inauspiciously. It was also announced that Fiede had agreed to an amount of haq mehr equivalent to the sum given during the Holy Prophet’s time by grooms to their brides and that she had agreed to this now-paltry figure because she was a pious woman and not at all money minded.

‘Easy to accept pennies and not be money minded when you have money,’ Mrs Binat snorted, ‘especially when you are the sole heir to your parents’ fortune.’

As soon as the bride and groom were seated and professional photographers began taking group shots, members of Nadir Sheh’s entourage were free to do as they pleased, and Bungles’s eyes sought out Jena.

‘Here he comes,’ Mrs Binat said, squeezing Jena’s arm as she nodded at Bungles striding towards them with his sisters at his heels. ‘Here he comes with the ring.’

Such was their level of expectation that all the Binats were shaken when Bungles did not drop to one knee and ask Jena to be his wife. Jena was so disoriented that it took Bungles saying hello thrice before she was able to respond.

Hammy and Sammy, looming behind their brother, took Jena’s delayed response as an obvious lack of interest and hoped this would jolt Bungles out of his crush. Last night the sisters had made enquiries into Jena’s family. Jena’s own reputation was blemish-free, but unfortunately, thanks to her parents, she still came stained. Jena was a Binat from her father’s side, but they were the penniless Binats of the clan; her father was ineffectual at business and estranged from his successful elder brother, which implied that Jena’s family did not value family ties. As for Jena’s mother’s lineage: beyond disastrous.

‘How was your day?’ Alys asked Bungles and Hammy-Sammy in order to give Jena a moment to recover.

‘Excellent,’ Bungles said. ‘Darsee and I played a game of squash, enjoyed a very nice continental breakfast by the gymkhana lake, and I took a nap.’

‘Sammy and I,’ Hammy said, ‘were recommended some horrid beauty parlour, where the girl flat-ironing my hair didn’t know what she was doing and nearly burnt off my face.’

‘Where did you go?’ Qitty looked up from the paper napkin she’d been doodling on.

‘Best Salon.’

Mrs Binat made a face. ‘Whoever recommended Best Salon must be getting a commission.’

‘We had a good mind not to pay,’ Sammy said, ‘but that girl probably never received any training, so not her fault. But, still, you have to send a monetary message, and so we didn’t leave a tip.’

After a second of silence, Lady said, ‘Next time go to Susan’s. She’s the best.’

Susan’s was Dilipabad’s premier beauty parlour, run by a family whose patriarch had fled to Pakistan during the Chinese Cultural Revolution and never returned.

‘Thank God there’ll be no next time,’ Hammy said. ‘We’re out of D-bad first thing tomorrow morning. Bungles can’t wait!’

‘That’s not true.’ Bungles gazed at Jena.

‘That’s what you said,’ Hammy said. She happily observed that Jena was playing with the beads on her handbag and seemed not at all bothered by who was going and who was coming.