Unmarriageable(4)

‘Premarital sex is haram, a sin,’ Rose-Nama said, ‘and you shouldn’t imply otherwise to us, Miss Alys.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Or do you believe it’s not a sin?’

Before Alys could answer, the head peon, Bashir, knocked on the door.

‘Chalein jee, Alysba bibi,’ he said, ‘phir bulawa aa gaya aap ka. Mrs Naheed requires your presence yet again.’



Alys followed Bashir down the stairs, past classrooms, past the small canteen where the teachers’ chai and snacks were prepared at a discount rate, past a stray cat huddled on the wide veranda that wrapped around the mansion-turned-school-building, past the accountant’s nook, and towards the head teacher’s office, a roomy den at the end of the front porch with bay windows overlooking the driveway for keeping an eye on all comings and goings.

The British School Group was founded twenty years ago by Begum Beena dey Bagh. The name was chosen for its suggested affiliation with Britain, although there was none. However, it was to be an English-medium establishment. Twelve years ago, Naheed, a well-heeled Dilipabadi housewife, decided to put to use a vacant property belonging to her. She sought permission from Beena dey Bagh to open a branch of the British School, and so was born the British School of Dilipabad.

Naheed had turned her institution into a finishing school of sorts for girls from Dilipabad’s privileged. Accordingly, she was willing to pay well for teachers fluent in English with decent accents, and, just as she’d all but given up on proficient English literature teachers, Alys and Jena Binat had entered her office a decade ago.

Alys entered the office now, settled in a chair facing Naheed’s desk, and waited for her to get off the phone. She gazed at the bulletin boards plastering the walls and boasting photos where Naheed beamed with Dilipabad’s VIPs. They were thumbtacked in place to allow easy removal if a VIP fell from financial grace or got involved in a particularly egregious scandal.

Naheed’s mahogany desk held folders and forms and a framed picture of her precious twin daughters, Ginwa and Rumsha – Gin and Rum – born late, courtesy of IVF treatments. Gin and Rum posed in front of the Eiffel Tower with practised pouts, blonde-streaked brown hair, and skintight jeans. Naheed’s daughters lived in Lahore with their grandparents; she’d opted to send them to the British School of Lahore rather than her own British School of Dilipabad because she wanted them to receive superior educations as well as better networking opportunities. Gin and Rum planned to be fashion designers, a newly lucrative entrepreneurial opportunity in Pakistan, and Naheed had no doubt her daughters would make a huge splash in the world of couture and an equally huge splash in the matrimonial bazaar by marrying no less than the Pakistani equivalents of Princes William and Harry.

Naheed hung up the phone and, clearly annoyed, shook her head at Alys.

‘Rose-Nama’s mother called. Again. Apparently you used the “f” word in class.’

‘I did?’

‘The “f” word, Alys. Is this the language of dignified women, let alone teachers?’

Alys crossed her arms. Naheed would not have dared speak to her like this when she’d first joined the school. Ten years ago, when Naheed had realised that Alys and Jena were Binats, her tongue had been a never-ending red carpet, for the Binats were a highly respected and moneyed clan. However, once Dilipabad’s VIPs realised that Bark Binat was now all but penniless – why he’d lost his money was no one’s worry, that he had was everyone’s favourite topic – they devalued Bark and his dependents. As soon as Mrs Naheed gleaned that Alys and Jena were working in order to pay bills and not because they were bored upper-class girls, she began to belittle them.

‘Alys, God knows,’ Naheed said, ‘I have yet again tried to calm Rose-Nama’s mother, but give me one good reason why I shouldn’t let you go.’

Alys knew that Naheed had tried to hire other well-qualified English-speaking teachers but no one was willing to relocate to Dilipabad. The sole entertainment for most Pakistanis was to eat out, and the elite English-speaking gentry in particular believed they deserved dining finer than Dilipabad offered.

‘Alys, am I or am I not,’ Naheed’s voice boomed, ‘paying you a pretty penny? It is not as if good jobs are growing on trees.’

The fact was, over the years Alys had been offered lucrative teaching positions in other cities, and then there was Dubai, where single Pakistani girls were increasingly fleeing to find their fortunes, but she was unwilling to leave her family, especially her father.

‘It was a crow,’ Alys said. ‘Rose-Nama and her mother should educate themselves on context. A giant crow flew into the classroom and startled me and—’

‘Alys,’ Naheed said, ‘I don’t care if twenty giant crows fly into the classroom and start singing “The hills are alive with the sound of music”; you absolutely may not curse in front of impressionable young ladies. Rose-Nama’s mother is right – if it’s not cursing, it’s something else. Last year you told students that dowry was a “demented” tradition. Could you not have used “controversial” or “divisive” or “contentious”? You of all people should be sensitive to diction. Then you told them that divorce was not a big deal! Another year you told them that they should be reading Urdu and regional literature instead of English. An absurd statement from an English literature teacher.’