Unmarriageable(47)
Hoping, praying, and planning to go places did not guarantee getting anywhere, and Kaleen immediately lost interest. He wanted to see his daughter married off as soon as possible, as per her dying mother’s final wishes, but he had standards, which did not include struggling, penniless lawyers no matter how charismatic.
In her turn, Mrs Binat tried to calculate how many years before Wickaam would become a bigshot lawyer and which daughter of hers might be able to wait for this inevitability. Such a beautiful man was sure to ascend in the ranks based on looks alone. She concluded Qitty was the perfect age and that Wickaam needed to stop hovering over Alys and return to dancing with Qitty. Mrs Binat’s machinations were interrupted by Kaleen’s whispered disclosure that he was on the lookout for a wife. He chucked his head diffidently and informed her that he found her daughters bedazzling.
Kaleen had privately pondered why the Binat girls were still unmarried and concluded it must be because, given their great good looks, they would only deign to entertain the most stellar of matches. Rocking himself to his full height of five foot six, he believed that with his promise of a thriving medical practice and immediate access to the best of society, courtesy of his benefactress, he was on par as a match with the best of the best.
‘Your eldest daughter,’ Kaleen said, ‘is a vision of the houris in heaven promised to men after death.’
‘My Jena,’ Mrs Binat said proudly, ‘is getting engaged any day now to Modest. You know, Modest wallay. The owners of Modest Sanitary Company. Surely your daughter must be using their products? But …’ Her hungry gaze settled on Alys. It would not be a match to crow about, given that Kaleen was neither prince nor president; however, getting this daughter married off to a future VIP would be nothing to scoff at.
‘My second daughter, Alys’ – Mrs Binat gave Kaleen a congenial smile as he rapidly morphed from nuisance into prospective son-in-law – ‘is free for the plucking. Let me assure you she loves children and will treat yours as if they dropped out of her own womb. Frankly, you would be hard-pressed to find a more timid girl in all of Pakistan. Also, she’s a schoolteacher with excellent earning potential.’
‘No need for a wage-earning wife.’ Kaleen waved his fists. ‘A woman’s duty is to look after the children and run the household. The only drawback to my success is that I am too busy and so require a mother for my children. But, you see, I must marry someone who will be kind to my children not just in front of me but also behind my back. My children have grown up in an English atmosphere and so they only know stepmothers from Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and other rubbish fairy tales in which stepmothers want to murder the children. I tell them not to fear, for I will only marry a quality Pakistani girl. Also,’ Kaleen confided, grinning ruefully, ‘between you and me, we know men have needs that good women simply do not, and I am but a man.’
‘I believe Alys will prove to be exceptional with manly needs as well as motherhood,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘But, Kaleen, you know how even in arranged marriages these days, young girls first want to get to know the boy. Therefore, I suggest that for the time being we hold off mentioning marriage to Alys. Instead, I recommend you endear your good self to her. In fact, if you have no New Year’s plans, you must accompany us to a most coveted walima.’
‘New Year’s!’ Kaleen’s toothbrush brows bristled. ‘You mean Satan’s special holiday, barring Halloween. New Year’s is a festivity that encourages the triumvirate of “B”s: Beygarithi, Behayai, Besharmi, Immodesty, Indecency, Shamelessness.’
‘True,’ Mrs Binat said, blinking, for she quite enjoyed a New Year’s get-together and the subsequent welcoming in of the new year. Alys had lectured her one year about how time was a man-made concept and that no miracles were going to occur simply because a clock announced that December 31st had turned into January 1st. Mrs Binat prayed that, once wedded and bedded, her daughter would turn into a less opinionated and more cheerful person.
‘Oho! Not a New Year’s party but a walima on New Year’s Eve,’ Mrs Binat stressed. ‘After that we will be returning to Dilipabad, and you must visit us at your earliest convenience and stay with us.’
‘Done deal,’ Kaleen said, pleased.
‘Also, my daughter, Mari, suffers from asthma, and I would be so obliged if you would check her.’
‘My pleasure,’ Kaleen said. Occupational hazard, and she’d not even cursorily mentioned payment, but then that was relatives for you.
‘Oh, but Alys’s health is superb. Do look at her.’ Mrs Binat settled her eyes on Alys, and so did Kaleen. ‘How decorously she laughs. How daintily she crosses her legs. Such a meek creature, my little Alys, no one meeker to be found in Pakistan – therefore, I urge you again that until I give you the green light, not a word about your intentions.’
‘Of course,’ Kaleen said, proceeding to the dinner table with sudden gusto. ‘I understand and I approve of Alys’s shyness, as well as the fact that in today’s world it is right and fitting that she must get to know me before marriage. But for me, Pinkie, your assurance that Alys is demure and decent is enough of a guarantee that she will make a righteous wife and mother.’
After the guests departed, the family settled down over fresh cups of chai to subject the evening to a post-mortem. It was decided that Wickaam was the great hit of the evening – a pity about his lack of wealth but, oh, those dashing looks – and Kaleen was the great miss of the evening, income galore but a dud looks-wise.