Unmarriageable(56)
BIRTH OF A STAR: Demand is so high for up-and-coming designer Boobee Khan’s Nangaparbat Lawn Collection, we hear two eager customers slapped each other to be first in line. Congrats, Boobee! Watch out, Qazi! There’s yet another contender in town for the crown.
CHARITY POLO MATCH: Every lady should have a knight as gallant as eligible bachelor Fahad ‘Bungles’ Bingla to come to her rescue. Wouldn’t you agree, Jena Binat, damsel du jour?
The long school day finally ended, and Alys sat in the school van between Jena and Sherry. Outside, a late January drizzle abated, and Alys wound down the window for fresh air, only to be assaulted by the stench of burning rubbish. Jena was sitting with a hand to her head, her eyes shut tightly, and she barely shifted.
Mrs Naheed had called Alys in today. Alys thought Rose-Nama’s mother had lodged yet another grievance or was demanding yet another apology. Instead, to Alys’s shock, Mrs Naheed said she was getting complaints about Jena. Jena was zoning out during class, and, at times, leaving class altogether and not coming back.
Was Jena okay? Naheed had asked, her teeth gleaming. Did it have anything to do with that delicious fellow mentioned in Social Lights?
They’d been back in Dilipabad right after New Year’s and Alys – in fact, all the Binats – had hoped that with the school semester starting and life returning to its usual routine, Jena’s sadness would subside, but that had not been the case. Even worse, teachers would bring celebratory sweets to the staff room every day, and Alys wondered if, each time Jena was offered a ladoo or a barfi for a son’s promotion or a grandchild’s birth or some other happy occasion, it reminded her anew that, had things turned out differently, she’d also have been offering teachers celebratory sweets.
Jena had not cried or railed, at least not in front of them, but she’d been inordinately quiet on the subject, except to say that it was their mother who had promised that Bungles would propose and that he himself had never promised her anything. Mrs Binat was one minute full of ill will for Bungles, who, she claimed, had toyed with Jena, and the next minute upset with Jena, who, she accused, had thoughtlessly let him slip off her hook.
The van went over a bump and Jena’s eyes fluttered open. Alys gave her a big smile. Jena replied with a tiny smile. There were dark circles under her eyes and she looked beaten. Alys sighed as she recalled how Jena had blanched at seeing her name, fodder for a gossip column, in Social Lights. She wondered if girls from Jena’s classes might be asking her invasive questions and if this was the reason for her erratic behaviour. She glanced at Qitty and Lady. Had anyone said anything to them?
Alys caught Sherry’s gaze. Sherry continued to insist that Jena should have asked Bungles point-blank: ‘Am I just a time pass or are you planning to marry me?’ While Alys believed in being upfront, she was glad that Jena had not debased herself, and she was sure that Jena too was relieved to have not embarrassed herself.
The only bright spot in these bleak weeks was Wickaam’s visits. The first had been on the pretext that Mr Binat’s signatures were required on the Fraudia Acre case papers and Wickaam did not trust the mail. He’d used a similar excuse for his second visit. But the third was simply the result of Mrs Binat’s open invitation to visit them anytime. In fact, she’d since urged him to stay the night, given how tiring a four-hour round trip from Lahore to Dilipabad could be, and he’d cheerfully accepted: a sleepover!
More time for Wickaam to captivate all with the story of his childhood, his becoming a full orphan, BeenaDeenaWeena, Valentine Darsee’s betrayal. He’d been amused and appreciative when Lady began to call Darsee ‘Dracula’, and before long, all the Binats were referring to the traitorous cousin as Dracula.
Wickaam was installed in the cosy guest room, and the only awkward moment was when Alys had to send Lady to change her nightsuit, with the admonition that she was not allowed to wander around the house in such a sheer nightie when they were hosting a male guest.
‘Jeorgeullah is no mullah,’ Mari had said gravely. ‘Be careful, Lady.’
‘You be careful, weirdo,’ Lady said. ‘Mullahs aren’t all saints, and I know you have flutters for Fart Bhai.’
Lady pronounced Kaleen’s first name, Farhat, so fast she’d transformed it into ‘Fart’.
‘I do not.’ Two bright splotches appeared on Mari’s face. ‘Alys is right about the negligee. It’s obscene. Go and change.’
Lady had gone weeping to their mother. Mrs Binat told Alys and Mari to mind their own business. Lady wasn’t naked. A nightgown was a nightgown. When Alys had appealed to her father, Mr Binat had declared, red-faced, that he was gladly relegating all matters of nightwear and nighttime activities to Mrs Binat’s expertise.
The school van stopped outside the graveyard, and the Binat girls and Sherry got out and sprinted to their homes to avoid the sudden downpour. In the Binat living room, Hillima laid out steaming chai and deep-fried pakoras, always a staple comfort food on a rainy day. Mr Binat rose from the crackling fireplace, where he’d been reading a book on ornamentals, and kissed each of his daughters on the forehead.
The girls kicked off their shoes and settled onto sofas. Alys climbed into the window seat, enjoying the dark bubble of a sky. For a long minute, there were few sounds but the rumble of thunder, the sipping of chai, and the chewing of piping-hot pakoras. Mari finished up her prayers in the corner of the room and blew blessings of prosperity and peace on each of her sisters, spending a few seconds longer on Jena.