Unmarriageable(57)

Mrs Binat came into the living room. She beamed as she replaced the cordless on its cradle. She hadn’t beamed like this since they’d returned from Lahore. Sometimes she felt she’d never recover from Jena’s failure to grab Bungles, and she was beginning to believe that truly of what use was beauty without a brain that could plot and scheme.

‘We are to receive a special visitor,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘He will be arriving tonight in time for dinner and plans to stay for a few days.’

Everyone smiled.

‘It’s not Wickaam,’ Mrs Binat said. ‘It’s Farhat Kaleen.’

Everyone’s smile faded. Except Mari’s. Her heart pattered at the thought of being under one roof with the good doctor. Perhaps, together, they could inject some righteousness into her sisters’ heads. Then he would see how perfect she was for him, and he would propose to her, and they would live happily ever after. Mari shook herself and asked God to forgive her the Farhat fantasy, in case it was untoward of her. But, God, she bargained, if you make me the first sister married, then I swear to thank you by starting to wear a hijab.

‘Fart Bhai!’ Lady said. ‘Fart Bhai is the big surprise? Is this a joke?’

‘What’s there to joke about?’ Mrs Binat said. ‘He is an up-and-coming EIP, extremely important person.’

‘He’s a purity pervert,’ Lady said. ‘He told me that I shouldn’t wear skintight shirts.’

‘He’s right,’ Mari said. ‘And don’t dare insult pious men by labelling them purity perverts.’

‘Women like you are the biggest purity perverts of all.’

‘Now, Lady,’ Mrs Binat said, ‘do not disrespect Kaleen in any way. He’s coming to check Mari’s asthma, as well as other patients in Dilipabad, and I would like all of you girls – and you too, Barkat – to make yourselves amenable to him.’

‘He is a popcorn-nosed yuck-thoo,’ Lady said. ‘I’m not even going to come downstairs while he’s here.’

‘I will,’ Mari said.

‘I bet,’ Lady said, ‘you’re looking forward to Fart Bhai’s stethoscope roaming all over your chest.’

‘Lady,’ Alys said, ‘have you lost all sense of decorum?’

‘Aunty Alys, who made you the Superintendent of Virtue and Vice? At the New Year’s party I was dancing with Shosha Darling – Shosha Darling! – and you dragged me off the table like a paindu, a yokel. Bungles—’

Jena left the room.

‘Thanks for bringing him up yet again,’ Alys said.

‘I didn’t mean to,’ Lady said. ‘You provoked me. You always do.’

‘Honestly, Lady,’ Qitty said. ‘You are so inconsiderate.’

‘Shut up, baby elephant.’

‘You shut up,’ Qitty said, ‘Miss See-Through Nightie You-You Eyes while Wickaam was here.’

‘Tauba, you girls are too much for me,’ Mr Binat said, also leaving the room.

‘I wish,’ Mrs Binat sighed, ‘that I too could be the sort of parent who can walk away from my daughters. Alys, go see that the guest room is ready for Kaleen. Why are you staring at me? Go. Do as you are told.’



Farhat Kaleen arrived at Binat House exactly on time. Punctuality was a good habit no matter how un-Pakistani, he said, as he exited his car and his driver took out his bags. He beamed at all the Binats standing in the driveway to greet him, a gesture he found befitting his stature. He gave Alys a once-over and approved of her white wide-leg trousers, white eyelet tunic, and the sunset shawl thrown around her shoulders. His nose wrinkled at Lady’s tight jeans and tight T-shirt saying GALZ RULZ on her plump bosom. Ever since his wife’s death, his daughter’s attire had begun to lapse for lack of proper supervision, but – Kaleen smiled at Alys – that would soon be remedied. He was pleased to see Alys avert her eyes from him and proceed indoors. Such was indeed expected of a girl from a good family, and it warmed his loins.

After Kaleen freshened up from his journey, he checked Mari, recommending she continue her breathing exercises. As soon as that formality was finished, he requested a tour of Binat House and, assessing each room with the eyes of a future son-in-law looking to impress colleagues and clients – especially Begum Beena dey Bagh – he was pleased with what he saw.

Dinner was served after the Isha prayers, and Kaleen was delighted at the Binats’ generous spread of mutton karahi, beef seekh kebabs, ginger chicken, eggplant in tomatoes, creamy black dal, potato cutlets, cucumber raita, and kachumber salad.

‘You girls,’ Kaleen said as Mr Binat invited him to begin, ‘must have spent all day in the kitchen.’

‘We have a full-time cook,’ Mrs Binat said tersely. ‘And when he’s on holiday, Hillima takes over. My girls never set foot in the kitchen unless they want to for fun.’

‘I meant no offence,’ Kaleen said. ‘My late wife was an exceptional cook, and I only wanted to pay my compliments to the chef of such delicious fare.’

The cook, Maqsood, was called from the kitchen, and Kaleen, pressed into a corner to perform social obligations, tipped the fellow. Hillima appeared on the cook’s heels, touting her contributions to the meal, and Kaleen delved back into his pocket with a forced smile.