Unmarriageable(70)

Bobia Looclus could not help but burst out in pride, ‘Sherry, tum tho sitar say guitar bun gayee ho. Sherry, you’ve transformed from the local sitar into an international-level guitar.’

‘Nothing lesser about the sitar or other local instruments, Aunty Bobia,’ Alys said, because it was not in her nature to let anything go. Sherry was looking very nice. Gone was her thin braid. Her new chin-length style suited her bony angles. Her skin had cleared up. She was clad in a well-tailored lawn shalwar kameez from one of the better brands and black ballet flats. Amethyst drops shone in her ears.

‘Ammi,’ Sherry giggled, ‘if I tell you how much my haircut alone cost, you will faint.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with that,’ Bobia Looclus admonished her daughter, ‘and everything to do with inner happiness. You are glowing.’

‘Of course she is glowing,’ Kaleen said as he welcomed Sherry’s parents and awestruck siblings to Islamabad. ‘Nothing but the best for my sweet blemish-free Sherry.’

He gave Alys a wide smile. ‘Most welcome. Most welcome.’

‘You came,’ Sherry said, hugging Alys tightly.

‘I came,’ Alys said, hugging her back, even as Kaleen urged them to part so that they could start the tour of his gareeb khana, his most humble abode.

Off they all went to tour the house. Like most standard upper-middle-class homes, it boasted multiple bedrooms – in this case five – with attached baths; a drawing-and-dining room looked out to the back garden, which was a haven for fruit trees. Bobia Looclus kept squeezing Sherry’s hand. There were air conditioners in every room. Every room! And a backup generator to handle load-shedding. There was a cook, cleaner, driver, maid, gardener, gate guard, dhobi, tailor, and countless other amenities and luxuries at her daughter’s disposal. Never had she imagined that her Sherry, whom everyone had written off, would be so well settled. This was proof that there was a God.

Alys noticed the glances Bobia kept giving her, which rivalled Kaleen’s, signifying that all this could have been hers. Alys suppressed a smile and managed a suitably awed expression as they walked from the russet-tiled portico into a flourishing garden that also contained a large chicken coop and a milking goat lounging on lush grass.

Sherry’s brothers, Mansoor and Manzoor, and her sister, Mareea, rushed to stroke the goat, and even Alys fell in love with its soft bleating and ebony eyes. The only goats she’d ever known were the ones inevitably sacrificed at Eid for meat, and it was blissful to see this goat living its life, even if tethered to the low water tap jutting from the boundary wall.

Kaleen began to lecture on the benefits of happy animals and fresh eggs and goat milk, until Sherry gently ushered the party back indoors to their bedrooms so they could freshen up.

Alys was given a comfy room that overlooked the back garden. She opened the windows to faraway goat bleats and a chikoo tree thick with brown ripe fruit.

‘It’s a lovely room,’ Alys said. She plucked a chikoo straight off the tree and inhaled its sweet scent before handing it to Isa, who was perpetually glued to Sherry’s hip.

‘It’s a lovely life,’ Kaleen said jovially as Sherry’s cat contently circled his legs. ‘It’s a lovely house. Sherry couldn’t be happier or healthier. Right, Sherry?’

Sherry nodded and, kissing Isa and promising to peel the chikoo for him, she herded everyone out of Alys’s room.

Alys took a hot shower in, she had to admit, a cosy cobalt-tiled bathroom and then, as instructed, she returned to the living room. There, the maid, Ama Iqbal, was serving a high tea and Kaleen was breaking the great news: tonight they dined at Begum Beena dey Bagh’s.

‘Tonight?’ Alys said. She’d been looking forward to getting in bed with a good book. ‘What’s the hurry?’

‘Hurry!’ Kaleen scowled. He was beyond flattered that Beena dey Bagh had insisted Sherry’s family’s first dinner in Islamabad be at her table. ‘There’s no hurry except that she wishes to do me a great honour.’

‘If you don’t mind,’ Alys said, ‘may I be excused?’

‘Excused!’

‘Please, Kaleen,’ Sherry said, ‘your blood pressure will go up. Calm down.’

‘Number one, no one excuses themselves when Begum Beena dey Bagh summons,’ Kaleen said, seething. ‘And number two, Alysba, I expected your parents to have instilled some manners in you and some sense of protocol.’

‘Kaleen Sahib,’ Alys said, ‘number one, I’m assuming that Beena dey Bagh will honour you by inviting us at least once more in these next three weeks. And, number two, at my age I should hope I’ve taught myself how to exercise good manners and protocol of my own free will.’

‘Alys,’ Bobia Looclus said in a tight voice, ‘Begum Beena is Kaleen’s employer, and we must not give cause for complaint.’

‘You’re right, Aunty Bobia.’ Alys smiled sweetly at Kaleen, who was clearly squirming at being categorised as a mere employee. ‘I should have thought of this technicality myself. I would not like to be the cause of Kaleen Sahib getting into trouble with his employer.’

Kaleen spluttered as he looked for something to say that would restore his full glory in everyone’s eyes. Sherry squinted at Alys, a playful request that she cut it out.