The First Feeling. (part five)

There are two kinds of people in this world, when it comes to big moments. The one kind is always disappointed in how things happened. That kind always sees the opposite of what they had imagined those moments to be. The second kind probably has that strange unexplained, un-understandable karma working for them because they always seem satisfied with what their big moments turned out to be like.

Sure, I had been given tons (well, tolas anyway) of gold, a range of furniture, crockery, tapestry and silverware. Sure, the wedding feast was as big as they got in an of the surrounding towns/villages. Sure, the big industrialists from the city came to attend Waleed’s niece’s wedding celebrations. Sure, my dress was as bright as the face of the salesman who sold it to us, but I couldn’t see any of the things that made the wedding a success. I only saw Abba’s worried face, Ghania’s plastic smile, Zohaib’s family members staring pointedly and ocassionally smiling at me, Amma’s clicking heels. Click, click, they needed more soft drinks. Click, click, Mrs. Big Shot had just arrived and must be entertained by the senior-ranking ladies of the family. Click, click, Zohaib had arrived.

It was a June wedding. My mother-in-law suddenly appeared before me and a gust of heat swished at my face as she opened the door to the small room where I sat fidgeting with my huge gold bangles.

“Pretty girl, pretty girl!” Huma Aunty said, squeezing my shoulder against hers. “You will make my son so happy, I know of it.”

For no reason, I felt nervous. It was as if Zohaib had been battling depression and I was assigned to combat it. There was no one else in the room to see that I had been tightly clasping my bangles, a little too tight because I was losing the feeling in my fingers.

“Just remember two things, my darling, and everything will be perfect.”

I let go of the bangles.

“Always remember that your husband is always right. And always remember that I am now your mother. And you will obey me.”

She had a smile on her face when she said those words but her wrinkled, eye-liner-ridden eyes said something else. Something sinister. Oh, the cliché. The cliché that I was going to have a tyrant of a mother in law was coming true and there was nothing I could do to change it.

It all happened pretty fast after that. The movie cameras, the photographs, the arrival of the baraat, the food, the pictures, the photo session. Big, giant, singular blur. People came to me, much after the wedding, and told me that they’d said such and such to me at that and that point and I stare back and say, “I don’t remember, I’m sorry.”

We stayed in the village for one more week and left for Lahore because Zohaib had to go back to work. I was eager to escape, eager to begin a life that wasn’t dotted with questions like, “The night went fine, right?” “Are you pregnant yet?” and the one statement that was the most popular among all the aunties, “Praise be to Allah, such an important responsibility is now done and over with. Now for Sumera to have heirs to Zubair Bhai’s fortune.”

Mamu was super-rich and most people knew that. Zohaib’s career wasn’t a personal choice. Everyone knew that Zohaib was only working to get some experience. He would soon be funded to establish a huge hospital. Mamu had already bought the lands in the city and the architects were already finalized. I could only think of it all as Amma’s triumph. How happy she would be that her nephew/son-in-law was so successful that no one could come close to his achievements in her in-laws. They were all in the family business but here was a boy who was going to be a big name some day.

I suppose all mothers think partially.

Huma Aunty and Mamu Zubair lived in another town, not too far from Rawalpindi. They visited often and I was on my toes from the moment she entered till the time her car swerved out of the driveway.  I had become accustomed to agreeing to her ongoing teachings about food, medicine, relationships, movies, friends. She seemed to know so much more than my village-living mother because she had spent more than half her life in the city. She was a hostelite like Ghania and she kept visiting the city often as well. In some ways, I found it easier to agree with her because I had little energy to fight against the baby heir that was growing in my belly AND his grandmother at the same time. So I chose to nod and agree and laugh and add similar-sounding arguments so I stayed in her favorites’ list consistently. She was a woman who didn’t waste words, she didn’t like disagreements and she didn’t like an opposing opinion that could make her see otherwise. I figured that out soon enough, thankfully, and the only problems I had were discussed with Amma over the phone. She told me to keep quiet and never say more than necessary and never tell Zubair about anything I said to Huma Aunty. I took it as sound advice and didn’t face a lot of trouble.

Ghania came to visit one day. Huma Aunty and I were sipping our evening tea with rusks. She pecked Huma Aunty on the cheek which made me feel like a fool. I had not yet picked up this classy hello and always awkwardly bumped shoulders to cheekbones in all the occasions that I had tried it. I offered her tea and she declined saying that she was on some dairy-free diet that only allowed her green tea.

Zohaib arrived and sat down with us and Ghania suddenly began talking to him about a new coffee shop in the area that had opened up and insisted that he take both of us there. Huma Aunty laughed at the idea when Ghania invited her as well.

“Coffee shops are for young people like you. I will go catch up on the evening tv. And my back’s hurting a bit. Sumera, can you please ask Riffat to send me my dinner upstairs?”

“Yes, Aunty, of course. Do you want a Panadol?”

“No, just dinner. And that halwa you made today. It was very good, my child.”

“Thank you, Aunty, I’ll send that up as well.”

Zohaib and Ghania, in the background, were talking about how crazy movies had suddenly become. They started talking about books after that and music and before I could take part in anything that involved any of my interest, Ghania was suddenly talking about medicine.

“Ghania, when did you become a doctor, hain?”

“Ooh, someone’s feeling left out, Zohaib. Come on. Don’t you watch those medical dramas? They tell you everything you can learn in your first year of medical school. Right, Zohaib?”

He laughed. “Not really, but okay.”

I played with my chocolate cake and Zohaib slid closer to me and held my hand under the table. He squeezed it and I felt my nerves relaxing. I ate some cake.

“I’m gonna go out and take a puff. You ladies keep yourselves company for a bit.”

There was ‘okay-bye’ and ‘be-right-back’ and a moment’s silence. I gave Ghania a long look.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” She knew what I meant.

“Don’t play dumb. Why are you acting like this woman who only talks about everything another woman’s husband talks about?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

I suddenly lurched forward, belly and all, and pinched Ghania hard. “Listen closely and listen good. I know exactly what you’re doing and I don’t like it and I want you to stop. If you don’t, I will tell Bari Tayee you have way too much free time in the city.”

Ghania’s eyes widened with pain and shock and she snatched her fleshy arm away. “Didn’t know you were so insecure.”

“Didn’t know you liked to play these games too.”

Zohaib returned and conversation fell back into chatter. Ghania’s face didn’t betray any signs of a catfight and I began shifting uncomfortably in my seat, a signal that Zohaib always understood as, “Let’s go.”

We dropped Ghania off at Bari Tayee’s sister’s, where Ghania was staying and drove away. Zohaib was still very, very, annoyingly chatty.

“She’s such a bright girl. I hope she finds a good husband.”

“Oh she will.”

“I mean, bright girls like that are hard to find you know? And uff, sometimes they get the worst of husbands.”

“Oh I don’t know. I did fine.”

“Yeah but you always were a little slow.” He was smiling.

“Ghania will marry whoever Baray Taya find her to marry. No question.”

“That Yasin fellow?”

“You remember.” I didn’t like that. “Yes, him.”

“I must say, what she did that night, I – I can’t believe a woman would do that. She was very – brave. To stand up against Baray Taya like that.”

Brave. Zohaib thought Ghania was brave. And his mother thought I’d be happiest if I was always agreeable. What was the missing link that could help me make sense out of the picture?

My heartbeat was increasing. I felt my throat knotting. The kind of feeling they say is the onset of a panic attack. But I couldn’t understand it. I felt it and couldn’t understand it. Why did Zohaib’s opinion of Ghania send me into this knot of responses?

I took a deep breath. “She was stupid to do that.”

“Courage is often misunderstood. I just think they should find someone who is compatible with her.”

I cleared my throat to shake off the little hurricane that was brewing in my innards. “Compatible? Zohaib, arrange marriages don’t take compatibility into account, and neither does Baray Taya.”

We kept talking about Ghania’s marriage prospects for a while and reached home. Zubair kept saying he would prefer Ghania marrying out of the family for various reasons (mostly outlined in Ghania’s personality) and I kept trying to make him understand how all that was impossible. We saw Huma Aunty sitting in the lounge with Mamu Zubair.

“So how was coffee?”

“Lovely. Ghania is such a lively spirit.” Zohaib took a seat and motioned for me to clear the table in front of Huma Aunty.

“Oh she is, she is,” Huma Aunty agreed vehemently. “A perfect balance. She knows so much of the world and yet comes from a good family. She will make some boy very happy some day.”

There were tears forming in my eyes as I bent to pick up Huma Aunty’s tray and I had no idea why.

(end of part five)

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