Boy vs. Girl (2 page)

Several hours later, the newly scrubbed kitchen cupboards groaned under the weight of family-sized tins of ghee, lentils, garam flour, sugar, honey, dates from Madinah, bottles of Zamzam water that a neighbour had brought from Makkah, fruit juice,
mango powder, new packets of turmeric, chilli, coriander, cumin and Ummerji's homemade chaat and garam masala.

How ironic
, thought Farhana, as she watched her father and brother drag in the bags of shopping,
it's meant to be a month of fasting but we think about food more than ever.

Later that day, when Ummerji and Dad had gone out to take some shopping over to his mum's, Naneeji's, house to save her a trip out in the rain, their father's youngest sister, Auntie Najma, came over.

Faraz raced to the door when he heard the bell from up in his room. Auntie Najma stood on the doorstep, a vision in black in the pouring rain. Her umbrella kept the rain off but it couldn't stop her
jilbab
, her long black cloak, soaking up the water from the garden path. Her face was covered with a
niqab
, a face veil, her hands with black gloves.

No one seeing Auntie Najma on the street would have any clue that she preferred to wear her
kurta
tunics with faded blue jeans, or that she had a tiny diamond nose ring and a weakness for gourmet sandwiches and designer handbags. A few words exchanged in a shop or on the bus would
not betray her First Class degree or love of world literature and Impressionist art. To passers-by, she was just another woman in
purdah
, a common enough sight in their part of town, an unwelcome oddity in the town centre and the suburbs.

But Faraz and Farhana had long since ceased to be surprised by their aunt's outward appearance, even though the whole family had been shocked by how changed she had been when she had come back from university in London. Auntie Najma, once so wild and out of control, had come back all Islamic. The change had been a real shock.

“I can't stand it when people take things to extremes…” Ummerji would often say. But extreme or not, Auntie Najma was by far the twins' favourite relative and, as far as they were concerned, she was welcome any time.

“Faraz!” Auntie Najma said warmly. “
Asalaamu alaikum
! Where've you been, man? I thought you were going to come and see us last weekend.” Her gravelly voice was unmistakable.

“
Wa alaikum salaam
, Auntie,” Faraz replied, his face breaking into a smile. He opened the door and stepped aside for her to walk past him into the hallway. “Dad wanted me to help him in the
shop, y'know?”

Once inside, Auntie Najma flipped up her
niqab
and gave him another big smile, pulling off her gloves. “How are you, love?”

“Fine, Auntie, I'm good.”

“
Alhamdulillah
, that's great…”

“Auntie Naj!” Farhana had heard her aunt's voice from upstairs and ran down to greet her.

The two of them hugged and Auntie Najma laughed. “All right, all right, easy!” Then she turned to Faraz. “Are you two free for a couple of hours? I wanted you to come and help me with a few Ramadan preparations…”

The twins looked at each other.

“I guess so,” said Farhana. “Ummerji and Dad have gone to Naneeji's with some groceries.”

“Well, just call and find out if it's OK, in case there's something else she wants you to do at home… I know what the weekend before Ramadan can be like!”

Farhana ran off to the living room to call her mother.

Faraz started putting on his trainers, hunting for his jacket. “Faraz,” said Auntie Najma, “have you got any jackets you don't wear any more?”

“Ummm, I don't think so…”

“What about that one there?” Auntie Najma pointed to a jacket with a red hood. “I remember you wearing that last year – there's no way you can fit into it now!”

Faraz smiled and blushed. He had grown
a lot
since last year. After a few minutes, he had unearthed several coats and jackets that he had outgrown.

“What d'you need them for anyway, Auntie?” he asked as he pushed them into a big shopping bag.

“Well, the weather's starting to change, and there are quite a few people who would be glad of a Faraz Ahmed cast-off.”

By the time they left the house, they had three carrier bags full of warm clothes and shoes. Auntie Najma packed them in the boot of her little Mini.

Farhana smiled at the sight: this woman in black, covered from head to foot, at the wheel of a bright red Mini Cooper. What did the neighbours make of
that
?

The three of them chatted easily as they drove slowly along the rainy Saturday high street.
Outside the car windows, it was as if the sights, sounds and smells of downtown Karachi had followed the immigrants who had come over in the fifties and had clung on, in spite of the concrete buildings and English weather.

The damp streets were packed with shoppers picking up supplies for the weeks ahead. Beards, skull caps, headscarves,
dupattas, burqas, shalwar kamees
, mixed and mingled and created a vivid roadside display.
Saris
and
shalwar kameez
vied for window space, a competition between the traditional styles and the latest Asian designer looks. Impossibly bright gold jewellery glittered in the jewellery shop windows, fake versions adorning shoes, evening bags and shop mannequins. The fruit'n'veg stalls boasted their finest South Asian vegetables –
mooli
,
karela
, okra, red chillies – and fruit by the box or the kilo: plump, fragrant mangoes, hairy coconuts,
sapodilla
.

In other shops, darkened places whose spicy, dusty odour tickled the nose, there were sacks of rice, grains, lentils and dried coriander, tubs of ground cumin, golden turmeric, and cardamom pods. The halal butchers had people queuing up
outside and, all the while, the delivery vans kept coming.

Practically everyone here was Asian. Once in a while, you might see an old white man or woman, walking a dog or pulling a trolley, but they were a rarity, like relics from a bygone age. This was the closest you could get to Pakistan without a plane ticket.

But Auntie Najma didn't stop. They carried on driving until they'd left their neighbourhood behind them and were heading towards the other side of town.

“Where are we going, Auntie?” Farhana asked at last.

“Well,” Auntie Najma replied, “I've started volunteering at a women's homeless shelter twice a week, and I promised someone I would be there today.”

The twins looked at each other. Homeless shelter? Auntie Najma caught their shared look and smiled.

“Relax!” she said. “I'm not going to make you wash all the dishes in the soup kitchen or anything! I won't be long at all. You guys don't even have to come out – although you can if you like… and,
who knows, you might benefit from it.…”

After parking the car, Auntie Najma asked the twins to help her with the bags. As it was a women's shelter, Faraz took the bags as far as the door, then waited outside. Auntie Najma signed in, then went to the common room.

Farhana looked around warily, not wanting to stare, but curious about this place and its inhabitants. Some of the women looked at her suspiciously, others stared past her, uninterested.

Auntie Najma,
niqab
up, walked towards a young lady with more piercings than Farhana could count. Through the fuzz of shaved hair that was growing back, she could see a large tattoo on the woman's scalp. Farhana shivered involuntarily and was about to go when her aunt, all smiles, called her over.

“Alice,” she said, “I'd like you to meet my niece, Farhana… Farhana, this is Alice.”

Farhana tried to smile and sound normal. “Hi…”

“Hi,” said Alice in a soft voice that didn't seem to match her appearance. “So you're the special niece I've heard so much about!”

Farhana looked questioningly over at Auntie
Najma who grinned. “You know I'm always showing off to everyone about my bright, beautiful, wonderful niece,
masha Allah
!”

Farhana smiled, embarrassed. “Well,” she said at last, “it was nice meeting you…” She didn't know what else to say. But it was clear that Auntie Najma and Alice did not have a shortage of things to say to each other. They spoke animatedly for about twenty minutes, bursting out laughing several times. Then, Auntie Najma took out some papers and gave them to Alice, who smiled gratefully.

“Thanks so much, Najma,” Farhana heard her say. “I don't know what I would do without you.”

“Don't mention it,” was Auntie Najma's response. “We'll see that justice is served,
insha Allah
.”

Alice smiled then, showing two gaps where her teeth were missing. “Yeah,
insha Allah
…”

The two women embraced briefly, then Auntie Najma flew back to Farhana.

“Is that lady Muslim?” Farhana wanted to know.

“No,” smiled Auntie Najma, “she picked up
insha Allah
from me. But you never know….”

* * *

Soon they were all sitting in a booth on retro red leather benches, studying a menu made up entirely of milkshakes.

“Hmmm,” murmured Auntie Najma, “I
still
haven't tried every flavour. But I think it's banana peanut butter for me. What will you two have?”

The twins stared at the menu, overwhelmed by the choice.

Auntie Najma smiled at them. “Take your time, it's OK…” She pulled a brocade-covered book out of her Moroccan leather bag.

“What's that, Auntie Naj?” asked Farhana, peering over at it.

“It's my journal,” answered her aunt, flipping the pages. “Ramadan is in a few days' time, isn't it? So, I'm using my journal to prepare for Ramadan, to make sure I have a list of things that I want to achieve, stuff I want to improve on, things I want to do.…”

Farhana raised her eyebrows. Auntie Naj still had stuff to improve on? “Like what?”

“Ummm,” Auntie Najma's eyes scanned the page. “Like finish reading the
Qur'an
, pray the night prayer, give some of my clothes to charity, take my favourite niece and nephew to
iftar
at
a new restaurant that's opened up… that kind of thing.” She looked up at them and grinned. “So, how do
you
prepare for Ramadan?”

Faraz and Farhana looked at each other and then at their aunt, puzzled.

“What do you mean, Auntie?” asked Faraz. “What's to prepare? OK, I'm ready to go hungry, if that's what you mean…”

“Unlike last year, y'mean?” Farhana couldn't resist having a dig at her brother's pathetic show of fasting the year before.

Faraz gave her a dirty look. “Yeah, unlike last year! And don't start with me! I know about you and Shazia down the chip shop!”

Farhana blushed. “That was different!” she protested hotly. “Shazia wasn't praying at the time! And anyway, I … I…”

Faraz burst out laughing. “Save it for the judge, mate! You were just as rubbish as me, admit it!”

Farhana giggled sheepishly.

“Well, none of that this year you two, all right?” Their aunt looked at them sternly, only the slightest hint of a smile about her lips.

Then the waiter was there to take their order. Farhana thought she would be adventurous and try
the Blackberry Cheesecake Shake. Faraz decided to play it safe with a strawberry vanilla blend.

“It's those strawberry protein shakes, Faraz!” joked Farhana. “They've ruined your taste buds for life!”

The twins laughed. It had been a while since they had been out together: just the two of them and Auntie Naj.

“OK, let's take a few steps back here,” said Auntie Najma. “I want you to tell me about Ramadan. What it's all about, what it's for.”

The twins looked at each other and rolled their eyes –
what was this, madressah?
Then they shrugged their shoulders and rattled off everything they knew about Ramadan, the month of mercy: no food or drink from sunrise to sunset, one of the pillars of Islam, devils chained up, time to do good deeds, forgiveness for the one who fasts the whole month.

“OK, good, so you know the basics,” said Auntie Najma. “I expect you're well pleased with yourselves! But what does Ramadan mean to
you
? What do
you
want to get out of it?”

The two fell silent. They weren't used to being asked about their own views on religious matters.
As a young Muslim, you did what you were supposed to do, what your parents told you, no questions.

“Auntie,” said Faraz at last, “Ramzan is just something that you do: everyone does. It's about family and food, big
iftars
and going mosque on Eid. It's just the norm.”

“But what I mean is, what do
you
want to achieve by the end of Ramadan? What do you hope to gain?”

They were silent for a moment. Farhana spoke up first.

“I guess I'd like to prove to myself that I can actually fast the whole month… I've never done the whole month before.”

Faraz nodded in agreement. “I suppose it's a challenge, really. Cos it's hard, innit? The question is: can you handle it?”

“And it's not just the fasting, is it?” added Farhana. “It's the other stuff, the stuff you know you shouldn't be doing in the first place… messing about.”

“Trying to better yourself, as a person, as a Muslim.”

“Trying to live up to your ideals…”

Auntie Najma smiled at them both. “Now that's what
I'm
talking about! We have to remember how fortunate we are to see another Ramadan. It's like we've been given another chance to repent, to better ourselves, to get some serious blessings from Allah. We've got a chance to make this month really special… I can't wait!” She fished around in her bag. “Look, here's a book I've been reading, just to remind myself, y'know?”