Duty Free (12 page)

Mummy’s always said that Aunty Pussy is at least three years older than her and that she lies about her age because she failed one year in school and had to repeat again, but tonight they were both looking like twins, with their maroon hair teased and sprayed into big stiff bubbles on top of their heads and eyeshadow in the creases of their eyelids and long diamond earrings dragging down their wrinkled ear lopes.

Jonkers was standing behind them gripping the backs of their chairs. He was wearing suit and tie and looking as if he was going in for root canal. His forehead was shiny with sweat.

“Hello, Aunties, so nice you look,” Mulloo gushed.

“Hello, darling,” Mummy said to me. “Lovely jewellery. Doesn’t she look like a princess, Pussy? What a surprise to see
you
here, Mulloo.”

“Hi, Jonkers,” I said, patting his shoulder. It felt stiff as cardboard. “Relax
yaar
,” I whispered to him.

“Hello, Apa,” he mumbled.

“At last!” Aunty Pussy said to me. “I thought you were never going to show up. What’s the time? Have you found any girls?”

“Oho, Aunty,” I said. “At least give us time to sit down.”

The bride and groom were sitting on golden thrones on the stage and their mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters were all sitting on red sofas besides them. They were posing for pictures, with their teeth showing in fake grins. Video-
wallahs
and camera men hoovered around like flies in front of them shouting instructions, “This way please. Please to look straight.” And guests waited below the stage to go and hand their envelopes.

“Who’s that girl?” Aunty Pussy spotted a girl standing near the bottom of the stage and waved her hand up and down at her like she was calling a taxi. Mummy slapped her hand down.

“Pussy! Behave.”

“Which one, Aunty?” asked Mulloo.

“
That
one. The one in the mauve and pink. Nice, big emeralds. Looks to be from a good home. No, Jonkers?”

Before Jonkers could open his mouth, Mulloo leapt in.

“You mean the busty one with the backless blouse and the big bottom? That one? Turn your eyes away right now, Aunty. Bite your tongue. Don’t even take her name. You know what she’s called? Speedboat! I don’t think you need me to tell you why.” And then she told us why. “She was four years up from my Irum at school and from age twelve she was
khisskoing
, you know sneaking off, from school with strange men. Not boys, Aunty. Men. Men. Otherwise she comes from good
enough home. Father is Magic Carpets and mother is harmless. Does charity.”

“Oh no, no, no,” says Aunty Pussy. “
Last
thing we need is another fast number for my poor, innocent Jonkers. What about that one then, the tall, fair one at the back? In blue.”

“I don’t think—” started Jonkers but Mulloo cut in.

“Naila? Oh, she’s engaged, Aunty. Big shame you missed her. Got engaged just last month.
Such
a nice girl. So polite, so well-brought-up. She is Ahmed and Nikky Shah’s daughter. Nice, decent people with nice, decent house in Islamabad and nice, decent lands near Faisalabad.”

“Why did we miss her? Why didn’t you suggest her before?” Aunty Pussy glared at me.

“
Uff Allah
, Aunty,” I sighed. “She’s got engaged to her father’s younger brother’s son. I think so they must have had an understanding in the family from before only. Probably from when they were children. You know how these landed types are. Like to keep the lands in the family.”

“Well
your
husband’s landed, isn’t he? And he married
you
,” Aunty Pussy said to me. The way she said,
you
, as if Janoo had married some cockroach.

“Yes, but Janoo’s not any old feudal. He’s an Oxen, and in case you don’t know, Aunty Pussy,” I told her, “that’s someone who’s studied from Oxford.”

After that, I decided I’m not going to point out a single girl to Aunty Pussy. I damn care if Jonkers dies a poor left-over bachelor. In any case, there’s bossy-body Mulloo to look after him.

“All these new people everywhere,” Mummy murmured. “We never saw them before, did we, Pussy? Where have they come from? But look there. The girl behind that fat man. I know her family, Pussy.”

“Which one?” Aunty Pussy leaned so far ahead in her chair that Jonkers had to grab the back of it to stop her falling face forward into the carpet.

“There, see? The one who’s laughing? She’s Sultana Subhan’s granddaughter. You remember Sultana, don’t you, Pussy? She was with me in class, long plait, down to her knees. Three years junior to you. Married very young. Wealthy family, Pussy, and old, from Karachi.”

“
One
year junior,” said Aunty Pussy sourly.

“Nice girl,” agreed Mulloo, “but no point, really. She’s becoming an architect or a doctor or something at some college in America and you know how bossy over-educated girls can be and anyway by the time she finishes her studies—”

“My Jonkers can’t wait,” declared Aunty Pussy. “He’s waited long enough. Isn’t that so, darling?” she said, suddenly remembering her silent son. “He must be married by the end of the year. Latest.”

Jonkers made some gargling-type noise in his throat but Aunty Pussy ignored.

Aunty Pussy saw two more girls. Mulloo immediately told her they were married. One had a child even. Aunty Pussy kept asking about more and more girls, and Mulloo kept rejecting them, saying this is wrong with this one and that is wrong with that. I think so Mulloo was doing all the rejecting
because she was plotting some plot of her own. She’s like that. Plotty.

I looked at my watch. It was quarter to midnight. When would they serve dinner? Not that it would be any great feast. Not since the spoil-sport guvmunt announced that weddings must have one dish only. Now instead of the fifteen-dish dinners we used to have there’s only bore
qorma
. But if the guvmunt’s trying to stop people spending so much on weddings I think so it should see Khayam’s booze bill and Shabnam’s diamonds, not to mention the Holland lilies. I was so hungry, I’d even settle for bore
qorma
.

Aunty Pussy saw an old friend and struggled up from her chair to go and do hello–hi, but her foot caught in the carpet and she went flying. But thanks God a girl was passing in front of her just then and she managed to catch Aunty Pussy before she crashed to the ground.

“Are you all right?” she asked, holding Aunty Pussy by the shoulders.

“Yes, yes, fine,” Aunty Pussy snapped, brushing the girl’s hands off her shoulders as if they were dandrough. “I’m perfectly fine. Can’t you see?”

I wish Aunty Pussy wouldn’t treat everyone like a servant. Honestly, some times she can be so rude.

“Thank you,” said Jonkers to the girl. He stepped up and helped Aunty Pussy back into her chair. “Thank you for saving my mother.” He was probably also feeling embarrassed of his mother’s behaviour.

“No problem.” The girl smiled at him.

Jonkers’ face flashed red.

She had a dimply smile, otherwise she was a bit plainish. High pony tail, slim, wheatish colouring, longish nose. She was dressed in a pale yellow silk
shalwar kameez
with just a little bit of silver embroidery on the neckline and small pearl earrings. No designer shoes, no big jewels, no nothing. She didn’t look like she came from an effluent bagground. Aunty Pussy thought the same because she gave her one look and immediately lost interest. The girl gave Jonkers a little wave and went away.

“What did you think?” asked Jonkers, tugging at my elbow.

“Of what?” I asked.

“That girl. The one in yellow? Who just passed by?”

“That dark, poor-looking thing in the cheap clothes?” asked Aunty Pussy in a loud voice. “She must be one of the poor relations. Or else, a gatecrasher.”

Immediately Jonkers’ face fell down but he didn’t say anything.

And then I saw Sunny and Faiza standing gossiping and they called me over and I went because Mulloo was jumping up and down on my nerves. I did just five minutes of goss with them and when I came back I saw that Jonkers was gone and Aunty Pussy and Mulloo were smiling as if they’d just got engaged to each other.

“It’s been decided,” said Aunty Pussy when she saw me. “Your lovely friend here, what’s your name, dear? Yes of course, Mottoo. Well Mottoo—”

“Mulloo, Aunty, my name is Mulloo, not Mottoo.”

“Yes, yes, Mottoo has a cousin with a lovely daughter. Young, respectful, wealthy, nicely brought-up, isn’t that right? Who she’s going to introduce to us.”

“Why?” I asked, giving Mulloo a suspicious look.

“For your cousin Jonkers, of course.”

Bloody Mulloo. She’s so pushy. Always pushing herself to the front. Well, I damn care what sort of girl she gets for Jonkers now. Aunty Pussy and she deserve one another. And if Jonkers is going to be such a wet brag and just stand there gargling and staring, then he also deserves whatever type of cheapster thing or bore number they give him.

“Jonky darling, have you heard? You’re marrying Mottoo’s cousin. Jonky?” Aunty Pussy’s head snivelled around to look at the empty space where he’d been standing. “Where is he? Where’s he gone?”

“I’ll go find him, Aunty.” Mulloo, grinning like a baboon, went off to look for him.

“He’s probably gone to find some dinner,” said Mummy. “Get up, Pussy. We’d better go and get something to eat also before we all starve to death.” And when they’d gone a bit of the way, I heard her say to Aunty Pussy, “You shouldn’t say that you’re going to marry Mulloo’s cousin’s daughter. You haven’t even seen her yet. She may be a hunchback or black as coal, for all you know.”

This morning I was woken up at the crack of noon by a phone call. Who else but Aunty Pussy? Honestly, she’s so consistent, so consistent that don’t even ask. Once she’s got after something only a suicide bomber could make her change her mind.

“Dar-
ling
,” she shrieked, “your Mummy seems to think that you got upset at the wedding. Why, darling? What is that Mottoo to me? It is
you
who will choose Jonky’s future brides with me. She can show me all she wants, but
you’re
the one who’s going to have final say. After all, you are blood.”

And then she told me about Mulloo’s distant cousin.

Apparently she has a broken
nikah
behind her so, like Jonkers, she is also second-hand. And she is quiet and simple and obedient. And rich. Her father has a big import–export business and they have a nice, fat house in Defence Housing Society but not near the bad bit of Defence where all the prostitutes are. Mulloo (trust her, the pushy back-stabber), she’s already organized a tea party at their house for Aunty Pussy. I told Aunty Pussy to take Jonkers along as well so the girl and boy could see each other but she fell silent for a bit and then said Mulloo had told her that maybe not at the first meeting,
because her cousin, Farva, is in that way a little bit on the conservative side. Not much. A bit, only.

They must be
pukka
conservative-types to do
nikah
contract instead of just engagement. Breaking it off is like doing proper die-vorce through courts and all, unlike engagement that you can break any time, anywhere. I bet you Mulloo’s cousin did the
nikah
when her daughter was a baby or something. Poor Jonkers. He’s marrying into a fundo family.

Aunty Pussy begged me to come along also. I wanted to say no, you go with your precious Mulloo, but then thinking of Kulchoo I said yes. Before I hanged up, I asked Aunty Pussy if she’d told Zeenat Kuraishi that Jonkers wasn’t interested. And Aunty Pussy at once became sharp with me and said how could she go and say they were not interested when Zeenat hadn’t even asked properly. When the right moment came, she’d drop a hint. Until then she was going to let sleeping logs lie. So after that I called Mummy and told her that she must come also because Aunty Pussy when she gets highly stung like this, she can become quite over,
na
. Mummy said okay.

After that I called Jonkers in his towel and bed-sheet office and told him we were going to see Girl Number Two the next day. I also told him that he couldn’t come just now because her parents were a little bit like that. I thought he’d be really disappointed but he seemed least bothered as if he couldn’t care less if he came or not. I said to him sharply, I said, “I’m doing this for you, okay?” So he thanked me and said he was very grateful to me for taking time out like this. I asked if he had any last requests. Nothing really, he said, except that girl
must be nice person and must be someone who would be on his side. That’s two things, I told him. And anyways, what did he mean by “on his side”? Supportive, he said. I told him we were going to look at a girl, not a sports bra, okay?