Kamila Shamsie - Salt and Saffron

‘If someone … say, Ghair Insaan, is cloned, then he and his clone are … what?’

‘Used to settle the nature versus nurture debate?’

‘Wrong. They are twins. More than twins. So they’re not-quite-twins. Yes?’

‘Point?’

‘Theoretically, in the next generation or two of Dard-e-Dils there could be dozens of sets of clones. Imagine every baby cloned in all the extended family. If that were to happen it would be impossible for every set of not-quites to bring downfall upon us because, after all, there’s only so much downfall that can happen in one generation, and only so many people who can be responsible for it.’

Aba nodded. ‘Point.’

I shook my head. ‘Rubbish.’

Sameer threw the ginger at me. I ate it before it could be used as a missile again. ‘Theoretically, it’s possible. Theoretically, a mass cloning across the family would prove that the theory of not-quite-twins fated to bring about disaster is rubbish.’

Ami stood up. ‘This whole family is mad, bhai, cent percent banana bread. I’m going to lie down with cucumbers over my eyes.’

‘There’s something you should know, little bug,’ Aba said. ‘Your Dadi didn’t believe the legend of not-quites when she was young. It’s just that with Partition, the horror of what went on then, and the whole Akbar and Sulaiman thing, believing the legend was the easiest way of making sense of things. Even your mother admits it was strange how everything unfolded — the break-up of the family and my father and uncle’s roles in it. It makes it hard to dismiss family lore.’ He walked out of the room, turning in the doorway to glance briefly at me.

He still couldn’t dismiss family lore entirely.

A couple of days later, at Dadi’s house, the Starched Aunts entered the room and I said, ‘At last! The tarts are here.’

I was referring to the lemon tarts which Dadi’s bearer wheeled in on the tea-trolley, just after the aunts entered, but it was an inauspicious start to the evening, nonetheless. The two aunts did their round of the room, kissing their aunts and uncles and cousins and nephews and nieces, and when it was my turn they both pinched my cheeks and said to each other, ‘She still gets excited about pastries. Like a baby! Sho shweet.’

They pulled their signature crisp, starched kurtas taut as they sat down, so that the material wouldn’t crease, and the older sister spread her hands as though to ward off any accusations. ‘So sorry to arrive in this haalat —’ she pointed at the incongruous running shoes on her feet — ‘but we’ve both been for a walk and came straight over from the park. Bhai, I said maybe we should skip the walk today, but you know, have to look good for Kishoo’s wedding next week. We saw Kishoo’s mother yesterday and tobah! She’s put on so much weight and was wearing a sari on top of that and I swear a tidal wave of fat came lurching towards us when she walked into the room. And Kishoo’s in-laws-to-be are so stylish. I mean if I looked like that at my daughter’s wedding I’d do her a favour and stay away altogether.’

‘Or claim overflowing of religion and cover yourself in a burkha,’ said Younger Starch.

The sisters beamed and looked around. ‘So good to be with family. Why don’t we do this more often?’

Any of the twenty or so relatives in the room who might have been asking the same question minutes earlier were not doing so any more.

‘Kishoo? You mean Kishwar? Lily’s daughter? Hanh, I heard she was getting married. Who to?’ While Dadi was asking the questions she was also using hand gestures to direct two of my young cousins to hand around plates and tea things and find out how much sugar everyone took in his or her tea. Sameer and I watched this with great satisfaction; not too long ago we were the two considered both old enough and young enough to have this chore placed on us.

‘Quite a catch!’ Younger Starch said. ‘The oldest son of the Ali Shahs. He has the family seat in the National Assembly.’

‘Really?’ Great-Aunt One-Liner sniffed. ‘Lily’s daughter is marrying a Sindhi?’ Great-Aunt One-Liner generally made only one comment in an evening. She usually waited until late to make it; just when she realized everyone was about to leave and she hadn’t said anything memorable to leave her stamp on the occasion she’d speak, and then everyone would feel that the evening had truly come to an end. The only exceptions to her policy of delayed vocalization occurred, as now, when someone gave her an opportunity to reveal her disdain for anyone not from Dard-e-Dil or the states around it.

I glanced over at Sameer’s father, whose mother was Sindhi. He winked at me.

‘They’re very important people, the Ali Shahs,’ Older Starch said. ‘Kishoo’s parents are thrilled with the match. After all, why should the Ali Shahs have settled for a girl who isn’t from a political family? They won’t get any mileage from the match. And yet, they’re conscious of lineage, they understand these things matter, so they’re welcoming her with open arms.’

‘In fact —’ and here both the sisters looked at me — ‘the Ali Shahs have a younger son. Unmarried. Very intelligent, very ambitious. They say he won’t remain in the shadows long. In fact, some say, if democracy survives, future prime minister. And he’s looking for a girl from a good family. He’ll be in Karachi for the wedding. Aliya, you should come with us to all the functions. We’ve been invited to everything — even the really small dholkis.’

I opened my mouth and Sameer shoved a sandwich in it. Cheese and tomato. Too much butter.

Great-Aunt One-Liner leant forward and, shockingly, spoke again. ‘Have they expressed an interest? In Aliya.’

‘My granddaughter is not a confectionery item,’ Dadi said. ‘And in any case, she’s got two years of university ahead of her.’ I felt the urge to stand up and cheer.

A bachelor uncle shook his head. ‘She’ll be twenty-four then. Her “best before” date will nearly have passed.’

Aba turned to him. ‘I have a stone aimed at your glass house. Should I throw it?’

‘The lemon tarts are really wonderful,’ Ami said. ‘For years they were too sweet, but this is how I remember them from my childhood.’ She put a hand on Sameer’s mother’s wrist. ‘Zainab, remember how your mother always used to have two lemon tarts waiting for us, by the side of the pool, when we finished our fifty laps at the Club? When is your mother arriving?’

‘Don’t have the exact date yet. You know what she’s like. Loves the element of surprise. For all we know she could be in the air right now, halfway between Greece and here.’

The bachelor uncle returned the conversation to its earlier topic. ‘Aren’t the Ali Shahs related to that Jahangir? The one whose lands Mariam was on when she … What’s the preferred family euphemism? … Disappeared.’

I had the desperate urge to yank off his toupee.

‘Oh, everyone is related to everyone,’ my mother laughed. ‘And you have ketchup on your silk shirt. I think it’ll stain.’

‘Well, I think this is as good a time as any to say it,’ Older Starch said. ‘My children, as you all know, have both, Allah ka shukar, been admitted to Karachi Grammar School and Maliha will be joining the Senior School. You know what kids are like at that age. Anything to tease about they’ll tease about. So I’ve said it plain to them, if anyone mentions Mariam they’re to say she is no relation to them. She was an imposter. And I’m not just saying this for my children’s sake, because of course you have to teach them to speak the truth. I truly believe it and why no one else has thought of it already I don’t know.’