Moni Mohsin - Duty Free

“Your aunty still looking for girl?” Mulloo asked, checking her lipstick in her compact mirror.

I was not befooled by her casual enquiry. Not for one second even. She’s always up to some little plot or plan or something. One thing about Mulloo, she’s very sly. Can’t let your guards down with her.

“Girls, tau , as you know, are plenty,” I said casually. “But we are picky, you know. Not like all these easily satisfied people who’ll be happy with first thing they see.”

“Of course, darling, of course,” she smiled, closing her compact with a tight little click, as if that was final word on everything. “Shall we go find your mother?” She linked her arm in mine and because I didn’t know how to shake her off I had to take her along — like chewing gum under my shoe.

Because Mummy and Aunty Pussy are so early for everything they always manage to grab the best seats. Now they were right by the stage where bride and groom were sitting, on the seats that are normally reserved for the in-laws. You know, na , that once Mummy decides she’s going to sit somewhere not even wild asses can move her. So there they were, sitting in the best seats. Everyone who went to congratulate the bridal couple and press envelopes into their hands had to pass by them. Best place for checking out prospectus girls.

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.