Moni Mohsin - Duty Free

You know na that low-class-type girls are always trying to grab innocent, up-class boys with sobbed-stories about how they live only for them and how they will die without them and so on and so fourth. And before the boys even leave for college they’ve dug their pointy nails into them and got them to agree to an engagement and before you know it, chalo ji , they’ve got your son.

So the other day Kulchoo’s friend Kashif was over and they were sitting with me and Janoo and doing chit-chat and then they left together to go to Main Market. Two minutes after they left, mobile rang. It was Kulchoo’s Blueberry. Normally tau he never ever forgets it anywhere. As Janoo says, it’s like apart of his body, like his leg or arm, and can only be removed by armputation. Anyways, I picked up. Before I could say hello even, a screechy low-class-type shrieks in my ear, “Kay, you promised you’d call at three and now it’s seven past three. If you’ve found someone else just come out and admit, okay?”

“Who are you?” I asked.

Silence.

Then the screechy voice says, “Who are you ?”

Look at her! Questioning me. As if I was a servant. “His mother only.”

Again silence.

Then: “Where’s Kay?”

“Out. Who are you?”

“Nobody.”

“Well, open your ears and listen to me, Nobody. Leave my son alone. Otherwise nobody will be worst than me. Understood?”

And I banged the phone down. Well to be frank, I couldn’t bang because it was mobile, but you know what I mean. And then I flung myself down on the sofa and howled, “Hai my poor baby, Kulchoo. Where’ve you gone and got stuck up?”

“What’s happened?” asked Janoo, peering out from behind his newspaper’s wall.

“It’s Kulchoo!”

“Is he okay? What’s happened?”

“No,” I moaned. “He’s not okay. He’s lost.”

“What are you going on about?”

“Kulchoo’s having an affair.”

“An affair ? Isn’t he a bit young for an affair? The boy’s just fifteen.”

“I just spoke to her on the phone. Voice like nails on blackboard. Low-class. Urdu medium accent. I can just imagine her. Thin, scrawly thing with padded bra and false eyelashes tittering around on scuffed stilettos. Hai , my bacha , what have you gone and done?”

“Relax,” said Janoo. “It’s probably just a phone romance. It’ll blow over in a month. You should be glad he’s normal. He’d have to be gay if he didn’t think of girls.”

“Kulchoo’s a gay?”

“All I’m saying is that it’s perfectly normal for a fifteen-year-old boy to show some interest in girls.”

“But not girls like that, that slu—”

“Shh, quiet.”

There was the sound of footsteps coming and I heard Kulchoo’s voice outside the door. I quickly put the phone down on the table between us. It lay there like a loaded gun. Janoo held his finger up to his lips and gave me warning scowls. I sat hands in laps. Eyes on table. The door opened. Kulchoo and Kashif came in.

“ Ye lay Kashif yaar ,” said Kulchoo, seeing the phone on the table. “Your phone.” And he picked up the phone and tossed it to Kashif.

“B-but isn’t that your Blueberry?” I asked Kulchoo.

“Nope. Mine’s right here,” Kulchoo patted his back pocket. “Blackberry. Not Blueberry.”

“It can be Strawberry now, for all she cares,” laughed Janoo.

“No missed calls?” muttered Kashif, staring at his phone.

“Nobody called, beta ,” I said with a big smile. “Absolutely nobody.”

Yesterday was such a bad day, such a bad day that don’t even ask. In fact, it was worst day. Honestly, I’m tau giving a thousand, thousand thanks that I escaped with my life. I should have known that it wasn’t going to be a good day when that crow thing happened in the morning. As I was walking to my car, a crow that was sitting on a wall suddenly scooped down and did number two on my head. Luckily I was holding a newspaper over my head at that time because sun was very strong and I didn’t want to become tanned. So thanks God my blow-dried hair didn’t get spoiled. People say it is a good amen when a bird does potty on you, but I’m sorry, what’s so good about your head being used as a toilet?

So I arrived at Mulloo’s house and sent my driver, Muhammad Hussain, to ring her front-door bell. The minute the bell rang, Mulloo sprang out of the front door like a jock-in-the-box. She was wearing a big grin and a new, bright pink silk jora , sleeveless to show off her fat white arms and even pearls round her neck. Between you, me, and the four walls, she was looking a bit over as if she was going to a big lunch, but still I wished I’d also worn something else instead of my usual two-carrot diamond ear-studs that everyone has seen a thousand, thousand times.

“ Wah , Mulloo,” I said when she got into the car, “you’re looking very dressed-up.”

“I thought I’d make an effort today,” she said, smiling. “It’s my turn, na. ”

“Turn?”

“To take the kitty.”

“Oh haan . I tau completely forgot. What are you going to do with it?” I’d spent mine on two designer joras —plain, simple ones for small dinners-shinners. One was from Karma and one from Body Focus. Because I’m fair-minded.

“I think I’ll buy some things for Irum’s dowry. You know bed-sheets, towels-showels, things like that. But obviously not local. From foreign.” And then she saw my face and added quickly, “Normally of course Tony takes care of all these things. But I begged him this time to let me do it. ‘Let me do something useful for once,’ I said. I’m so bored of spending on designer bags and even more jewellery. After all, what am I going to do with yet another diamond ring, hmm?”

I wanted to tell her to show me a jeweller’s where you can buy a diamond ring with a hundred thou (no, ninety thou, because Nina’s dropped out) and I’ll show you a cheater. But I didn’t. Because I’m not like that.

The talk at Sunny’s was all about the Butt — Khan wedding. It’s over, na . Didn’t even last two weeks. The girl side says that the boy is a prevert. He asked her to do things on their wedding night that you wouldn’t even ask someone from the Diamond Market to do. Everyone wanted to know what type things but Sunny said she couldn’t say because she’d sworn on her children’s heads. (Sunny is Shabnam’s lady-in-waiting, na, and she does all her social work for her, like defending her rep, putting out gossip about her enemies, blowing her strumpet, announcing what she gives to charity and so on and so fourth.)

“Dirty things,” Sunny said, “ very dirty things.”

And the boy side are saying that the girl is rigid. You know, cold. At least that’s what Faiza said. Faiza is not exactly the Khans’ boot-licker but she is Ruby Khan’s class fellow from their Sacred Heart Convent days and she goes and stays every summers in their flat in London for free. Anyways, according to Faiza the girl doesn’t like the bedroom side of marriage. Things became quite heated between the two of them because each started arguing as if it was for their own child while everyone else said that they always knew the marriage wouldn’t work and why hadn’t anyone asked them first before doing the proposal.

In between, my mobile rang. It was Jonkers, asking if he could see me some time because he had something to tell me. I thought to myself that oh God, it’s bound to be sobbed-story about how his mother bullies him and how he misses Shumaila, so I said, haan, haan of course Jonkers, nothing I’d like more, yaar , but right now is not a good time because I’m in the middle of a very important discussion. I’ll call back.