Moni Mohsin - Duty Free

Two hours later I switched on my mobile phone and the second I did, it rang. The number looked familiar but since it wasn’t Aunty Pussy’s, I picked up. Never know na , someone might be calling up with an invitation to a party or at least a dinner.

“You cow. You’ve stolen my maid, haven’t you?” It was Faiza.

“ Haw , Faiza—”

“Don’t you dare ‘ haw Faiza’ me. I know you stole Ameena. So don’t bother denying.”

“I don’t have any Ameena in my house. My maid’s called Shameem.”

“Liar! I know you’ve stolen Ameena.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, my new maid’s Shameem. If you don’t believe me you can ask all the servants in my house.”

She fell silent. Then she said, “Where’s Ameena gone then?”

“How should I know?”

Another pause. Then she sighed and said, “I’m sorry, yaar . I was sure you’d taken her.”

“Who told you?” If it’s that bloody Mulloo, I’ll go and strangle her with my own hands only.

“No one. You’d said your maid had walked out on you. Shortly after, my maid went missing. I put two and two together and came up with seven. Sorry, haan ?”

“No probs, yaar . Friends are for forgiving.”

I put down the phone and told Shameem that next time Faiza comes she’s to go inside the servants’ quarters and stay there till Faiza leaves, even if Faiza takes fifteen hours. Okay?

Honestly! So much of stress, so much of tension. I don’t know how I survive here. Anyone else would have had a nervous break-out.

Yesterday we went to a GT at Mulloo’s. It was small, because GTs are small, na. Otherwise they’d be dinner parties. Baby and Jammy, Sunny and Akbar, Janoo and me. That’s all. Oh and Mulloo and Tony and Irum also. Because, after all, it was at their house.

Anyways, we walked into their lounge and there was nobody there except this man whom I’d never seen before. He looked youngish, maybe eighteen or twenty with longish hair and T-shirt and jeans and two or three of those colourful woven bracelets like Prince Harry wears and sneakers and no socks. But, thanks God, shaven and with clean clothes and washed hair. Not dirty and greasy-looking, like so many teenagers. He got up and said hello and that his name was Zain and he shook Janoo’s hand which was odd because if teenagers greet you at all, they just dig their hands in their pockets and shrug and say hi in a sulky way as if they are being forced to say. Someone had given him a good brought-up.

And then Mulloo came in with an ice-basket and behind her Tony, carrying two bottles of wine and they were both laughing — which was even more odder because I can’t remember the last time I’d seen Tony laugh — and they asked us if we’d met Zain. And we said yes and they said he was Irum’s friend and Tony clapped him on the back and Zain said, “Here, Aunty, let me,” and took the ice-basket from Mulloo’s hands and Mulloo beamed at him and then Tony started to ask what we wanted to drink and Mulloo started wondering where Sunny and Baby and all had got to and while all of this was going on, it suddenly donned on me that Zain must be the DVD -wallah !

So as soon as I could, I grabbed Mulloo’s hand and pulled her down on the sofa and whispered, “Be frank. Is this the DVD- wallah ?”

“Yes, that’s Zain,” she giggled. “Isn’t he lovely?”

“Where’s Irum?” I asked.

“Upstairs, finishing off some homework. She’s just coming.”

Then Baby and Jammy and Sunny and all came and they started talking about this and that and laughing and joking and through it all I kept noticing that Mulloo and Tony, they looked different, you know, happy. Every now and then they’d give each other smiles. And when Mulloo cracked a joke Tony would laugh the loudest even if joke was limp. When Irum came downstairs she sat down next to Mulloo and sort of smuggled into her side and Mulloo put her arm around her. And every now and then, Irum and Zain would also give each other private-type looks. Which, between you, me, and the four walls, became a bit over and sickish after a while and if it had been someone else in my place they might even have passed some comment about it. But you know me. I never complain.

Because it was just a GT and not a big dinner-type thing, we were all sitting together, you know, not men and women on opposite ends of the room. And Zain was also sitting with us and talking politics and you know for a poor-type DVD- wallah , his English was quite good. And then there was a short pause in the conversation and Janoo asked Zain what he did.

Zain said, “I’m between high school and college but right now, I’m running my cousin’s DVD store.”

I looked at Mulloo’s face to see if she had died of shame, but not for one second. In fact, she was grinning as if Zain had just announced he was a sugar mill-owner.

“Are you interested in film?” asked Janoo. Crack! As if you run a DVD store because you enjoy watching films. I was making signs and symptoms at him to change subject but of course Janoo as usual wasn’t looking at me. Aik tau he’s also such a stuppid.

“Not interested.” Zain laughed. “ Obsessed . That’s why I’m doing it. I want to introduce the general public in Lahore to some non-Hollywood directors too.”

“Really?” asked Janoo, looking interested. “So who do you rate then?”

Zain wheeled off a list of strange, strange names like Ray and Maal and Four Man and someone else, I think so must be Indian, called Guru Sawa and I don’t know who, who else.

“Oh, yes,” said Janoo. “ Days and Nights in the Forest, The Seven Samurai . Excellent, excellent. And Hitchcock?”

“Master of supense,” said Zain. “ Psycho is beyond amazing.”

I was about to ask who had made a film about Janoo’s younger sister when Akbar butted in and asked Zain what he thought of someone called Score Say Say. And Zain said that he didn’t think The Departed was his best work but that Raving Bull and Taxi Driver were “fan-tast-tick.” And then Janoo put on a silly face and pointed to himself and said, “You talkin’ to me?” in a weird American-type accent and Jammy said, “I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse,” in a low, horse-type voice.

And they all burst up laughing and started doing hi-fives like silly teenagers and Akbar said but that was Copp Ullah and Jammy said yes, he knew that yaar , but that Copp Ullah was better than Score Say Say and that someone’s godfather wiped the floor with some taxi driver and they all started arguing, but not in a fighting way.

Then Baby said, “ Bhai , I know you will all look down your noses at me but I tau loved Omkara. ”

“No, no, no,” said Zain. “It’s zabardast . Really, really brilliant. Bharadwaj’s riff on Othello . And the soundtrack!”

“Dham Dham Dharam Dharaiya,” sang Akbar, and guess what? I couldn’t resist joining in. And Irum said she didn’t know I had such a nice voice and had I taken singing lessons and Janoo looked surprised and asked if I’d seen this film and I said of course, I’ve seen every single Indian film that Sound Sensations in Fortress Stadium has ever had and will ever have.

“What did you think of Maqbool ?” Zain asked me. And then he explained to Janoo that it was an Indian take on Mack Beth.

I said Tabu looked nice with her long hair and long face but that fatty Pankaj Kapoor, I didn’t like so much with that big belly of his and really I could see why Tabu didn’t want to sleep with him every night. And so I could fully understand why Tabu got Irfan Khan to kill him. In her place I’d have done same. But if I’d had Saif Ali Khan or my favourite Shahrukh or even Amir Khan in Pankaj Kapoor’s place, then I wouldn’t have looked at Irfan Khan twice. Zain laughed and said “Yeah right,” and at the mention of Amir Khan, Sunny said that he tau was her total favourite and had we seen Three Idiots and of course Janoo hadn’t and Zain said he must.