Moni Mohsin - Duty Free

“Get over to Pussy’s immediately.” Her voice was so loud, I’m sure Janoo could also hear every word. “I’m on my way there also. She called me two seconds ago screaming and wailing, ‘If you want to see me alive, come over at once.’ Apparently Jonkers has found yet another blow-dryer and already proposed to her also and she’s said yes and the marriage is tomorrow and Pussy says she’ll kill herself before she attends.”

Janoo stepped away from me. I didn’t want him to go away. I wanted him to stay near me and talk to me and touch my face again and look at me like he had just before Mummy called. But suddenly I was shy. I also felt angry with Mummy for calling at that time.

“Oho, Mummy,” I snapped, “the marriage is not tomorrow.” But she had already put down the phone. “Listen,” I said to Janoo. “I have to go now but when I come back we’ll talk. Wait for me, please?”

I stopped only to put on some lipstick (Mac Russian Red) and spray on some scent (Channel No. 19) and put on some blush (Nars Terra Cota) and brush my hair (never know whose car you will pass on the way) and to tell Shameem to iron my grey sari with the blue flowers for tonight’s dinner at Sunny’s and also to put out my blue heels, not the Gina ones, the Prada ones, and then I was rushing out of the room. As I was rushing, Janoo called out behind me, “Remember what I told you! It’s his life!”

Worst luck! Sana’s mother wants Sana to marry and she wants to meet Jonkers’ family. As Aunty Pussy said, “Why would she say no? It’s not every day that a towelling empire and so much real state suddenly falls into your lap.” Jonkers of course is being like the cow in that nursery rhyme. The one who jumped over the moon. Or did she jump over the spoon? Anyways, you know what I mean. That he is happy. Very, very happy.

He told me that Sana’s mother wouldn’t hear of her not marrying for her and her little sister’s sake. She said that Sana had sacrificed enough already. Apparently when she came top in English Literature in her BA at Lahore College her father had really wanted Sana to go for her Masters to America. But after he died, she quietly dropped her studies and got this job and since then she’s spent every penny she’s earned on them and Sana’s mother has always felt hugely guilty about that. So if now she’d found a man who liked her and she liked him, then her mother insisted she must marry him. Nothing would give her greater happiness. She and the little girl would be absolutely fine. Also, it seems, she’s about to take over from the headmistress of her school who is retiring and so she’s getting a raise and she feels she will be able to cope in that easily for her little daughter and herself and so Sana mustn’t worry about them but think of herself. Jonkers is so happy, so happy that don’t even ask.

Not like that night when I went over to his house after he’d told his mother and she was threating to slit her throat with the fruit knife and Jonkers quietly said, “Go ahead,” and went to his room and shut the door. I wanted to run after Jonkers into his room because I think so he has an electric heater in there. But no, I had to sit with Mummy and Aunty Pussy in Aunty Pussy’s freezing, dark lounge. There was this gas heater-type thing there which I think so she bought from a second-hand shop when Jonkers was born. It made gugglingtype noises and gave off a gassy smell but no heat. I asked Aunty Pussy if we could bring in another heater, but she gave me an angry look and said, “The whole country’s got no gas.” I wanted to tell her that my house is also in the same country and we have gas, lots of gas, but Mummy gave me a warning look and so I didn’t say anything but inside I thought to myself, “No wonder Shumaila ran away.”

I think so when Jonkers told Aunty Pussy to go ahead and slit her throat if she wanted, he also knew that his mother being the miser that she is hadn’t changed her knives for so long that they can’t even slit the skin of a grape let alone her leathery old neck. Or maybe he really meant it. Maybe he’s decided like Janoo said, that it’s his life and his mother can do what she likes. He damn cares. That night Mummy and me, we sat there till one o’clock trying to talk with Aunty Pussy. By the time I got home not only had I missed Sunny’s dinner but Janoo was also asleep and I had such a spitting headache that I took two Lexxos and slipped into bed besides him. “Mmm, good to have you back,” he murmured, and took me in his arms.

So much has been happening in my life lately with this Jonkers thing that I’d almost forgotten that big Eid was on top of our heads and that I hadn’t done anything about sacrificing any sheep. Janoo wanted to give the sacrificing money to charity, to the IDPs or something, but I said no. We have to kill two sheep to keep evil eye off us. Of course I didn’t say this to Janoo because he would have gone up in smoke but until Jonkers is married I’m not taking any risks with Kulchoo. I know Aunty Pussy is our relative and everything, but still. Thanks God, that’s one thing Janoo’s mother, the Old Bag, and I agree on: there’s nothing like killing sheep to make God happy. And also, as good Muslims it is our duty to give sacrifice at Eid ul Azha. In fact, this time, what with my lucky escape and bombs everywhere and threats to Kulchoo’s school and everything, I told the Old Bag to sacrifice three sheep. Not two. It’s extra insurance.

The Old Bag took care of the sacrifices in Sharkpur, otherwise we would also have had to kill the sheep on our driveaway like fundo Farva and her powder-pasha husband and runaway daughter. But just look at Tasbeeh! That quiet little mouse turning out to be such a sharpie. But you know what? Good for her. In her place I’d have done same.

But big news is I’ve managed to convince Aunty Pussy there’s no harm in meeting Sana’s family. That way at least she could tell Jonkers honestly that she had done her bit and she’d gone along and seen the family and the girl and that she had tau even liked them as people, but that she didn’t think they’d make a good match. And what to do, these things were in Allah’s lap and what He didn’t want, how could we force? And then Jonkers couldn’t also say to her that she never gave it a chance. And maybe he’d give Sana up for his mother’s sake. And maybe not. But of course, I didn’t say it there. Mummy gave Aunty Pussy Mulloo’s example who’d taken the wind out of Irum’s sale by embracing her boyfriend with open arms. And she told Aunty Pussy that sometimes children do these things out of stubbornness and that best way is to always call their buff and go along pretending you are doing what they want but from inside doing the opposite.

Next morning when Janoo had asked me what had expired at Aunty Pussy’s that night I’d told him that I’d convinced her to meet Sana’s family. He patted me on the head and said, “Good girl.” Like I was Lassie.

Jonkers says he’s already met Sana’s family. And they all love him and he them. Between you, me, and the four walls, I’m a bit double-minded about Sana. I don’t have anything against her personally, but I feel maybe Jonkers could do a little bit better. Not much, but a little bit. And if you make me put my hand on the Holy Koran and swear on Kulchoo’s life, then I will say that Sana is much nicer than both Tanya and Tasbeeh and with Miss Shumaila tau there is no comparison and obviously Irum doesn’t count, but it’s just the bagground, if you know what I mean. When all the girls in my kitty will ask, “So who did your cousin marry then?” and I say Sana Raheem, I know what they’ll say. “From which family?” And I’ll have to say “From no family.” And they’ll think, “Poor things, couldn’t even get a decent family.” Anyways, tomorrow we are to go and have tea with them. The Raheems, not my kitty group. I swear I’m getting quite fed up with having tea with Jonkers’ in-laws. Bore.