Moni Mohsin - Duty Free

And then there was Baby and her husband Jammy (his real name’s Jamal). Poor Baby, she’s like Zeenat’s poor rellie. Always hanging about quietly and saying “Yes Zeenie Apa, no Zeenie Apa.” And Jammy not speaking until spoken to.

Anyways Aunty Pussy was gushing at Zeenat about her lovely house, her lovely garden, her lovely art, her lovely sofas.

“You forgot her lovely husband,” Shaukat called out.

“Oh shush,” laughed Zeenat. “You mustn’t mind Shaukat. He loves to shock.”

“Not just shock, shock and awe,” and he laughed in a snarling-type way. I think so, he’s jealous that his wife is better known than him. Mulloo says when they married, he was the rich one because he had lands. But he sold his lands to play golf in Singapore and do gambling in Monty Carlo. Now he just lives off her.

We all sat down on the leather sofas. Zeenat, I noticed, sat next to Jonkers who was still gulping and swallowing like a goldfish.

“So as I was saying,” said Shaukat in a loud voice, “all these bombs, these are not the work of the fundos.”

“Why not?” asked Janoo.

“Because,” said Shaukat, “the Talibans were all more-ons, who couldn’t even do two plus two. They were even more stuppider than him ,” he said, pointing to his bearer who was serving Janoo a drink. Janoo’s eyes narrowed into slips like they do when he’s about to blow up. Inside I thought to myself, please God don’t let Janoo throw a fit now. The bearer carried on serving quietly but when he left the room Zeenat told Shaukat sharply to watch it because times were bad and last thing she wanted was to be murdered in her own home. Aunty Pussy said no, no, you couldn’t trust servants these days and she tau even kept her sugar and rice under lock and key. And then Janoo said that if it wasn’t the Talibans doing the bombing, who was it. Shaukat said it was the Americans. Zeenat meanwhiles was trying to ask Jonkers about where he studied.

“I was at Hull,” said Jonkers. “Then I worked for Coopers in London for two years before coming back.”

“Did very well, mashallah ,” said Aunty Pussy. “Came top.”

“Why?” asked Janoo.

“Because he’s very clever, by grace of God. And hard-working also,” smiled Aunty Pussy.

“Actually, don’t tell me. Let me guess. It’s to destabilize Pakistan and break it up into little pieces and then move in and take our nuclear weapons.”

I hate when Janoo becomes like this. He gets into so many arguments. He’s quarrelled with Tony, with Akbar, with everybody.

“And now?” asked Zeenat from Jonkers.

“I run a small business exporting textiles.”

“You know, towels and tablecloths and napkins. He’s about to get into bed-sheets now,” added Aunty Pussy. “And we have another family business besides.”

“Exactly! That’s what the Americans want. They can’t stand the idea of an Islamic bomb. They’re taking orders from Israel.”

“And the other family business is—?” asked Zeenat.

“Er, a bit of real state.”

“Jesus! I can’t believe my ears!” said Janoo.

Thanks God just then the drawing-room door was flung open and a girl thumped into the room. She was barefooted with shoulder-long, frizzy hair, like a cloud of mosquitoes buzzing round her head. She was wearing jeans that just covered her bottom and a crumbled T-shirt on top that showed a tire of meat between hem of shirt and waste of jeans. And no make-up also.

“Mom, Dad, have you seen my Blackberry?”

“Come, darling,” said Zeenat. “Come and meet everyone. I was about to send for you. Jehangir, this is our daughter Tanya. She graduated from Smith a year ago. She was in New York for a short while and now she’s home, to help me out a bit. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

“Have you seen my Blackberry?” the girl repeated without so much as giving Jonkers a single glance. Or a smile to anyone.

I looked at Aunty Pussy. Her mouth was hanging open like a labradog’s. I quickly budged her in the ribs with my elbow.

“How the hell should I know where your Blackberry is?” asked Shaukat. “Am I its keeper?”

Tanya rolled her eyes but just then one of the bearers brought it to her on a silver tray. He said she’d left it in the pantry.

“You’re a star, Nazeer,” she said to him and winked. A wink! At a bearer! Honestly, these foreign-educated types are also too much. Next they’ll be sitting down to eat with servants.

Zeenat managed to seat Tanya next to Jonkers but Tanya might as well have been sitting next to a dustbin. So much attention she gave to him. The whole time she just texted on her phone and replied with “uh-huhs” to the questions Aunty Pussy kept firing at her. Was she enjoying being home? Uh-huh. Must be nice, no, to be back with her Mummy, Daddy? Uh-huh. Had she seen Three Idiots ? Uh-huh. She must, it’s such a nice film. Uh-huh. At last Aunty Pussy gave up and shut up. But when she thought no one was watching, Aunty Pussy frowned at Jonkers and jerked her head towards Tanya. So Jonkers cleared his throat again and asked Tanya what she’d been doing in America and Tanya said without taking her eyes off the phone, “Partying. Clubbing. Living, basically.”

Tanya put her bare feet on the glass table in our faces. The souls of her feet were black, I tell you, black . But I think so it must be some latest fashion in New York. I know from the TV channels that Kulchoo watches that some very fashiony people go about with unwashed hair and loose jeans hanging from their hips as if they had a huge soaking pamper inside. They call it “hobo-cheek.” I think so this must be that also. But I wonder if it’s also “hobo-cheek” to not thread your upper lips, especially if they look like Saddam Hussein’s.

Meanwhiles Janoo and Shaukat and Jammy and Zafar had got back to discussing politics and Zafar was saying it was impossible for a Muslim to kill another Muslim. That’s why he was sure it wasn’t the Talibans who were doing the bombings. Janoo said okay then who did all the killing in the Iraq and Iran war in which a million people died and Zafar said that was tau hundred per cent the Americans. And then Jammy said it was the Israelis and I said to Zeenat that her highlights were very nice and who had done them and Shehla asked Tanya if she’d come and stay with them in Swizzerland and she replied, “No offence but Geneva sucks.”

Zeenat looked hard at Tanya but Shaukat laughed as if she’d just cracked best joke in the world. I don’t think so I like Shaukat. Tanya opened a can of beer, took two huge gulps, and rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. Jonkers cracked his knuckles and stared at the ceiling and Zeenat and Aunty Pussy gave each other fake smiles.

Then the bearers came and said dinner was ready. Food was a mix-up of local desi and western. Green salad and lamb roast and haleem and prawns tempura and chicken shashlik and rogan josh and biryani and the crockery was Herend (I checked) and the glasses were heavy crystal and Tanya piled up her plate and spoke only to the servants. “Water,” and “More ice,” and “Thanks, yaar. ” Everyone else she ignored. Zeenat kept trying to get her to talk to Jonkers but she ignored them both. The only time she said anything to anyone of us was when Aunty Pussy asked her how she was passing her time in Lahore and Tanya said, “Doing sweet FA.”

“You are doing your FA?” asked Aunty Pussy. “But your mother said you’d already done BA?”

And Shaukat hooted with laughter, spraying poor Baby with chewed-up rice and roast. Didn’t say sorry even. Even Jonkers’ and Janoo’s and Zafar’s lips twitched but Zeenat scowled at Tanya and said, “Tanya’s actually helping me in the admin of my schools.”