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 rejectingbecause 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.
“Are you all right?” she asked, holding Aunty Pussy by the shoulders.
“Yes, yes, fine,” Aunty Pussy snapped, brushing the girl’s hands off her shoulders as if they were dandrough. “I’m perfectly fine. Can’t you see?”
I wish Aunty Pussy wouldn’t treat everyone like a servant. Honestly, some times she can be so rude.
“Thank you,” said Jonkers to the girl. He stepped up and helped Aunty Pussy back into her chair. “Thank you for saving my mother.” He was probably also feeling embarrassed of his mother’s behaviour.
“No problem.” The girl smiled at him.
Jonkers’ face flashed red.
She had a dimply smile, otherwise she was a bit plainish. High pony tail, slim, wheatish colouring, longish nose. She was dressed in a pale yellow silk
shalwar kameez
with just a little bit of silver embroidery on the neckline and small pearl earrings. No designer shoes, no big jewels, no nothing. She didn’t look like she came from an effluent bagground. Aunty Pussy thought the same because she gave her one look and immediately lost interest. The girl gave Jonkers a little wave and went away.
“What did you think?” asked Jonkers, tugging at my elbow.
“Of what?” I asked.
“That girl. The one in yellow? Who just passed by?”
“That dark, poor-looking thing in the cheap clothes?” asked Aunty Pussy in a loud voice. “She must be one of the poor relations. Or else, a gatecrasher.”
Immediately Jonkers’ face fell down but he didn’t say anything.
And then I saw Sunny and Faiza standing gossiping and they called me over and I went because Mulloo was jumping up and down on my nerves. I did just five minutes of goss with them and when I came back I saw that Jonkers was gone and Aunty Pussy and Mulloo were smiling as if they’d just got engaged to each other.
“It’s been decided,” said Aunty Pussy when she saw me. “Your lovely friend here, what’s your name, dear? Yes of course, Mottoo. Well Mottoo—”
“Mulloo, Aunty, my name
“
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 rejectingbecause 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.
“Are you all right?” she asked, holding Aunty Pussy by the shoulders.
“Yes, yes, fine,” Aunty Pussy snapped, brushing the girl’s hands off her shoulders as if they were dandrough. “I’m perfectly fine. Can’t you see?”
I wish Aunty Pussy wouldn’t treat everyone like a servant. Honestly, some times she can be so rude.
“Thank you,” said Jonkers to the girl. He stepped up and helped Aunty Pussy back into her chair. “Thank you for saving my mother.” He was probably also feeling embarrassed of his mother’s behaviour.
“No problem.” The girl smiled at him.
Jonkers’ face flashed red.
She had a dimply smile, otherwise she was a bit plainish. High pony tail, slim, wheatish colouring, longish nose. She was dressed in a pale yellow silk
shalwar kameez
with just a little bit of silver embroidery on the neckline and small pearl earrings. No designer shoes, no big jewels, no nothing. She didn’t look like she came from an effluent bagground. Aunty Pussy thought the same because she gave her one look and immediately lost interest. The girl gave Jonkers a little wave and went away.
“What did you think?” asked Jonkers, tugging at my elbow.
“Of what?” I asked.
“That girl. The one in yellow? Who just passed by?”
“That dark, poor-looking thing in the cheap clothes?” asked Aunty Pussy in a loud voice. “She must be one of the poor relations. Or else, a gatecrasher.”
Immediately Jonkers’ face fell down but he didn’t say anything.
And then I saw Sunny and Faiza standing gossiping and they called me over and I went because Mulloo was jumping up and down on my nerves. I did just five minutes of goss with them and when I came back I saw that Jonkers was gone and Aunty Pussy and Mulloo were smiling as if they’d just got engaged to each other.
“It’s been decided,” said Aunty Pussy when she saw me. “Your lovely friend here, what’s your name, dear? Yes of course, Mottoo. Well Mottoo—”
“Mulloo, Aunty, my name
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