A Pair of Jeans and other stories (6 page)

Begum calmly examined the harsh outlines of her husband’s unsmiling face. She was lost. She did not know what to say, or how to say it, although she knew the subject he was referring to. Thus her lips would not open, she simply stared at him.

“Well, what do you think of your future daughter-in-law? I thought you told me that she was a very “sharif”, a very modest girl. Was that naked waist what you would call modest?” He lanced at her.

“I am sure she is.” Begum defensively volunteered, feeling hedged. After all she was the one who had originally taken a liking to Miriam.

“Huh!” Ayub grunted. “Sharif! Dressed like that! God knows who has seen her. Would you like any of your friends and relatives to have seen her as she appeared today, would you Begum?” The voice was cutting.

“But she’s a college student – college students do dress like that. Haven’t you yourself joked about tatty jean-clad university students?” Begum boldly persisted.

She wanted to excuse Miriam’s mode of dress to herself and to him; she knew she was not going to make a success of it because, secretly in her own heart, she very much agreed with her husband.

“Tell me, in those clothes of hers, would you be proud to have her as your daughter-in-law? I know I am not. You talk about her being a university student. Well, have you any idea what sort of company that she might be keeping with that lot. You’ve only seen her at odd times, and always at home. Do you know what she is really like? Have you thought of the effect she could have in your household? With her life style, such girls also want a lot of freedom. In fact, they want to lead their lives the way their English college friends do. Did you notice what time she came in? She knew we were coming, yet that had not made any difference to her lifestyle. Do you expect her to change overnight in order to suit us? People form habits, Begum, do you understand? Are you prepared for a daughter-in-law who goes in and out of the house whenever she feels like it, dressed like that and returns home as late as that? Don’t your cheeks burn at the thought of that bit of flesh you saw? Imagine how our son will feel about her! I hope shame! And what if she has a boyfriend already – have you thought of that? What if she has a boyfriend already? What if she takes drugs? What if… What if… So many questions to ask ourselves! Do you know, we do not know this girl at all, Begum! Can you guarantee that she will make our son happy?”

He paused strategically, waiting for her to say something. Begum, bemused, had nothing to add. The talking had become his arena not hers. He continued.

“You know of a number of cases where the educated, the so-called
modern
girls have twined their husbands around their little fingers, and expected them to dance to their tunes. Are you prepared for that to happen to your beloved son? To lose him to such a daughter-in-law? Have you the heart for that?”

Begum just stared, listening quietly to her husband’s angry lecture. Deep down, however, in her own heart, she agreed with much of what he had said. Rattled by his tone and his words, she, however, was reluctant to voice her agreement. She hadn’t quite anticipated the direction towards which the conversation was heading. After 25 years of marriage, she could read him like a book – his words, their nuance, the tilt of his eyebrow, the authoritative swing of his hand, the thin line of his mouth spelled only one message.

She had already jumped ahead. With a sinking heart, she had guessed correctly the conclusion, the outcome of this discussion. She did not know how to react in front of him, nor did she disagree with him over anything he said. Not one jot. Her own thoughts had run in a similar direction. When she saw Miriam, standing near the garden gate with her jacket open, similar thoughts had whizzed through her mind too, although she would not have voiced them in such a harsh way. Her perception of what her daughter-in-law should be like did not quite tally with the picture that Miriam presented to them or to the clear picture that Ayub’s words had conjured up. Why did that stupid girl have to wear those jeans and that vest today of all days? She angrily groaned inside her head. And why did Ayub have to see her like that?

She had always reckoned on a conventional sort of daughter-in-law – the epitome of tradition. Definitely not one who was so strongly influenced by western form of dress, culture and probably feminist ideas as Miriam. The mad girl had no qualms about blatantly showing a part of her body in a public place. Begum shuddered.

What about Farook, their son? How would they deal with him? Luckily, it was not Farook who had initially befriended Miriam, but she herself. A glimpse of Miriam at a Mehndi party (hen party), had tugged at Begum’s heart. From the first moment, she had fitted the epitome of what her future daughter-in-law should be like – young, beautiful and well educated. She had just obtained three ‘A’ levels, at high grades from school, and was now doing a geography degree at the university.

Begum had liked the way Miriam had behaved – ever so correctly and gracefully. Above all, she had liked the way she dressed herself. How ironic that assumption was after today’s event. It was the way the black chiffon sari had hugged her slender figure, and how her hair was elegantly wound up in a knot at the top of her head – just perfect. She was neither over-dressed, nor over-decked in jewels, nor over made-up as some of her peers were wont to be. Nor for that matter was she
over-boisterous
or making a spectacle of herself as some of her friends did. In short, she had viewed her as the epitome of perfection, everything that was correct and appealing. She definitely had stood out from amongst the other girls. Looking back now, two years later, Begum was sure that, not her son, but she herself had fallen in love with Miriam at first sight, and not just that. Her name ‘Miriam’ wove a magic spell around her. It had a special ring to it and she had loved using it.

And there was more –Begum had taken a real liking to Miriam’s parents too, especially her mother. And, liking one’s child’s in-laws, particularly the mother was an important part of the equation. She knew of cases where the two mothers-in-law hated each other’s guts and never quite got on with each other. Begum and Miriam’s mother, Fatima, met for the first time at the Mehndi party. After that, they became warm friends and were seen to be in and out of each other’s homes. With the subject of their growing children’s futures looming on their domestic horizons, the two mothers had, as a matter of course, discussed and dwelled at length on the subject of their children’s marriage prospects.

Farook and Miriam had also met each other soon afterwards. Often accompanied by their parents, they too, took a liking to each other. They found they were very compatible in their interests and personalities and had a lot to laugh about – often giggling together. When their parents suggested the idea of marriage – both heartily agreed. Farook just couldn’t help grinning all over. Miriam was struck with sudden shyness, her cheeks burning. Soon afterwards an engagement party was held for the two. In order to let them complete their respective courses, the wedding was to be postponed for a year or so.

That was a year ago. Today Farook’s parents went to meet Miriam’s, in order to discuss the arrangements for the forthcoming wedding in six months’ time. They were to decide on the date and discuss possible venues for the two receptions. Instead they had returned home, without even mentioning the word wedding. Yet their thoughts were very much centred on that subject. However, more importantly on Miriam herself – her clothes and her body!

“Well?” Ayub’s cold prompting brought his wife to the present.

Begum turned to look at her husband once more and calmly waited for him to finish what he was going to say. There was a speculative gleam in his eyes.

“What are you going to do?” He rasped.

This time she could not pretend to misunderstand him.

She faced him squarely – poised for a battle. Yet as she was about to utter the words her heart sank. For she saw her Miriam fast disappearing from the horizon. But then as she tried to clutch onto her image in her mind, there arose that one of her in that silly pair of faded jeans, and that ridiculously short vest. Her heart sank. It had to be. It was better to face the matter now than regret it later. The problem was, how she, Begum, was going to deal with it. She did not have the heart nor the courage to play the role demanded of her; nor the one that she inevitably had to play in this drama. Knowing her husband, she knew for sure, that he would leave it to her – to sort out the situation with the two parties; her son and Miriam and her family.

Once again, she looked her husband directly in the eye.

“You truly don’t want the wedding to take place then?” she tentatively asked, still desperate to hold onto Miriam.

Begum’s gaze fell. His eyes crushed.

“I thought I had already made myself obvious! What do you think?” He was enraged and he let her know it.

“I suppose I agree with what you say, but how are we going to go about it?” Begum stammered, the boldness gone, now very much resigned to both her and Miriam’s fates.

“I leave that entirely to you – especially as you were the one so hot on the girl. I am sure we can find lots of other women for our son, women who have a more discreet taste in clothing and a good understanding of female modesty. Similarly, I am sure her parents will find a man more suited to her lifestyle than our son, a man who has the capacity to tolerate her particular mode of dressing, for the want of a better word.”

They heard the front door open. That must be their Farook. They stopped talking and stared at each other. Begum’s heart was thumping away, dreading talking to him about Miriam. She felt like a traitor. Quickly getting up she went into the kitchen to get his dinner. She hoped he would go straight to his room first. Ayub picked up the newspaper and began to read it.

Miriam had just got in from university, when she heard the ’phone ringing. She dashed down from her room to answer it. She faltered - it was Aunt Begum. She quickly obliged Begum in her request to speak to her mother and called her mother. Leaving the ’phone she went into the living room and sat down to watch television.

Fatima left the meal she was preparing and went to speak to Begum. They talked for nearly five minutes. There were several moments of awkward pauses on either side of the telephone receivers. By the time the conversation ended a pinched look had settled around Fatima’s mouth.

Begum had nervously said her ‘Salam’. Fatima had quite literally forgotten to return the greeting at the end, but silently put the receiver down. Her eyes stared at the wall.

At the other end, with her head bent over her legs, Begum thanked Allah that it was over and done with. She sank down against the banister of the stairs. She felt bad, oh God, terribly bad. She had hated herself every minute of that conversation and the role she had been forced to play. Putting herself in Fatima’s position, she realised how painful it must be for her. How would she feel if she had found out that her daughter was to be jilted at the last minute?

Mechanically, as if in a daze, and with her hand held against her temple, Fatima, for her part, went into the living room. Going to the sofa, she sat down and absent-mindedly pushed the cushion aside and stared in front of her, at the fireplace.

Miriam did not notice anything unusual about her mother until she realised that her mother had not said a word since she entered the room. “What did Aunt Begum say?” she asked quietly – her heart’s rhythm had altered for some reason.

“I – I,” Fatima stalled as she sought to answer her daughter’s question. She was not yet ready to divulge what she had learnt. She was still reeling from the shock herself. What would it do to her daughter? She turned her face away from her daughter.

“What is it, Mother?” Miriam’s heart had now gained a steady sharp beat. Dread entered. “What did Aunt Begum say?” she asked again.

Unable to control herself any longer Fatima bitterly burst out with, “She said that your engagement had to be broken off!”

Miriam paled. Her heart had now sunk to the pit of her stomach. “Why, Mother?” she said quietly. She was amazed at how clearly her mind was functioning, although a buzzing sound seemed to hammer in her head.

“She said that they came yesterday to inform us, but found it impossible to get around to doing so. Begum says that her sister insists that her daughter was betrothed to Farook. That they were well-matched together. She says she is very sorry and apologises, but apparently her sister comes first.”

“Liars! What a lousy excuse!” Miriam’s mind screamed, but she uttered not a word – instead left the room.

She ran upstairs to her bedroom, and closed the door behind her. Standing in the middle of the room, she drew in a deep breath.

Where did this sister come from? Why was it she was never heard of before?

“Not to marry Farook?” Miriam voiced loudly. Why, only yesterday she was planning how they were going to lead their lives together. In fact deciding in which area they were going to purchase their house, after they got married and had jobs.

Her mouth twisted into a cynical line. In her heart she knew. From that first moment she saw them that night in her jeans and short vest, she had had a dreadful premonition. She had known, although she had denied it emphatically to herself, that something was wrong or bound to go wrong. Their faces, their body language had told the whole story.

The buzzing sound was still hammering in her head. Going to her wardrobe, she pulled it open and looked inside. Her eyes sought wildly and her hands rummaged through the clothes and the hangers, until she found what she was seeking.

She pulled off from the hanger the repugnant looking article and threw it on the floor, as if it burned her to hold it. She stared at it as if mesmerised by it. Then with her foot she gave it a vicious kick. Her mouth resumed its cynical twist. Her friends would never believe her if she told them.

The shabby-looking and much worn pair of jeans lay nonchalantly near the end of the bed, blissfully unaware of the havoc it had created in the life of its wearer.