The Marriage Bureau for Rich People
FARAHAD ZAMA
Hachette Digital
www.littlebrown.co.uk
Table of Contents
The Marriage Bureau for Rich People
FARAHAD ZAMA
Hachette Digital
www.littlebrown.co.uk
To my parents, my wife and my sons.
For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?
Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Richness does not mean having a great amount of property; rather, true wealth is self-contentment.
Prophet Mohammed (Peace be upon him)
Sahih al-Bukhari, Vol. 8: #453
JUST SOME OF THE REQUIREMENTS OF A PERFECT BRAHMIN WEDDING
The mehndi henna patterning for making the bride
Austere clothes for the bridegroom to dress as a monk in the pre-ceremony rites
A palanquin for carrying the bride to the grooms house
Four banana plants cut off at the root with fruit still hanging off them
Mango-leaf chains and jasmine, marigold and kanakambaram flower decorations
A coconut for breaking before the bridegroom as he arrives
Two tall brass lamps
An idol of the elephant-headed god Ganesha
Rice flour and red dust for floor designs where the bride and groom sit
A sari thats held as a divider to keep the bride and groom apart in the early stages of the wedding
A hearth and small logs for a fire; ghee and camphor to light it
Five types of fruits, and some betel nuts and leaves, crystal sugar, dried fruits
Garlands for the bridegroom, his parents and his sisters husbands
Small photo of the family deity and photos of the parents of the bride and groom if they are not alive
Cumin and jaggery paste, turmeric sticks, kumkum, plate of flowers
White pendants with designs for the brides and grooms foreheads, made of styrofoam
Rice to be used as confetti
Brass plate and tumbler for washing the grooms feet
Bronze bell and idols of Krishna, Ganesha and other deities for praying in the new household
Silver tumbler with water and spoon for anointing and drinking
Sprouts of nine types of lentils for Gayatri puja
Clear area to display household artefacts that the bride will take with her
Silver or gold toe rings to be put on the bride by the groom
Grindstone on which the bride will put her foot while the toe rings are being put on
CHAPTER ONE
The honking started early. It was not yet seven in the morning and Mr Ali could already hear the noise of the traffic on the road outside. The house faced east and the suns warming rays came filtering into the verandah through the tops of the trees on the other side of the road. The curved pattern of the iron security grille was reflected on the polished black granite floor and halfway up the light green wall. Motorcycles, scooters and buses went past in a steady procession, noisily tooting away. A speeding lorry scattered other traffic out of its path with a powerful air horn. It was a crisp winter morning and some of the motorists and pedestrians were wrapped up in monkey caps and woollen clothes. Mr Ali opened the gate and stepped outside.
Mr Ali loved the garden he had created in the modest yard, about twenty feet wide and ten feet long. He rubbed his hands to warm them up - sure that the temperature was less than twenty degrees. On one side, a guava tree spread its branches over most of the area from the house to the front wall. Under it grew many curry-leaf plants, a henna plant and a jasmine climber. There were also several plants in pots, including a bonsai banyan tree that he had planted eleven years ago. A well on his left supplied their drinking water and next to it there was a papaya tree and a hibiscus plant - morning dew shimmered silvery-white on a perfectly symmetrical cobweb stretched between them. The low wall at the front continued round the house, separating his property from the road. He took a deep breath, taking in the fragrance of the jasmine flowers, and enjoyed the illusion of being in a small, green village even though his house was on a busy road in the middle of a bustling city.
Two maroon flowers had blossomed overnight on the hibiscus plant. They were high up on the plant - above the height of the front wall. Mr Ali walked up to them to have a closer look. The petals were bright and glossy, the edges fringed delicately at the end of a long fluted trumpet. The stamens peeked out of the centre of the blooms: bright yellow pollen dotted among tiny, velvety, deep red hair. Mr Ali ran the back of his knuckle along one of the petals, luxuriating in the soft silky touch.
Lovely, he thought and stepped away to pick up some yellow guava leaves that had fallen down. Mr Ali put them in a small plastic bucket with a broken handle that he used for a dustbin.
He turned back to the front and noticed a man reaching over the wall to pluck one of the flowers and shouted, Hey!
The man jerked his hand away, detaching the flower from the branch. Mr Ali walked over to the front gate and opened it. The thief looked like a respectable man. He was wearing smart clothes. He had a mobile phone in his shirt pocket and he was carrying a leather briefcase in one hand. In the other, he held the bright blossom.
Why are you stealing flowers from my garden? Mr Ali asked.
The man said, I am not stealing them. I am taking them to the temple.
Without my permission, Mr Ali said, angrily.
The man just turned and walked away, still holding the flower.
Whats happening? asked Mrs Ali from the verandah. Mr Ali turned back and looked at his wife. Her hands were covered with flour and dough from the morning chapattis.
Did you see that? Mr Ali said, his voice rising. That man just...
Why are you so surprised? Its not unusual. These people want to lay flowers at the feet of the idol at the temple. Its just that normally you are not awake at this time. And, anyway, dont start shouting so early in the morning. It is not good for your health, she said.
Theres nothing wrong with my health, muttered Mr Ali.
I heard that, said Mrs Ali.
Theres definitely nothing wrong with your ears, he said, turning back to close the gate. Hey! he shouted. Shoo! Get out! Out!
A white skinny cow rushed back outside through the gate. It must have come in when his back was turned. Something red flashed in its mouth. Mr Ali looked at the hibiscus plant and it was bare. Both its flowers were gone.
He struck his forehead with his hand in frustration and Mrs Ali laughed.
What? he asked. Do you think its amusing to lose all the flowers from the garden before the sun has even risen fully?
No, she said, but you are getting worked up too much over trivial things. After retiring, youve been like an unemployed barber who shaves his cat for want of anything better to do. Lets hope that from today you will be a bit busier and I get some peace, she said.
What do you mean? he asked.
Mrs Ali rolled her eyes. I have been running the house for more than forty years and the last few years since you retired have been the worst. You keep interfering and disturbing my routine, she said. You are not the first man in the world to retire, you know. Azhar is retired too and he keeps himself occupied quite well.
Mr Ali said, Your brother goes to the mosque regularly to spend a little time saying his prayers and a lot more time sitting around on the cool marble floor discussing important matters like politics, the Indian budget, the shameless behaviour of todays youth and the Palestinian problem.
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