And the World Changed (51 page)

Next door, their neighbor Khawar had come out onto the balcony. He stood with a cigarette in his mouth, buttoning up his starched shirt over a white vest, taking in the busy traffic on Durand Road. Kaakee remembered how, long ago, she and Aalia would walk here along the side of the house, trying to catch a glimpse of Khawar; Aalia desperately hoping he would come out on the terrace to fly his kite. Back and forth they'd walk, hour after hour. The sense of excitement was enormous. Every angle, every “in” to a conversation was planned on those back and forth walks, but when, on a rare occasion they did see Khawar, a sudden, profound sense of shock would lead to awkward, mostly silent, encounters. Despite this, each meeting, after intense discussion and dissection, always produced a sense of optimism. Encouraged, they'd phone Khawar and listen to his repeated Hellos? and Who's this? before playing a snatch of a
filmi
love song into the phone and hanging up. When they heard Khawar was getting engaged they both went into mourning for a few days. As well as Aalia's heartbreak there would be even less to do in the afternoons than usual.

Kaakee's hands reddened as she squeezed the water out of Baji's
kameez
. She busied herself, hoping Khawar would think
her too busy to chat. But he greeted her politely and asked after her mother.

“Not long now,” he said. Kaakee looked confused. “The wedding.”

Oh yes, Kaakee nodded.

“And then it'll be your turn.” Kaakee nodded again but she felt the muscles in her neck stiffen a little at the mention. She knew she ought to smile or offer up an “Inshallah,” but she couldn't. Khawar fell silent. Kaakee realized he looked a little embarrassed, perhaps he'd expected a cheeky quip and was surprised that she'd said nothing, perhaps he had just remembered Kaakee's age and that girls like her should have been married a long time ago. Suddenly there seemed to be no easy way to end the conversation. The balcony door clanged again. Khawar's son toddled out and he picked him up; he looked relieved to see his boy.

“Say salaam to Kaakee
Baji
.” Khawar lifted up his son's arm and made it wave to Kaakee; the little boy's fingers splayed out star-like for his ungainly wave. Khawar didn't look to see if Kaakee was waving back, she realized it didn't even matter if she were there. Khawar's handsome face, fascinated, charmed, was concentrated on his child. Kaakee looked at the boy's chubby legs curled around his father's waist and waved back.

The door was closed but you could just hear the tape of English songs from Aalia's room. Kaakee pressed the iron down firmly on Aalia's wrinkled turquoise
dupatta
. She remembered sitting in Aalia's room with her friends knowing, as she sat there, what a privilege it was to be included as they tried on nail polishes, squirted French perfume on their wrists, and sang along with songs she didn't understand. She would sit on the floor, a little apart, watching, smiling, ready to bring in the trolley with snacks for them or to relay a message to Baji from Aalia, justifying her presence by serving some purpose. Knowing she had to serve some purpose to be there at all. It didn't matter. She was there.

Kaakee couldn't remember quite when things had changed, if it was sudden or slow, but they had. She had known they would; her mother would say at the start of each school year that Aalia was getting too grown up for Kaakee's company. Kaakee ignored the warnings but things did change. And once they had it seemed strange to think that they were ever any other way. Aalia and her friends would talk about exams, American movies, boys; but now it didn't matter how quiet Kaakee was or how tightly she tucked herself into a corner, trying to make herself invisible—she wasn't, and it made them uncomfortable. Even Aalia. She no longer stopped to translate a story or explain a joke, her manner was distant when she spoke to her. It seemed to Kaakee that no one else had even really noticed the change except for her. She wondered if Aalia ever thought about it.

“Where's Ammi?” Kaakee looked a little startled as Aalia spoke.

“The tailor's, near Station.”

Aalia paused. Kaakee looked at Aalia, “What do you need, maybe . . . ?” Uneasily she continued, “maybe I can help.”

Maheen was sprawled out on Aalia's bed, which was covered with material for outfits. Bored, she was flicking through an old copy of Baji's
Pakeezah
magazine. Aalia stood over the yards of cloth, anguished. Kaakee, uneasy, stood in the doorway as the red cassette player hissed away in the background.

“What should I do?” Aalia asked.

Kaakee looked puzzled.

“I can't have all of these made, I have to decide which will go best with my set. For the
nikah
lunch.” Aalia held open an Emerald Jewelers' box.

The necklace and
tika
looked heavy; the gold was dark like honey. Aalia pulled out the
tika
and held it against her forehead. The metal looked as though it might be hot to the touch but Kaakee knew that it would be cold against Aalia's skin.

“So? What's your opinion?”

Maheen looked up from her magazine. Kaakee felt Aalia's eyes on her, inquiring. Her face felt hot. She looked across at the fabric in front of her. She felt under pressure; there must be an answer that Aalia was looking for. There was a tightness in her throat as though something was stuck there. She couldn't even make out the difference in the colors, the strange sensation in her throat was so distracting. She held out her arm unsteadily, not even sure what she was pointing at, “That one.”

Aalia picked up an orange chiffon suit.

“That's got silver on the border, it won't work, “Maheen said. Kaakee's face burned, her throat felt dry. Aalia looked at the fabric, a little puzzled at the choice but interested. She held it up against herself and looked in the mirror. Kaakee faintly remembered herself and Aalia playing with Baji's jewelry and makeup, stuffing Baji's bras to dress up as
dulhans
. Soon Aalia would be getting ready for her own wedding. The fabric fell open; Kaakee took in the contrast of light fabric and heavy jewelry.

Occasionally, she would be asked to dig out some item of jewelry or old shawl for Baji or Aalia from some hiding place. To wear to a wedding perhaps, or just to remind themselves of what they actually owned. At the forefront of her mind was the task, there was never time to really feel the softness of the shawl she was carrying or to see how a pendant caught the light. She wondered what it was that made you want to touch things, shiny, bright things, even if just for a moment, and even if you knew that once you had them in your hand they didn't make you feel the way you expected to, or perhaps feel anything at all.

The
tika
swung off center as Aalia raised the fabric higher against her frame. Kaakee looked down, wanting desperately to get out of there.

Aalia looked at her, “I don't know. It might be nice.”

Kaakee couldn't help laughing as she watched the cook, Hameeda's, youngest child lapping up tea from a saucer like a
cat. Through the wire mesh on the kitchen door she could see her mother sitting on the charpoy, combing her hair. Kaakee started to look forward to the end of the day—she thought of watching the PTV drama with Baji, she might suggest to her mother that they visit her
khalas
after dinner instead. Kaakee felt as though she might really enjoy that today, she'd tell them about Aalia's dilemma, the mound of fabrics and colors, about helping Aalia choose her
jora
for the
nikah
. The thought made her smile a little and when Baji started calling for her, she moved quickly. Suddenly, there was a lightness in her movements. She straightened her
dupatta
as she entered the living room.

“Baji, you'll have to tell me what happens in
Tanhaiyan
tomorrow, I'm going to take Ammi to Khala's,” she couldn't help grinning.

Baji's expression made her stop.

“That's fine. Just help Aalia will you, she can't find part of the set for the wedding. I don't know what she's done and I don't know what we'll say if we don't find it.”

The search began. Baji held open the Emerald Jewelers' box; there were just velvet stubs where the earrings and
tika
should have been. It didn't matter if they had to turn the whole house upside down, Baji said; they had to find the missing items.

Aalia and Maheen looked on silently as Kaakee and Hameeda went through Aalia's room. They folded up the fabrics that lay across the bed and systematically went through the boxes, drawers, and shelves. There was nothing there. They looked through laundry bags, behind cupboards, under chairs and beds. Baji supervised as Aalia recounted her movements, what she had tried on, where she had walked, what she thought she had put away safely. Kaakee could hear the panic rising in Aalia's voice as she explained for the third time why she had taken the set out of the cupboard in the first place. She just wanted to try it on and look at the clothes along with it. Aalia tried to make it sound necessary. Baji's voice became more shrill as the search continued—these things weren't meant to be
played with, if Aalia thought Baji could replace jewelry that her in-laws had paid for, she was mistaken.

Kaakee looked for a second time in places she had already searched. Baji stopped shouting and Aalia went to lie down once Maheen had left. They looked in the spare rooms that were locked and hadn't been opened in days, they searched the verandah, the Suzuki, places where the
tika
and earrings would never be. The strain on Baji's face increased. Hameeda gossiped about the shame of a broken engagement. Kaakee, sick at the thought, searched, resolute.

A terrible suspicious silence seemed to come over the house. As she unpacked and repacked cupboards, Kaakee kept thinking of the unfastened
tika
swinging gracelessly against Aalia's forehead, the dark heavy gold. Aalia emerged from her room, red-eyed. Kaakee looked at her and offered up a reassuring smile—she wanted to comfort her, tell her they would find the pieces. Aalia would wear the full set on her wedding day with the orange suit that Kaakee had picked out for her. Aalia looked away.

Kaakee walked into the passageway lined with trunks on both sides. She swallowed, there was really only one explanation now for why the jewelry hadn't been found. She thought she could hear Baji and Aalia talking softly to each other. She imagined Baji reassuring Aalia now, telling her they would find the culprit. The silence in the house would be a probing one, inquiring, waiting. They would have to go through all the comings and goings in the house today.

Kaakee sat down by one of the trunks; she knew this one had Baji's wedding saris in it. She knew what was in each trunk, each cupboard. She had grown up in this house, she had been cleaning it since she was eight when she had first started helping her mother here. At first it had felt like an adventure, leaving the drudgery of school to come up to the
kothi
. And Aalia. Her friend was here. They talked, they went to places Kaakee would never have been: department stores, beauty salons, restaurants.
The friendship meant her position here was special, but that wasn't what was important—it was real, a real friendship that mattered. She thought of Aalia's tear-blotched face, mottled just as it had been when she lost at Carom or Ludo when they were girls. Kaakee stopped; Aalia had looked away just now. She wasn't sure, but as Aalia's eyes darted away did she see something, a flicker of something in them? Kaakee felt her chest tighten; perhaps Aalia was telling Baji that Kaakee had been in the room when she was trying on the set.

Kaakee-ee.

Kaaaakeee.

“Kaakee,
jaan
,” Hameeda said softly, “Baji's calling you.” Baji's eyes didn't move as Kaakee stood before her. As Baji talked, Kaakee couldn't think of anything but the searing pain in her chest. She found herself recalling the slow, scratching sound of her
jharoo
on the bathroom floor. She thought of water creeping up her arms as she washed clothes, like a person's hands touching her. She thought about her days here in the
kothi
. About how much things had changed in the
kothi
, everything but her life. Her hands were strong and hard now from wringing out sodden clothes, the muscles in her body were firm from stretching and bending as she swept the rooms in the house; but really, everything was the same. Years had gone by, years without talking to Aalia, without really talking to anyone. Soon Aalia would be gone, and there wouldn't even be the hope of a moment that reminded her of the time they had spent as friends. Now, under suspicion, there could never be the hope of anything. Kaakee wondered if things might have been different had she married. She thought of the
tika
, its weighty, thick color. She tried to imagine it against her own skin, to imagine the excitement of putting it on, knowing it was her own wedding day. Baji was waiting for an answer. Perhaps nothing would have been different, she would still have been here, day after day, her children helping her, their little hands folding and carrying, summoned to play with Aalia's children when she visited. And each time
as she left to go back to her own home, Aalia would put a few notes in their hands. Kaakee wondered why Aalia wasn't there too, she thought of her waiting in her room, not wanting even to see Kaakee. Disgusted at the sight of her, perhaps.