Belated Eid Mubarak, my fellow comrades! Hope you guys had a fantastic holiday. You know, I usually dread Eid, but this year, I was more than happy to welcome the end of a tumultuous month. Excuse my excursion to the dark side yet again, but the events in Dhaka really took me in for a head spin. I mean, we all may have become (somewhat-ish) immune to the terror we hear about in our everyday lives, but I personally felt extremely emotionally harassed during Ramazan. Being taken hostage is my biggest fear in life (well actually, it’s being possessed by an evil spirit but that’s essentially the same thing as being taken hostage). I would rather be in an airplane that’s spiraling down to the ground at a 90-degree angle than in an airplane that’s circling the skies at the command of a man with a gun. After all, being dead is so much better than anticipating being dead. I prayed this month for all those we lost to ruthless murder. I also dropped off a ton of atta (wheat) to the Edhi Donation Center in H market, DHA (something I like to do with my friends when we’re going through a tough time). A friend of mine from college lost a family member during the attack in Dhaka, and the terror is no longer caged within the walls of war-torn countries. The fear of being held hostage is more real than ever.
The author's friend might have hoped for something along these lines. Her mother-in-law had other plans
Sanam walked away with her husband's name hennaed across her palm on a bed of abstract shapes
“Beta Sanam! I notice you didn’t make the mango cream!”
Sanam hurried down the stairs in a frenzy at the sound of her mother-in-law wailing. It was her first Eid as a married woman and she was exhausted. She had spent most of the day in the kitchen and had only two hours to herself to shower and get dressed before she greeted her new family. Now, she was rushing to get to the kitchen and dissolve any suspicions her mother-in-law may have had regarding her slacking off. No sooner had she barged in and started to explain herself when her mother-in-law cut her off, as if distracted by something far more important.
“Is that a new ring?”
Sanam stared helplessly down at her hand.
“My mother gave it to me on my birthday a few years ago,” she lied. “I thought it would look nice with my jora.”
“Looks lovely on your hands, beta.”
Eid at her new home was just as Sanam had expected. The women were all seated in the drawing room, the men were drinking in a corner somewhere, and there seemed to be no end to the influx of relatives walking in through the door. Little children hovered around the on-call parlour girl who had been hired to apply mehndi (henna) all night. It was almost time for dinner when the parlour girl ran out of children to paint and Sanam heard her name being called out.
“Sanam! Beta Sanam! There you are. I noticed that you didn’t have any mehndi on your hands. You’re a new bride. Why don’t you sit right here and get something pretty? Some flowers, maybe? Color your tips? - Oh, I know!” and she whispered something to the parlour girl.
Sanam walked away with her husband’s name sprawled across her palm on a bed of abstract shapes. She had been tattooed. Even worse, her ring could no longer be noticed.
Masterchef Australia appears to have been central to the author's Eid festivities
***
Anyway, Eid wasn’t a total bust (the day or two of it, at least). The Churri household took a backseat this holiday because all of Mona Churri’s girlfriends were vacationing in London or Dubai and upgrading their closets. This meant that Mona had to lock herself in her room just so that everyone she knew would think that she had managed to escape as well. It also meant that her kids (i.e. me) got to spend the day binge watching Masterchef Australia and enjoying the constant supply of electricity (so grateful for that, by the way). I also got to reconnect with a few of my married friends, who seemed to envy something I had for a change. Apparently, being married in this society is the equivalent of taking a full-time job in the service industry. In fact, you need to work harder on government-mandated holidays!
***
Sanam had felt extremely angry all night following the incident. Her husband’s name! This was beyond her. She was also enraged by the fact that she couldn’t seem to refuse her mother-in-law on anything. She had tried once before, but her own mother had told her to swallow her pride and move on, and her husband seemed to think she was being petty and stupid. Sanam had felt so awkward sitting there on the floor while guests walked in. Most of the time she didn’t know whether to get up and greet them or wait till it was all over. To top it all off, she was wearing a highly expensive jora, and although it was clear that her mother-in-law lacked the taste (and the generosity) needed to invest in nice clothes, Sanam really valued her attire. It could have been compromised. But worst of all, Sanam couldn’t eat properly with half a hand left to her disposal. She slept hungry that night.
