Worthiness
by Saima Ayyaz
Mrs. Abdul Haq, a short, plump and uncouth woman with broad facial features and faintly perceptible moustaches was cutting spinach with a huge knife and talking to her husband.
“I am telling you again, as I have been telling you for so many years, that we really need to move into a new house. Look here, I am sitting in front of the balcony door and can you see any sunlight? The windows are so narrow that the sunlight never reaches the rooms. I always feel compressed and suffocated in this apartment,” she said, making hand movements in a way that she seemed to be brandishing her knife. “Remember, when we came here, you said that we were moving temporarily to this place to save monthly rents…and we’ll move to a new house soon. And it has been ten years! Believe me, in ten years, in this small apartment, I have never breathed fresh air. There has never been a feeling of comfort. What kind of a home is this?”
Mr. Abdul Haq, a short, slender bespectacled man, who was waiting for this wife to pause for breathing, said, “You know that we sent Hassan abroad. Do you think it is easier for a middle class person to finance the education of a child abroad? It juiced us.”
“How did it juice you? My Hassan was working along with studying. He worked so hard.” Mrs. Abdul Haq had an extreme fondness for her only son.
“I am not saying that he did not work hard. I am saying that even partially financing his education deprived us of all our savings. For Zainab’s marriage, we had to take a loan that is still being paid off. Then because of Hassan’s marriage…”
“Hassan paid all the expenses of his wedding himself,” Mrs. Abdul Haq abruptly cut her husband. “I am not saying that I financed his wedding. I am saying that now that he is married, he has more responsibilities and sends less money home. I know nothing. You are out of the house from morning to evening. The girls also go to college and come back in the afternoon. I am the only one who stays in this cage the whole day. I will call Hassan today. In a few months time, we should be out of this coop.” Mrs. Abdul Haq told her husband in a decisive tone, picked her knife and spinach bowl up and strode towards the kitchen.
In the evening, when Mrs. Abdul Haq was taking her long afternoon nap, she was disturbed by the telephone bell. She hated the sound of the bell; still she insisted that the telephone had to be in her room. It was an unavoidable part of her strategy to keep an eye on her daughters.
Mr. Abdul Haq received the phone. On hearing Hassan’s name, she jumped out of the bed and almost snatched the telephone from her husband.
She always talked very loudly on calls from abroad, adjusting her sound intensity in proportion to the distance of the caller. After the usual greetings, she was about to put forward her case of the house when Hassan said. “Ammi, uncle is coming for some time for medical check up. He will stay with you.”
Mrs. Abdul Haq had a mouth agape.
“Stay here? We have no space. Don’t you remember that we have just two bedrooms? It is inadequate even for us…..your abbu, myself, your two sisters. How can we accommodate a guest?”
“Ammi, there is a third room as well.”
“Don’t you remember that it is actually the store and has no attached bathroom? I was about to talk to you about the apartment being too small and…”
“Ammi, you have never been hospitable towards the guests. I know your habit. Before I came to England and Zainab got married, all six of us used to live in that apartment. Now why can you not accommodate just one person? He was insisting on staying in a hotel. I persuaded him to stay with my parents. He will stay just for a night, I think. He will come tomorrow. He is errrr…a choosy sort of a person. So you’ll have to take good care of him. Now give the telephone to Abbu. I want to ask him about good laboratories in the town.”
A deeply disgruntled Mrs. Haq handed the telephone to her husband and went back to her bed with slow steps.
“A new trouble!” She said as soon as her husband had hung up the telephone. “The parents of the girl usually host the parents of boys. Here everything is upside down.” She took a deep sigh. “The place is insufficient for us and my son wants me to open a guest house. I am telling you, it is not Hassan. It is his wife. She is the one who comes up with these ideas to torture me. Just last time when she came, I discussed with her the issue of the lack of space in this apartment at length. And just after three months, she has come up with this new scheme to torture me. And you know why has she chosen this time? Because she knows that the girls are busy with their final exams and I, with my old bones and aching knees, will be responsible for all the cooking. What a daughter in law God has blessed us with!”
Although Mr. Abdul Haq disagreed that the arrival of Hassan’s father in law was a part of a preplanned scheme, he did not dare to express his opinion openly and invite his wife’s wrath.
“Hassan said that he will come tomorrow in the evening. Why don’t you prepare a list of the items you would want for dinner?” He suggested in the hope of changing the turn the conversation had taken.
“You have always been interested in food. My life has been spent catering to your taste buds. You have no concern with how a guest will be accommodated at the end of the month with our limited income and deficient space. You are talking about lavish dinners and preparing lists to please yourself!”
Mrs. Abdul Haq marched out of the room like a protestor.
Although Mr. Ramzan Khan was expected at the dinner time, he turned up at five in the evening. At the piercing sound of the bell, Mrs. Abdul Haq rushed towards the door. “Lift your finger off the bell, you damned fool! God knows what kinds of people come at other's doors!” She opened the door with a bang and was surprised to see Mr. Ramzan. “Oh Bhai, it is you. I thought it is some boy committing mischief with our bell. Please come in.”
“Who on earth would come on the fourth floor to commit a mischief?” entered Mr. Ramzan. “My God, all the joints of my body are aching from mounting so many stairs and I am feeling so weak. Can you bring me a glass of juice? Oh, no, you please do not. Tell me where the kitchen is. I will help myself.”
“No, Bhai, you are our guest. Please be seated. He is in the bathroom and coming to give you company.” She never took the name of her husband. “Fatima, Amna, come here and greet your uncle.”
She called her daughters. The girls came and greeted Mr. Ramzan. Mr. Ramzan patted affectionately on their heads.
“Fatima, bring a glass of juice for uncle.” Mrs. Abdul Haq said to her daughter. ‘Miser! He could not even give five hundred rupees to them. My daughter in law’s family has such lowly habits’ she thought.
Mr. Abdul Haq appeared and warmly greeted the guest. ‘He is greeting him as if we have been waiting for him all our lives. Uninvited trouble on our heads!’ Mrs. Abdul Haq thought with gritted teeth.
Fatima brought a glass of juice. “Orange juice!” Mr. Ramzan exclaimed with such alacrity as if he were being offered something poisonous. “I cannot drink orange juice. My throat gets bad.”
“Bring a juice of another flavor, Fatima.” Mr. Abdul Haq said.
“There is no need,” said Mr. Ramzan. “I wanted a glass for immediate relief. I was too exhausted due to mounting so many stairs. The juice took so long that I have recovered my breath and do not need it anymore” said Mr. Ramzan.
“Bhai, the next time you come to our place, give us a call ten minutes before you reach here so that we are all alert to receive you and your juice does not get delayed.” Mrs. Abdul Haq said sarcastically.
Mr. Abdul Haq laughed loudly and tactlessly to give the impression that what Mrs. Abdul Haq said was supposed to be humorous.
“I want to go to the bathroom,” said Mr. Ramzan.
“Please, sir.” Mr. Abdul Haq got up, as full of courtesy as he always had been.
“He has brought his luggage in a suitcase,” Mrs. Abdul Haq whispered to Amna. “God knows for how long he plans to stay!"
“Ammi, the suitcase is too small for a long stay. Don’t worry. He will probably leave tomorrow.”
Mr. Abdul Haq, after showing Mr. Ramzan the way, came to his wife. “I think you should haste with the dinner preparations. He has come after a long road journey.”
“Is it my fault? Did I ask him to conduct his ‘long road journey’?” Mrs. Abdual Haq said with a frown and went towards the kitchen, signaling her daughters to come as well.
“Ammi, my mathematics exam is after two days,” mumbled Fatima.
“Ammi, I have to submit my practical journal tomorrow,” said Amna.
“And I am the only one in the world who has nothing to do except cooking for contemptible guests! God gave me an insensitive husband and now has given me children who have no concern for their mother,” said Mrs. Abdul Haq in a tearful voice.
Both the girls, silenced by their mother’s mood, busied themselves with chores in the kitchen.
“The water is too warm. It almost burned my face. For the first time I have seen such warm water in summers,” Mrs. Abdul Haq could hear Mr. Ramzan complaining to her husband.
“Actually, the water pipes heat up in the sun. The water will be better at night. I forgot to mention that if you let the water flow for a few minutes, it will be cooler,” Mr. Abdul Haq said apologetically.
“You should have told me. My facial skin is very sensitive. My cheeks are hurting due to hot water.”
“Sensitive facial skin! He is a super model with ‘sensitive facial skin’!” Mrs. Abdul Haq whispered to the girls. They started giggling.
“I am so sorry. I will give you an ointment which will ease your ache,” Mr. Abdul Haq’s voice came.
They busied themselves with a conversation about the provincial politics, weather and other subjects of the sort. Mrs. Abdul Haq, her ears tuned to eavesdropping and focused on their voices, could make out that Mr. Ramzan lost no opportunity to brag about his wealth, connections and knowledge.
“Such cheap novo rich people! Listen to the conversation he is conducting! We should have examined them better before taking the decision of entangling ourselves with them.” Mrs. Abdul Haq was continually commenting on the conversation in the girls’ ears.
As soon as the dinner table was laid, Mr. Raman went to the washroom again.
“It is the habit of mean people that they go to the bathroom as soon as you announce that the meal is ready. Such people are actually attention hungry and want others to keep waiting for them,” Mrs. Abdul Haq said in her husband’s ear.
Mr. Abdul Haq, who, as previously, did not agree that every move by Mr. Ramzan was a part of a bigger scheme, felt better to remain silent.
The dinner started as soon as Mr. Ramzan was seated.
“Thank God that I got the dinner at last. I was so hungry. Actually I had not taken my lunch. I started at half part twelve after breakfast.”
“I apologize that the thought did not cross our mind. Otherwise we would have given you a high tea or something,” said Mr. Abdul Haq apologetically.
“The thought did not cross our mind because there are so many good restaurants on the highway. We thought that you would pause for lunch, instead of coming here hungry,” Mrs. Abdul Haq retorted.
“Errr...actually I had an appointment with a doctor so I rushed to reach there. The assistant kept me waiting and then informed that the doctor had left for an emergency. That is why I…” Mr. Ramzan, who himself was rarely outwitted by anyone, explained.
“No, Mr. Ramzan, as hosts, it is our fault. Please start your dinner,” Mr. Abdul Haq intervened to salvage the situation.
“Ah, rice. The doctor has forbidden me rice due to my stomach problems. I love rice so much. I am constantly stealing glances at the rice dish and my taste buds are aching for the taste of rice. I feel so bad!” said Mr. Ramzan.
“Oh, but you must do what the doctors have told you to,” said Mr. Abdul Haq.
Ignoring his frowning wife, he instructed his daughter to remove the rice dish from the table. “We do not want to spoil your dinner.” He said with a smile.
“The chicken gravy is too thick,” Mr. Ramzan commented.
“We like it that way,” Mrs. Abdul Haq said in a sharp voice.
“But it would have tasted much better had it been less dense,” Mr. Ramzan replied.
“No problem,” Mr. Abdul Haq intervened again. “Fatima, go and put some water in the gravy and bring it to a boil. It will be of your uncle’s choice in five minutes.”
Mrs. Abdul Haq cleared her throat angrily. ‘This old fussy man is torturing us deliberately,’ she thought. ‘Like daughter, like father.’
Mr. Ramzan wanted a glass of milk before going to bed. When he was handed one, he returned it announcing that it had not been skimmed. Mrs. Abdul Haq poured some milk in a cup, filled one third of the glass with water and handed it to Amna with the instructions to ‘give it to the old grumpy man.’
“When will this devil go?” Mrs. Abdul Haq said to her husband in an agitated voice.
“You should not pass such comments about a guest.”
“Guest? Haven’t you noticed that he creates fuss on purpose so that we are always running errands for him?”
“He has always been like that. Remember when we went to their house for finalizing the match? His wife and daughters were constantly scurrying to ensure perfection on his instructions.”
“He is not a monarch and we are not his subjects that we will run on his commands. He should better learn to behave himself. I hope he leaves tomorrow morning. He is boiling my blood all the time.”
She covered her face with the sheet and went to sleep.
The next morning, when she went to kitchen to prepare breakfast, she found, to her horror, Mr. Ramzan standing in her kitchen admist the mess he had created.
“I was trying to look for a packet of green tea. I have looked for it in every cabinet but…” Mr. Ramzan said.
“There is no green tea. We do not like it. You should have asked me instead of emptying the contents of the cabinets on the counters,” said Mrs. Abdul Haq in a sharp voice.
“How could I ask you when you were asleep? I could not sleep the whole night. It was so hot and stifling in that small room without an air conditioner,” said Mr. Ramzan.
“We are middle class people, bhai. We cannot afford an air conditioner in every room. That is how we live,” retorted Mrs. Abdul Haq. “Should I prepare your breakfast?”
“Actually I would have preferred a cup of green tea.”
“Haven’t I just informed you that there is no green tea?”
Mr. Abdul Haq, who had just emerged from his room, caught the last sentence. “I will bring green tea for you. The general store is just around the corner.”
Mrs. Abdul Haq looked at her husband with fiery eyes. He avoided her glance and started looking towards the door.
“Didn’t you come with a driver?” She asked Mr. Ramzan.
“I came with a driver but I thought that there would be no place for the driver here to spend the night. So I have arranged his stay at an inexpensive roadside hotel. But today, I have seen a small room adjacent to the kitchen. Is that the servant quarter?”
Mr. Abdul Haq was about to give a reply when she suddenly said, “It is a servant quarter but we have converted it into a store room. Actually there are only two bedrooms in this apartment. The third room, in which the girls sleep, is the store room. We have converted it into a bedroom and the servant quarter into the store room. It is full of baggage and so, we have no place for the driver.”
“The girls have to sleep in the store room because of me!” Mr. Ramzan said.
“No, no. Not at all. We have been using it as a room for ten years. Hassan used to sleep there before he went to England. Then Zainab occupied it. Now Fatima and Amna sleep there. We have always been using it. She means to convey you our apology for not being able to host your driver.” Mr. Abdul Haq salvaged the situation.
“Doesn’t matter. I am aware of the space limitations.” Mr. Ramzan smiled.
“Please sit here and read the newspaper. I will bring your green tea in a few minutes or you want to walk along with me?” Mr. Abdul Haq said.
“No,” said Mr. Ramzan. “I do not have the nerve to dismount and then mount so many stairs. I have called the driver. I have to go to the doctor immediately after breakfast. I will go down once.”
‘It means that he is going after the breakfast. Thank God that this torture would be over. What a grouchy man!’ thought Mrs. Abdul Haq.
The breakfast was also not uneventful. Mr. Ramzan rejected the fruit jam saying that it was not sugar free. He also expressed his disliking for butter and asked for mozarilla cheese. Mozarilla cheese was not available, but Mrs. Abdul Haq had homemade cheese which he charitably agreed to use. He kept on enlightening his hosts about the damages done to health by sugary jams, full fat butter and whole cream milk.
“We have been eating these things all our lives. By the grace of Allah, we are all fine and no one needs to visit doctors on routine basis.”
Mr. Ramzan, silenced by this sudden sarcastic attack on his health, finished the rest of his breakfast peacefully and declared that he was going to see the doctor.
“We are hoping to see you at lunch.” Mr. Abdul Haq said warmly. “Today there will be no rice and the gravy would be thinner.” Mr. Ramzan laughed loudly. “I will probably have to go for some tests after the visit to the doctor. So, I might be late for lunch. But supper, definitely.” As soon as the voice of his slow steps on the stairs died away, Mrs. Abdul Haq started rebuking her husband.
“What was the need to extend invitation? He would have gone had you not invited him. A lunch without rice and thinner gravy’! Who will prepare it? You?” She said loudly.
“He is a guest. It has been three years since Hassan got married and it is his first visit. It looks impolite if we do not offer him lunch.”
“It looked very nice when he announced here that he had come without a lunch,” Mrs. Abdul Haq remarked mockingly.
Soon, everyone was out of the house. Mrs. Abdul Haq discussed the arrival of the uninvited, fussy father-in-law of her son at length with the maid who came for cleaning and washing clothes.
“This is the first time I have heard of such meanness. Decent people never take even one time meal at their daughter’s house. And this man is sitting at his daughter’s-in-laws' and criticizing everything as if he is in a hotel…this is unheard of! It is your generous nature that you are accommodating such a lowly person. Anyone else in your place would have thrown him off the stairs,” the maid said.
Mrs. Abdul Haq who had at last found a sympathetic and keen listener, discussed the details, deriding Mr. Ramzan and alleviating herself. This vented a lot of pressure off her and she was, to her surprise, in a light mood, by the time her husband and daughters arrived.
“I heard that you retired from college last year. What are doing these days?” Mr. Ramzan asked Mr. Abdul Haq at the supper table.
“I am a visiting faculty member at a private college. I also take evening classes.”
“It is a job with low returns. Why don’t you start a business? Look at me; I started with a very small investment after my retirement. Now I am the owner of the largest shoe store chain of the town,” Mr. Ramzan said proudly.
“It’s not just the money that matters. One should be associated with a reasonable profession. At Hassan’s marriage, all our relatives ridiculed us for marrying our son into a family of cobblers.” Mrs. Abdul Haq’s mood changed as soon as she heard Mr. Ramzan.
“What my wife wants to say is that people in our society behave in an unreasonable and immature manner. That is why they tried to belittle your achievements. Otherwise the way you have developed your business in a few years is commendable,”
Mr. Ramzan, his pride restored by Mr. Abdul Haq’s remark, now started commenting on the narrow-mindedness of people. Mrs. Abdul Haq felt that the entire conversation was directed towards her and continued to eat with scowl on her face.
“The dinner was too spicy,” Mr. Ramzan remarked as soon as the dinner was over. “I am afraid the acidity in my stomach will not let me sleep,” he said miserably.
Mrs. Abdul Haq, who was expecting a critical remark, was alarmed at the word ‘sleep’ instead of ‘travel’. She looked at Mr. Ramzan with horrified eyes.
“Don’t you have a medicine for acidity?” asked Mr. Abdul Haq.
“I would be better if I can have some yogurt with ground mint,” Mr. Ramzan said, ignoring Mr. Abdul Haq’s question.
Mr. Abdul Haq rushed to the market to bring sugar free yogurt and mint. After gulping down the yogurt, Mr. Ramzan announced that he was better, ‘thank God.’
“I have brought a bed sheet,” Mr. Ramzan took a sheet out of a shopping bag he had brought. “It is of pure Egyptian cotton. Last night I felt very uncomfortable due to sheets that had polyester. I thought I should recommend these Egyptian cotton sheets to you.”
“Thank you, bhai. We are comfortable with our sheets,” said Mrs. Abdul Haq dryly.
Mr. Abdul Haq, fearing that his annoyed wife might pass an unbecoming remark, quickly escorted Mr. Ramzan to his room.
“God, I can’t bear this man for another second,” said Mrs. Abdul Haq to her husband. “What a trouble maker! I feel like strangulating him.”
“Just a little patience,” said Mr. Abdul Haq. “He is our son’s father-in-law. It is because of Hassan that we are hosting him.”
“People have to bear with such issues because of daughters. But I am the first one who has to host uninvited guests because of a son!” exclaimed Mrs. Abdul Haq.
Mr. Ramzan, though he hated the food, disliked the lodging, and found problems with everything offered to him, stayed with unalterable determination for three more days. He had seen all the doctors of the town and got all the tests done for medical issues unknown to his hosts. He finally left on a Thursday morning, declaring that the too heavy breakfast had created a gas problem in his stomach and he would spend his day in utter pain.
As soon as he was gone, Mr. Abdul Haq, who was the only one at home, looked at his wife with a broad smile.
“See he has gone finally. I am glad we tried to host him as nicely as we could.”
He gulped down the sip of tea left in his mug and went to his college.
After everyone had gone, Mrs. Abdul Haq kept sitting in the dining chair she was seated for breakfast. She was filled with a sense of relief. A wave of fresh air came through the window. She felt that the most difficult days have passed and the devilish presence that had engulfed her life had now parted. The sun was shining brightly, and in its rays, she could feel the calmness of her home that she had felt never before. She took a deep breath and thought that she had to cook nothing that day. There was so much leftover from the formal dinners that she didn’t need to cook for another day. She reclined in her chair and relaxed. She felt luxuriously comfortable when she realized that she would be able to eat and sleep in peace. She realized that the traumatic hosting was over and her home seemed to be her home again……her home, her supporting husband, lovely children, meals that everyone appreciated. She looked around and felt that without the annoying presence of Mr. Ramzan, the apartment she had always hated felt like her Eden.
* * *
Saima Ayyaz is a short story writer from Pakistan. She has published stories in online magazines. She lives in Lahore, Pakistan.
by Saima Ayyaz
Mrs. Abdul Haq, a short, plump and uncouth woman with broad facial features and faintly perceptible moustaches was cutting spinach with a huge knife and talking to her husband.
“I am telling you again, as I have been telling you for so many years, that we really need to move into a new house. Look here, I am sitting in front of the balcony door and can you see any sunlight? The windows are so narrow that the sunlight never reaches the rooms. I always feel compressed and suffocated in this apartment,” she said, making hand movements in a way that she seemed to be brandishing her knife. “Remember, when we came here, you said that we were moving temporarily to this place to save monthly rents…and we’ll move to a new house soon. And it has been ten years! Believe me, in ten years, in this small apartment, I have never breathed fresh air. There has never been a feeling of comfort. What kind of a home is this?”
Mr. Abdul Haq, a short, slender bespectacled man, who was waiting for this wife to pause for breathing, said, “You know that we sent Hassan abroad. Do you think it is easier for a middle class person to finance the education of a child abroad? It juiced us.”
“How did it juice you? My Hassan was working along with studying. He worked so hard.” Mrs. Abdul Haq had an extreme fondness for her only son.
“I am not saying that he did not work hard. I am saying that even partially financing his education deprived us of all our savings. For Zainab’s marriage, we had to take a loan that is still being paid off. Then because of Hassan’s marriage…”
“Hassan paid all the expenses of his wedding himself,” Mrs. Abdul Haq abruptly cut her husband. “I am not saying that I financed his wedding. I am saying that now that he is married, he has more responsibilities and sends less money home. I know nothing. You are out of the house from morning to evening. The girls also go to college and come back in the afternoon. I am the only one who stays in this cage the whole day. I will call Hassan today. In a few months time, we should be out of this coop.” Mrs. Abdul Haq told her husband in a decisive tone, picked her knife and spinach bowl up and strode towards the kitchen.
In the evening, when Mrs. Abdul Haq was taking her long afternoon nap, she was disturbed by the telephone bell. She hated the sound of the bell; still she insisted that the telephone had to be in her room. It was an unavoidable part of her strategy to keep an eye on her daughters.
Mr. Abdul Haq received the phone. On hearing Hassan’s name, she jumped out of the bed and almost snatched the telephone from her husband.
She always talked very loudly on calls from abroad, adjusting her sound intensity in proportion to the distance of the caller. After the usual greetings, she was about to put forward her case of the house when Hassan said. “Ammi, uncle is coming for some time for medical check up. He will stay with you.”
Mrs. Abdul Haq had a mouth agape.
“Stay here? We have no space. Don’t you remember that we have just two bedrooms? It is inadequate even for us…..your abbu, myself, your two sisters. How can we accommodate a guest?”
“Ammi, there is a third room as well.”
“Don’t you remember that it is actually the store and has no attached bathroom? I was about to talk to you about the apartment being too small and…”
“Ammi, you have never been hospitable towards the guests. I know your habit. Before I came to England and Zainab got married, all six of us used to live in that apartment. Now why can you not accommodate just one person? He was insisting on staying in a hotel. I persuaded him to stay with my parents. He will stay just for a night, I think. He will come tomorrow. He is errrr…a choosy sort of a person. So you’ll have to take good care of him. Now give the telephone to Abbu. I want to ask him about good laboratories in the town.”
A deeply disgruntled Mrs. Haq handed the telephone to her husband and went back to her bed with slow steps.
“A new trouble!” She said as soon as her husband had hung up the telephone. “The parents of the girl usually host the parents of boys. Here everything is upside down.” She took a deep sigh. “The place is insufficient for us and my son wants me to open a guest house. I am telling you, it is not Hassan. It is his wife. She is the one who comes up with these ideas to torture me. Just last time when she came, I discussed with her the issue of the lack of space in this apartment at length. And just after three months, she has come up with this new scheme to torture me. And you know why has she chosen this time? Because she knows that the girls are busy with their final exams and I, with my old bones and aching knees, will be responsible for all the cooking. What a daughter in law God has blessed us with!”
Although Mr. Abdul Haq disagreed that the arrival of Hassan’s father in law was a part of a preplanned scheme, he did not dare to express his opinion openly and invite his wife’s wrath.
“Hassan said that he will come tomorrow in the evening. Why don’t you prepare a list of the items you would want for dinner?” He suggested in the hope of changing the turn the conversation had taken.
“You have always been interested in food. My life has been spent catering to your taste buds. You have no concern with how a guest will be accommodated at the end of the month with our limited income and deficient space. You are talking about lavish dinners and preparing lists to please yourself!”
Mrs. Abdul Haq marched out of the room like a protestor.
Although Mr. Ramzan Khan was expected at the dinner time, he turned up at five in the evening. At the piercing sound of the bell, Mrs. Abdul Haq rushed towards the door. “Lift your finger off the bell, you damned fool! God knows what kinds of people come at other's doors!” She opened the door with a bang and was surprised to see Mr. Ramzan. “Oh Bhai, it is you. I thought it is some boy committing mischief with our bell. Please come in.”
“Who on earth would come on the fourth floor to commit a mischief?” entered Mr. Ramzan. “My God, all the joints of my body are aching from mounting so many stairs and I am feeling so weak. Can you bring me a glass of juice? Oh, no, you please do not. Tell me where the kitchen is. I will help myself.”
“No, Bhai, you are our guest. Please be seated. He is in the bathroom and coming to give you company.” She never took the name of her husband. “Fatima, Amna, come here and greet your uncle.”
She called her daughters. The girls came and greeted Mr. Ramzan. Mr. Ramzan patted affectionately on their heads.
“Fatima, bring a glass of juice for uncle.” Mrs. Abdul Haq said to her daughter. ‘Miser! He could not even give five hundred rupees to them. My daughter in law’s family has such lowly habits’ she thought.
Mr. Abdul Haq appeared and warmly greeted the guest. ‘He is greeting him as if we have been waiting for him all our lives. Uninvited trouble on our heads!’ Mrs. Abdul Haq thought with gritted teeth.
Fatima brought a glass of juice. “Orange juice!” Mr. Ramzan exclaimed with such alacrity as if he were being offered something poisonous. “I cannot drink orange juice. My throat gets bad.”
“Bring a juice of another flavor, Fatima.” Mr. Abdul Haq said.
“There is no need,” said Mr. Ramzan. “I wanted a glass for immediate relief. I was too exhausted due to mounting so many stairs. The juice took so long that I have recovered my breath and do not need it anymore” said Mr. Ramzan.
“Bhai, the next time you come to our place, give us a call ten minutes before you reach here so that we are all alert to receive you and your juice does not get delayed.” Mrs. Abdul Haq said sarcastically.
Mr. Abdul Haq laughed loudly and tactlessly to give the impression that what Mrs. Abdul Haq said was supposed to be humorous.
“I want to go to the bathroom,” said Mr. Ramzan.
“Please, sir.” Mr. Abdul Haq got up, as full of courtesy as he always had been.
“He has brought his luggage in a suitcase,” Mrs. Abdul Haq whispered to Amna. “God knows for how long he plans to stay!"
“Ammi, the suitcase is too small for a long stay. Don’t worry. He will probably leave tomorrow.”
Mr. Abdul Haq, after showing Mr. Ramzan the way, came to his wife. “I think you should haste with the dinner preparations. He has come after a long road journey.”
“Is it my fault? Did I ask him to conduct his ‘long road journey’?” Mrs. Abdual Haq said with a frown and went towards the kitchen, signaling her daughters to come as well.
“Ammi, my mathematics exam is after two days,” mumbled Fatima.
“Ammi, I have to submit my practical journal tomorrow,” said Amna.
“And I am the only one in the world who has nothing to do except cooking for contemptible guests! God gave me an insensitive husband and now has given me children who have no concern for their mother,” said Mrs. Abdul Haq in a tearful voice.
Both the girls, silenced by their mother’s mood, busied themselves with chores in the kitchen.
“The water is too warm. It almost burned my face. For the first time I have seen such warm water in summers,” Mrs. Abdul Haq could hear Mr. Ramzan complaining to her husband.
“Actually, the water pipes heat up in the sun. The water will be better at night. I forgot to mention that if you let the water flow for a few minutes, it will be cooler,” Mr. Abdul Haq said apologetically.
“You should have told me. My facial skin is very sensitive. My cheeks are hurting due to hot water.”
“Sensitive facial skin! He is a super model with ‘sensitive facial skin’!” Mrs. Abdul Haq whispered to the girls. They started giggling.
“I am so sorry. I will give you an ointment which will ease your ache,” Mr. Abdul Haq’s voice came.
They busied themselves with a conversation about the provincial politics, weather and other subjects of the sort. Mrs. Abdul Haq, her ears tuned to eavesdropping and focused on their voices, could make out that Mr. Ramzan lost no opportunity to brag about his wealth, connections and knowledge.
“Such cheap novo rich people! Listen to the conversation he is conducting! We should have examined them better before taking the decision of entangling ourselves with them.” Mrs. Abdul Haq was continually commenting on the conversation in the girls’ ears.
As soon as the dinner table was laid, Mr. Raman went to the washroom again.
“It is the habit of mean people that they go to the bathroom as soon as you announce that the meal is ready. Such people are actually attention hungry and want others to keep waiting for them,” Mrs. Abdul Haq said in her husband’s ear.
Mr. Abdul Haq, who, as previously, did not agree that every move by Mr. Ramzan was a part of a bigger scheme, felt better to remain silent.
The dinner started as soon as Mr. Ramzan was seated.
“Thank God that I got the dinner at last. I was so hungry. Actually I had not taken my lunch. I started at half part twelve after breakfast.”
“I apologize that the thought did not cross our mind. Otherwise we would have given you a high tea or something,” said Mr. Abdul Haq apologetically.
“The thought did not cross our mind because there are so many good restaurants on the highway. We thought that you would pause for lunch, instead of coming here hungry,” Mrs. Abdul Haq retorted.
“Errr...actually I had an appointment with a doctor so I rushed to reach there. The assistant kept me waiting and then informed that the doctor had left for an emergency. That is why I…” Mr. Ramzan, who himself was rarely outwitted by anyone, explained.
“No, Mr. Ramzan, as hosts, it is our fault. Please start your dinner,” Mr. Abdul Haq intervened to salvage the situation.
“Ah, rice. The doctor has forbidden me rice due to my stomach problems. I love rice so much. I am constantly stealing glances at the rice dish and my taste buds are aching for the taste of rice. I feel so bad!” said Mr. Ramzan.
“Oh, but you must do what the doctors have told you to,” said Mr. Abdul Haq.
Ignoring his frowning wife, he instructed his daughter to remove the rice dish from the table. “We do not want to spoil your dinner.” He said with a smile.
“The chicken gravy is too thick,” Mr. Ramzan commented.
“We like it that way,” Mrs. Abdul Haq said in a sharp voice.
“But it would have tasted much better had it been less dense,” Mr. Ramzan replied.
“No problem,” Mr. Abdul Haq intervened again. “Fatima, go and put some water in the gravy and bring it to a boil. It will be of your uncle’s choice in five minutes.”
Mrs. Abdul Haq cleared her throat angrily. ‘This old fussy man is torturing us deliberately,’ she thought. ‘Like daughter, like father.’
Mr. Ramzan wanted a glass of milk before going to bed. When he was handed one, he returned it announcing that it had not been skimmed. Mrs. Abdul Haq poured some milk in a cup, filled one third of the glass with water and handed it to Amna with the instructions to ‘give it to the old grumpy man.’
“When will this devil go?” Mrs. Abdul Haq said to her husband in an agitated voice.
“You should not pass such comments about a guest.”
“Guest? Haven’t you noticed that he creates fuss on purpose so that we are always running errands for him?”
“He has always been like that. Remember when we went to their house for finalizing the match? His wife and daughters were constantly scurrying to ensure perfection on his instructions.”
“He is not a monarch and we are not his subjects that we will run on his commands. He should better learn to behave himself. I hope he leaves tomorrow morning. He is boiling my blood all the time.”
She covered her face with the sheet and went to sleep.
The next morning, when she went to kitchen to prepare breakfast, she found, to her horror, Mr. Ramzan standing in her kitchen admist the mess he had created.
“I was trying to look for a packet of green tea. I have looked for it in every cabinet but…” Mr. Ramzan said.
“There is no green tea. We do not like it. You should have asked me instead of emptying the contents of the cabinets on the counters,” said Mrs. Abdul Haq in a sharp voice.
“How could I ask you when you were asleep? I could not sleep the whole night. It was so hot and stifling in that small room without an air conditioner,” said Mr. Ramzan.
“We are middle class people, bhai. We cannot afford an air conditioner in every room. That is how we live,” retorted Mrs. Abdul Haq. “Should I prepare your breakfast?”
“Actually I would have preferred a cup of green tea.”
“Haven’t I just informed you that there is no green tea?”
Mr. Abdul Haq, who had just emerged from his room, caught the last sentence. “I will bring green tea for you. The general store is just around the corner.”
Mrs. Abdul Haq looked at her husband with fiery eyes. He avoided her glance and started looking towards the door.
“Didn’t you come with a driver?” She asked Mr. Ramzan.
“I came with a driver but I thought that there would be no place for the driver here to spend the night. So I have arranged his stay at an inexpensive roadside hotel. But today, I have seen a small room adjacent to the kitchen. Is that the servant quarter?”
Mr. Abdul Haq was about to give a reply when she suddenly said, “It is a servant quarter but we have converted it into a store room. Actually there are only two bedrooms in this apartment. The third room, in which the girls sleep, is the store room. We have converted it into a bedroom and the servant quarter into the store room. It is full of baggage and so, we have no place for the driver.”
“The girls have to sleep in the store room because of me!” Mr. Ramzan said.
“No, no. Not at all. We have been using it as a room for ten years. Hassan used to sleep there before he went to England. Then Zainab occupied it. Now Fatima and Amna sleep there. We have always been using it. She means to convey you our apology for not being able to host your driver.” Mr. Abdul Haq salvaged the situation.
“Doesn’t matter. I am aware of the space limitations.” Mr. Ramzan smiled.
“Please sit here and read the newspaper. I will bring your green tea in a few minutes or you want to walk along with me?” Mr. Abdul Haq said.
“No,” said Mr. Ramzan. “I do not have the nerve to dismount and then mount so many stairs. I have called the driver. I have to go to the doctor immediately after breakfast. I will go down once.”
‘It means that he is going after the breakfast. Thank God that this torture would be over. What a grouchy man!’ thought Mrs. Abdul Haq.
The breakfast was also not uneventful. Mr. Ramzan rejected the fruit jam saying that it was not sugar free. He also expressed his disliking for butter and asked for mozarilla cheese. Mozarilla cheese was not available, but Mrs. Abdul Haq had homemade cheese which he charitably agreed to use. He kept on enlightening his hosts about the damages done to health by sugary jams, full fat butter and whole cream milk.
“We have been eating these things all our lives. By the grace of Allah, we are all fine and no one needs to visit doctors on routine basis.”
Mr. Ramzan, silenced by this sudden sarcastic attack on his health, finished the rest of his breakfast peacefully and declared that he was going to see the doctor.
“We are hoping to see you at lunch.” Mr. Abdul Haq said warmly. “Today there will be no rice and the gravy would be thinner.” Mr. Ramzan laughed loudly. “I will probably have to go for some tests after the visit to the doctor. So, I might be late for lunch. But supper, definitely.” As soon as the voice of his slow steps on the stairs died away, Mrs. Abdul Haq started rebuking her husband.
“What was the need to extend invitation? He would have gone had you not invited him. A lunch without rice and thinner gravy’! Who will prepare it? You?” She said loudly.
“He is a guest. It has been three years since Hassan got married and it is his first visit. It looks impolite if we do not offer him lunch.”
“It looked very nice when he announced here that he had come without a lunch,” Mrs. Abdul Haq remarked mockingly.
Soon, everyone was out of the house. Mrs. Abdul Haq discussed the arrival of the uninvited, fussy father-in-law of her son at length with the maid who came for cleaning and washing clothes.
“This is the first time I have heard of such meanness. Decent people never take even one time meal at their daughter’s house. And this man is sitting at his daughter’s-in-laws' and criticizing everything as if he is in a hotel…this is unheard of! It is your generous nature that you are accommodating such a lowly person. Anyone else in your place would have thrown him off the stairs,” the maid said.
Mrs. Abdul Haq who had at last found a sympathetic and keen listener, discussed the details, deriding Mr. Ramzan and alleviating herself. This vented a lot of pressure off her and she was, to her surprise, in a light mood, by the time her husband and daughters arrived.
“I heard that you retired from college last year. What are doing these days?” Mr. Ramzan asked Mr. Abdul Haq at the supper table.
“I am a visiting faculty member at a private college. I also take evening classes.”
“It is a job with low returns. Why don’t you start a business? Look at me; I started with a very small investment after my retirement. Now I am the owner of the largest shoe store chain of the town,” Mr. Ramzan said proudly.
“It’s not just the money that matters. One should be associated with a reasonable profession. At Hassan’s marriage, all our relatives ridiculed us for marrying our son into a family of cobblers.” Mrs. Abdul Haq’s mood changed as soon as she heard Mr. Ramzan.
“What my wife wants to say is that people in our society behave in an unreasonable and immature manner. That is why they tried to belittle your achievements. Otherwise the way you have developed your business in a few years is commendable,”
Mr. Ramzan, his pride restored by Mr. Abdul Haq’s remark, now started commenting on the narrow-mindedness of people. Mrs. Abdul Haq felt that the entire conversation was directed towards her and continued to eat with scowl on her face.
“The dinner was too spicy,” Mr. Ramzan remarked as soon as the dinner was over. “I am afraid the acidity in my stomach will not let me sleep,” he said miserably.
Mrs. Abdul Haq, who was expecting a critical remark, was alarmed at the word ‘sleep’ instead of ‘travel’. She looked at Mr. Ramzan with horrified eyes.
“Don’t you have a medicine for acidity?” asked Mr. Abdul Haq.
“I would be better if I can have some yogurt with ground mint,” Mr. Ramzan said, ignoring Mr. Abdul Haq’s question.
Mr. Abdul Haq rushed to the market to bring sugar free yogurt and mint. After gulping down the yogurt, Mr. Ramzan announced that he was better, ‘thank God.’
“I have brought a bed sheet,” Mr. Ramzan took a sheet out of a shopping bag he had brought. “It is of pure Egyptian cotton. Last night I felt very uncomfortable due to sheets that had polyester. I thought I should recommend these Egyptian cotton sheets to you.”
“Thank you, bhai. We are comfortable with our sheets,” said Mrs. Abdul Haq dryly.
Mr. Abdul Haq, fearing that his annoyed wife might pass an unbecoming remark, quickly escorted Mr. Ramzan to his room.
“God, I can’t bear this man for another second,” said Mrs. Abdul Haq to her husband. “What a trouble maker! I feel like strangulating him.”
“Just a little patience,” said Mr. Abdul Haq. “He is our son’s father-in-law. It is because of Hassan that we are hosting him.”
“People have to bear with such issues because of daughters. But I am the first one who has to host uninvited guests because of a son!” exclaimed Mrs. Abdul Haq.
Mr. Ramzan, though he hated the food, disliked the lodging, and found problems with everything offered to him, stayed with unalterable determination for three more days. He had seen all the doctors of the town and got all the tests done for medical issues unknown to his hosts. He finally left on a Thursday morning, declaring that the too heavy breakfast had created a gas problem in his stomach and he would spend his day in utter pain.
As soon as he was gone, Mr. Abdul Haq, who was the only one at home, looked at his wife with a broad smile.
“See he has gone finally. I am glad we tried to host him as nicely as we could.”
He gulped down the sip of tea left in his mug and went to his college.
After everyone had gone, Mrs. Abdul Haq kept sitting in the dining chair she was seated for breakfast. She was filled with a sense of relief. A wave of fresh air came through the window. She felt that the most difficult days have passed and the devilish presence that had engulfed her life had now parted. The sun was shining brightly, and in its rays, she could feel the calmness of her home that she had felt never before. She took a deep breath and thought that she had to cook nothing that day. There was so much leftover from the formal dinners that she didn’t need to cook for another day. She reclined in her chair and relaxed. She felt luxuriously comfortable when she realized that she would be able to eat and sleep in peace. She realized that the traumatic hosting was over and her home seemed to be her home again……her home, her supporting husband, lovely children, meals that everyone appreciated. She looked around and felt that without the annoying presence of Mr. Ramzan, the apartment she had always hated felt like her Eden.
* * *
Saima Ayyaz is a short story writer from Pakistan. She has published stories in online magazines. She lives in Lahore, Pakistan.
