HIMMAT NAH HAARNAH

I thought I'd change to the romance genre after the last two stories I posted.

This is a modern longish, short-story set in the UK. It tells of two people's attempts at finding partners and the diffculties that ensued. It is also a story of love and hope but grounded in the reality of some of the difficulties faced by some relationships.

HIMMAT NAH HAARNAH

 

His world had been turned upside down when he learned of the news. His parents, older brother and younger sister were wiped out in one fell swoop - a collision with a HGV lorry on the M6 motorway. If he hadn't been laid low that day with a dose of flu, he would have accompanied his family to his cousin's wedding in Manchester. He too would have suffered the same fate. There were those who blamed destiny, others chance. Blaming God or whoever made no difference to the fact he had lost his entire family. He was left numb and broken. For days he couldn't function, dazed by grief. If his extended family hadn't stepped in he would never have coped.

Unbidden, often memories of his interactions with his family would surface. For short lapses of time, his mother and father would come to life again as he relived earlier moments. One particularly vivid example was when he had quietly sneaked into the kitchen where his mother was cooking. As he came up behind her, he affectionately folded his arms around her.

Startled she turned her head and tried to wriggle free. She had to look up at Pervez because he was so much taller than her.

"Beta, what are you doing?"

"Can't a son show his mother how much he loves her?"

As she gently prised herself out of his enveloping arms, she blushed slightly, saying, "Beta, that's not seemly at your age. You're a grown man!"

"But I'm still your boy, Ma," he replied lightly heartedly. She couldn't help smiling when he said that. She loved him to bits.

Pervez was the middle child. She often felt guilty he didn't get as much attention as his older brother or Nazia the baby' of the family. Not that Pervez would complain. It wasn't his nature. He was easy going and comfortable in his own skin. Deep down though, she knew he was his father's pride and joy - the only one in the family with a university degree and a senior management job with the city council. Of course his father was the old fashioned, strong and silent type that didn't talk much about feelings, preferring instead to talk about cricket or food and deliver the occasional homily.

"Beta," she said, "would you go tell everyone the food is ready. Time for people to wash and prepare to eat. Now, off you go."

And just as suddenly as the memory had surfaced, it vanished leaving behind a dark and lonely reality.

The tragic accident had forced Pervez to re-evaluate his life. It also faced him with decisions he felt unprepared and unqualified to make. What was to become of the grocery business his father and brother Javed had been running? Was he expected to take over the family business? Did he want to abandon his work as Deputy Director of Finance? He knew nothing about buying and selling groceries. The hours were unsociable to say the least. He couldn't run it on his own in any case. He would need to hire help, experienced help if he wanted to succeed. Besides, large supermarkets and smaller versions of them were springing up everywhere. These were driving many Asian shopkeepers out of business because they were being undercut in prices. The corner shops couldn't provide the same extensive range of products in one location as the big companies did. There was no doubt he would need advice on matters like this.

More immediate right now was his existential crises. Was it even worthwhile going on? His older brother Javed who had been a practical no-nonsense sort of person would have slapped him and told him not to be such an over-intellectual idiot'. That was Javed's way of reminding Pervez he lived too much inside his own head. You have responsibilities, Javed would have reminded him. The responsibility of at least continuing the family line. Well, there was that to consider too. However that required first meeting and marrying someone. He wanted to meet someone, fall in love and get married, preferably in that order. He could not, in a cold and calculated way produce children just to perpetuate the genetic line. He couldn't forget his father used to say children were a gift from God. Pervez knew he had been loved by his parents, but he held that children should be wanted and planned. He recalled being dragged to many a wedding reception by his parents, in the fervent hope he would see some suitable potential wife, and bearer of his children. Then there was his younger sister, Nazia, (known affectionately to close family as Choti',) who was forever trying to match-make for him.

Only last month, Nazia had brazenly asked him, "Do you think Shireen is attractive?"

"Who's Shireen? And why do you want to know, Choti?"

"You remember Shireen - she was at the last wedding reception we attended. Shireen was the one with reddish hair with highlights and wearing a green outfit - not too much bling on the outfit - just like you prefer," she needled her brother.

"Yes, I vaguely recall seeing her there." He deliberately put on an expression of disinterest hoping his sister would take the hint.

"Well I bumped into her the other day and she asked after you." The higher pitch in her voice suggested that the information for some reason excited her.

"That was kind of her." Inwardly Pervez rolled his eyes.

"Bhai, your head is so full of numbers that you sometimes miss what's happening." Nazia was exasperated by her brother's apparent naivety although he was only feigning.

"And what's that supposed to mean, Choti?"

She gleefully explained the matter to him as if her brother was a simpleton. "It means, Bhai, she's interested in y-o-u. That's right, no one else but my dear brother."

"Don't be silly."

"The only silly person in the room here is mere pyari bhaiya!" Choti teased. "Of course what Shireen sees in you, still baffles everyone..."

"Choti!"

She shrugged off the admonishment. "Well, what shall I tell her? Interested or not?" It was clear Choti wasn't going to let go of the matter.

"Well nosey, I suggest you tell this Shireen..."

"...Yes..." she said hanging on her brother's every word.

"I'm not ready to consider marriage, but if she wants a kiss and cuddle to tide her over, I'm willing to help," he mocked.

Choti was visibly aghast. "You scoundrel!" she exclaimed and playfully punched him in the arm for his saucy comment. Pervez laughed loudly at that.

And now Choti was gone. She would never again try to organise his love life', or even finish her dentistry course for that matter. In fact, they were all gone. Forever. Every last one.

He missed them so much that it hurt. He had heard other people use such an expression but now for the first time he really knew what they meant. In his mind he had serious discussions with God about it. He had demanded to know what he had done to deserve such a punishment - and he could not see it as anything other than a punishment. He wasn't perfect but neither was he an evil, cruel or wicked person. Why me, he kept asking God, but God was disinclined to enlighten him.

The next four months he felt he spent in various degrees of fog, unsure of what was happening to him and around him. Thankfully his employer was understanding in the light of the family tragedy and even workmates went out of their way to be kind, understanding and supportive. Although family and friends visited him regularly, deep down he felt he had lost focus and drive. He was simply going through the motions, and it was the same at work to which he had returned only a month ago. There wasn't even any home life to speak of. A home requires family not solitary confinement.

It had been the extended family that had had saved him from oblivion. However, eighteen months later they were pressing him to get married. He didn't have the stamina to put up a fight. When they argued that he should make a new start and fill that deep chasm in his life, he had agreed but only diffidently.

Was he really ready to take this new and unpredictable step in life, he kept asking himself. On the other hand it would be nice to have someone to come home to, someone to share his life with, and someone to be a good and close friend. Pervez was conscious that had his parents been alive, by now, they too would have suggested he settle down. It was inevitable he would eventually marry. Why not now? After all he needed someone in his life. He wanted someone warm and caring to hold onto during those dark moments of his troubled mind.

After meeting up with several potential partners, all arranged by his indefatigable Massi, Pervez had chosen a journalist by the name of Ghazala. Ghazala had short hair, greenish eyes that drew one's attention, and was blessed with an alluring figure. She was modern in her outlook and appearance, shared several mutual interests, in addition to which she seemed to be a fun loving person. She was upbeat with a sense of humour and he felt she could draw him out of himself, so that the former Pervez might be reborn. Philosophically he was not of the view that there was only one special person out there for each and everyone one of us. So with effort, understanding, and friendship built upon sharing time and interests, two people could grow close enough to feel love towards each other. He was hopeful they would adjust to each other and in time grow to become emotionally invested in each other. 

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A month after his first wedding anniversary, feeling unwell Pervez had left the three-day training early to go home to his wife. On arriving at his home he noticed Ghazala's car in the driveway as he expected. Thankfully she hadn't popped out to do some shopping nor was she away on a journalistic assignment. When he entered the living room matters took a very unexpected turn however. He found Ghazala in a state of partial undress - on the sofa - holding onto a young man. Pervez's head was already befuddled with whatever infection was currently raging through his body, so he couldn't remember whether he had shouted at the stranger to get out of the house. The stranger did however jump up suddenly and fled the house in haste. He was in no fit state to pursue him. He did recall clearly telling his wife to leave and never to return. What else could he say? What good would it do him knowing who the other man was? No discussion or arguments were warranted. Just leave, he had told her. He was in a state of shock, angry, and in no mood for an argument or to behave in a reasonable fashion. Besides, what was the supposed etiquette when you discovered your wife being unfaithful?

While Pervez was angry with the guy who had invaded the sanctity of his marriage he was even angrier at his wife. It takes two to tango, he thought, knowing full well Ghazala was quite assertive and not easily led. In his view she was clearly to blame. After all, she was the one he had a relationship with - not the other man. Just as he was becoming comfortable enough with his marriage, its routines and responsibilities, to contemplate having children, she had turned his life upside down with this act of betrayal. He could not bear to even look at her. His head in his hands in despair, he sunk into an armchair. Pervez did not register the actual moment that she left the house.

When she had gone, he fell easily into thinking, good riddance to bad rubbish. However that was the initial anger expressing itself. He was hurt and confused too. God had done it to him again, he told himself. Why was he being picked on? Weren't there enough people in the world to spread the unhappiness and misfortune among? Why did it all land on him? Was this some kind of test? He wasn't a particularly religious person and if this was God's way of getting him to change, Pervez was convinced it wouldn't work. It would only prove God was wicked or capricious and drive a greater wedge between him and God.

Besides such feelings, there were many more to contend with. How could he not feel wounded by the fact that she had sought solace with someone else? Was he inadequate in bed and she been faking it all along? Was it just a male ego thing or was there some truth to the idea? Despite being the injured party, he could not shake off that thought entirely.

If he was honest he had to admit too, that he missed her. He had been stopped dead in his tracts. It was if there was a huge and deep hole blocking the path he wished to travel. She had become, however briefly, that one bright and happy thing in his existence since his family was taken from him. Why did he have to have feelings for her? It didn't seem right he should miss her. After all, she was the one who had wronged him, the one who had been unfaithful. He could not stay with her when the trust had been shattered. The strange thing was, incongruously, here he was actually considering what he would tell his extended family about the matter. Should he draw a veil over her infidelity and find some other excuse for them breaking up? In that situation, somebody, not least Ghazala's parents were bound to suggest reconciliation. Would they even believe him if he told them the truth? That was not important right now. With every passing hour his attitude towards his wife hardened.

When two days later Ghazala had called him on his cellphone to talk, he had refused to take the call. At that point he was still seething with anger and hurt. He was not ready to parlay. Besides, what was there to talk about? She had been carrying on with another man, and he could neither forgive nor forget that.

At the end of a week of feeling he was lost, he decided to take back some control instead of being at the mercy of events. He was not going to go on punishing himself. He decided to shave, and quite consciously picked himself out something smart to wear to boost his confidence in preparation for re-joining the world. Better being the walking wounded than dead, he told himself. He recalled his father constantly telling him, "Himmat nah haarnah," when he faced obstacles in his young life. It was then that he decided it was time to talk to the woman who had shattered his dreams and destroyed a marriage.

Pervez had tried to keep his approach business like and he refused to engage properly with her comments and questions. He didn't care to hear that the young man she had been with, was a former boyfriend with whom she has once wanted to make her life. For Pervez that did not in any way mitigate what she had done. When Ghazala had started to raise the subject of reconciling and making another go of their marriage, Pervez's tone had been cold and aloof. For him her idea was a non-starter. He had made clear that he was not the least interested in staying married to an adulteress. Harsh bitter words were used. Why shouldn't he be blunt? While Ghazala had cried and pleaded, he had remained resolute, even heartless. He had no intention of sharing with her his own pain, sorrow and disillusionment precipitated by betrayal. At this point neither was he interested in his community's norms and practices regarding marital disputes. To hell with what the world thought about it all. He reprimanded himself for being taken in by the pervading and comforting male myth that generally, it was the men that were unfaithful to their partners.

Pervez ended the call by simply informing her to come at a precise day and time to remove her personal belongings before he disposed of them. He was emotionally unable to move past her disregard for a basic principle of a marriage, or any relationship - fidelity. He had always believed in trust and honesty. He wasn't the type to keep his wife on a tight lease, or the kind of man who placed restriction on her. Yes, there had always been the possibility she could stray from him, but he would rather she stayed with him because she wanted to, not because he made her. Surely her straying meant she did not really want to be with him. She had made her decision to share intimacy with someone else. So he had been in no mood to forgive, forget or compromise. Pervez had been explicit when he told her that he would be filing divorce papers as soon as he managed to contact a lawyer. It was only after that telephone conversation he decided it was time for him to return to his job and re-establish some comforting routines that would distract him from the large empty space in his life. 

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A soon as the door opened, Farzana stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the man in an affectionate hug. The fifty-five year old man was taken by surprise but it was obvious from the cheery grin on his face that he was also very pleased by the encounter. "Beti", he exclaimed. "You didn't even let me know you were coming!"

She smiled broadly at her father, saying "I thought I'd surprise you. So, Papa how have you been?" She took him by the arm before he could answer, and led him towards the sitting room.

"I'm the same as the day before yesterday - when you last phoned me." While she could see from his expression he was pleased to see her, she could also hear the mild rebuke in his word.

They were now in the sitting room. Farzana had thrown off her coat and dragged her father onto the sofa to sit close to her. "So," she began "did you have a decent breakfast this morning, or did you skip it, like you often do?"

Inside he felt pleased at her concern for him.  He had raised a caring daughter. "You fuss too much about little things."

"And you Papa are evading the question." Farzana may have been a caring daughter, but her expression suggested she was not beyond gently admonishing the man who loomed so large in her life. "You never eat properly when I'm not around." When her father pulled a face at that, she decided to change tactic.  "Tell you what. What d'you say I cook you your favourite meal?"

"Yes, Butter Chicken would go down very nicely, thanks." When Farzana nodded, he decided to push his luck. "I better warn you I'm also expecting some Alu Paratha for breakfast tomorrow."

She knew he got lonely since she moved out, for a second time. Whenever she visited him these days he was always angling for her to stay the night. "Papa, I'm not sure I can stay over..."

It was obvious she wanted to spend more time with her father who had seen her through good times and bad - the only steady, reliable rock in her life. She had left him four years ago for the first time, to get married. The second time was a year ago when she felt confident enough after the divorce, to buy her own flat and prove to herself and the world she was ready to face life on her terms.

Farzana knew he was only pretending when he said, "It's a package deal. Take it or leave it."

"OK Papa, you'll get your package deal."

Her father smiled in victory. Poor thing, he empathized. She had been through so much loss and pain and she had braved it all. Farzana's mother had died of breast cancer when Farzana was gearing up to her A' Level exams in her final year at secondary school. Those qualifications were her passport to university. Daughter and father had needed each other equally when mother's terminal illness took its toll. Farzana had paid a heavy price not only emotionally but physically too; she looked anorexic by the time her mother passed. The fact that her exam results had been disappointing had been a minor issue for her at the time of grieving. In addition in the last three years there had been that business with Imran to contend with. As a father, at times he had felt inadequate, even unable to ease his daughter's anguish. He doubted himself although he knew even the most loving father could not remedy every wound, least of all, an injury to the spirit. Over the last two years he had witnessed her mend her broken spirit and her confidence grow back. She was almost back on track again. Moving out to be independent had been a wrench for both of them, but an important part of the healing process. Even now, deep down he wanted her to stay to assuage his own loneliness.

"Beti," he chirped, "how about you make us a cup of desi chai and then you can tell me what's happened."

"And what makes you think something's happened?" she parried. Her father gave her one of those looks she had known from childhood, a look that said nothing gets past me, child. Farzana burst into a loud laugh but she neither confirmed nor contradicted his assessment. "Papa...I think I'll make us some chai." She quickly rose from her seat and headed into the familiar kitchen. 

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While they polished off the dinner of Butter Chicken, the conversation was the usual fare of things that were going on at work and some light-hearted banter. Farzana's father waited patiently for her to tell him in her own time what she had really come to discuss. He prayed it was some good news. She had suffered enough in her young life. After she had adjusted to her mother's permanent absence and her alternative career trajectory, Farzana had agreed to bring some normality into her life by marrying Imran. As a father he was pleased to see her settle into married life and felt he had fulfilled a sacred parental duty towards her. He only wished his wife Habiba had been there to see Farzana take that important step in life. For many people that step marked the real transition into adulthood. 

Then suddenly one day she had turned up at his door at midnight in a state of extreme distress. As soon as the door was opened, she had buried her face in her father's chest and clung to him for dear life. She was again the child who wanted her Papa to soothe her injury. He had half carried half supported her as they both stumbled towards the sitting room. Despite his gentle inquiries, she refused to answer at first. She just cried, her body wracked by the pain she carried. Then slowly piece by piece the truth came out between incoherent sobs.

He hugged his daughter tightly, reminiscent of the times he had comforted her, as a child, over some bruised limb or emotional hurt she had incurred. As he listened to the cruelty her husband had visited upon her, his own unchecked tears rolled down his cheeks. Farzana told her father of the disagreements, the bullying and then the physical violence. Appalled and angry as he was, with difficulty, he chose to listen and comfort her until she regained some composure.

They had sat up for hours, talking and reassuring. It then became clear to her father that the pressure from Imran had started first with the issue of wearing hijab - something that all the other female members of her husband's family wore. Farzana had resolutely refused to comply because she did not accept the rationale for its use and the fact that there was no tradition on her family's side, of women wearing the hijab. He constantly criticised what she wore despite the fact that she chose to dress smartly but modestly. The violence itself had begun when Imran had gone overboard about her speaking to and sharing a joke with a colleague in her line of work. They had at first argued about the alleged impropriety of that conversation but when she refused to accept that he could control who she spoke to, he had struck her across the face and called her a wh**e. She had been more shocked than physically hurt by the blow. Despite all his outward self-assurance, Imran was insecure and jealous possibly because she was blessed with good looks, those curiously bluish eyes, a figure many women would envy and a pleasant demeanour. Despite his subsequent apologies for his loutish behaviour, as the months went by, he increasingly resorted to violence or threats to get his way or end an argument he was losing. As her father he was conscious of the fact that he had not raised Farzana to be a timid or inarticulate child. Some men could not cope with assertive women like Farzana.

Finally around four o'clock in the morning, her father had put her to bed in the hope that the new day would bring greater clarity of thought and possibly wisdom.

The morning had been awkward with silence and pale, drawn faces. He had been cajoling Farzana into have something to eat when her cell phone had rung. She had refused to answer it and had let it ring until it stopped. This happened three times consecutively before her father had taken it upon himself to answer the call. He was very protective towards his only child.. Conventions and rules be damned. Her father had made his anger clear to Imran for what he had done to his daughter. At this point Farzana had fled back to the bedroom. A few minutes later her father had come to see her and had advised her to only speak with her estranged husband if and when she was ready. She had smiled weakly in acknowledgement then asked to be left alone for a while. 

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A few days later they had sat and talked in practical terms about what she could or intended to do about her relationship with her husband. Was she going to return to the marital home? If so, on what basis? Did she intend to end the marriage regardless of the stigma of divorce and the prevalent view within her community that the female carried the greater blame for a failed relationship? Was she going to contact the police about the violence meted out to her by her husband? How would Imran and his family react to that situation, or other busybodies within their circle of friends and acquaintances?

He was all for reporting the matter to the police to deal with. Domestic violence was a crime, after all. However, in his heart he wanted Farzana to go down the legal route. He justifiably felt vengeful towards the man who had harmed his daughter. Farzana though had a different opinion. However, they both agreed that the marriage had to end. She was not prepared to go back to a violent husband, and if she did file a complaint with the police, the marriage would end in any case, because of her action. While he pressed her to go to the police, Farzana was primarily motivated by the desire to be put whole painful and shameful situation behind her. The sooner the better. She was fully aware she should report the matter to the authorities, but did not want to relate the incidents repeatedly to a string of strangers. If a prosecution was brought she would have to face her husband and family in court with all the emotional and social fallout that generated. She was adamant she did not want to lay eyes on Imran ever again.

Thankfully Farzana had negotiated that major hurdle and made a tentative new start. Even after the legal divorce, there was a significant stumbling block in her path. Her request for a Muslim divorce was denied by Imran, despite the fact that under British law, they were already divorced. However, the Muslim community would not accept she was divorced under Islamic law. She was not entitled to file for a Muslim divorce. The prerogative of divorce was restricted to the husband unless the marriage contract specifically stated the wife had the right to divorce her husband for credible reasons.

As she was to discover with her keener awareness of gender issues, she was not alone in facing such a difficulty. Her father had tried his best to resolve the matter by visiting her ex-husband, and also speaking to Imran's parents. Unfortunately that proved a futile exercise that only succeeded in her father losing his temper and further alienating her former in-laws.

Was he a terrible father to Farzana for being thankful that she had taken precautions during the marriage not to fall pregnant? The situation was bad but would have been even more difficult if she had a young child to look after.

Now here she was, a vibrant young woman, making a success of her career, learning to find some happiness again. Her father had told her repeatedly that happiness mostly came from within and not so much from the people in one's life. As a father he was indulgent, and had been even more so since the loss of her mother. So, after the legal divorce he had not tried to talk her out of buying herself a flat, and did not question her decisions - well not too much. However, again and again, as a father he kept coming back to the idea that she should remarry. He did not want her to shun or tarnish all men because one individual had been a hurtful disappointment. She deserved companionship, and he was not going to be around forever. Besides, he wanted grandchildren. When he had raised the issue, she had always deflected the discussion to why he himself had not remarried even after all the time that had passed since her mother's death. Yes, it was fairly customary for widowers to remarry, and no one would think it amiss if he did, but he had always rejected the idea for himself. He felt by remarrying he would be trivialising the memory of the deep love and friendship he had shared with his Habiba. 

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The Butter Chicken had been consumed and the dishes cleaned and stacked away. Father and daughter sat cradling their respective mugs of chai chatting idly. Farzana suddenly changed the conversation and announced, "Papa, a couple of weeks ago, I answered an ad in the paper..."

"Ad? What ad? For What?" The mixture of confusion and anxiety as to where the conversation was headed was evident in her father's face.

"A matrimonial ad, Papa." Having said her bit, she awaited his reaction. How would he take the news, she wondered.

"Oooh!" Raised eyebrows were followed by a short happy laugh.

On seeing her father's positive reaction she couldn't help smiling and feeling relieved. He wasn't at all concerned that she had taken the action without consulting or informing him. The trepidation she had felt earlier had now fled. If he could be react the way he had, she could respond with mock reverence. "Yes, I have decided to seek the advice of my esteemed father."

"And so you should!" Farzana fully expected him to wag his finger at her.

He was unable to keep up the charade because his curiosity got the better of his patience and the questions tumbled from his lips. "Who is he? Where does he live? What do you know about him?"

"He's lives in Leicester and is Deputy Director of the Finance Department for the city council."

"So he earns more than you. Good move, beti!"

Farzana was taken aback by her father's cynicism. "Papa, you know things like that don't matter to me!"

"It might not matter to you," her father parried back at her. "I hope he's not like lots of men who feel threatened, or undermined if they earn less than their wives...But let's park that one for the moment and you go back to the rest of what you know about him."

"He's five years older than me, wants a woman who is independent minded."

"Good."

"...doesn't mind if she's divorced,

"Good."

"...but doesn't want one with children."

"He told you that?" The look on her father's face made it obvious was genuinely surprised at what she'd said.

"It was in the ad, Papa."

"So I wouldn't get grandchildren?"

"No, it's not like that" she chided. "He wants children - just not somebody else's. It doesn't make him a bad person, you know."

"Go on." Her father took another sip of his tea.

"And he won't even consider someone who wears hijab."

"What?" spluttered her father, choking on his drink. After a couple of coughs he was able to speak clearly again. "He said he won't consider a hijabi? What kind of man is he? Is he even Muslim? Please, beti, tell me he is a Muslim...?"

"And you Papa, honestly think I'd marry a non-Muslim?"

"Well, let's be honest...that ex of yours won't grant you a Muslim divorce...so I thought...you know...maybe..."

"Papa, I know some Asian girls marry European men because they're shunned by our community for whatever reason, or they think they will have a more equal partnership, but I don't think like that. Besides, Papa, we've not even decided if we'll be compatible, let alone ready to propose marriage."

"I just thought -"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Papa...So do you want me to tell you the rest, or are you suggesting I drop it, here and now?"

"No, beti, the choice is yours...I think deep down, you blame me for your marriage and what followed."

"No, Papa, honestly, I don't. I did agree to the marriage. It's not as if you coerced me to choose him."

"But still - "

"Let's not go into all that right now. As you said so many times, I have to keep moving forward and not looking back."

"OK, but let me just say one thing. I won't stand in your way if this is what you really want. But try to understand, that as a father I worry. I don't want to see you hurt again. I want to see you settle down and be happy." Saying that, he reached out and patted his daughter's hand affectionately. She acknowledged his gesture with a fleeting smile. "Now go on. Tell me the rest."

"Well the rest is he has his own house but no immediate family due to a tragic accident."

"How do you know that? Is that the kind of thing you include in a matrimonial advert these days?"

"Papa you keep interrupting!  I haven't got round to telling you that we've emailed each other a few times."

"Facebook, I expect. Have you spoken to each other yet?"

"No, Facebook - only straight forward email," she clarified.

"And he really has lost both parents?" When Farzana nodded, he went on. "And what about brothers and sisters?"

"Both killed in the same accident I'm afraid."

"Poor man. He lost everything," commented her father and momentarily a dark shadow fell across his face. He couldn't help but be reminded of the loss of his wife.

"Yes...but he's trying to move ahead like me. And like me he's divorced."

"Beti, I have to be honest and say I'm not so sure about this, him being divorced and all..."

"But I'm divorced too!"

"I know but -"

"You suspect he's another wife beater?"

"Well no, but -"

"Papa, be realistic. Marriages fail and it isn't always the man's fault."

"And he's told you why the marriage failed has he?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he has," she fired back at her father. Realising her mistake, she took a moment to calm herself before she said any more. "He explained in one of his emails that his wife had been seeing her ex-boyfriend."

"Is that the sort of thing young people share in emails these days?"

"Papa stop being so judgmental. He shared the information because he knew any prospective partner would be curious about his divorce. If he doesn't come clean on the matter it will reflect poorly on his character."

"Does that mean you told him about your own marriage?"

"Only that I'm divorced and the reason was domestic violence."

"Did he believe you?"

There was a look of annoyance on Farzana's face because her father kept questioning everything she was telling him. "Papa, I don't know if he believed me. Besides, why wouldn't he believe me? Papa, why are you making this more difficult than it is?"

"I can't help it...being cautious, even a little suspicious. All part of a protective father's role. You must know I'm this way only because I care for you so much." When she nodded, his mood changed to a lighter one. Farzana recognised the sudden flip from serious to light hearted was just typical of her father.

"So, I presume you've exchanged photos? Am I going to see what he looks like, or will I have to wait until the wedding?"

"No, I have his photo. It's in my purse. I'll fetch it for you." At this, she got up and started towards the hallway.

"Don't tell me you've taken to carrying his photo around with you?" On hearing this she turned to look at her father. "I think there may be more to this than you're letting on!" he teased and her father raised his eyebrows up and down a few times in a comical fashion to drive home his point.

"Papa!" The mirth on her face made it clear she wasn't angry with him. How could she be when from a young age she had observed him resort to this technique to lighten a serious situation?

When she returned with the picture, her father eagerly took a hold of it and scrutinised it at length.

"By the way, he's not from East Africa like our family," she added.

Her father pulled a face suggesting it wasn't important but Farzana practised in reading his emotions knew he was disappointed. He had frequently shared happy childhood memories of growing up in East Africa. Then of course the less pleasant memories of Idi Amin's dictatorial rule and hostility towards Asians. Like her own family, tens of thousands of Asians were made refugees. Many of them had arrived in England, penniless and only with the clothes on their backs. Those had been tough times.

"Pity his family isn't from East Africa...but I can't hold that against him."

"Imran's family was Kenyan Asian," Farzana reminded him closing off that line of discussion. She waited for a response but received none.

"Well...Does he meet with your approval?" She physically nudged her father for an answer.

"Not bad, not bad at all...Looks a bit like Suresh Oberoi..."

"Who's Suresh Oberoi?"

"Bollywood film star - before your time." She had spent many pleasant hours with her aficionado father and mother watching such films.

"So when are you going to meet him? Or have you two already met without telling me?"

"Papa why are you being belligerent? I haven't met him yet - but what if I had? I'm a grown woman capable of making my own decisions."

Her father had a rueful look. "Sorry, beti. Of course you're old and capable enough to make your own decisions - even take on your father.  But I must say, if you're making all the decisions by yourself, what is there for me to do?"

"Don't talk like that, Papa. You know I need to know your views on these things. Just don't expect me to agree to everything you say or take personal criticism lightly."

I expect that's what I get for raising an independent minded girl, he thought to himself, plaintively. Another part of him however was proud that she stood up for herself.

"So, when are you going to meet him? And by the way, does my prospective son-in-law have a name?"

Farzana laughed off her oversight. "Sorry, Papa. He's called Pervez. We're meeting on Tuesday."

"Where? And who else is going to be there?"

"Papa, there you go again with the interrogation style. Would you please stop worrying? I'm not a child and I'm aware of log kia kehingay' as well as the point about being safe."

"Good."

"We're meeting at a popular restaurant and I have a friend meeting me after the meal, so you can sure I'll be safe."

"Well, it seems I raised a smart girl," her father commented with a degree of pride in his voice.

Farzana didn't miss a beat in responding. "Yes, Papa, you did." 

*********************************************************************************** 

He stood half dressed in the bedroom, anxious and unfocussed. Why was he nervous about this meeting? You need to pull yourself together, he kept telling himself. It's not as if I haven't already met up with some respondents to my matrimonial ad. Why is the prospect of this meeting more intimidating?

Pervez straightened up and shook his arms and his hands as if a tremor was passing from his shoulders down into his fingers. He breathed in and out in short rapid bursts in an attempt to calm himself and regain focus. That's better, he told himself and then inspected himself in the mirror. He told himself what he saw wasn't bad. He was a little shy of six foot tall and lithe looking. Despite his age he still had a full head of hair without any traces of grey. Surely that has to count for something, he told himself. He didn't for a minute believe that women were only interested personalities. Besides, how much of my personality has she sussed out from our exchanged emails? No, my photo must have played a part in catching her interest. First impressions are important and a lot's riding on this first face-to-face meeting, he told himself. That thought unfortunately only made him more anxious. 

Pervez couldn't put his finger on it but he had a feeling about this Farzana from Birmingham. While he had exchanged only few emails with her he had been impressed by both their style and content. The emails had had a different flavour compared to those from the other respondents. Then of course her attractive appearance in the photograph played to his weaknesses. Those looks of her to his mind were more than mere icing on the cake.  Quickly he curtailed that line of thinking. He cautioned himself about having unrealistic expectations and being overly romantic at this stage of the process. Was his last affair casting a long shadow, he wondered. He knew that if he invested less hope in this meeting he was less likely to be disappointed if things went awry. That thought triggered memories of a lost opportunity, his intransigence and relationship that once held so much promise.

While the scars of that relationship had not fully healed, Pervez could acknowledge that if it had not been for Sukhi, he wouldn't be in the mental state he was in now - ready to commit to marriage. He sighed wistfully remembering their liaison.

She had initiated the first move at a departmental social function held at a local hotel. He wasn't so blind that he hadn't noticed her before. She was after all, an attractive and personable woman ten years his junior. The thought he could form anything more than a work relationship with her had never crossed his mind. Besides, the departmental gossip was that several younger men with whom she worked more closely had been vying for her attention. Why she had cozied up to him, even to this day remained a complete mystery.

With a glass of white wine in one hand, dressed in a stunning outfit that accentuated her figure, she had cornered him at the social gathering.

Pervez had recognised the provocative fragrance she was wearing when she had leaned in towards him. Her generous bee-stung lips had been vivid red and had contrasted with the warm caramel of her skin. Sukhi's long, glossy black hair with highlights, deliberately worn loose, had beckoned to be touched.

"How long are you going to go on shunning women?" she had asked in soft tones, so as not to be overheard.

"What d'you mean?"

"People know you've been through a divorce, but you don't have to avoid all women because of it."

Goodness, you're very direct and to the point, he had thought to himself trying to resist the intoxication of her presence. 

"I don't avoid all women," had been his lame reply, while a part of his brain had been asking him, why she was so sexy and interested in him.

"Perhaps, women would be convinced if you took up the occasional offer of going for a coffee - may be even a meal...or something more..." More' had been purred rather than spoken, sending ideas racing wildly in his mind.

Expressions from his languages repertoire had accurately described for him his mental state then: smitten, a goner, ankh lardgayi, and ghayal. Minutes earlier she had been little more than an acquaintance. Strangest thing of all, he hadn't even felt her blade penetrate his heart, let alone resist.

Pervez knew there were a variety of possible responses to her suggestive comment but chose the most direct. "Are you asking...?"

Pervez could have sworn her sienna-coloured eyes had become smokier as she had leaned forward to whisper in his ear "Yes, I'm asking... Do you have a problem with that?"

He had had the choice of what he could say and what he should say. The choice between them had been an easy one since he had revelled in the feelings she had engendered in him. A part of him had wanted to explore the possibilities even though a more cautious part of him had warned against becoming involved with anyone on the rebound from his failed marriage.

Discretely withdrawing a business card from the bust of her dress, she had pressed it surreptitiously into his hand. The card had been pleasantly warm from having rested against her breast. If Pervez hadn't known better he would have sworn this was a dream.

"If you need me, just whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you? You just put your lips together and blow."

Sukhi had given a faithful rendition of Lauren Bacall's brazenly seductive encounter with Humphrey Bogart in the 1944 film classic To Have and Have Not. At the time, he hadn't had a clue why she had been behaving towards him this way but he had been stirred by it.

Just as suddenly as she had appeared next to him, she had been lost in the melee of people at the departmental party. Pervez had been left with a business card on the back of which was her scribbled mobile phone number. Absent-mindedly he had brought the card to his nose.  Even as he had inhaled her fragrance he had recognised the encounter had been carefully planned by a self-confident and unabashed personality. There had been no doubt Sukhi was a sexy woman, but he had been left wondering whether his reaction to her in their brief encounter had been anything more than male bravado.

A few days had gone by as he had tussled with the decision of whether or not to call her. In his mind it hadn't been straight forward as it had first appeared. He hadn't been deterred by the morality of becoming involved. The additional implications that a liaison with Sukhi had carried had given him pause for thought. A part of him had argued it would be inviting trouble to pursue the matter. She was Sikh and he was Muslim. There was a long history of conflict and tension between the two communities. Then again, she was also Punjabi - like him. They shared a culture, regardless of the personal matter of religion, although not everyone would necessarily have seen it that way. Friendship was something both communities could have accepted but any friendship that crossed the boundary into physical intimacy was bound to lead to censure, vilification and possibly physical abuse.

He had kept coming back to the fact, as someone comfortable with her identity, Sukhi had reached out to him. If both of them were consenting adults why was it wrong to become involved? Where was the sin when neither party was deliberately setting out to exploit or mislead the other? Yes, there was a distinction to be made between love and lust - but in Pervez's view, neither per se were wrong. He had convinced himself he needed and wanted some happiness in his life. Going out with Sukhi might have amounted to nothing significant but it had also held promise. He had decided he needed to explore this opportunity, wherever it led.

They had begun slowly, he more cautious than Sukhi, but nonetheless romance had blossomed. He had felt happy and his faith in people had grown inexorably. They had been comfortable around each other. He had acquired a busy social life again thanks to her. Sukhi had introduced him to a whole new circle of friends and acquaintances. It had seemed to him that she had been happy too. Being the assertive person she'd been, Sukhi would not have put up with him if she had felt uncomfortable with any aspect of their relationship. In a city were multicultural relationships and marriages were far from uncommon, outsiders had considered their affair unremarkable. Only those more familiar with the diversity within the Asian community might have acknowledged mixed faith relationship could prove problematic. While Sukhi and Pervez, in larger gathering, had been discreet about their relationship, among friends they had been less cautious. However in the back of both their minds had always been the awareness that their respective communities harboured people who would have disapproved and would have taken steps to break them up. In the end, a written job offer had unexpectedly wrecked their relationship.

"I worked very hard for a position like this," Sukhi reminded him.

"I know."

"But you would prefer it if I declined the offer." That tinge of annoyance in her tone she felt was justified because despite loving the man, she felt he wasn't being fully supportive of her career.

"If you accept the post, what's to become of us?" 

He had been fearful he would lose her if she moved hundreds of miles away. Now that he had found happiness again, he wouldn't let it slip away. He had wanted her to say something reassuring, banish his anxieties.

"We'll be constantly in touch and we'd meet up at weekends." She had tried her best to sound positive and upbeat but it had been obvious from the look on his face he hadn't been mollified by her response.

"Weekends are not enough. As much as I want such an arrangement to work, my love - it won't. We have to face the facts. Long distance relationships usually fail." He had lowered his gaze as a sign of his sadness at his own assessment of the situation.

Sukhi had then tried a different tact. "You could come with me...?" She had noticed his expression didn't change. He had remained morose.

"You could play housewife for me until you found a job in the area."

"You know I can't...The boss is definitely retiring in a year's time, and I have a very good chance of getting the Directorship post."

"But I thought him retiring was just a rumour...?"

"It had been a rumour but last week it became official. Don't you see how important it is for me to stay here?"

From her demeanour it had been clear, she had felt a little bitter and resentful towards him because he had prioritised his own ambitions and dreams over hers.

"So your job is more important than mine?"

"I didn't say that, my love." He had wanted to say he earned twice what she did, but had considered it wiser to keep that thought to himself. It would have only inflamed the situation.

 

"Then why do you expect me to turn down the job offer that's a big step up for me?" He had had no adequate answer to her comment so had said nothing. Instead he had reached out and tried to take her hand in his. She had pushed his hand away.

"You want me to give up this job offer to stay with you. It's all about your needs. So why don't you come right out and say it?"

Pervez had chosen not to answer her directly or say anything that would have antagonised her or escalated matters. "Sukhi, please don't put words in my mouth...I want you to understand that you're the best thing to ever have happened in my life. And I don't want to lose you." 

At this point he had again reached out to take her hand in his. This time she had not rejected the gesture but he had noticed her hand had been unresponsive to his touch. "I want us to be together for good - you know that."

"That's all well but it doesn't resolve the impasse." She had disengaged her hand at that point and Pervez had read that as an ominous sign.

He had recognised she was bound to slip out of his life if this matter wasn't resolved quickly. Yet...

From experience he had known she could be tenacious, even combative when it came to certain disagreements. When in that frame of mind, she gave no quarter. What am I to do or say in this situation, he had kept asking himself but had been incapable of any sensible answers.

"What if I asked you to marry me?"

"How romantic a proposal." Even a fool wouldn't have missed the tell-tale signs of a sneer on her face, nor the anger that rapidly replaced it. "And is your marriage proposal meant to be the solution?"

"No, it's not meant to be the solution, Sukhi. Why can't it just be about my feelings for you?"

She may not have crossed her arms, but everything else about her body language had made it clear she had been unconvinced and had wanted to shut him out. "I'm not buying it. And you know why? Because it b*******! If I agree to marry you, I'd be expected me to be forever by your side. I would be expected to put my own career on hold if it conflicted with my husband's. That's it, isn't it?"

It had backfired. Pervez had felt twinges of shame and guilt for his attempt to manipulate her. He had tried to salvage his conscience by telling himself he had been trying to save a relationship.

Another day of disagreements had gone by without resolution of the problem. That's the way it had remained with neither of them prepared to compromise. For the first time Pervez had come to doubt whether they were truly compatible. Two intransigent personalities could never be involved in a long and deep relationship, he had told himself. He had cared for her too much to yet give up the hope that they could make it together as a couple.

Eventually the matter had been taken out of his hand when Sukhi had unilaterally decided to go ahead and had accepted the job offer. Of course things had changed when both had accepted there was an expiry date to their relationship. It had never been discussed openly but it had somehow been mutually understood the day she left the city, their affair would end. They had gone out of their way to avoid any further disagreements. In their last few weeks together both had been determined enjoy what they had.

When Pervez had seen her off at the train station, they had tried hard not to show their sadness at the recognition that their dance of love had ended. Only the slow, painful walk back to their seats still remained. Despite this, standing on the railway platform they had earnestly expressed their love for each other. Their kiss goodbye had been chaste in stark contrast to the passion they had once shared. As the train had pulled out of the station, both had recognised love had not been to prevent the breakup. That had only added to the hurt and loneliness each of them had felt later when alone that night.

Every day thereafter, Pervez had missed her. At the time to him it had felt that just as suddenly as she had breezed into his life, she had left. He had been sad, lonely and depressed. It hadn't helped that mutual friends and acquaintances had asked after her. In moments of weakness he had sometimes harboured doubts whether he had made the right decision because he had so much wanted to be with her. Continuously he had questioned the odds he would ever find someone capable of filling the place in his heart that Sukhi had vacated. During the long interminable hours of night thoughts of her had tormented him most. It had taken all of his willpower to resist calling her. He had even surprised himself that he hadn't given in to the temptation.

After two weeks of separation and silence Sukhi's determination had given way. A few times she had called him to complain how she hated her life.  When she had said she missed him and felt all alone in a strange place, tears had brimmed in his eyes. But even vulnerable as she had been during those phone calls, when he had pleaded with her to come back to Leicester, all she had said was "I can't...Please believe I love you, but I can't come back...not now..."

She had then lapsed into silence and a few moments later she had hang up. At moments like those he had wanted to just get in his car and drive up to comfort her. If he had given in to the temptation, he knew things would have become messy for a while before the two inevitably broke up again. At the time he had persisted in believing that if she had waited for a job nearer by, they would not have broken up.

With the passing months the heartache had increasingly dimmed while the happy memories had remained bright. Time and distance had brought more objectivity to his assessment of the relationship. Only then had he admitted to himself that he had been intransigent and unreasonable too - not just Sukhi. He had felt he had paid a heavy emotional price for his selfishness.

The episode with Sukhi had made him determined to capture that kind of happiness and fun again - with someone else. He had convinced himself there had to be someone else out there that he could love. He wouldn't give up on relationships because of one or two failures. Hadn't it been Sukhi who in their first encounter had said he shouldn't give up on women just because one relationship had floundered? That memory had begun Pervez again considering the possibility of marriage. Only this time he had decided to go into marriage whole heartedly, unlike like the last occasion. This time he would be fully prepared and in complete control of the process of finding a partner

To achieve that he had decided to dispense with Massi's assistance despite her continual assurances that this time she would find a nice traditional wife for him. She had even mentioned the prospect of finding him a bride in Pakistan. That was her code for someone traditional, obedient and keen on entry to the UK. He had turned down Massi's offer as politely as he could. He had felt it unnecessary to explain to Massi he had reservation about men brought up in Britain marrying brides from the subcontinent. Pervez had decided to rely upon his own efforts to find a suitable partner.

He had rejected using Facebook to find a romantic liaisons. Because of his personal prejudices about much of its banality, he had eschewed Facebook. He had also rejected going down the marriage bureau route and the trendy getting-to-know-you' dinner venues organised for young professionals interested in finding partners. To Pervez the latter were just upmarket versions of speed dating. Instead, he had decided to go for something a little more traditional like an advert in newspaper matrimonial columns.

Having done his research, he had learned much. It was important to choose one's wording carefully and yet not be overly specific. Despite this, he needed to make his intentions clear. Surprising numbers of the women who advertised were divorcees - some with children. Some ads set strict criteria about caste, religion or ethnic identity. He had also been amused by that phrase at the end of some adverts: No time wasters. A smile came to his lips when he recalled the words he had chosen for his own ad. It had certainly generated a few interesting possibilities, including Farzana the IT specialist.

He turned his mind back to how he ought to dress for his meeting with Farzana. He didn't want to come over as too formal or conventional. So it would have to be smart casual. Which aftershave to wear, he wondered. That thought however was interrupted by the realisation that time was flying. I'd better get a move on if I'm to reach the restaurant in time, he reminded himself. He hated being late as much as he felt those who were late for meetings were disrespectful. 

************************************************************************************ 

Farzana again found herself questioning her decision to answer the matrimonial advert. She kept telling herself her action hadn't really been in keeping with her character. She could only put her action down to a spur of the moment decision. She had come across the advert by accident when she picked up a discarded newspaper left at a venue where she had been working for a few days on an IT project. Reading several of the adverts crystallised for her she was again ready to take the matter of marriage seriously. Pervez's choice of words had peaked her interest and spurred her into replying. What harm was there in replying? The emails exchanged between them gave her hope that the search for a husband was a worthwhile endeavour that could potentially yield promising results. If this Pervez character wasn't to her liking, there would be other suitable candidates out there. Of that she was fairly certain. If nothing else her correspondence with Pervez had helped her to reflect about her strengths and weaknesses. It had taught her to dwell on her positive characteristics.

She could now acknowledge she was a very likeable person that men found attractive. In her work she was conscious of several men flirting with her. As she learned over the years it was a burden women had to bear. In the early days of her divorced status, such behaviour irked her. Just men hitting on divorcees, who were considered easy game in white and Asian communities alike, she would often tell herself cynically. However the fact remained, most of them didn't know she was divorced. Well, it wasn't the kind of personal information she would share except with some very close female friends. More recently, while she did continue to divert the unwanted male attention she regularly received, she had to admit to herself, she also felt complimented by it. After the business with Imran it was nice to know she still made an impression on men. It was this that set her thinking perhaps it was time to reconsider finding a life partner. Answering Pervez's ad was her first toe-dip in the water.

She had to admit she was excited about the potential of the proposed meeting with Pervez. Why not? He was handsome, seemed a reliable and thoughtful person. She was in the right frame of mind to be serious about finding a life partner, now that she had emerged from those melancholy and fearful days a couple of years ago. She had reigned in flights of fancy, or romantic mush. An inner voice insisted that she be realistic and cold about her choices. That was why she decided to focus on the practical and immediate instead of the future.

Now, what should she wear? Farzana emptied at least half her wardrobe onto the large bed before she gave the question much thought. Should she go with the traditional shalwar kameez? That would tell him that she cared for her cultural identity. Or would that just be playing safe and not upsetting his expectations? If she wore her work attire of nice tops with trousers would she come off as too westernized? Well maybe she would, but wasn't that his problem, not hers? Maybe she needed to assert that independent mindedness he had asked for in the advert. Would he be able to handle it, she wondered. So to confound matters, she seriously considered wearing a short kameez with a nice pair of jeans. For a moment Farzana had a flash of anger at herself for even thinking that way. She should dress for herself not to subtly influence men. Why was dressing such a complex matter for women, compared to men? There were so many more choices of clothes than there were for men. Men didn't have to think about what kind of bra to wear. That garment alone, she knew, could make a significant difference to a woman's appearance - and turn men's heads. Sometimes she thought men were simple creatures compared to women. Smiling inwardly at the thought she decided to wrestle with the clothing issue some more while she had a shower. 

************************************************************************************ 

Pervez nervously played with his glass of juice as he sat in the restaurant waiting for Farzana. What would she be like in the flesh? He had a rough idea of what she looked like from the photo she had sent him, in return for his. In the picture, Farzana stood in the open door of a small red car, sunglasses obscuring her eyes. The photo he had learned had been taken a year ago while she was on holiday in northern Spain. She was taller than expected, quite slim, in a summery outfit, and her hair was slightly curly, he remembered.

He looked at his watch for the third time and wondered why she was late. If only he had her number, he would have called her. Unfortunately Farzana had refused to share her mobile number. While respected her privacy, he was currently left wondering whether she had changed her mind. Would someone actually do that? Was she the type to chicken out at the last moment, he wondered. From what little he had learned from her three or four emails, he previously would have said she wasn't the type to leave a guy in the lurch. Maybe, he had misjudged her cautioned himself. Whatever the case, this waiting about on an important occasion like this was like slow torture for Pervez. It made him want to doubt himself. He kept telling himself there must be a rational explanation for why she was not here even forty minutes after the agreed time. Even the waiters were giving him pitying looks. That's right, rub salt into my wounds he silently retorted at them.

Having made up his mind, Pervez pushed back his chair, and stood up readying himself to leave. He headed out, collecting his coat on the way.

He had just let the restaurant door swing closed behind him when he heard a shout from inside. Pervez turned to look back at the source of the commotion. A waiter was shouting and gesturing to him. What on earth was happening, he wondered. He pulled open the door to go back in when he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind. Now what? The waiter was virtually at the door, still shouting to him and gesticulating for him to come back. Pervez decided to ignore the waiter for moment and instead turned round to learn who else wanted his attention. He turned to face a tall and very attractive woman who smiled at him as if she knew him. Farzana, his brain screamed at him. She's here!

"Pervez, I'm Farzana" she said very matter of fact. "Sorry...my car had a flat tyre," she explained.

He was about to respond when the waiter came up to him and announced, "Sir, I have an important message for you." Pervez was torn between reacting to the waiter and answering the young woman he had been waiting for. He decided Farzana deserved more of his attention.

"Great that you still managed to get here."

"Sir!" insisted the waiter distracting Pervez from the focus of his attention.

"Excuse me a moment, Farzana," he said politely and then turned to the waiter. "OK, what's this important message you have for me?"

Behind him he heard Farzana giggle for some reason.

"A lady phoned to say she's been delayed by a flat tyre but she'll be here soon for the dinner date. Sorry sir, but because of some confusion, the message wasn't delivered right away. I'm awfully sorry, sir." The waiter looked suitably contrite.

Farzana who had of course been listening, piped up, "See, I did try to warn you I'd be late."

Pervez thanked the waiter and then turned to the Farzana. "You still up for dinner?"

"I am if you are."

"I've worked up an appetite," he replied and then turned to the waiter. "Well, do you still have that table for two?"

"Of course, sir." And the waiter ushered both of them into the restaurant.

As they were being seated and the waiter fussing around them, Pervez recognised his own complete turnaround in mood. That was all down to Farzana. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy Farzana's company much more than the food. 

************************************************************************************ 

The next morning Farzana had phoned her father. She knew he would be desperate to know how her meeting with Pervez had turned out.

"I was expecting you to call me last night," her father complained.

"I was tired, Papa, and it was late..."

"So how did it go?"

"I nearly missed meeting up with him," she told him.

"You're kidding!"

"No I'm not. I was a good 45 minutes late in getting to the restaurant because my car had a flat tyre."

"Poor man!"

"I was the one having to change a flat tyre, Papa. Why d'you say poor man and not poor Farzana? "

"Beti, I know you can cope with fixing a tyre. He on the other hand, was kept waiting for 45 minutes and his patience and level of interest in you was severely tested. Looks like he passed the test."

"Papa, I wasn't doing it to test him," she was quick to point out.

"I know...just saying that it was a test nonetheless and he waited for you. Anyway, more to the point, how did the actual meeting go?"

"Pretty good," she commented cheerfully.

"Toh bhaat pakki?"

"Papa, I'm not at that stage yet," Farzana explained wanting to put a brake on her father's enthusiasm to have everything dried and dusted as soon as possible.

"So how did you leave it?"

"Well at the end of the evening I gave him my mobile number."

Her father found her reply confusing and less than a direct answer. "What does that mean to young people these days?"

Farzana could only laugh at the question because her father liked to make out there was some sort of unbridgeable generation gap between them.

"It means we can talk to each other whenever we like and with smartphones, see each other while we're doing it," she explained.

"Yes, yes, I get that," was her father's testy response. "But where are you in terms of choosing a marriage partner?"

"We both haven't yet found out anything to put us off, but we want to get to know each other a little better before making a definitive decision one way or the other."

Her father decided on a different approach. "So what's he like - up close and personal?"

"He's smart, liberal minded, has a sense of humour and he's not self-centred. He didn't talk about himself all night as if he was trying to make a sale."

This wasn't quite enough for her father. "And what did he make of you?"

"Obviously he found me attractive and utterly charming," she said a little tongue in cheek. 

"So I take it you didn't drop the hidden bomb on him."

There was distinct irritation in her voice and a set of furrowed eyebrows to match.

"What bomb, Papa? You're not making any sense."

"The bomb about you not having an Islamic divorce of course!"

On hearing that her demeanour became wary. "That would be inappropriate at this stage, Papa."

"Why? Doesn't he deserve to know sooner rather than later? Why waste any further time with him if he's going to bail out as soon as he realises you're still married to Imran - Islamically speaking?"

"Papa, I don't want to share that information with him at this stage. The way I see it, if he's very certain I am the right person for him to marry, he's far less likely to dismiss me out of hand when I break the news to him about the Islamic divorce."

"Clever manoeuvre."

Sometimes it was hard work getting through to her father. "It's not a manoeuvre, Papa. It's a sensible way forward."

"I suppose you're right."

With a mercurial change in his approach, her father asked "So when do I get to meet this man and judge for myself what's he's like?"

"Not yet, Papa..."

"Tell you what - I'll give you both a couple of weeks more. If at the end of that, both of you are still on talking terms with each other, I want you to invite him to dinner at my place."

She was a little alarmed at the idea. "Papa, I'm not sure about that."

"You invite him to dinner at my place and dazzle him with your cooking," her father persisted. "Then after the meal, you drop the bomb, while I'm there."

"No, Papa!" The look of alarm was written across her features.

"Yes, beti. I'll be there to explain some of the lengths we went to to get you an Islamic divorce - but failed."

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" she said as if she were speaking to herself.

"Trust me. This is the best way. If he doesn't scarper at mention of the divorce, you can still go on meeting each - until you're in a position to make a decision about marrying him."

"I suppose you're right," she reluctantly conceded.

"Of course I'm right. When have you known me to be wrong?" he asked in mock indignation.

"Don't get me started, Papa," she managed to say through her laugher.

  

(The End)

 

 

 

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