Valentine

Sohana Manzoor

I have been standing at the dressing table for the past three hours. All set. But wait, am I  imagining the dark patches under my eyes? It would not do, it would not do at all… Today of all days, when I am meeting my darling Valentine, I cannot afford to have such marks. This is my last chance of getting married. Everything must be perfect. It has to last forever. And today is the day. . . . Now what do I do with the patches? Pandas might be cuddly creatures, but I do not want to look like one today.

Where is it now?. . . Not in the top drawer, not in the second, okay, here it is. My Garnier, my under-eye cream. Now, let’s see. Yes! perfect! That’s one thing I know– how to look attractive– how to make men turn to take a second look at me. I never had the prettiest face, mind you. But I am fair, very fair, and I have a good figure. In Bangladesh, this complexion thing works very well, only if you know how to use it. Showing a bit more skin than others always helps. Wearing the saree below the navel is not enough; a hint of it must show through the chiffon. Yet you must not show the whole button. The local boys used to call me “Belly dancer.” I suppose I did sway my hips more than the other girls. Oh well, I do have a wonderfully rounded bottom and if I wore high heels, they could shake the world. The girls were jealous though and I never had a true friend in my whole life. All back-stabbers and traitors. I am sure all of them wanted my buttocks.

Unfortunately, men also tend to imagine all sorts of things along with the body. How can one woman be everything? They want a chef, a grand hostess, a devoted mother, wife, and what not? Can anyone live up to all that? Yet for once, for once, I just want to be doted upon. I am tired of all the nagging and bragging men.

Hmm, the pale pink looks perfect. . . And the rose pink halter-neck blouse too. The cherry red shawl. Donna Karen Cashmere is just right. I’ve mixed two drops of Dune with it. Most people don’t know that different perfumes work differently for different people. Cashmere is all mine. And Dune makes it stand out. Smile, Shazia. This is your evening. Should I use a pin? No, no. It must fall off my shoulders. Timing must be perfect. Tonight is the night.

Yes, the grand date at the Wesin. Finally, I will be getting married to someone decent. Oh well, maybe he’s not as handsome as I would like him to be. But I know he’s smitten with me.

Where did that Alefa go?

“Alefa, yes, bring me the Gucci purse. Is Hafiz ready? Yes, tell him I will be down in 10 minutes. No, I don’t want to talk to Amma. And I don’t want to hear about Munim. Put him to bed. Why does that boy cry all the time?”

Is Alefa using make-up these days? Maybe Fair and Lovely? Hmm, it’s time to get rid of her. These girls get spoilt so fast. Can’t have any of them around for more than a year. I wonder how many servants he has…. but wasn’t he saying that he lives alone now? I wonder how one can live by oneself… Well, that will end once I move in. The picture of the marble balcony on his Facebook is amazing. I wonder how rich he actually is.

His father was the late owner of Blue Band multinational company. And he is one of the Directors of the company now. Who are the other directors? Well, I don’t really need to know, as long as it pays. . . . I hope he won’t be stingy with pin money. Yes, yes, my job does not pay badly, but I spend too much, as everybody says. But is it too much? I was raised as the only daughter of my parents and it is really not fair that all they were able to make is this house. Bhaiya is urging them to sell it. He has settled in Australia, has a house of his own with a garden at the back. And he wants us to sell this place and move into some chicken coop of an apartment. How selfish can one be? He needs money, he says. He wants his share of the property before his parents are dead. What about me? I am divorced with a child. Do I not need money? I am tired of economizing. I am tired of Amma’s whining and Munim’s screams.

So Zubayer has left me some property, but he left a son too. Am I supposed to eat up his inheritance? Well, I guess I already have. But it was necessary. I cannot wear the same outfit and jewellery all the time. Men that are worth catching has to have the right kind of bait. This ruby studded pendant and the matching earrings I am wearing cost a fortune. But it will pay off once I get married. And he says I must not work once I am married to him. And he will adopt Munim too.

I badly need to get away from this house. Can’t understand why Abba and Amma don’t see through Bhaiya’s schemes. It’s all Rumu’s idea. Told them not to get a girl from North Bengal. All sweet talk and conniving. But who listens to me? I am just a daughter. Amma cannot stand me these days. Puts the entire blame on Abba. Did I kill Zubayer? Did I drive off Taufique? Did I ask her to marry me to an Australian immigrant without any question whatsoever? Her mouth watered at the smell of money… But Reshad had left me like that. What choices did I have? Now what’s that smell? Oof!

“Hafiz, why does the car smell like attarpatti? Have you been using that kodur tel of yours? I told you not to. If things go on like this, I’ll have to terminate you. . . . No, I don’t want to hear your silly excuses. Nonsense! Just stop using that nasty stuff. If you have headaches, take pain killers. You give me headaches. . . Now drive toward Gulshan- 2.”

Life is such a strange journey. I wonder where Ashish Bhai is. That song he used to sing, “Heera amar kaanch kata heera…” (Diamond, O my diamond that cuts through the glass). He would sing that song whenever I visited my grandparents in Faridpur. “Shazia is such a boring name,” He would say. “Your parents should have named you Heera— diamond. You sparkle like one, you know.” Silly Ashish bhai!

I am such a fool. No, perhaps not a fool, but a softy. The traffic is horrid today.

“Hafiz, how long will it take? Where are we now? What, we have not crossed the Shangshad Bhaban yet? This is ridiculous! What do I care about foreign ministers? You should have taken some other route. This is shit!”

Oh, the phone. “Hello, darling! Yes, we are stuck in a traffic jam, What, you too! So bad. I guess, we’ll both be late. No, no. I will be there. See you in a bit.”

He’s such a sweetheart! His life is almost as bad as mine. But at least we’ve found each other.

Ah Reshad, I wish I could turn the clock around. Captain Reshad Ahmed–tall, dark and as handsome as sin. Those splendid afternoons when the sun shone bright green. I wonder where his roommate vanished whenever I visited his bachelor’s quarters. . . Ooh . . . ecstasy. Why couldn’t those afternoons last? Reshad, I married two men but nobody made me melt the way you did. And yet, you betrayed me. Worse still, I had to hear it from someone else: “He would never marry without his mother’s consent. And this girl is his mother’s favorite niece.”

Why didn’t the earth open up and swallow me? Told my mother that they can marry me off whoever they wanted to. Taufique was not bad, really. But his mother was a different case. She should not have interfered. Do mothers ever think about what they are doing to their boys when they get them married to girls of their own choices? After all, it is the boy and the girl that will live together for the rest of their lives. But mothers can be vicious and jealous, especially when they think of keeping their sons under the thumb.

Taufique had come home from Australia to get married to the girl he loved. Instead, he married me– his mother’s choice. But he was hopelessly in love with this other girl. In six months, everybody knew how devious his mother had been. She had gone to the girl’s parents to tell them that he had an incurable disease. All came out. He left me. But was it my fault? He sent me a divorce notice and a huge chunk of money. As if money could make up for everything. But why am I thinking of all those things today? It seems as if a floodgate has opened. I don’t know why I allow men to dump me?

“What now? What’s this narrow road? Hafiz, lock all the doors. You’re such a fool!”

Why do I end up with all the fools of the world? Not a single driver or maid works. And everybody else seems to have faithful old servants! Thought Alefa would be better than others. But these days, I am sure she has eyes on the guard. “Hossain Bhai!” the way she wilts when she sees him is disgusting. It’s the same story over and over. Libido is too strong. She was married once, has a child in the village. And still ogling at men. Nonsense! She is good in other ways– clean and efficient. But I can’t possibly raise her salary. Five thousand a month is more than enough. Plus Amma is always giving her old stuff to take home.

All right, the roads here are clearer here. Hopefully, we’ll reach on time.

“What now, Hafiz? Why are we stopping here? Are you joking or something? How can the brake not work? Is that why the car was jerking back there? I’ll kill you if you don’t fix it in 5 minutes.”

What an ass! I can’t believe it. This is ridiculous.

“Sweetheart, my car has broken down– how far? We have just crossed the Jahangir Gate. You’ll come to pick me up? O-oh… wait, the driver was just able to start the engine. We’ll be there soon, I hope…”

Only if I had not lost him so many years ago! Only if life was an unbroken chain!

Mother always says I don’t look after Munim. I do wish often that he was not born. And he was such a nagging child! Cried incessantly through the night. Zubayer was crazy about him- the first son in their family of daughters. Anytime he cried, it was my fault. I was unmotherly, he said. True that I did not feed him breast-milk, but I did bear him. I did not have an abortion like his sister-in-law. I have always kept trained maids to look after him. Why do they need to bother me? I look twenty-five, they say. Do people realize how much it takes for a thirty-eight year old woman to look twenty-five? Especially one who has given birth to a child? People think of women as sacks to bear children. Phat! I will never be a woman like that.

Okay, finally, we’re here.

“Yes, the Orchid Garden, please. Mr. Shahed Ali.”

So, he has booked a table on the terrace. The first thing I will do after getting married is to get him a hairpiece. He’s fifteen older than me, not twenty-five. He does not have to look like my dad, does he? I can’t do anything about his height, I suppose. Maybe, I will give up my heels and ask him to get some of those special footwear. I know four inches means a lot. But he has money– tons of it. They call him “moneybags.” Everything will change once I am married to him.

“Hello, darling. No, it’s all fine. That stupid driver of mine. . . Right, no more of that. You’ve ordered already? surprise? How sweet! A cousin of yours will join? Oh, you didn’t mention that…!”

What cousin is he talking about? What man brings a cousin on such special nights? Before the cousin comes in then– there — the anchal falls off– and yes, he can’t take his eyes off. Exactly, I’ll make sure that’s how it remains. Enough of handsome younger men. All I need is a moneybag who will be at my beck and call.

But wait. . . , my God, is that Reshad? What is Reshad doing here? That’s his cousin brother? Shit! They live in the same building? He left the army and started his own business? Why? And what family tragedy? His mother died in a recent accident and wife turned invalid? He brought him along to introduce him to his fiancée? To show what a loving woman he has finally won? . . . Is this how Fate plays?

The ring Shahed has got for me is gorgeous. It’s a Damianos solitaire engagement ring! Is Reshad smiling? I cannot see him clearly sitting in the shadows. But he left me all those years ago to find my way in the muck. Has he ever thought about how I survived? No, men never do. He took his pleasure and robbed me of life.

Steady, Shazia. You cannot make another mistake like that. Take a deep breath, look up and smile into the beady eyes of the man who will be your husband. He is putting the ring on your third finger. Yes, you must make him feel that he is the luckiest man on earth.

Smile, Shazia. Smile the way you once smiled at Reshad. Love is only an illusion. You suffered enough for it. Now let somebody else carry the burden.

Reshad suddenly straightens up, alert. He has finally recognized me, I suppose? He is breathing hard as if he cannot believe it. His eyes mirror sheer disbelief.

I turn to Reshad and give him a polite smile. He is still handsome even if touch by some grey at the temple. Ah, Reshad, that gullible girl died long ago. She waited and waited and you never came. Meanwhile, sixteen years have passed. Yes, look at me well. Would you be able to tell your cousin who I was to you? I think not. It’s my time finally, and I will make sure that you regret what you did all those years ago.