Free A Pair of Jeans and other stories by Qaisra Shahraz Page A

talking had become his arena not hers. He continued.
    “You know of a number of cases where the educated, the so-called
modern
girls have twined their husbands around their little fingers, and expected them to dance to their tunes. Are you prepared for that to happen to your beloved son? To lose him to such a daughter-in-law? Have you the heart for that?”
    Begum just stared, listening quietly to her husband’s angry lecture. Deep down, however, in her own heart, she agreed with much of what he had said. Rattled by his tone and his words, she, however, was reluctant to voice her agreement. She hadn’t quite anticipated the direction towards which the conversation was heading. After 25 years of marriage, she could read him like a book – his words, their nuance, the tilt of his eyebrow, the authoritative swing of his hand, the thin line of his mouth spelled only one message.
    She had already jumped ahead. With a sinking heart, she had guessed correctly the conclusion, the outcome of this discussion. She did not know how to react in front of him, nor did she disagree with him over anything he said. Not one jot. Her own thoughts had run in a similar direction. When she saw Miriam, standing near the garden gate with her jacket open, similar thoughts had whizzed through her mind too, although she would not have voiced them in such a harsh way. Her perception of what her daughter-in-law should be like did not quite tally with the picture that Miriam presented to them or to the clear picture that Ayub’s words had conjured up. Why did that stupid girl have to wear those jeans and that vest today of all days? She angrily groaned inside her head. And why did Ayub have to see her like that?
    She had always reckoned on a conventional sort of daughter-in-law – the epitome of tradition. Definitely not one who was so strongly influenced by western form of dress, culture and probably feminist ideas as Miriam. The mad girl had no qualms about blatantly showing a part of her body in a public place. Begum shuddered.
    What about Farook, their son? How would they deal with him? Luckily, it was not Farook who had initially befriended Miriam, but she herself. A glimpse of Miriam at a Mehndi party (hen party), had tugged at Begum’s heart. From the first moment, she had fitted the epitome of what her future daughter-in-law should be like – young, beautiful and well educated. She had just obtained three ‘A’ levels, at high grades from school, and was now doing a geography degree at the university.
    Begum had liked the way Miriam had behaved – ever so correctly and gracefully. Above all, she had liked the way she dressed herself. How ironic that assumption was after today’s event. It was the way the black chiffon sari had hugged her slender figure, and how her hair was elegantly wound up in a knot at the top of her head – just perfect. She was neither over-dressed, nor over-decked in jewels, nor over made-up as some of her peers were wont to be. Nor for that matter was she over-boisterous or making a spectacle of herself as some of her friends did. In short, she had viewed her as the epitome of perfection, everything that was correct and appealing. She definitely had stood out from amongst the other girls. Looking back now, two years later, Begum was sure that, not her son, but she herself had fallen in love with Miriam at first sight, and not just that. Her name ‘Miriam’ wove a magic spell around her. It had a special ring to it and she had loved using it.
    And there was more –Begum had taken a real liking to Miriam’s parents too, especially her mother. And, liking one’s child’s in-laws, particularly the mother was an important part of the equation. She knew of cases where the two mothers-in-law hated each other’s guts and never quite got on with each other. Begum and Miriam’s mother, Fatima, met for the first time at the Mehndi party. After that, they became warm friends and were seen to be in and out of each