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13th March, 2019

"Allah does not look at your appearance or your wealth, but He looks at your hearts and your deeds."

[Narrated by Muslim]

Chapter 5: 

An Incidental Exchange

"How many exchanges of sugar do we recommend for a diabetic?"

"None."

"What do you mean none? Are we nutritionists or oppressors? How can we tell our patients you're not allowed sugar at all?"

Facepalming at Amrit's logic, Rufaida turned to look at her friend. "The food they consume every day has enough carbohydrates, so we don't recommend consuming sugar as such," she explained.

"Oh! So how many pieces of cake are they allowed in a day?"

When Rufaida stared at her blankly, she gave her a confused look. "What? Now don't tell me we're not allowed to give them cake also?"

"Tell me something, Amrit," Rufaida started, "Are you giving them a diet chart to follow or are you giving them a paper with random tables drawn on it, entirely insignificant, so they can use it as a paper plate to rest their piece of cake?"

"Why so much trouble? They might as well throw that in the bin and head to a bakery," Kiran suggested.

"Nice idea," Amrit nodded, joining in the sarcasm. "Which reminds me," she started, "I'm craving a sundae. Cake, ice cream and chocolate sauce, topped with berries! Ah, who's coming with me down the lane after college to have one?"

"Count me in," Kiran encouraged. When Rufaida was silent, she questioned, "What about you, Rufi?"

"You guys carry on, I'll pass."

"You hardly come out to eat with us," Amrit complained.

Rufaida only smiled at her comment, agreeing to the truth. But what Amrit didn't know was that Rufaida had limited pocket money because her mum couldn't afford to give her a lavish allowance. She always told her daughter to ask if she needed more, but Rufi knew how difficult it was to make ends meet, so she saved on every penny. While it was normal for other girls her age to indulge in tasty snacks with friends after college, it was a treat Rufaida let herself enjoy only occasionally.

She often wondered if people knew their normalcy was someone else's blessing, but she was already aware of the answer. When people are accustomed to having things the easy way, they believe they're entitled to the luxuries, oblivious of the gratitude that has left their hearts.

"Come for some time, it'll be fun," Kiran insisted.

"No, actually I have a few guests coming home tonight. I'll have to rush back home to help Nani," she covered up.

"Fine," her friends sighed, not pushing it further.

Lectures and submissions kept them occupied for the rest of the day and before she knew it, the last bell for the day chimed in their ears. Cramming through the crowded passage, as Rufaida hopped off the bus, she almost tripped on her abaya, before she picked up the hem and made her way towards home.

"Assalamu Alaikum," she greeted, mildly surprised to see the sparkling house before her. The creaked part of the walls, the areas where the paint was chipping off earlier was now skillfully covered with a few wall hangings, hidden behind vases. The dust coated glass top table was now scrubbed clean, placed in the middle of the small living room, surrounded by sofas, with a decent cover. It was an obvious attempt to match high society standards, and this is the most they could do. It was a habit derived from the middle-class mentality, where people believed aiming for perfection was useless, so they tried to do something at least. Something was better than nothing after all. No one over here could afford sophistication, but they tried hard to duplicate it.

"Wa Alaikum as salam," her Maami returned the greeting. "I'm so happy you came early today, Rufaida."

If Rufaida was surprised earlier, she was awestruck now. Seldom did her Maami speak to her, let alone speak politely.

"The last hour was called off," she informed.

But her Aunt did not even want to listen, and said, "You know right, your Bhaiya likes a girl? He showed me her picture, she's perfect, Rufi, beautiful, rich and elegant, everything that we're not. Her father is a huge businessman, she has two brothers, such handsome guys! Her parents are coming to meet us today, and while we can't meet their standards, we must try to do our best. There's so much work left, cleaning, cooking, so much work, we have to impress them. You'll help me, won't you?"

She wasn't asking, she was informing.

"Jee," Rufaida nodded, knowing full well that while being dependent on them for so many basic amenities, she couldn't deny their expectations that came in the form of requests. If she showed the slightest discomfort, it wouldn't take long for her Aunty to start rattling the list of their favors on the mother-daughter duo. So she simply obliged.

"Great," Mubeena clapped her hands, "Quickly freshen up and then please make your famous cutlets, I've kept chicken on the table."

Nodding, Rufaida walked to her room and once she had finished her salah, she headed to the kitchen. She was halfway through shredding chicken when her grandmum walked in, observing her work.

"How are you, Nani?" Rufaida smiled, "Did you have lunch?"

"Where will I have lunch," the old lady lamented. "You should have seen the house in the afternoon, your Maami was removing cobwebs that are ages old, you should have been here to take note of the dust that was gathered from under the sofas. So busy in cleaning, she didn't cook today. I just had tea and roti."

"The house does look spic and span," she agreed. "Give me some time, once the cutlets are ready, you can eat them."

"Did you eat something after coming home, though?" She enquired.

"Well..."

She knew her granddaughter, which is why, even before Rufaida could reply, she peeked out of the door, and when she was sure Mubeena wasn't around, she ambled towards one of the steel containers and twisted the lid open.

"Here, have this," she whispered, handing over some deep fried chaklis.

"But Nani..." Rufaida hesitated, certain that Mubeena would disapprove.

"I made these the other day, and it's from my son's money, let me see who stops me from giving it to my granddaughter," she challenged in a firm tone as if she hadn't been hiding this dealing from her daughter in law a few seconds ago.

"JazakAllahu Khair," Rufaida smiled kindly, grateful for the little snack.

She went on to listen to her grandmum speak about the girl her cousin had been dating, and when she kept repeating all that Mubeena had informed her, Rufaida questioned, "Nani, why is Maami so happy that she is from high society? Why has she amended all her rules and even convinced herself on this supposed wedding just because she found out Bhaiya was in love with a rich girl?"

Rufaida knew the answer, she knew how this society worked, but she was so tired of everyone stressing on one fact and emphasizing the said girl's financial background that it made her sick. Were we not going to talk about manners and character, was it enough that she was rich and so the deal was sealed?

"Making a rich girl your daughter in law definitely has its perks," her Nani commented, and although Rufaida wanted to tell her it was not everything, she remained silent. Her grandmum held stringently to her school of thoughts, and that was how her generation worked, Rufaida couldn't expect her to suddenly revise those customs and opinions. "She may get a car with her, for all you know her father may gift her an apartment and hand over lots of cash. Your bhaiya's life will be set, every mother only wants the best for her son."

She shuddered at the statement, and replied, "What if she does not get monetary benefits with her? What if her perks are that she has been raised by good parents, given the right upbringing, she has a kind heart, she tries to emulate the best of character, is strong in deen, and prioritizes her Rabb? Are we not going to pay attention to any of these characteristics?"

"Of course those things are important too," her Nani nodded.

"Then why isn't Maami considering all of that? Why is Maami already planning the wedding when she hasn't even met her yet? All she knows is that she's rich, is that enough to choose someone in marriage?"

Her grandmother stared at her and replied, "Don't think so much, Rufaida, this is how the society works."

Now, marriage was something Rufaida wasn't even considering, but her Nani's logic forced her to raise a genuine question. "I'm not rich, nor do I have a rich father. So going by this theory, does that mean no man would marry me because obviously, I won't be getting dowry in the name of gifts?"

"That's why I tell your mum, she should save money and make jewelry for you, there's a minimum bar we need to meet when we get a girl married," she replied, disregarding the direction Rufaida was taking this topic.

"Ammi does not have to save money to make jewelry for me, Nani. If that man is greedy enough to expect his wife to get precious valuables with her in marriage, he is also capable of selling his wife's possessions to fulfill his needs. What's the point? Ammi has to work endlessly so that the guy who marries her daughter can use her hard earned money as an investment? It's ridiculous. I'm not getting married, let alone marrying a guy who values anything more than my character."

"You are a lost cause, Rufaida," her Nani shook her head, wondering when this girl started thinking this liberally. "I can't do anything of you," she sighed.

As Rufaida flattened the cutlets by gently pressing them between her palms and then coated it with egg, she could only smile in amusement at her grandmum's reaction, considering it as a compliment.

Her aim wasn't to enter people's good books, her goal was to be able to differentiate between right and wrong and always stand up for truth.

***

"Can you-"

"No."

"Ahmed, at least listen to me?"

"Why should I? So Mamma can slap me again?"

"Oh my God you're going around telling this to everyone, can you stop?"

"No can do, the world needs to know I was held responsible for a crime you committed," he mumbled, turning around as he dragged the duvet over his head. "Close the door behind you," he added, his voice muffled, prompting her to leave his room.

"Ahmed, for real, please, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. Can you at least listen to me now?"

"Stop asking for so many favors from me, you'll crumble under its weight," he retorted.

Furious, Afreen walked around and pulled the duvet off him. "You are my brother, you're supposed to help me," she begged.

"So now you remember the bond you share with me? Where do all relations go when you start an argument with me?" He scoffed.

"Okay," she gulped, surrendering. "Ahmed Bhai, I'm sorry for all that I've done to you in the past, you are an angel in disguise and I apologize for disgracing your highness, please forgive me?"

With a smug grin, Ahmed sat up on the bed. "My modesty prevents me from accepting such praise, but okay, if you insist," he shrugged causing Afreen to scowl. "You forgot the part where you admit you won the football game against me only because you cheated."

"Ahmed," Afreen shouted, "I draw the line here, okay? I did not cheat, you are a sore loser."

"Ah, I see. I guess it's about time I go back to nap."

Just as he was in the act of pulling the duvet over him again, Afreen caught his hand. "Ahmed, please," she insisted irritably.

"What do you want from me?" He finally asked.

"Everyone's going to visit Zubair today, please accompany them?"

"How does my presence make a difference?"

"I don't trust Mum on this, she's going after truckloads of convincing by Tam. With her current mood, she may be rude to their family and I can't let that happen."

"If you think Mamma is going to pretend like she's the happiest person on earth after meeting them, then you're the biggest fool."

Glaring, Afreen replied, "I know she isn't going to even fake being civil, but with you around, it'll balance the situation."

"Oh hello, I'm not a joker to balance a serious situation. I'm only like this in front of family, over there I'm going to be a mute spectator."

"I don't mean that," she explained. "We may come off as intimidating, so I need you there to break the ice."

"I don't feel like going, Afreen, I'm not in the mood," he replied, slumping on the bed once again.

Gasping, she accused, "Here I am in a near death situation and you're bothered about your mood?"

"If you're trying to blackmail me, let me tell you, you're doing a pathetic job," he rolled his eyes.

"I'll do anything you say," she pleaded.

"Anything?" Ahmed challenged. "Hmm... I do feel like eating chicken cutlets," he demanded, finally getting off the bed.

"I'm not cooking," she informed, "Anything apart from that."

"Already pity your husband, he'll ask you to make something delicious but alas, his wife can't cook a decent meal," he sighed, heading to the walk-in closet.

"He's marrying a person, not a cook," Afreen informed, "I pity your wife though, she'll probably have to put a bed in the kitchen."

"Not really," he retorted. "I don't expect her to be my slave. If she does not want to cook, we can always go out, or order something home."

"We'll see what happens once you actually get married," she dismissed.

"Which isn't anytime soon. Not in the next half a decade at least," he proclaimed, before heading in for a quick shower while shaking her head, Afreen walked out from his room to recite the Qur'an.

Since yesterday, Afreen had increased in voluntary prayers, she had even woken up for Tahajjud last night, begging Allah to let this work. She couldn't imagine it, nor did she want to picture a scene where her family rejected Zubair. So here she was, desperately praying for things to turn out well.

Back in the other household, as the clock ticked five, Mubeena felt her heartbeat accelerate.

"Maami, relax," Rufaida advised. "Everything's set, you don't have to panic."

"This is a very important deal, we can't risk it," she shook her head.

"I-" Rufaida stopped mid-sentence when she heard the sound of wheels and her Maami rushed to the door.

"You must be tired," her mum commented when Rufaida walked into the kitchen, spooning jamun in bowls.

"It's fine, Maami needed help," Rufaida replied.

"Yeah, of course," Asma nodded. "With how nicely she's behaving with us, I figured. Other times she doesn't even know who we are, let alone acknowledge our existence under the same roof."

"Forget it, Ammi, it's an important day for her, let's pray everything works well."

"May Allah reward all of us according to our intentions," her mum prayed wisely, indirectly specifying that people with bad intentions couldn't have a good end. Allah was Just, and he would make sure justice was met.

"How many people are visiting by the way?" She later prodded.

"Nani was saying the girl's parents, her two brothers and her sister in law are coming to see them. That makes five people."

"Oh, in that case, this will be sufficient," Asma observed, as she handed over a tray with seven bowls of jamun in Rufaida's hand.

"Asma," her grandmother walked into the kitchen, whispering her daughter's name. "Come out," she whispered, "Those people are here."

"I heard their greetings," Asma nodded, "How are they? What do they look like?"

Shaking her head in amazement, Nani conveyed her disbelief with wide eyes. "Big, big people. Come, Asma, come sit with me, I don't know what to talk."

"Don't fret, Nani," Rufaida smiled. "People become big or small based on how they treat others, not what they wear or how they look."

"Okay, okay, Rufi. Now accompany me, Asma," she beckoned her daughter and Rufaida stayed behind, taking care of the serving part. As she went about transferring the food into serving bowls, she could hear bits and pieces of the conversation. So far, she heard the men formally question each other on their well being, she also heard a woman's voice, probably the said girl's mother, asking her Maami about Zubair. It didn't go unnoticed how direct that woman was.

"Rufaida," Mubeena walked into the kitchen, and she was slightly hyperventilating. "Start serving the snacks, begin with drinks."

"Jee Maami," Rufaida nodded. It was customary for her, being the only young girl in the house, she was expected to do what others would call homely stuff. Welcoming the guests, serving food, being a good host, she'd been taught all of it from a very young age and she was used to it. So now, as she carried a tray loaded with delicacies, she could feel all eyes on her, her cheeks burning into the prettiest shade of pink. She mumbled her salaam, and placed the tray of food in the center.

She could sense the conflict in the air, one family analyzing the other, one set of parents wondering how could their daughter fall for someone who was not only of the same class but rather someone ten degrees lower than them while the other set wondered proudly how their son had managed to bag such a girl. One set of people sat there, not fitting in such a place, analyzing whatever little the surroundings had to offer, while the other group admired the observers. No words were exchanged, but the air carried the palpable conflict with its every jitter.

"This is my granddaughter," she heard her Nani introduce, and arresting her thoughts, she instinctively looked up to smile at them.

And it was in that moment that her gaze collided with someone else's, his hazel eyes mirroring her shock.

HOW? How did this happen?

She immediately glanced away, and turning around, she measured her steps back to the kitchen, her face contorted into lines of utter disbelief. This had to be some joke, of that she was certain. Not only had her cousin, Zubair Bhaiya, fallen in love with a girl from her college, the girl also turned out to be her fellow classmate's sister. What a small, small world!

How she wished the guy sitting in her Maami's living room wasn't the same guy she had previously encountered in college, oh how she wished it wasn't him. Technically, it shouldn't have made a difference, but Rufaida's personal life was so disoriented, she always kept it away from people she got in touch with outside home. Even her friends didn't know much about stuff of her household, her lines were too thick, her territories too wide to trespass. And now, to think someone from college was sitting here, probably placing her in his mind, drawing a connection between the girl he saw in college and the girl he was seeing now, it peeved her, honestly.

However, calming her thoughts, she loaded another tray full of food and walked back into the living room, and once she had served it to the guests, her Nani instructed her to sit beside her.

She stared at her toes, feeling out of place. In her peripheral vision, she could see the men converse on the other end, while the women sat enveloped in their judgments, unwilling to strike a conversation. Honestly, she was slightly intimidated of the woman she assumed was Afreen's mother, her persona dripped elegance, and you couldn't help but succumb to that pressure. Shifting her gaze, from the corner of her eyes she saw a young lady with the cutest little baby, and she assumed it was the older brother's wife. She seemed a little less formidable.

"What's your name?" The said person enquired, and Rufaida looked up at the question.

Yup, she was definitely more friendly.

"Rufaida," she answered.

"My name is Tammara, I'm Afreen's cousin and also her Bhabhi," she introduced herself. "Nice to meet you," she beamed.

"I'm glad to meet you too," Rufaida smiled politely.

"Do you study?"

"Yes, I'm pursuing my Bachelor's in Nutrition," she responded, going on to specify the name of her college.

"Really?" Tammara asked, surprised. "Afreen and Ahmed also study there. Have you seen them around?"

"Umm..." Rufaida dragged, not sure how to answer that question.

"It's a huge campus, Tam," Ahmed interjected, rescuing her of the dilemma.

"How huge is it that in three years you wouldn't even have crossed paths?" Tam wondered.

"You don't always pay attention to people who cross your path, right?" He hinted.

And that's about life, it takes its own course, expecting you to flow with it. Strangers go on to occupy a special place in our hearts, while those who reside d in it, vacate without notice.

"Valid point," Tam nodded.

"Should I serve you, you'll have hardly taken anything," Mubeena interrupted, spooning some appetizers on their plate. They insisted they weren't hungry though, and denied her offer.

Sitting amidst them, Rufaida couldn't explain how odd she felt. Somehow, from the past few days, without aiming for it, they happened to stumble upon each other. But every time they pretended like they were meeting for the first time, ignoring the previous encounter. It had reached a point that while they were dismissing their incidental exchanges, and still trying to keep each other in the strangers' category, they no more belonged there. They weren't acquaintances, they meant nothing to each other but at the same time, they weren't strangers.

What they were, only time would tell.