LEFTOVER KHICHRI

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

She stared at the grill as Mubashir held it. His stable fingers were wrapped around its handles, his careful posture kept the utensil upright even when Talha went about pulling and pushing it to unlock the wheels.

Look at him, so unbothered. And he's had two broken engagements.

"Get a grip, Shas," she whispered under her breath. Why are you going after poor Mubi, he's absolved of all sins. The thought curved her lips. She needed to hold tight her ball of complex emotions before it went in the wrong direction. Mubashir was a lot of things, but he didn't deserve to be a target of her unreigned rage.

Returning inside, she found Zernab and Zubaida Aunty bonding over the most peculiar of topics.

"I don't know, Aunty," Zernab was exclaiming, "there's a shortage of good men!"

She was oblivious to the good men, which included her own father, Shasmeen's father, and Phopa, sitting well within ear shot a few feet away. But to be fair, the men were engrossed in their own animated conversations as they cut the potatoes and peppers and zucchini which they were going to grill soon.

Aunty tutted, which Shasmeen couldn't discern as an agreement or disagreement.

"Men used to kill themselves in war, and now they can't even kill their ego when, God forbid, their wives complain a little," Zernab continued, polishing a stem glass before setting it upright on the buffet table.

"Criteria of chivalry changes with every generation, my dear," Aunty said, bringing out another glass from a box she was borrowing from Aaliyah bhabi.

"I'm definitely born in the wrong generation then."

"I think you're doing fine, Zenu," Shasmeen joined in, talking more to herself than her cousin. "Every generation has its challenges, and we should be grateful we don't have it worse."

"What a sensible thing to say," Aunty commented. "Back in my day, we used to compare our men from the ones in the previous generation, and our mothers most probably did the same. But the matter of the fact is that we were born when we were born by the infinite wisdom of Allah. This time is better for us, these trials are specifically chosen for us." Her face was contorted in a look only a woman who had lived through many trials would be capable of looking. It was both an honor and a relief to be talking to her. If only people stepped out of the I-know-better mentality, and opened themselves to listening to what others had to say!

"It's fascinating how it's the same loop, over and over again, but with little differences that make it distinct to us alone." Shasmeen offered a bittersweet grin. She wondered how many women in that room alone had felt what she was feeling; uncertain, confused, and slowly creeping towards insecurity.

"But what if I don't want to be tested like that," Zernab argued. "Our spouse is supposed to be a source of comfort for us; like Khadijah was for the Prophet ﷺ, and the Prophet ﷺ was for Khadijah. I don't want my spouse to be a trial of all things."

"Haye. Kitni pyari baat ki." Aunty hugged the youngest in their trio, pulling her to her chest and squeezing her with all her love. "Ah, what a sweet thing you've said. I'll find you a good man, meri jaan, I've raised one by my own hands."

Shasmeen's brows shot up in surprise, but she fixed her expression before Aunty noticed. "Have a good opinion of Allah, Zenu, and ask Him for that which is better for you."

"There are a lot of good men out there, and you'll get the one who is suited for you in all ways." Aunty patted Zernab's wrapped head. Shasmeen noticed the carefully styled folds coming loose. She whispered a alhumdulillah under her breath that her cousin didn't swat Zubaidah Aunty's hand away. She didn't tolerate anyone messing up her looks.