Shallow Waters

Chapter 1

Sherin was exhausted. All she wanted to do was go home, snuggle in her favourite blanket and sleep. For at least two days straight. Logic reigned that it was not possible. She would have to wake up for her salah at least five times a day. But still, she could get up, pray and go back to sleep.

’Ah, the bliss it would be,’ she thought, a smile gracing her face.

“Why are you smiling?” The old lady she was conversing with gave her an odd look. Probably, doubting her sanity.

“Uh…” Sherin trailed off, she had zoned out of the conversation four sentences in. After all, this was the fifth conversation of the same kind that night.

All she wanted to do was sleep, but she was stuck at a wedding. Now, it was no ordinary wedding. It was her best friend/cousin’s wedding reception. She has spent weeks planning and working for the execution for the wedding her lovely cousin deserved.

She swallowed, racking her brain for an appropriate reply. It was hard. The smell of several fragrances mixed with the chilly winter air, packing the function lawns to its full capacity was making her dizzy. She had always wondered why people - both men and women found the need to bathe themselves with bottles of perfumes.

Fortunately for her, the lady was not expecting a response. Though, she was really concerned about Sherin’s hearing capacity as she got distracted with her mental musings again.

“Do you have a weak hearing, dear?” She asked. Sherin had forgotten her name. She was definitely some relative or acquaintance or someone. She didn’t really care. When Sherin did not respond, the lady continued, “Well, it’s okay - I mean, your face makes up for it,” then she raised her voice a notch higher and said, “You point me to your mother, dear… I can’t find her in the crowd, I have the perfect rishta for you.”

Sherin swallowed the grimace in the face of being polite.

“You know, it is your cousin’s wedding,” The lady was still speaking in a higher than normal tone, “And you should take proposals seriously… before all the good ones are taken.”

Even though she had heard the same thing many times before. Actually, since Aisha and Samarah got married almost a year ago. But the past week leading to Samarah’s walima, the unsolicited advice had become multifold. Still, she had no polite response planned for such situations. Quite similar to the times when they would be at a function and one of the ladies would hold her by the elbow and point her out to someone else, “See! This was the girl I was talking about.”

Since she was sixteen, Sherin’s appearance at a social function would follow a rishta. It got to a point that her parents had actually begun to inform anyone who would ask, “We aren’t looking right now,” much to the chagrin of her grandmother.

So, when after three years of actually looking for a potential husband for her, she was still single - everyone blamed it on the fact that her parents “drove away all the good ones and no one would approach you” and it was “such a sad fate for such a pretty face” or “they shouldn’t have been so arrogant”.

Now, she had started to avoid social situations like a plague. It was unfortunate because as an extrovert by nature, she thrived when she met new people, chatted and catched up with old friends and acquaintances. But then again, it wasn’t the only thing that had changed since she was younger.

The lady, somehow, spotted Sherin’s mother without any aid and almost skipped, surprisingly swiftly for someone who was complaining of knee pain just fifteen minutes ago. She smiled and shook her head amused at the antics. It was like every desi got some personal benefit when they participated in matchmaking. She could imagine a counter lit up in garish colours, where you could cash in the tokens you got for matchmaking couples. There must be special rewards for certain amounts of tokens, of course.

She chuckled at her own genius. But her smile faded as she came face to face with Fahmida Ali.

“Assalamualaikum Aunty,” She gave a polite smile that quite didn’t reach her eyes, “How are you?”

“Fine,” The older lady sniffed imperially, “And you? You’ve become quite elusive, dear,” Her words were soft, but the tone was cold. She was dressed in an expensive dark green dress, her hair pulled in a fancy bun. Her entire demeanour reminded her of Austenian ladies of higher society. Who knew they were important, or at least assumed they were. Even before Sherin could respond, she continued, “You didn’t attend Zaid’s engagement party. We certainly missed you.”

Sherin coughed to swallow up the awkward laugh that threatened to spill, “I was busy with work and then preparations for Samarah’s reception. You know, all these guests were going to come over and we would meet her in-laws for the first time. Had to make a good impression.”

Fahmida’s smile widened, “Oh, and does the groom have a brother now?”

“No,” Sherin responded with narrowed eyes, her pretense of politeness gone, “My efforts are solely for the sake of my cousin and her happiness.”

Her head tilted, “I know why girls your age are so social and active in the society, Sherin,” She said patting her upper arm in a form of condolence, “You must be under lot of pressure… especially after rejecting all the good proposals that came your way.”

Sherin tried to control herself, she really did. But a laugh escaped her lips. She was under a lot of pressure. That was true. But it was not because she did not have proposals. It was because she kept on rejecting them - with good reason, of course. She was not a simpleton, though, she knew Fahmida was referring to rejecting her son. But Sherin digressed.

Looking at things from her perspective, she was a Muslimah. She did not do affairs, boyfriends, dating and all that around it. It was simply not allowed in Islam. Plus, she was an Indian. While, divorce was an acceptable option in Islam. Discouraged for petty reasons, but still acceptable in certain circumstances. In a desi household, it was a complete no-no. There was just too much stigma. Besides all that she wanted to enter a marriage with someone whom she trusted enough to hope for a lifetime of companionship. So, she was going to ascertain that she was really okay with the person before saying yes. The entire situation with Zaid had just shown that going with a “maybe” was not a good move. No matter how much everyone insisted that she would eventually change her mind.

What aspect of a person’s character could be revealed later on that it wasn’t shown in the first couple of meetings? Of course, she wouldn’t know the person. But their character could be gauged. Plus, reputations do not lie. Not the rumours, but the reputation of a person.

“I heard that the last guy that came to see you is engaged to your younger cousin?” Fahmida pressed, slightly taken aback by Sherin’s laughter.

Sherin chuckled and nodded with a bright smile. She was sure the elder woman thought that she was mad. But she really didn’t care. Her second cousin was indeed engaged to some guy. But it was her parents who had rejected the guy because the guy’s family had asked her to remove her hijab after marriage. They had been the ones to suggest her cousin. But she did not need to explain these things to anyone. Least of all Fahmida Ali, who had been nothing but terrible to her the past six months. She was vindictive and Sherin had no time for that.

“Yes,” She answered, “I am very happy for Hajra. Her engagement party would be in a couple of weeks, I am sure I would see you there?”

Before Fahmida could respond, Ghazala Akhtar interrupted them. Ghazala was Sherin’s neighbour and her mother’s best friend since childhood. The younger woman was not sure if Ghazala swooped in to rescue Sherin, or she was just there by chance. Either way, she was grateful. Since childhood, Sherin had low tolerance for duplicity of people. She was charming and social, but was known to coat her sweet responses with scathing criticism. As she grew older, her family and close friends had tried to warn her off the habit, but she still slipped every now and then.

Ghazala probably came in to prevent another round of vicious comments from being targeted at Fahmida, and save Sherin from being rude. However, Sherin was wrong. Ghazala had not even noticed Fahmida.

The twinkle alight in her hazel eyes and joy illuminating her face more than the fairy lights dancing across her diamond jewelry ever could was a testament that she hadn’t noticed her bitter friend. Sherin smiled at the older woman’s obvious delight.

“What’s going on Maasi?” She asked, addressing her with the term generally reserved for mother’s sister. But her mother had no sisters and since childhood Ghazala and Saba had been like sisters.

“He’s coming, Sherin!” Ghazala exclaimed, clapping her hands in childish excitement, almost dropping the phone she carried.

Sherin’s smile disappeared. Her stomach suddenly felt heavy, something clogged her throat up. She did not need to ask who the particular “he” was, she knew it. She knew him. It had been nine years. So much had happened - she was practically a new person. It was not fair. He shouldn’t be able to create this reaction from her. Just his mention should not leave her grasping at straws of her mind. She would not allow it. She took a deep breath and smiled widely at the lady who had acted as a mother figure whenever her own mother had been busy.

“I am so happy for you!” She exclaimed, almost gushing with her fake enthusiasm as she hugged the older woman, “Qirat and Qasim uncle must be thrilled!”

“They don’t know, yet,” Ghazala responded, “He just called and I was looking for them but came across you. You know, you will have to help me arrange everything. I cannot manage things without you…”

“You shouldn’t be so dependent on the girl, Ghazala,” Fahmida spoke up, letting her presence known. Sherin stepped back as she continued, “She will get married and move away someday… Don’t you think you should teach your daughter to handle things?”

Ghazala’s eyes narrowed. If Sherin was known for her sweet venom, Ghazala was known for her blatant frankness. It was no surprise to Sherin that Ghazala responded, “Well, she will get married, Fahmida. You don’t have to worry on that account. But I assure you, that the only thing you need to worry about is your daughter-in-law to be handles her responsibilities well. I can handle my daughter and my expectations from Sherin very well. I have heard that Hafsa is not particularly fond of joint family? She is my cousin’s daughter after all. I didn’t know Zaid was separating from you two.”

Sherin was used to Ghazala not censoring her words. But it never failed to shock her.

“I will talk to you later,” Ghazala promised, “I need to find my husband.” She barely deemed Fahmida worthy of a nod and left.

The other woman huffed and left without saying a word to Sherin, which suited her just fine. She knew that she was in no state to respond with her usual wit.

Sherin stood there staring unseeingly at the crowd gathered around for Samarah’s wedding reception. She inhaled deeply, swallowing the lump in her throat. She felt nauseous.

As much as she tried to concentrate on the ceremony, there was not much to do. Samarah was accompanied on the stage by her youngest sister, Aisha, much to her chagrin. The two had never gotten along and Samarah had all but begged for Sherin to be at her side. But their grandmother had overruled any desire the bride had. After all, Samarah had not attended Aisha’s wedding and needed to compensate for that.

Sherin had managed a lot of things; theme, catering, decoration, most of the invitations, dresses and everything in between. Samarah had arrived just a week before the reception and the time had been spent introducing her husband to the family. So, the management fell on Sherin’s shoulders, who knew the bride best.

But in that moment as she stood in the middle of the hubbub of the wedding celebration, Sherin’s job was done and the thought of having to face him felt like lead in her stomach. She had not felt this sense of helplessness in almost five years. Thus, she was not used to handling the barrage of emotions and anxiety that came her way.

Her hands felt clammy, heart beat faster - she could almost feel it thrumming painfully against her chest… her mouth dried up and breath came out in shallow puffs.

She rushed to the nearest bathroom and found herself gasping over the sink. For a moment, she felt like she would lose touch with reality and give into the blackness of the dark spots appearing in her vision but then the bathroom door opened with a thud, breaking her away from her murky state.

She looked up as some teenage girls entered the bathroom, their phones in hand, probably to click a series of selfies for their display pictures.

Sherin exhaled a deep breath, looking away from the teenagers to stare at her own reflection. She could see the fancy beige tiles, the bright bluish-white lights, the ceramic sink edged with shining metallic taps, the mirror tiled with bright pink and red rose decals.

In the mirror, her reflection stared back at her. She knew she was widely regarded as a beauty - wide brown doe eyes, framed by thick lashes, light skin with a peachy glow, delicate nose, fuller lips and a slim figure to complement. Not many could see the wavy brown tresses reaching her lower back, but those who did often wondered aloud why she hid them beneath the headscarf she wore.

That night, she wore a silver hijab to complement the light pink long kurti with pearl design. Her features enhanced by the professional make up giving her a look of golden pinkish halo.

Another sigh escaped her lips, she reflected on the changes that had occurred in her in the past nine years.

She was lost for years, trying to fill in the void she felt. She used to blame her mother for being absent when she needed it. Her grandmother for demanding her mother’s presence with unnecessary tasks, blamed her parents on not acting out on the blatant injustice and slave driving of her grandmother for the sake of family peace. It still bothered her; sacrificing mental peace for the sake of family’s harmony.

She acted out, obviously, acting mostly like a rebel assuming it was for a good cause. Now she knew it was mostly teenage angst and the fruit of having no direction in life.

No, she decided, I am stronger. I am better now. I cannot give him the power over me. No. Just no.

Assuring herself, she grabbed a paper napkin from the dispenser near the sink and dabbed at the sweat on her forehead and upper lip. She left behind the jittering teenagers only to come face to face with her brother.

Farhan was two years older than Sherin, a fact he loved to lord over her every now and then.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, looking up at him with raised eyebrows, “In front of ladies’ washroom?”

Her brother grinned, his dark brown eyes twinkling with mischief, “Well, I was concerned,” He responded, “There’s a lady there telling mom how your hearing defect is not at all problematic in finding you a groom.”

Sherin winced. Her mother will not be happy.

“She was the fifth person of the night, Bhai,” Sherin explained with an almost childish whine, “I cannot help it, you zone out after a while.”

“Yeah, true,” He nodded, “But I seem to agree with the hearing defect, perfectly explained why you didn’t receive any of my calls.”

“Calls?” She wondered fishing out her phone from her silver purse, “Oh, sorry,” She shrugged, “Must have missed it while in the loo…”

“So, you didn’t go to the bathroom in a panicked state after hearing the happy news?” Farhan questioned in a deliberately casual tone.

His sister deflated, releasing all pretense with a sigh.

“So, you’ve heard?” She asked, knowing too well the answer.

“Yes, of course, I have,” He shook his head, dragging her away from the entrance of the bathroom to a secluded corner of the lawn, “Ghazala Maasi said it in front of Fahmida aunty of all people. She was offering mom her congratulations the next moment, it seems.”

“Congratulations?” She repeated in a weak tone, “You don’t mean…” Farhan nodded and Sherin huffed, nervousness paving way for anger within moments, “Unbelievable!” She exclaimed, “The guy hasn’t even landed in India and there are speculations. Again! I am not having any of it, bhai… I am telling you…”

“You’re really okay?” He stated in askance, unsure whether she was really okay, or just angry.

“I haven’t talked to the guy in over nine years,” She reminded him, “Haven’t talked about him in over five so, there. I mean whatever the panic attack was for, it seems to be settled by now. I’m telling you, I am not having any of it.

“Okay, Sherni, calm down,” Farhan slung an arm around her shoulder, “One would think a midget like you would be calmer,” She glared up at him. Even at a perfectly acceptable height of five feet six, she was the shortest in the family, much to her disappointment.

“I am calm!” Sherin huffed, “You don’t know how calm I am!”

“Well, we do have one thing to thank Azkaar for,” Farhan smirked.

“And what’s that?” She asked, skeptical.

“The news of his arrival distracted mum from your hearing defect,” He responded, the mischievous twinkle back in his eyes.

“Ha ha,” Sherin muttered sarcastically, “All hail Azkaar Akhtar, the latest addition to the NRI community.”

“Well, latest deduction from the NRI community,” Farhan corrected mildly, “Technically speaking.”

Sherin hit him.

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