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26
Maya’s Law #26:
You should always hide how you’re really feeling.
The next day, I wake up bright and early for the maiyun. It’s a ceremony where Imtiaz and I will be covered with turmeric paste by our family and friends. The application is supposed to bless us, and turmeric is said to be good for the skin, too. I don’t know how much I’m looking forward to being smeared with paste by my family, but I have to suck it up and put on a pretty smile. That’s all I have to do as the bride, anyway.
I don’t bother to do my makeup, and once I’m dressed, I head downstairs. The song “Ballay Ballay” from Bin Roye blasts through the house as I’m led down the hall to the backyard space. The maiyun is a more laid-back event, so we’re doing it at home. Because the ceremony is less formal, I’m in simpler clothes. I’m in a blouse and a lehenga, but the material is much airier and lighter, not as weighed down by heavy embroidery or beads. The ensemble is red, which is unexpected, because traditionally the bride wears red on the day of the baraat, when the actual nikkah will be read. Plus, the traditional color for the maiyun is yellow. However, I’m already wearing yellow to the mehendi, and I found a wedding dress I liked better, and because it isn’t red, I can wear the color today and no one can accuse me of being a palette repeater. My hair is in a simple braid down my back, to keep it out of the way when the haldi is applied to my face.
Ammi wraps her arm around me, holding me tight to her side. “I’m so happy you’re getting married, Maya,” she coos. “I thought I’d never see the day, what with you always shutting down rishtas.”
“Yeah, neither did I,” I mumble.
“No, really, Maya.” Ammi stops when we reach the doors to the backyard. A few people bustle around us, arranging food and drinks and carrying bowls of turmeric paste. She leans forward and curls my hair over my ears. “After everything you went through with your baba...” she continues, and my back tenses. “After that kameena left us, I thought you’d never want to get married.” She rests her hand on my cheek. “But I’m glad to see that you changed your mind. Getting married is part of completing your deen, I know, but it’s wonderful to know that you got to fall in love with your man first.”
My breath hitches. I reach up and pull Ammi’s hand away. “Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “That’s exactly what’s happening. I’m very happy, too.”
Ammi furrows her brows, and it looks like she’s going to say something, but before she can, I pull the door open and step outside.
The air is already incredibly thick, but some of the uncles managed to set up fans outside. I don’t know what kind of good it’s doing, but it’s better than nothing. The backyard isn’t that big; not many backyards in Karachi are. But we invited only immediate family to the maiyun ceremony, so there’s enough room for all of us. Tables line the back, with rose petals scattered in the middle as the centerpiece. Strings of hanging pink and purple lanterns hover above our heads, dangling on a line that connects from the tree closest to the fence to the top of the roof. Set up right in front of the fence is a swing, adorned with dahlias and more paper lanterns. A long wooden table sits in front of the swing, ready for the materials to perform the rasam. Imtiaz is already sitting on the swing, wearing a smart white kurta.
“There she is!” Imtiaz booms as I approach him. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
I grin at him as I sit down. “You look really handsome.”
“Thanks.” He places his arm on the backrest behind me. His fingers barely touch my skin, but I force myself not to cringe. After a few quiet, calming breaths, my body relaxes, and I lean more into his touch.
We have to wait for the older adults to bring the haldi over to us, so we silently swing on the seat. After a while, though, I can no longer handle the silence. “How have things been going for you? We haven’t had much opportunity to talk since I got here.”
“Good,” he responds. He taps his foot against the ground. “I’m glad Bhaiyya is here, but the tension is pretty obvious. I’m trying to figure out a way to smooth things over, but I don’t know if that’s going to happen.”
I knot my fingers together and casually watch the yard. “Where is Sarfaraz, anyway?”
Imtiaz squints for a moment, scanning the crowd. He points in the direction he’s staring. “He’s over there.”
I follow his gaze, and sure enough Sarfaraz is in the corner, far from any of the other guests. He’s tucked himself into the corner of the couch he’s on, trying not to wrinkle his white shalwar kameez. Some auntie takes the seat next to him and taps his leg enthusiastically. I have no idea what they’re talking about but based on how hard he’s clenching his jaw, it can’t be anything good.
“What happened, by the way?” Imtiaz’s voice brings me out of my thoughts.
I snap my attention back to him. “Huh?”
He points to my bare left finger. “Your engagement ring. You said you’d explain what happened, but you never got around to it.”
“Oh.” I try to casually run my fingers through my hair, but there’s so much hairspray in it they get caught in the tangles. “It’s a funny story. So, Sarfaraz and I were traveling together, and our bus got a flat tire in between Lahore and Karachi.”
Imtiaz whistles low. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with luck as bad as yours.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumble. I go back to the story. “We ended up walking to a rest stop, and the driver told us that cars would be showing up to take us to a nearby village to wait for a new bus to arrive. But it turns out that the car we got into wasn’t part of the service the bus driver arranged for us, which we found out after we’d been driving for a while, and then the guys...kind of robbed us. I had to give them my ring so they’d let us go.”
Imtiaz blinks once, and then exclaims, “What?”
That draws attention to us, and my face reddens as I gesture for him to calm down. “It’s not that big a deal, okay? They were threatening us, so I did what needed to be done. That ring wasn’t worth our lives.”
“No, no, I don’t care about the ring,” he dismisses. “You did what you had to. But, oh, my God, why didn’t you tell anyone you were in that kind of danger?”
“I didn’t exactly have the opportunity to make a phone call,” I grumble. “I was kind of busy. Plus, I wasn’t alone. Sarfaraz was with me.”
Imtiaz places his palm on top of mine. I wait for tingles to rush to the spot where his skin meets mine, but nothing happens, no matter how hard I will it to. “I’m happy that Bhaiyya was with you, but it should have been me. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
