Ok, to be selfish, I needed a party to liven up my spirits. Do you blame me? The shopping therapy helped but it was not done during the best of times. So, I needed a party to calm my nerves. I was born to pessimistic parents but I had taught myself to look at life in a positive way, no matter the circumstances, no matter what God threw my way. And let me tell you, He was watching over me the whole time. And the party was no exception.
We woke up on the Akikah day around 11am. The eletricity had just come back on so we ate breakfast in relative luxury but knew we had to wait at least until 5pm to get ready for the party because the 2-4pm loadshedding would render us sweaty all over again.
Our aunt had brought over her 17 year old servant to wash and iron all our clothes. I had a hard time getting used to the fact that a girl, who was about the same age as my eldest, had to wash and iron clothes for 15 people in the house. It broke my heart to watch her get up early in the morning, prepare breakfast with the cook, and then commence to wash, starch and iron our clothes BY HAND everyday. Again, my girls pulled me into the bedroom, closed the door and advocated for her release. "But Mom, she is only a little girl. Why is she doing this all our work?" I looked at them incredulously and asked flat out whether they would do it themselves? Of course not! The machine washed their clothes and mommmy dearest ironed their clothing back home. I explained to them that she was paid for her services and this was her way to earn a living for herself and her family.
Needless to say, I gave her more than her share and so did my motherinlaw. I would slip her money here and there and she would shake her head and refuse my offerings. This got to me even more. And what was worse was the fact that she would sleep in the same bedroom with my aunt and motherinlaw but on the carpeted floor. I walked in one day and gave my two cents to them both. My aunt explained that the hired help did not sleep on the beds (and there was no room for her to sleep on the bed anyways). My eldest daughter stood in the doorway listening, extremely quiet. We exchanged looks briefly and I knew what she was thinking. When I came out, I took her hand and gently said, "Ruby (the servant) would change places with you in a second. Never forget what you have today or take it for granted." She looked at me knowingly, unable to utter a single word.
Ruby ironed all our clothes for the party. I took out an outfit that belonged to one of the twins, who had only worn it once. I gave it to Ruby and asked her to wear it that night to the party. Her eyes welled up with tears and she thanked me profusely. I went back to my closet and dug out a relatively new pair of gold sandals and asked her to try them on. They fit perfectly and I announced that Cinderella was going to the ball tonite. Of course, she had no clue what I was talking about but my girls hugged her and she laughed anyways.
The hall where the party was being held was 10 minutes from the house. I refused to pile over five people in the car, given the fact that we were all dressed to the nines wearing spiky jewellery. I suggested we take three trips to transport the family. The girls were dressed in their favorite outfits and we had hired a hairdresser to come to the house and get the youngsters ready. It was really like we were going to the ball. Now I don't know about you but going to the ball with gunmen posted outside the doors was not my cup of Pakistani tea!
Squeeze me? We arrived at the hall and two gunmen opened the doors of the car and shuffled us into the hall. The girls eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets as they looked over their shoulders at me. Did I mention that Cinderella could be a target if she attended the ball? Yes, since we were going to an expensive lavish hall that required a lot of rupees to rent, gunmen were hired to protect us in case we were robbed. LOVELY! Could the party get any stranger? I was hoping to have a nice evening out, protected by my gunmen with no disruptions. Was I asking for too much?
The time given for the party was 7pm. Add two hours and we were hunkering down for dinner at 9pm. Because of a new curfew in effect, Lahore halls were forced to shut down by 10pm. I asked why and was told in case there was a bomb threat or robbery. I smiled and almost choked on my samosa. The girls piled their plates with kabobs and scarfed down their food as they had not eaten since 4pm. The budding vet twin walked over to comment on the food. "Mom, are these kabobs chicken? They are amazing. I think I ate around four of them!" she exclaimed as the juice dripped off her chin and onto her outfit. I rolled my eyes and looked at my aunt. She walked over and nudged me, quite indiscreetly. "I don't know how to tell you this but the kabobs are not chicken." She walked away with a swagger and a huge grin on her face.
I sat down and it took a few minutes to register. I was more entranced with the three girls who showed up, dressed all in black, with thick, long black hair and overdone makeup. Then it dawned on me. The kabobs were not chicken, the kabobs were not chicken.... HOLY BUCKAA AND BUCKOO. I looked over at all the girls. They had finished dinner and were also staring at the three new arrivals. I racked my brain on how I was going to explain this to them but the scene unfolding before me didn't allow me to concoct a new story. It would have to be left for another day. But here is a pic for old times sake!
The music started and one of the girls in black got up and started to seductively dance. I looked over at my husband who was standing with his cousins. He, along with some of the older men, averted their gazes while the younger generation of boys and girls were laughing. It was until I took a closer look, I realized why this picture did not look right!
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