Things Nadir N̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ Said | [MUSLIM]

VIII

VIII

Nadir

Monotony makes most people unhappy. I suspect it makes Zaeb unhappy, too. She never really said it, but sameness made her irritable. I knew, because the feeling made its presence felt every now and then. Between morning teas, dusting and laundry it surfaced occasionally, like our Biryani Sundays, and like Mishal's fortnightly demands of having her hands hennaed.

Monotony makes most people unhappy, but I am not one of those people. I am most comfortable when how the next few years will go by is not hard to predict. And when the days pass the way I thought they would.

Hence, I felt peaceful enough to have another bunch of pictures that I could paint over the weekend. And I would have done exactly that, maybe even have run down to the local art supplies shop because I was running low on turpentine and gesso, had Arij not proposed right before leaving on Thursday evening that we should take the kids for an outing.

I affirmed with the unexpected plan. The last time we had gone for one was to the London Aquarium several months ago. Zaeb, too, hadn't failed to mention about twelve times already that employing Arij was one of the best decisions we had taken for the children - notwithstanding her being the cause behind a large new deficit to our savings.

It seemed that Zaeb fancied Arij quite a lot. Not that she didn't have enough reason to: the girl had really successfully founded a way to manage Mishal and Mustafa at the same time, a Herculean job, and in as little time as a week. Little Shawarma assisted her a great deal, keeping Mustafa occupied almost every minute, yet Arij did deserve much of the credit. And now, thankfully, Zaeb had the time and rest that she much deserved, and as a result she felt somewhat differently for Shawarma. Her words were: "Though that little doofus poos and cries more than he eats, Mustafa does like him too much. I don't have the heart to kick him out!"

It was settled that we would go for lunch at the Indian restaurant that Arij's relative owned in a distant part of the city, because it also had a play area for small children. Arij confirmed that she would meet us there, and insisted she'd get us a friends' discount, too.

We had a calm lunch after a really long time, thanks to the little park and our new nanny. Zaeb voiced her curiosity about the place and about wanting to know more about her background, and she spoke hesitantly.

"My dad's brother owns this place. And we're a small family of four," she told us. "My parents, elder sister and myself. Baba is Pakistani, and Ummi immigrated from Safi, Morocco. It's a sort of a mess of various cultures and languages, my house," she laughed. "I hope Mishi or Mustafa don't catch any of that."

Not long after, she expressed her love for kids, childminding and child psychology. She admitted her dream of establishing her own creche after graduating. And as if that idea alone didn't endear limitlessly to Zaeb, she added that if it did happen, she would employ in it divorced, undereducated and downtrodden women of the society, who know little more than how to care for homes and children.

She was aware of political and social issues, and the troubles of the Ummah worldwide, and although she wasn't the greatest conversationalist, she had solid morals and opinions.

Everything the girl said seemed to make her even more agreeable, charming and reliable than her Islamic background, modest apparel and way of dealing with Mishal and Mustafa already had.

At one point, when Mishal had her attention, Zaeb mused, "How nice would it have been had I been friends with someone like Arij! She's so nice to be around. It's too bad that she isn't much of a talker, isn't it?"

"But you aren't much of a ta-talker, either," I pointed out.

Zaeb didn't respond to that. And since I didn't suspect that she was offended or anything, I excused myself to use the loo.