The Writing on My Forehead by Nafisa Haji Read Free Book Online

the beginning of the story, which I had heard already from my mother. And then on, through it, to the end, which I had not.
    “So, after Kasim Bhai left Zahida—your grandmother—she moved to Pakistan. To live with her older sister, Adeeba.”
    “With Big Nanima.”
    Razia Nani nodded. “Exactly. It was good for Adeeba. She had no children who would have visited, bringing little ones. So she was able to share Zahida’s. And your grandfather? Well, he lived out the rest of his life with his Englishwoman—Belle—and the children she bore him in London.” Razia Nani’s voice, after having run a monologue of marathon proportions, came to a sudden halt.
    I was silent for a moment. Then, all of the questions that I had been stifling, in a way that I would have been incapable of during the course of one of Mummy’s stories, came pouring out. “But Nanima’s home was in India. Didn’t she ever go back?”
    “Never.”
    “Why not?”
    “At first, it was because she couldn’t face them, poor thing—the rest of the family in Bombay, Kasim Bhai’s younger brothers and their wives. Before, it was her house that they all lived in together. I remember visiting her in Bombay. Before it happened. With what grandeur she used to live…so many, many servants she had. And your grandfather kept her like a queen! She was the begum sahiba of the house. Now, with no husband, she had nothing and no place in that home. Oh, they made a lot of noise on her behalf in the beginning, the family in Bombay, swearing up and down that they would never forgive their older brother for what he had done to Zahida. But Kasim Bhai was the head of the family. And the business. So, when he brought Belle to India a few months after he took up with her, they had no choice but to accept her. It was a humiliation for Zahida. What a fall she took. From where she started and where she ended up! She never went back to India. And neither did your mother, who was furious with her father’s family for accepting what her father had done.”
    It had never occurred to me to wonder why we visited Pakistan and never India, where my mother and father were actually from. Now, I knew. That Mummy had forsaken her country because of her anger at her father. That in breaking ties with him, she had also broken off with the rest of his family.
    “Did Nana ever go back to India with Belle? After that first time?”
    “Every year. With their children.”
    “Are they all coming to the wedding, Razia Nani? All of the children? Have you ever met them?”
    “Well, of course! Many, many times. They are beautiful children, of course. Fair and beautiful. But then, they would be, wouldn’t they? Being half-white as they are, chee ! Let’s see…Tara is the oldest.” Razia Nani held up her finger, bending it backward with her other hand at a painful-looking angle as she spoke. My eyes focused on the finger, associating her words with it as if it truly represented, as she meant it to, the person she was describing.
    “She has light eyes…not blue, but light-colored. She is your cousin Zehra’s friend. I think she is a year, maybe two, younger than Zehra. Though, who knows what the truth is?” Razia Nani’s brows lifted suggestively.
    Her second finger went up, alongside of the first, and she subjected it to the same awkward contortions that the Tara finger had gone through. “And the middle one is a boy. I think he’s about sixteen years old.” Razia Nani nodded. “I remember the shame of it, your grandfather having children at the same pace that his grandchildren were being born! His name is Adam. Only they say it in the English way, chee, chee . He’s a very quiet boy. Tall. His hair is golden.”
    It was the third finger’s turn to be punished. “And the last one is Ruksana. But they say it the English way. Roxanna.” Razia Nani’s lips were pursed in disapproval and her pronunciation was an unconscious parody of the English one. “She’s very sweet. The