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was, and continued, “It breaks my heart! Breaks my heart, I tell you!”
    I tried my best to give a coolly sympathetic nod, trying to let her know that of course I knew what she was talking about. And hoped desperately that she would elaborate.
    I needn’t have worried. She was only just getting started.
    “Poor, poor Zahida! So disrespectful to her memory, your nanima, you understand. Of course Shabana couldn’t come to the wedding. She’s a loyal daughter, your mother is. Not that Jamila, your khala, had any choice, mind you. Who would have thought that such a thing could happen? That your cousin Zehra would actually become friends with one of those creatures? That she would insist on inviting them to her wedding! Unthinkable! Who would have thought? Not that Jamila’s not responsible, of course. I mean, keeping up with them —with that family—for appearances’ sake is one thing. But to actually allow a friendship to develop between the girls! Tawba! Lord forgive us! Have mercy on us! That such a thing could happen! What would dear Zahida have said, your poor nanima, I mean? Yes, Jamila should have put her foot down. But there is this also, I suppose—that if there was coming and going between the two houses, then what could be done? Order the children not to speak to them? No! That would not be right also.”
    It was a bad beginning and I regretted the decision to pretend to have any knowledge. I was lost in pronouns, innuendoes, and obscure references that only enhanced my appetite for solving the mystery of whom and what my mother had referred to on the phone weeks before. It was like walking into a story already in progress—a juicy story, I could tell—but how could I get Razia Nani to start at the beginning? At the “once upon a time” part?
    “No, you’re right, Razia Nani. Jamila Khala had no choice, I suppose. I guess it’s all really Zehra’s fault?” I don’t think I managed to keep the question mark off of my statement, but Razia Nani didn’t seem to notice.
    “Zehra’s fault?! Of course not! How could it be your cousin Zehra’s fault? No, no, of course there is only one person to blame after all, isn’t there? Or maybe there are two? Well, I’m sure it’s not Zehra’s fault, at least. If anyone, it has to be your grandfather’s fault. Your nana .”
    “Nana?” My voice croaked a little, but she didn’t notice. “But he’s dead.”
    “Yes, yes. And you’re quite right. One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, I know, but what that man did to your grandmother!” Another whack to the chest. “It broke my heart to see Zahida so humiliated. And now your mother won’t even attend the wedding of her dear sister’s daughter. All because your grandfather had to go off with that Englishwoman—that witch, that flower huppie! Gone off and had children, too, would you believe? And Zehra—befriending one of those girls, her own khala, isn’t she? Chee, chee, chee …such a shameful thing. Bap re bap, it happened so many years ago, so many…and it’s still so shocking! The whole of Bombay could talk of nothing else for months and months, you know. Mind you, not that I was surprised…Kasim Bhai was always like that, you know. Causing scandals here and there and everywhere! From the very beginning I could see how it would turn out. And poor, poor Zahida! Such a good wife your grandmother was to him, so very beautiful! And the way she put up with his mad whims for all of those years…wearing whatever shameless clothes he bought for her, cutting off all of her beautiful hair just to suit his tastes! Going ballroom dancing also! She suffered so much for him…everyone blamed her for it, you know, when all she did was try her best to please him!”
    “Ballroom dancing?” I knew then, with the kind of knowledge that comes upon you suddenly, followed by a disbelief so strong that acceptance takes a while to achieve. That the old man from Bombay of my mother’s story was her father.