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made up the daily mosaic of her
life.
“Well, I’m sure you know best,”
she said eventually to Mohammed Karim, who had finished
his tea by then and was ready to go inside and watch
his favorite television program on the Sindhi channel.
This was another novelty in their lives: a channel devoted
to Sindhi programs, all day long. They sometimes sat
and watched the shows and could not believe what they
were seeing: a Sindhi man, a hairdresser, styling the
long tresses of a beautiful girl in a modern salon;
a young man with a microphone and a box cut out in the
shape of a television who would go to all the big cities
– Sukkur, Nawabshah, Hyderabad – and persuade
people on the street to sing their favorite songs, just
like that. These were things that Sebhagi and her husband
saw right in front of them but could not seem to grasp;
people speaking their language but acting in ways that
were totally alien to them. It fascinated and horrified
them at the same time.
The fact of Sundri’s engagement
was accepted by all: even lauded. That she was so young
made no difference to anyone. It was better for a girl
to have her fate decided early, because then everyone
knew what the outcome of events was going to be. Besides,
it was nothing unusual in their village for girls to
get married as soon as they reached adolescence . Not
having gone to school, not in training for any job,
there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Sebhagi
herself had been married when she was fourteen, and
had given birth to Sundri soon after. The pattern would
repeat itself for her daughter, and they all derived
some sort of comfort from that fact.
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