“Like trying to free a caged bird that refuses to fly. No man can manage a woman like her, that is for certain. And it is not just her inability to cook properly, you see. There is a long list of other infractions: she won’t use toilet paper, she doesn’t know how to use a fork and knife, and worse still, she wears this.” Govindji tugged at Gulzar’s pacheri-scarf. “I have even tried to enlist the help of a missionary. Imagine me asking a missionary for his help. I thought perhaps a religious angle would help. Not that I…” he glanced back as if to check that no one was listening “…am a believer. But the women, they often are. They love religion, superstition. That sort of hullabaloo. See that,” he said, pointing to a framed photograph of the Aga Khan with his new European wife dressed in a pantsuit, the words WEAR SIMPLE COLONIAL DRESS followed by his signature printed beneath the photo. “The missionary gifted it to her, you see. You would think that would have made a difference. Nothing doing. Stubborn as a mule. Am I asking her to wear pants? Of course not! But some form of civility, please. What will people think, hanh? That I, Visram Popat Govindji, am married to some kind of savage? That I am some kind of backward fool? I even bought her a nice dress during a business trip to London. The latest fashion, I tell you. And what did she do with it? Added fabric to the bottom, turned it into a long dress, even extended the sleeves! I say, no gratitude in this woman whatsoever. Not one iota. In this, the European man has a clear advantage over us, Badur Bhai. Their women are educated, you see. They have class. Very good for business. The womenfolk chit-chat about this and that while the men discuss business. It is a perfect set-up. Your opponent lets down his guard at a social event—good food and drink in hand—thinking it is just a friendly gathering, when the main point is to a strike a deal. Imagine taking that,” Govindji pointed to Gulzar, “to a dinner party or a business luncheon!”

“Difficult, sir, very difficult.”

“No, this is unacceptable. A man of my position having a wife like her. Why can’t she adjust herself, hanh? Is this not a feminine trait? But she’s missing it—not just a little but kabisa. Something’s wrong with her, Badur Bhai. Something is off in her genetic makeup. This is the peril of ordering a bride, sight unseen. I trusted my agent. And therein was my number-one problem. I should have gone and checked for myself. Made sure I was not getting damaged goods. I specifically requested an adjustable woman. But the only way to get anything done properly is to take matters into your own hands. Isn’t that right, Badur Bhai?”

“Absolutely right,” Badur said, tucking his hands into his pants pockets.

“So what choice do I have, Badur Bhai? None whatsoever. I have the well-being of my son, my future progeny, to think of. What I need is a modern bride, one who will help educate my children. Build a future. I say, I have given her plenty of time to change. To become a modern woman.”