3.3 The Paper Trail

Five years ago, when Zanat first joined the bank, she had worn a headscarf just like Rosa. Idania, on the other hand, had never worn one ever in her life. Back then Idania was already married with an eleven-year-old son. Both Idania and Rosa were working at the bank and they wore no official uniform. The formal uniform was only introduced at the end of 2008 at a time when Zanat was away on a month-long holiday in Sri Lanka, trying to clear her head after a series of bitter quandaries with Moha.

When she finally returned, she had ditched her headscarf with no real intention of ever going back to the bank. It was Murti who had personally rung her, insisting that she return to work. Murti was quite fond of her and deeply respected her for that she could focus entirely on work without once touching the mobile phone.

When the corporate designs were finalised, huge reels of red, black, grey and white fabric were imported from India. The designs were introduced with options for ladies to choose pantsuits or skirts, with or without headscarves. While the younger batches of new hires almost universally chose the headscarves, the rules for the men were much simpler; they were merely obligated to wear all-black attires and white singlets. Zanat, adapting to the style to her own taste, preferred to pair her pantsuits and skirts with crop tops. It was a modern look, though Shina, the new HRM, was already drafting plans to overhaul the uniform guidelines entirely.

When she first returned to work in her red skirt back in February of 2009, a boy from the younger batch had crudely targeted her in the tearoom. Idania was there, along with Mushka, a senior staff, and about four other staffers. Zanat placed a bum on Idania’s chair while seated around a round table and people milling around chatting over the usual assortments of local junk of short eats, tea and coffee.

The young staff member began launching into a barrage of deeply personal questions.

“How old are you?” he asked blatantly.

“Thirty-nine,” Zanat replied softly trying to keep her composure.

“Are you married?”

“No,” she said, “I’m single.”

“Have you got kids?”

“Yes…why do you ask?”

“Do you go on blind dates?”

Zanat remained silent.

“They call you a badi…a gun!” he leaned forward and his tone turned malicious, “Are you a kafir?”

“I am not,” she still maintained her calm.

“You don’t use the prayer room. What on earth made you dump your headscarf?”

“Maybe she found a lover in Lanka,” one of the staffers ridiculed from behind.

While a few turned and snickered, the rest of the crowded tearoom paid no attention to them, wrapped up in their own conversations. Idania felt an immediate wave of uneasiness, watching the boy grow increasingly edgy.

“Drop your skirt,” he finally challenged her, “If you drop it right here, I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, “You promise?”

“I damn well do,” he sneered dropping his hand to his back pocket as if he was ready to pull out his wallet. “I bet you haven’t got the guts.”

Quite shockingly, Zanat stood straight up on her feet and unzipped her skirt, letting the red fabric pool at her ankles. A stunned, dead silence fell over the room as every eye locked onto her.

“I lied!” the boy cried out, his face flushing with panic as the reality of what he had provoked set in. “You actually did it! I’m not giving you a hundred bucks! You’re a fool. I was lying.”

Without a word, Zanat pulled her skirt back up and fastened the zipper. She had exposed herself for a mere hundred rufiya—a dare that came incredibly cheap, yet she had been pushed to a psychological brink that left her gut traumatised. This little episode never reached the bosses, buried in a pact of silence that lasted for so many years.

 

While Idania helped pack up the administrative files alongside four other clerks, Shina found a moment to pull her old classmate aside. After leaving SES, Shina had vanished on an academic scholarship to Fiji and the tight-knit circle had entirely lost touch with her.

Standing on a narrow concrete balcony, sipping their drinks in a cool breeze that kept Shina’s voluminous hair tossing across her face, the two classmates began to catch up.

“I was married once to a Sri Lankan,” Shina said, leaning against the railing. “He has a business over there and I have a highly responsible career over here. Finally, I told him we had to go our different ways and we did. We got a divorce. I don’t have any children and these days I don’t even think about getting married again. How long have you been married?”

“Twenty-one years,” Idania replied, poking the toe of her shoe through the balcony rails.

Shina took a slow sip of her drink, her large eyes studying Idania’s face, “Are you a bi?”

Idania blinked multiple times, caught off guard, “What do you mean by bi?”

“I am a lesbian,” the HRM stated with absolute candour, her voice steady.

Idania’s long lashes fluttered in surprise, “You do all that?”

“Mm-hm,” Shina rumbled, pressing her thin lips together into a nostalgic smile.

“You must have had a wonderful time!”

“I did,” she confessed, her gaze drifting out over the waterfront. “I enjoyed myself a lot but I am incredibly so alone now.”

Idania hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, without overthinking the consequences, she offered her a sudden solution. “You can call Zane.”

“Zanat?” Shina uttered turning her head.

“She’s a call girl.”

“Zane! A call girl?” Shina’s voice mixed with utter disbelief. “I can’t believe it!”

“She is,” said Idania, “she needs support.”

“She comes from a good family.”

“That’s not all she wants,” Idania contradicted in her opinion. “She genuinely needs help. She’s completely unpredictable.”

“How so?”

“It is like she never truly grew up. Sometimes, I really don’t like her constant urge for sex.” To prove her point, Idania described the infamous incident from 2009, without a blink, detailing exactly how Zanat had dropped her skirt in front of the entire staff for a hollow bet.

Shina stared at her, her expression shifting from curiosity to profound discomfort as she was caught in a sudden caprice. “I can’t believe you!” she muttered.

“Mushka was there. You can ask her.”

“I’m not going to ask anyone,” Shina interrupted sharply, her professional boundaries snapping back into place. She looked away and her voice turning cold, “I take your word for it. I shouldn’t have known.”