being “and family”
while the rest of my nation is caught up in election fever and clogging the blogosphere and all sorts of social media with never-ending treatises on why their candidate is better – or, more commonly – why the opposing candidates are worse; and either conjuring up naya pakistans, or in displays of magnificent revisionism, telling stories of former “glory”; and basically managing to fill in the time between their own personal tragedies like waiting for the next episode of zindagi gulzar hai or waiting in the queue at the CNG station or for their turn at the barber shop with their new found political expertise; the iceman, yours truly, is busy contemplating another sort of future.
waqia ye hai ke i’m getting married.
(by the way, speaking of barbers and stuff, i just have to tell you that i am now pony tailed so all ye fellow sufferers of male pattern baldness, give not up thine hope. i shall bear the standard till there is life in these limbs. or follicles. mainly follicles.)
but yeah, i’m getting married.
which sets up a whole new line of thought for my adoring public. they throng the street below my apartment waiting for a glimpse of me on the balcony or through a window. i hear them chanting dirges, wailing long and loud and every now and then one of the crowd will succumb to the grief and pass from this temporary world, regretted by all. it is of course, in their context, a sad time. xill-e-ilahi, king of kings, mankind’s last hope, has left the brotherhood of the bachelors. until now, every guy who ever tried to make a stag entry at a night club, showed up alone at prom night, survived a valentine’s day without a date, made a sheepish single appearance at a wedding anniversary, visited a gaggle of desi aunts on eid, got refused entry to family-only parks or beaches, went alone to watch a chick flick at the cinema, learnt how to tango by twirling a dummy, or ever had to explain to a guest why all 13 towels are in the washing machine at the same time so please use this duster here – every single one of them had this redeeming phrase to ensure acceptance by our fickle society: yaar, abbas bhi to..
but sadly for them, this cannot be so any more.
and that, as they say, is that.
the prolonged hiatus from blogging will probably continue until the world in general gets a slightly funnier place to live in. and of course the craziness of the wedding preps will probably find its way here in due course. also, what little bit i do manage to write is going into the book.
it’s called tovarisch gujjar. so please don’t name your book or movie that. please.
my election prediction: nothing will get better.
Filed under: the sweet stench of life | 1 Comment