You know when you’re having a good week and suddenly, you’re thinking “This is wrong. Something bad WILL happen. Yallah. Jesus. Bhagwaan. [Insert your favorite name for God here]”
That ominous feeling just hits you, fills your stomach with dread and as your survival instincts kick in – you run to your reservoir of emotions or in my case, gather pens to write woeful tales in shabby notebooks which have 2010 embossed on the front – Oh My, I – I can’t look y’all in the eye, right now. This is an excerpt from back in 2006.
“I don’t know why I’m writing in this stupid thing. Worst day ever. I just got to know that you can’t wear turtlenecks over your Kameez – A sin I committed, and duly mocked for – WHUT? Did I miss the Things You Should Never Wear Over Your Kameez guidebook? Apparently, wearing a stupid Eiffel tower chain over your Kameez is okay? Maybe my class fellows still need to be reminded that they live in PAKISTAN, not Paris. Anyone can make this mistake. I mean they both begin with P.
Also, someone should gut all the boys of my street. Seriously. Also the inapt management. Ran from the stray dog in broad daylight. It could have bitten me! I could have rabies or other diseases where you start mouth foaming. Upstanding gentleman, indeed, watching this delightful show. Good news though, everyone will die, InshAllah.“
This makes me sound like a hormonal Al-Qaeda recruit.
Also, I may have put in the punctuation later because I wanted to show that I was an intelligent 14 year old. Did it work? No. K.
Anyway, I bring the
sexy notebooks back.
My department, recently, decided to arrange a photo session of our batch.
What They Said: This photosession will enable us to engage with our students, make them more comfortable with the new equipment and help them to come up with innovative and creative ideas to make our department stand out from the rest.
What It Really Was: Fail. Gurday fail ho jana alcohol charha kay type fail.
All we had to do was pose, and act really serious. The whole thing was beyond the usual grotesque levels of fake. It was more fake than Lindsay Lohan’s face – after all the surgeries, of course. I caught myself silently imploring to the engineer standing there to make this stop and let me return to my mind numbingly boring life. I think he mistook my “help me?” stare for rape eyes because he quickly left.
On a completely side note: I’ve been receiving a lot of face-the-book requests (No idea how y’all found me but okay) Can you please drop in a little message so that I know that you all came from here, and are not a random stalker? Thanks!
Also, I started another blog. Completely different from Writes2escape’s. Check it out – http://tayofpakistan.tumblr.com/