The one thing that you absolutely must get used to if you are to (successfully) survive in this city is the feeling of being wronged. I guess some wrongs are pretty basic - your sister stole your last cigarette late at night; or you didn’t get permission for the big sleepover - and like all things basic, they should pretty much be ignored. Then there are some wrongs that are so atrocious that they become stupid - your best friend started dating your ex; or someone stole your car at a time when you were broke. When it comes to such wrongs, it’s important to maintain your grace. After all, a desi-style anger rant will just make you look stupider than what happened to you, and that’s not what Charlie Sheen calls #winning. Some wrongs are just insanely cruel - your boyfriend’s parents refused to let him marry you; or someone close to you got really sick. These wrongs are heartbreaking and traumatic, and are probably the reason why most of our population has mental health issues. It’s tough, but you need to move on. On the bright side, that’s one way to gain admission into the one percent. But there are some wrongs that can be categorised as plain injustice - you lost your arm in a suicide bombing and no one else from your family survived the attack. How do you even deal with something like that? I guess I am very lucky that I don’t know.
Iphone touch security remains vulnerable to prying family members (and others)
"I always keep an eye on my husband with the new iPhone. I just use his finger when he's asleep to unlock his phone"
The most suspicious thing about this whole scenario is that oftentimes we are wronged by the people closest to us. Seriously guys, this is not what the guy who came up with our flag had in mind when he first designed it. The majority of us are green with envy, and with the religious minorities shrinking due to human agency, the white basically represents the minor female population that hopes to be fairer everyday. It’s saddens me, you know. Brothers often cheat each other out of family businesses and property; sisters often best each other at posh brunches where they ‘might’ be exposed to higher society; and friends often compete with each other to find the richest husband with the most popular family name. Now, I admit I’m not a pundit or anything, but damn guys, I’m only in my early-to-late twenties, and I already have a host of blood relatives and friends competing with me on so many levels. Well, I guess there is some solace in the fact that competing with me makes them better people everyday.
The #janam wedding was the talk of the town all last December. People had flown in from Karachi and Dubai to celebrate the union of Javaid, a super rich Chinioti businessman, and Sanam, his non-Chinoti second cousin and heiress of a now defunct restaurant empire. Although most of the attendees had spent a fortune on their Elan outfits for the occasion, they were not happy. After all, they had young daughters, or were young themselves, and Javaid was a super catch indeed. I obviously showed up wearing my most expensive designer outfit, along with all the diamonds I owned, hoping to get a little attention for myself amidst the madness. But my sober intentions were nothing compared to Anam’s, who had committed herself to outshining the bride herself. You see, Anam and Sanam had been best friends at school, but had a major falling out when Sanam had started dating a boy Anam had liked. Now, Sanam was getting married into the elite, and Anam was still a virgin. She had also failed miserably in her attempts to look better than her ex-BFF - nothing could compare to Sanam’s gorgeous Deepak Parwani creation. Nonetheless, Anam carried herself with grace at the wedding, only breaking her front every now and then to comment on how the bride’s earrings didn’t match her bracelet, or that Javaid was, after all, the ‘lowest’ of the Chiniotis when it came to wealth. Knowing how heartbroken and jealous she was feeling, I asked Anam how she was doing at end of the night. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, ‘I’m fine. And anyway, marrying your cousin is like getting accepted into Iqra University. Everyone knows you’re there because you got rejected everywhere else.’
Charlie Sheen knows all about #winning - and going on an angry desi rant is not part of it
For those of you thinking that marriage is a quick way to become more secure and beat that feeling of maddening jealousy, you’re just wrong guys. Now, I know that I’m sounding more and more like a crazed old lady, but my friends are young and they love to share. Plus, my mother is a prime example of paranoia on skates. She often tells me about how she ‘feels’ like someone is going to wrong her, especially when it comes to the one thing that is supposedly keeping her secure - her marriage. Other women are one thing; I’ve met people who had developed jealousies towards babies in the family, dogs and even rooms (the study, most likely). Paranoia is dangerous territory - it’s one of the reasons I work and work out.
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Madam Faiza rolled down her window and politely asked a beggar to step aside so she could ash her cigarette. ‘I have watched a lot of Hum TV dramas,’ she said, ‘so I know what I am talking about.’ She then took a long slow drag, embodying the godfather in her own ‘fat, crude and hard’ desi female kind of way. ‘There are three critical points in a man’s life when he is inclined the cheat on his wife: when she is pregnant, after the baby is born, or when the child is about to hit puberty. It makes the woman more like a mother, and that’s just not sexy.’ Another long drag. ‘Shukar Alhumdulilah I always keep an eye on my husband with the new iPhone. That password system was too safe. Now I just use my husband’s finger when he’s asleep to unlock his phone and read his messages.’
