This week was all about fails, and I have no one to blame but myself. Humph! I mean, did I miss the memo? When did everyone else become cooler than me? Why is everyone in this city having a bitchin’ good time (thank you Fayes T Kantawala for showing me that I can use that word), when I am standing here behind the bushes like a stalker trying to hide myself from the world? I hate to admit this, but I am so lame! Let’s recount.
Fayes T Kantawala’s piece last week was perhaps a million times funnier than mine (seriously, who is this guy?). FAIL.
This guy I liked and thought perfect for me referred to a skinny dude in a restaurant as ‘a gay.’ FAIL.
I attended a dinner where everyone younger than me, and everyone older than me (including the trophy wives) was openly - publicly and without hesitation - wasted. FAIL.
Could it be that TFT columnist Fayes T. Kantawala might be beating the author's humour?
A bad reputation is powerful too
This last fail really felt like a punch in the gut. It made me wonder why I try so hard to seem like a sober and sweet girl, when the jury itself is corrupt. And by corrupt, I mean drunk. There is a strange double standard that is holding back my generation - the generation that is now of marriageable age, specifically. I’m not making this up, you know. I noticed how all the girls who were my age were the only ones sitting and sulking in a corner by the desserts, whereas all the kids and the adults kept disappearing into secret corners of the house and coming back with bloodshot eyes and a limp in their step. It was obvious that this party was for everyone but us - had we not been there, the bar would have probably been set up in the middle of the room. We were excluded from the festivities because we were the ones who desperately needed to protect our reputations. We were the losers at the party.
The author believes it may be time for her to shed 'the one percent' image-building and rebel
“I wrote about Farzeen and Ahmed a couple of weeks ago”, I told Sanam while we were in line at the McDonalds drive-thru. “Their story is like the saddest love story I have ever personally witnessed in my life. I feel so bad for them”, I added, with genuine emotion in my eyes.
“Bad for them? You know they’re horrible people right?” Sanam inquired, giving me the ‘are you kidding me’ look.
“What are you talking about?”
“You really don’t know the whole story? Okay. Farzeen and Ahmed met after Farzeen’s wedding, but it gets much more complicated than that. Ahmed convinced Farzeen to leave her husband when she went back to Canada. He also convinced her that he would go ahead and marry his cousin, but that he too would leave her once Farzeen was separated. Farzeen danced on Ahmed’s wedding and also became really good friends with his new bride. Then, she went back to Canada and broke the news to her husband. I heard he was still willing to work things out when she left him. In the meantime, Ahmed’s new wife came upon his private phone and found his conversations with Farzeen. She also found out that Ahmed had married her knowing that he would eventually leave her. Three months into the marriage, they got divorced. I’m not sure what’s happening now, but both of them ruined that young girl’s life. It’s terrible!”
For a moment, I couldn’t believe it. It was hard to process why they had treated Ahmed’s new bride in such a cruel manner. Nonetheless, it was harder to process how two people, who were poorer, less exposed, less travelled, and less ‘liberal’ than us, could be so bad-ass. Could it be that trying so hard to stay within the one percent was holding us back?
***
I think it’s time for me to revolt - to come out as myself. True, reputation is power, but bad reputation is powerful too. It gives you the freedom to do whatever you want, because there is no good to protect. It’s either that or marriage. Marriage gives you freedom in a strange way, because once you’re married, you don’t have to impress anyone else (any more aunties, that is). But it takes too long and at this point, my youth is on the line. Being bad might do me some good.
That night, Sanam couldn’t sleep. Like her friend Zara, she too felt awful for Farzeen and Ahmed. They really loved each other but for some reason, their love could never materialise into a union. But how could they knowingly ruin another person’s life? Ahmed’s wife was fair and cute as a button - she could have found someone really nice. Now she’s divorced at such a young age and is probably heartbroken beyond belief. Ugh! Sanam felt sick thinking about all the times she had seen Ahmed, his wife, and Farzeen hang out together. Men are generally gross, but how could Farzeen put another woman through so much heartache knowing what it feels like? Sanam was beginning to think that women sucked more than men. But then she thought of something greater. She thought about her life - no husband, no boyfriend, no parties, no fun. Why was she doing this to herself? It seemed like everyone around her, except for poor old Zara, was doing what they wanted - good or bad - and was happier than she was. Was it time to give up her pursuit of the one percent and have some fun? After all, this is Lahore. Some of the coolest people in the world live here - you just have to find them.
