Chalo, thanks God, PSL final went off araam say. All those doomday predications about bombs and khoon kharaba aa ja kay came to nothing. Such a relieve, I swear. Frankly speaking I tau was in two three minds about letting Kulchoo and Janoo go. If bomb goes off at the stadium, I thought, and God forbid, God forbid, something happens to them what will I do, haan? So I tried my devil best kay somehow they don’t go. I begged and pleaded until my voice became horse. But majaal hai kay they listened to me for one second even? ‘This is a historic event,’ said Janoo. ‘We have to stand up to the terrorists. Come what may I’m going.’
And Kulchoo was uss say bi worst. He put up his palm at me like a traffic policeman and said: ‘Talk to the hand’. Haan? ‘It means,’ he said, ‘my mind is made up so don’t waste your breath on me.’ Honestly! Both father and son are such soor ki huddis. So in the end I decided kay better to live or die with them so I put into my Prada bag my small Quran-e-Pak with the tiny print and my tasbeeh which Mummy brought for me from Medina only (it’s more powerful and holier if it comes from Mecca and Medina na) and I parhoed lots of duas under my breaths all the way to Gaddafi Stadium and I went.
And uff Allah, I can’t tell you how much of fun I had! So much of dhol dhamaka and total tamasha kay don’t even ask. I swear it was like the old times when we used to host World Cups without a worry. The atmos tau was eclectic. Everybody dancing and singing and laughing and shouting with excitement. Non stop. I don’t know if it was the Quran-e-Pak in my bag or Allah Mian watching us from above but not once did I worry, not once did I fear. When we got home and Mummy asked me kay who won. I said, ‘We did.’
And Kulchoo was uss say bi worst. He put up his palm at me like a traffic policeman and said: ‘Talk to the hand’. Haan? ‘It means,’ he said, ‘my mind is made up so don’t waste your breath on me.’ Honestly! Both father and son are such soor ki huddis. So in the end I decided kay better to live or die with them so I put into my Prada bag my small Quran-e-Pak with the tiny print and my tasbeeh which Mummy brought for me from Medina only (it’s more powerful and holier if it comes from Mecca and Medina na) and I parhoed lots of duas under my breaths all the way to Gaddafi Stadium and I went.
And uff Allah, I can’t tell you how much of fun I had! So much of dhol dhamaka and total tamasha kay don’t even ask. I swear it was like the old times when we used to host World Cups without a worry. The atmos tau was eclectic. Everybody dancing and singing and laughing and shouting with excitement. Non stop. I don’t know if it was the Quran-e-Pak in my bag or Allah Mian watching us from above but not once did I worry, not once did I fear. When we got home and Mummy asked me kay who won. I said, ‘We did.’