Many of the life lessons that I hold most dear have come to me from childhood movies. I’m not sure what that says about me, but there you have it. When I was five, I came home from school with a small mark on my arm that turned out to be a case of the chicken pox. It had been a gift from a Japanese girl in my kindergarten called Yoshi, whom I would forever after remember as my own Typhoid Mary. A Japanese child in Lahore was unusual but not unheard of; this was back when there were still non-spying foreigners in Pakistan and they could bring their families.
When you’re that young anything new that happens to your body is met with excitement and awe: who knows? You could become taller, bigger and stronger. You may sprout wings or possibly develop telepathy. Sadly this optimism dissolves the older your body gets (who knows? You may be fatter, uglier, balder; you may lose a tooth or possibly need a diaper). After they spotted my illness I left school with a smile and an itch, thrilled to be allowed a week off with a glamorous contagious disease that I had only heard about in movies. I couldn’t believe my luck because aside from the itching, chicken pox as a kid really isn’t too bad. Yes you’re “sick”, but you can still play and eat ice cream and jump around. I loved it. As a treat, my mother put on the movie The Princess Bride for me. I know most of you must have seen it but in case you haven’t, it’s the perfect movie. It’s about a fairy tale being read out to a sick little boy by his wizened grandfather and the story has everything you could wish for: sword fights, kidnapping, daring adventures, brave rescues, giants, thieves, miracles, deadly creatures, princesses, and, of course, true love.
The iconic scene from 'The Princess Bride'
Life is pain; Life also isn't always fair
I’ve seen it hundreds of times by now and, like with many of the kids who grew up watching Westley and Buttercup, it has taught me many valuable lessons: Life is pain; Life also isn’t always fair; it is good manners to introduce yourself before killing someone; to cure a hangover you should dunk your head alternatively into cold and hot water; never assume someone is left-handed; mostly-dead is different from completely-dead. The list goes on, but when I was watching the movie again last week, it threw out to me another gem of wisdom. In the midst of a battle of wits, one character says to the hero “You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous of which is ‘never get involved in a land war in Asia,’ but only slightly less well-known is this: ‘Never go in against a Sicilian when DEATH is on the line!’”
Sicilians aside, history and current events tell us the stuff about a land war in Asia is true (#Afghanistan, #Iraq, #Kashmir, #Vietnam, #Korea). I thought about that line a lot recently, because I too am involved in a land war in Asia now. Local, but still Asia. My new neighbour/nemesis, Sanjeeda — torturer of maidens, screamer of profanities, mother of lizards — has been throwing serious shade at me since I confronted her the other week about beating her maid. She looks across at me now from beyond our mutual boundary wall with undiluted loathing. And though I had recently won a skirmish, Sanjeeda’s livid unibrow warns me that she intends to win the war.
Perils of a land war in Asia
Her retaliation was as swift as it was confusing. The other day I exited my house to see my path blocked by a goat that was tethered outside my gate. A goddamned goat. At first I thought the animal was probably a temporary fixture, no doubt bought by another house in anticipation of a blood sacrifice. But no, a week on and the goat hadn’t moved. Instead, it got an extravagant bed of hay and was joined by a smaller goat, both now leaving a trail of pellet poo in a rude pile that I swear spelt out the words “Your Move.”
I was later told the goat was being kept by Sanjeeda to feed her husband fresh milk. So urgent was his need for fresh goat milk that they are having a large metal and fiberglass hut installed right outside my bedroom window where the goats will escape the summer heat, positioned thus to ruin my life and view. I asked their watchmen to take the goat inside the house at least, but was told they have to wait until the air conditioner is installed. For the goat. In its shed. I have no preparation for this kind of a move because it’s straight up agrarian warfare. I mean, throw trash outside or cut off my electric wires: that I can understand. But what do you do when someone installs a living creature outside your gate with no context? It’s satanic.
I find myself scouring the movies of my life to find something that can help me in my ongoing skirmish. I did see Silence of the Lambs recently, and now keep googling rare mutton palau recipes in case I want to send passive-aggressive messages of macabre triumph.
