Aik tau these parha likha types, in times like these, they go totally over. All day Janoo’s reading newspapers and listening to news bull tins and becoming totally polaroid. One day he’s saying that doctors in Sole are saying mask is must. Next day scientists in Oh Slow are saying mask is useless. One day that Trump’s saying queeneen is the cure. Next day he’s saying Trump is crack. One day kay BBC says we must wash bananas with soap. Next day that CNN says there’s no need.
Also he’s eating my head over whether I’ve washed my hands, touched my face, and sterilized the phone. Ufff! Yesterday tau I just bust out, ‘Janoo why don’t you just boil me in Dettol, haan?’ Oopar say he’s become my jailer. Every time I pick up my handbag he yells, ‘where are you off to?’ ‘London, baba,’ I sigh. ‘Where else?’ ‘It’s no joking matter. You can’t leave the house,’ he says. ‘It’s dangerous. Just because this damn fool government is clueless it doesn’t mean Covid’s gone away.’ As if I don’t know. Raat din Covit, Covit Covit. My ears have pukkoed.
‘Only go out for emergencies,’ he said. So I told him that my hair is now an emergency. And don’t even ask about my nails. I’m so desperate for a many-paddy kay poochho na. Suna hai massage vaalis are quietly coming to houses to do waxing shaxing but majaal hai Janoo will let their shadow even fall on our house. It’s so bad I can’t even take part in zoom sessions. In case they notice my hair. I did our last coffee party Zoom with my hair wrapped in a towel and me in my towelling robe and I pretended I’d forgotten about the Zoom session and just rushed out of shower but they asked why my make up was full on and I said kay no, no my face tau is naturally like this and they said: ‘Acchha? Allah gave you maroon lips and turquoise eyelids?’ I hate my friends. I hate Covit. But most of all I hate Janoo.
Also he’s eating my head over whether I’ve washed my hands, touched my face, and sterilized the phone. Ufff! Yesterday tau I just bust out, ‘Janoo why don’t you just boil me in Dettol, haan?’ Oopar say he’s become my jailer. Every time I pick up my handbag he yells, ‘where are you off to?’ ‘London, baba,’ I sigh. ‘Where else?’ ‘It’s no joking matter. You can’t leave the house,’ he says. ‘It’s dangerous. Just because this damn fool government is clueless it doesn’t mean Covid’s gone away.’ As if I don’t know. Raat din Covit, Covit Covit. My ears have pukkoed.
‘Only go out for emergencies,’ he said. So I told him that my hair is now an emergency. And don’t even ask about my nails. I’m so desperate for a many-paddy kay poochho na. Suna hai massage vaalis are quietly coming to houses to do waxing shaxing but majaal hai Janoo will let their shadow even fall on our house. It’s so bad I can’t even take part in zoom sessions. In case they notice my hair. I did our last coffee party Zoom with my hair wrapped in a towel and me in my towelling robe and I pretended I’d forgotten about the Zoom session and just rushed out of shower but they asked why my make up was full on and I said kay no, no my face tau is naturally like this and they said: ‘Acchha? Allah gave you maroon lips and turquoise eyelids?’ I hate my friends. I hate Covit. But most of all I hate Janoo.