For the last lot many years I’ve been telling Janoo two things. One, don’t think so much. It’s bad for your well bean. And two, don’t take anything to heart. That’s even worst for your well bean. Bus two things only. But majaal hai if he’s listened to me. Now he’s down in the dumbs about this Maryam Nawaz wedding. I mean her son’s wedding. That cutie Junaid who sings like Kishore. And looks like a young Shorn Cornery. Janoo’s depress about how over the wedding was.
‘Such a display of opulence and excessive wealth at a time when half the country is struggling to eat two meals a day,’ he sighed. ‘I thought Maryam had better judgement.’ See what I’m meaning?
‘Oho baba,’ I said, ‘why you are getting all head up about a wedding? What goes of ours if the Sharifs want to have a big bash? And what’s wrong with celebrating after all that suffering for years at the hands of this Naya Pakistan? I tau say it’s great to see a dabang woman surviving all the problems and kind of moonh charhaoing and saarhoing her enemies who’ve left no stone turned to do her in. It’s also fun to see all those dazzling designer joras on Insta and that glittering jewellery that can be seen from outer space. I’m tau khoob enjoying.’
Just then Mulloo called crowing with joy. ‘Dekh liya? What all money can buy you? All those lakhon kay joray and crores kay jewels and the endless events and the mountains of kharcha. How simple Khan Saab’s wedding was in comparison.’
‘Which one?’ I asked. ‘First one in billionaire Jimmy Golden Smith’s house? Or second one that lasted five minutes or this third weirdo one with the grandkids all grinning with joy that their grandma had left their grandpa to get married to a twice divorced groom? That one? In which the bride was wearing a red jharhan on her face? And not one member of the elderly boy’s side showed up? At least here the bride looked like a bride and not a mobile dastarkhaan and the groom looked like a handsome young groom and not an old tharki Uncle and there was real happiness and singing and family celebrating together like normal people. No Mulloo? Mulloo?’ Funny. She’d hanged up.
So I turned to Janoo and said, ‘And you can also take your long face and go somewhere else, okay? If you can’t look after your well bean then let me look after mine.’