Bhai, I’m tau very depress. What would have gone of theirs, if our cricket team had, for once, done their duty, won a few matches and brought home the World Cup? Haan?

If for this one time, and one time only, they had rakhoed our dils and kept our laaj? If for once, they had let me call my Indian friend, Bubbles Malhotra, and done jhoota afsos with her for her team’s defeat and humble bragging about my team’s victory?

If for two days only, they had allowed us to forget that gold is two lakhs a tola, load shedding is for five hours, mutton is the price of silver and that you have to sell hairlooms, like your jhoomar tikka, to buy an Emirates ka business class ticket to London?

Maybe, the cricket team took a good long look at Imran and saw him sweating behind bars and came to the seclusion kay, maybe, it’s best not to win the World Cup after all.

Finding a silver lining in Pakistan’s early World Cup exit and joy in the unlikeliest of places, including the Royal family and Indian elections…

I mean, uss ko kya mil gya? Never mind if 250 million fans are upset with you, apni hifazat apnay haath, baba. Okay, you might get some laanats on social media and even some gaali galoch to your face, but still it’s better than being dragged around courts and dumped in jail for God knows how many summers, no?

Also, as Janoo says, isn’t it a little bit unfair, waisay, to put so many hopes of so many people on the shoulders of eleven bachas? I mean, no one expects politicians to be leaders or bureaucrats to be honest, or generals to be soldiers or even that we will win a single medal in Olympics, despite being the world’s fifth biggest population, so why are we expecting kay we will be world beaters at cricket, haan?

If you ask Janoo, tau it’s not only unfair, but denuded. Or deluded. Or whatever. Chalo, chhorro. As Mother Andrews used to say at the Convent, what is done is done and cannot be redone.

We should think of nicer things. But what nicer things? Haan, yaad aya. That Modi got two tight slaps in the election from the poors in India and that Kangana Rann Out got one real one, after she became MP. And that too, given to her by a Punjoo lady police. My heroine, that Punjoo lady police. She should get a medal. Or at least she should be made a Sir, like they do in the UK for being a people’s hero. Like Sir Paul MugCartney. And Sir Andy Murree.

Talking of UK, another nice thing. That Princess Kate is, Mashallah se, feeling better after her cancer treatment and was looking tip top in her white sailor suit dress, with matching hat, at her susar’s birthday celebrations.

I think so, she must be doing hakeemi ilaaj side by side and taking chaaron maghaz. Thanks God, waisay. Young woman with small, small children...

Eid was Eid. We did a bakra, although a full bakra is now also the price of an air ticket. Janoo’s younger sister, Cobra, and her snake-in-the-grass politician husband, Shady, they did four sheeps and sent us a paraat of meat, as if we were their poor relatives.

Zara imagine karo, the cheeks! I sent it straight back, saying kay I can tell from its looks only that this bakra was not orgasmic and was given chemicals ki feed, that we tau only take orgasmic meat and so, thanks but no thanks.

The older sister, Psycho, who understands her auqat and stays in it, sent a big chocolate truffle cake from her daughter, who does catering. But I sent that back also, saying kay sorry, but we are not doing cholester oils this month. Also, no carves.

Haan, haan, I know it was only a cake and I should have kept it, particularly as it said Eid Mubarik Bhai Jaan in blue icing and so she can’t now recycle it, but I’ve learnt my lesson after my experience with Cobra in the election five years ago.

Janoo wouldn’t help Shady because he’s a fraud, but I thought if Janoo, who’s got a big vote bank — sadly it’s not a note bank — in Sharkpur helped, then I could retract favours from them for the next five years. But the very next day, after they won the election, when I called Cobra to gently remind her of my help, I heard her say to the maid to tell me that she wasn’t home. I heard it with my own two ears. So, I’ve learnt kay best is to nib relations in the bud before they become big fat show-offy blossoms.

As Mother Andrews used to say, Better Safe Than Sorry. I think so, our cricket team also thought same to same.

Published in Dawn, EOS, June 30th, 2024