JUST HARRIED...
Marriage season has wrecked me.
I am a shattered and defeated shell, a husk that has congrtulated so many people and shaken so many hands that it is all i can do now. All social interaction for the last month has been under a large tent, seated at round tables like some Arthurian knight. Except had Arthur experienced some of the weddings I did he would have thrown himself onto Excalibur. Camelot be damned.
Yesterday was the last wedding. No more. I am done. If you are getting married and want to invite me then know that I shall walk up onto the stage, vomit on the brides over-priced gaudy outfit, beat the groom with a plate of sheermaal and possible make lewd gestures using my hands and groin in a creative-expressionistic manner until all have fled. Just so you know.
Haven't been posting much because of lack of time and things to say. The deal that will see me touring Lahore and Islamabad in March is being finalised. So that is good. Did some stand-up at the Black Fish 3rd anniversary show. Will paste it below.
Written some articles recently. Did a piece on alternate-music distribution possibilities of THE HERALD. Two reviews (one music and one documentary) for NEWSLINE. Both are out on the stands right now. Plus SPYDER, the local tech mag has asked me to write a series of humour based articles on computing. Should be fun. Haven’t written articles for a few months now and it is good to flex that part of my brain again.
Anywhoo…you folks don’t come here for my meandering thoughts, this much I know. You want stand-up comedy transcripts and you want them now (atleast that’s what people have communicated via email). Very well, your clown shall now entertain you. This was the bit I did to open to the last Black Fish show:
------------------------------
WEDDING SEASON
So wedding season is upon us. Shaadi season. Everyone getting married. I don’t know, maybe it’s the weather. Maybe this is the only way people in Karachi can come up with feeling warm. So many weddings too. Everyone one you meet, “I have three mehndi’s, two valimas and a shaadi to go to today.” I wish we could swap them. Trade shaadi invites like those sticker books we would get as kids. You would swap stickers with your friends to complete the book. I wish we could do that now:
“I have two shaadi’s and one valima. What do you have?”
“I got a mehndi, a nikah and a dholki.”
Oh, I’ve been low on dholkis this season. I’ll swap you a valima for it.”
That way, if you can complete a full set of Nikkah, Mendi, Shaadi and Valima then you get to go on the honeymoon.
Why is it still called a dholki? I have yet to go to one all year which had an actual dhol. Dj’s are there, dance floors. I keep waiting for the DJ to bust out with a dhol. Never happens.
Food at weddings isn’t the same anymore. Its all swanky now. Chicken Teriyaki and fried shrimp. What happened to the good old shaadi ka khana. Y’know. The real heart stopping, arteries-clogging stuff. I miss that. The ghee-ka-salan. The sheer maal so thick you could use it as a speed breaker. And in the end they would have ice-cream for desert. In winter. I miss that stuff.
Mehndi’s are the best. Everyone loves them. If it was just mehndis all wedding season long there would be no complaints. ‘Cause people love dancing. Whether or not they get to dance is unimportant. As long as someone, somewhere is dancing, people are happy. I love watching the dances. They always seem so exciting at the start of wedding season. Y’know what I mean? Early December, weddings are just kicking off. Everyone loves the dances. The new track selections, the new popular songs. Great dance steps. Everything seems well done. It stops being so exciting by early Jan though doesn’t it. By then you’ve become a seasoned critic. Poor girls synchronizing their hearts out. You’re standing there like an Olympic swimming judge:
“I thought the execution was a bit lacking.”
They’re up there bhangra-ing to dhol bajay and you’re sitting in the front row whispering “I’ve seen better.”
I love how no dance is ever perfect. It will always be that one girls fault. One girl who just sabotages all dances. She’s is like a mehndi-gremlin or something. The girls in front are dancing their hearts out. Everything is perfectly synchronized. This is their moment to shine. They spent the last two weeks hating each other trying to get this right. Every practice was brutal. Girls take this stuff so seriously.
“I hate you.”
“I hope you die.”
“…and thomka thomka and then the hands.”
They are looking as slim as they ever will. Girls who have spent the last two months starving themselves to fit some unrealistic ideal of beauty that only exists in African nations struck with famine. Flies buzzing around them. They start dancing and vultures get confused. All that to finally get up there and dance. Every move synchronized to perfection. Everything except for that one girl. Usually situated at the back or on the far end of the line. She’s the one who does this the entire dance like this [mimes looking self-consciously at the other dancers and poorly imitating them]. At that point all the girls want her dead.
“I hate her.”
“I hope she dies.”
“…and thomka thomka and then the hands.”
------------------------------
I am a shattered and defeated shell, a husk that has congrtulated so many people and shaken so many hands that it is all i can do now. All social interaction for the last month has been under a large tent, seated at round tables like some Arthurian knight. Except had Arthur experienced some of the weddings I did he would have thrown himself onto Excalibur. Camelot be damned.
Yesterday was the last wedding. No more. I am done. If you are getting married and want to invite me then know that I shall walk up onto the stage, vomit on the brides over-priced gaudy outfit, beat the groom with a plate of sheermaal and possible make lewd gestures using my hands and groin in a creative-expressionistic manner until all have fled. Just so you know.
Haven't been posting much because of lack of time and things to say. The deal that will see me touring Lahore and Islamabad in March is being finalised. So that is good. Did some stand-up at the Black Fish 3rd anniversary show. Will paste it below.
Written some articles recently. Did a piece on alternate-music distribution possibilities of THE HERALD. Two reviews (one music and one documentary) for NEWSLINE. Both are out on the stands right now. Plus SPYDER, the local tech mag has asked me to write a series of humour based articles on computing. Should be fun. Haven’t written articles for a few months now and it is good to flex that part of my brain again.
Anywhoo…you folks don’t come here for my meandering thoughts, this much I know. You want stand-up comedy transcripts and you want them now (atleast that’s what people have communicated via email). Very well, your clown shall now entertain you. This was the bit I did to open to the last Black Fish show:
------------------------------
WEDDING SEASON
So wedding season is upon us. Shaadi season. Everyone getting married. I don’t know, maybe it’s the weather. Maybe this is the only way people in Karachi can come up with feeling warm. So many weddings too. Everyone one you meet, “I have three mehndi’s, two valimas and a shaadi to go to today.” I wish we could swap them. Trade shaadi invites like those sticker books we would get as kids. You would swap stickers with your friends to complete the book. I wish we could do that now:
“I have two shaadi’s and one valima. What do you have?”
“I got a mehndi, a nikah and a dholki.”
Oh, I’ve been low on dholkis this season. I’ll swap you a valima for it.”
That way, if you can complete a full set of Nikkah, Mendi, Shaadi and Valima then you get to go on the honeymoon.
Why is it still called a dholki? I have yet to go to one all year which had an actual dhol. Dj’s are there, dance floors. I keep waiting for the DJ to bust out with a dhol. Never happens.
Food at weddings isn’t the same anymore. Its all swanky now. Chicken Teriyaki and fried shrimp. What happened to the good old shaadi ka khana. Y’know. The real heart stopping, arteries-clogging stuff. I miss that. The ghee-ka-salan. The sheer maal so thick you could use it as a speed breaker. And in the end they would have ice-cream for desert. In winter. I miss that stuff.
Mehndi’s are the best. Everyone loves them. If it was just mehndis all wedding season long there would be no complaints. ‘Cause people love dancing. Whether or not they get to dance is unimportant. As long as someone, somewhere is dancing, people are happy. I love watching the dances. They always seem so exciting at the start of wedding season. Y’know what I mean? Early December, weddings are just kicking off. Everyone loves the dances. The new track selections, the new popular songs. Great dance steps. Everything seems well done. It stops being so exciting by early Jan though doesn’t it. By then you’ve become a seasoned critic. Poor girls synchronizing their hearts out. You’re standing there like an Olympic swimming judge:
“I thought the execution was a bit lacking.”
They’re up there bhangra-ing to dhol bajay and you’re sitting in the front row whispering “I’ve seen better.”
I love how no dance is ever perfect. It will always be that one girls fault. One girl who just sabotages all dances. She’s is like a mehndi-gremlin or something. The girls in front are dancing their hearts out. Everything is perfectly synchronized. This is their moment to shine. They spent the last two weeks hating each other trying to get this right. Every practice was brutal. Girls take this stuff so seriously.
“I hate you.”
“I hope you die.”
“…and thomka thomka and then the hands.”
They are looking as slim as they ever will. Girls who have spent the last two months starving themselves to fit some unrealistic ideal of beauty that only exists in African nations struck with famine. Flies buzzing around them. They start dancing and vultures get confused. All that to finally get up there and dance. Every move synchronized to perfection. Everything except for that one girl. Usually situated at the back or on the far end of the line. She’s the one who does this the entire dance like this [mimes looking self-consciously at the other dancers and poorly imitating them]. At that point all the girls want her dead.
“I hate her.”
“I hope she dies.”
“…and thomka thomka and then the hands.”
------------------------------
posted by Sami at 1:04 AM
3 Comments:
LOL!
I was just about to delete you off my blog thingum for not posting for eons. I am still double minded. I am the Nazi saheli who thinks the joy of dancing is synchronized thumkas, freestyle for family nutjobs and self later, lol, but too funny. And yes we do sit in corners and plan last minutes oopsie daisy deaths for last line chwicks. Fun read:D
you are funny. try stand-up. ;)
okay.
the score: you are funny. i am lame.
p.s. still haven't seen you perform. wafa gives us the updates after each show, so atleast we know. ;)
okay anyone who fails at syncronized dances should not volunteer in the firsst place. fazool naak katwane wali biatches should sit in the corner.
Post a Comment
<< Home