Diary of a Social Butterfly , livre ebook

Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd. - Moni Mohsin

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96 pages

English

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Pakistan may be making headlines-but Butterfly is set to conquer the world. 'Everyone knows me. All of Lahore, all of Karachi, all of Isloo-oho, baba, Islamabad-half of Dubai, half of London and all of Khan Market and all the nice, nice bearers in Imperial Hotel also...No ball, no party, no dinner, no coffee morning, no funeral, no GT -Get-Together, baba-is complete without me.' Meet Butterfly, Pakistan's most lovable, silly, socialite. An avid partygoer, inspired misspeller, and unwittingly acute observer of Pakistani high society, Butterfly is a woman like no other. In her world, SMS becomes S & M and people eat 'three tiara cakes' while shunning 'do number ka maal'. 'What cheeks!' as she would say. As her country faces tribulations - from 9/11 to the assassination of Benazir Bhutto-Butterfly glides through her world, unfazed, untouched, and stopped short only by the chip in her manicure. Wicked, irreverent, and hugely entertaining, The Diary of a Social Butterfly gives you a delicious glimpse into the parallel universe of the have-musts.

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Islam

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Publié par	Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd.
Date de parution	01 octobre 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788184002218
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0480€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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By the same author
RANDOM HOUSE INDIA
Published by Random House India in 2009
Copyright Moni Mohsin 2008
Random House Publishers India Private Limited
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EPUB ISBN 9788184002218
For Faizi, my very own Kulchoo
What? What do you mean, who am I ? If you don t know me then all I can say, baba, is that you must be some loser from outer space. Everyone knows me. All of Lahore, all of Karachi, all of Isloo-oho, baba, Islamabad-half of Dubai, half of London, all of Khan Market, and all the nice-nice bearers at Imperial Hotel also. But since you seem to be an outer-space-wallah, an astronot, alient or whatever you people are called, chalo, I ll ignore karo your ignorance this one time only, and tell you about me.
I live in Lahore. In a big, fat kothi with a big, fat garden in Gulberg, which is where all the khandani, khaata-peeta types live. And don t listen to the newly-rich cheapsters who live in Defence vaghera and say that, No, no, Defence is Lahore s best locality, because they are liars. They are just jay-jealous, bhai! Honestly, do you know anything? No offence, but you tau seem like a total paindu pastry to me. Anyways, we have ten servants-cook, bearer, two maids (one Filipina and one desi), two drivers (one for me, one for Janoo), sweeper, gardener, and two guards who both carry Kalashnikovs, wear khaki uniforms and play Ludo around the clock at the gate. All of these people look after me, Janoo-uff, bhai, my husband-and our son, Kulchoo.
Kulchoo is thirteen (or is it fourteen?). Anyways, his voice is becoming horse and yesterday I was noticing he needs threading on his upper lips. He likes doing something called Wee and Bookface. Naturally, Kulchoo goes to Aitchison College, which is Lahore s best school for nice rich boys from nice rich families. Janoo also went to Aitchison, and from there only he went to Oxford in London, and from there he came back three years later an Oxen. I shouldn t be saying this, because he is my husband and you are total stranger, but Janoo is very bore. He likes bore things like reading-sheading, watching documentaries and building schools in his stinky old village. Did I tell you Janoo is landed? Well, he is. But unfortunately his lands are not in Gulberg, where everyone could see them and be jay. They are hundred miles away in a bore-sa village called Sharkpur, which I haven t been to, thanks God, for nearly four years.
Janoo s mother is a window, sorry, sorry, I meant widow, and I call her The Old Bag. She is fat, bossy, wears Bata shoes and can t speak English. But thanks God a hundred million times, she doesn t live with us. Janoo has two sisters-the Gruesome Twosome. They are big cheater cocks and always doing competition with me, poor things. Not that anyone can do competition with me. Mummy (that s my mother) says I m unique.
I am very sophisty, smart and socialist. No ball, no party, no dinner, no coffee morning, no funeral, no GT-uff, now I have to explain GT to you also? Get Together, baba-is complete without me. Naturally, if you are going to be so socialist you also need the right wardrope and the right looks. So I have to get my designer joras and visit my beauty therapists and my jewellers, vaghera, na. Just my selfless little way of supporting Pakistan ki economy. Unlike Janoo, who is a zinda laash, I am very gay. I love travelling-to Dubai, to Singapore, to Harrods-and watching top ki films like Sex and the City and Jab We Met and reading Good Times and Vogue and peoples sections of all the newspapers.
My bagground is not landed, thanks God. We, baba, are Lahoris through and through. I am convent-educated and afterwards I went to Kinnaird College, where all the rich illegible girls go while they are waiting to be snapped up. (Janoo s sisters went to Home Econmics, where all the middle-class or purdah types go.) My family, needless to say, is very sophisty. Daddy worked for a multinationalist company and Mummy was his co-operate wife. Mummy s favourite cousin sister is Aunty Pussy. Her husband, Uncle Kaukab, whom Janoo calls Uncle Cock-Up, was a tax collector. Anyways, they are, mashallah, very well-to-do, with houses here and there, some of which they admit to and some of which they don t. They have one son called Jonkers, who is twice die-vorced, and we are now looking for third wife for him.
My friends are socialists like me. There s Mulloo, Flopsy, Furry and Twinkle. Most of their husbands are bank defaulters but they are all very religious and upright otherwise. Unfortunately my friends are also always doing competition with me. But chalo, I suppose help nahin kar sakteen. After all, it can t be easy knowing me
The Butterfly Lahore, 2008
Taliban threaten to destroy all statues
Floozie runs off with best friend s husband
Haw, such a big scandal in our group, na! Tonky s wife, Floozie, has run off with his best friend, Boxer, who is married to Floozie s best friend, Dropsy. Just look! What a tamasha. Everybody is talking about it at weddings, darses, parties, everywhere. Floozie s name is mud. Worse than mud. Mud mixed with cow shit, like the pheasants in Janoo s village use to make their houses. (Or do they use straw? Khair, whatever.)
Floozie s name nobody is taking now, except to do gossip of course and to do haw, hai , which everyone is doing full time. Mulloo tau has announced to everyone that her doors are closed to Floozie forever till doomday. As Mulloo so rightly points out, if she can do that to her best friend what will she do to her best enemas, sorry, sorry, I mean enemies? Nerves meri shatter ho gayee hain, that is why I am forgetting my English. Vaisay tau I am convent-educated. Even got first prize for reading and obedience in class one. But really, just look at Floozie. She s known Dropsy since KG, when they used to sit next to each other in Little Sweet Hearts School on Jail Road only. Imagine! What a sleeve ka snake she s turned out to be. Back stabber jaisi na ho tau.
No one is talking about Boxer, though. At least not that much. Because men tau are like this only. Everyone knows. Can t help themselves, na, becharas, poor things. That s why also all the girls, Flopsy, Tinkly, Bobo, Furry, are holding tight to their husbands. Their husbands may be bore, they may be crack, they may be fat, they may be ugly, they may be ancient and decrepid, they may be kanjoos makhi choos even, but it s better than them running off with someone else and the whole world feeling sorry for you. And also wondering what s wrong with you.
But going back to poor Tonky. A crashing bore tau the poor thing s always been, going on and on about price of wheat-they have lands near Sheikhupura only-and his tubewells, and his munshis, and his heart problems-he was triple by-passed only two years ago and since then he d grown so careful, na, wouldn t even climb stairs, had moved downstairs into guest bedroom leaving Floozie upstairs in case he got breathless and all.
I would ve thought that after twenty years of marriage, Floozie must have got used to. But I should ve guessed that something was up when she started getting liposeduction done on her bottoms and her chins, and started wearing see-through clothes in winter also. After looking like an ayah for all this time, why would she suddenly change into a champ, I mean vamp, overnight, if not to phasao a man, hain?
Poor old Tonky. He came to our house last night looking like I don t know what. Unshaven, food stains on his shirt, dandruff on his jacket. Bechara, itna Tonky ne feel kiya hai, na, Floozie s running away.
Janoo tried to comfort him in his own sarrhial way. The best revenge on a man who runs off with your wife, he said, is to let him keep her.
Tonky laughed like a hyena but there was a mad gleam in his eye. I think so he s going to have a nervous breakout. I told him to go on Prozac fatta-futt. In fact while he was sitting with us only, I sent the driver to Fazal Din s and told him to bring six packs of it. Tonky took the pills home but now I m worried keh what if he overdouses? I wonder what happens to you if you take a whole pack of Prozac at once only? Do you die laughing?
But look at Boxer. He s sixty if he s a day. Mummy says when she got married he already had broken voice and stubbly chin, so big he was then. Squirting people with a water pistol and making nuisance of himself. Vaisay he hasn t changed. Still running around with his hair transplant, his leather jacket and tight jeans-so tight that every time he bends down to pick up something, his face turns purple and his eyes look as if they re going to pop out off his head. Must be male menoapplause. Somebody asked him why he d run off with his friend s wife.
What to do, yaar? My marriage was empty.
Humph! As if marriages are thermoses, empty or full. Crack jaisa.
Taubah, baba, this shows you should never trust anyone. Not best friends, not husbands, not anyone. Except your plastic surgeon and your darzi.
Restoration of assemblies in March likely
Butterfly attends six parties in two days
Hai Allah, I m so excited na, so excited na, keh bus. Why? Haw, on which planet are you living? Apollo thirteen? Don t you know about Basant? Vaisay there too they must know, I m hundred per cent sure. How can they not know, when all of Karachi s coming and all Isloo also?