By Moni Mohsin
Haan, so yesterday, I said to Kulchoo, “Congratulations, beta.”
“What for?”
“For Basant,” I said.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Haw, look at him! Doesn’t know Basant even. He’s become a foreigner. I tau fully blame Kick Cock and all this social media shedia. He’s so busy looking at hurry canes in Thailand and football matches in Milan that he’s forgotten about our own culture. Next, he’ll be asking me kay what is Holloween?
So, I said to him, very gently, very sweetly, “Beta, Basant is kite flying festival in February. In not so olden days, Lahore was famous for it. On that day, everyone wore yellow and climbed on to rooftops to fly kites. Lots of rooftop parties happened and gaana bajana also and much halla gulla. Foreigners used to come from Isloo to take part and Karachiites who, poor things, never had anything like it, used to come from Karachi. Even some Indians from India came. When there was still aana jaana and uthna baithna between us. Whole weekend was non-stop fun.”
“Before my time,” said Kulchoo. “So, what happened to it?”
“It was band.”
“Why?”
“Because people, some people fell off rooftops and guvmunt said kite strings cut people’s throats.”
“So why don’t they ban driving then? I’m sure more people die in car and motorcycle crashes all year round. Or better still, ban Kalashnikovs.”
Butterfly’s excitement over the return of Lahore’s beloved kite-flying festival is undermined by people determined to jump on her head…
“Baba, driving vaghera, tau, is majboori, naa. Kite flying and Basant, tau, was just hundred percent fun. Maybe that’s why they band it because people were having too much fun. I think so, having fun is not allowed.”
“You can say that again!” Kulchoo scowled. “That’s why we don’t have night clubs and bars and concerts and comedy nights or puppet shows and big sporting events and even bloody New Year’s Eve parties. In case someone, somewhere, God forbid, ends up having fun.”
“But Kulchoo beta,” I said, “we are, by God’s grace, Muslim nation naa.”
“And Dubai and Malaysia and Turkey and Morocco and Indonesia are not? They all have fun. And guess what? Saudi has also allowed non-Muslim premium visa holders to buy alcohol in Riyadh. So, they’re selling sharaab in Saudi.”
“Yes, but only to non-Muslims, beta. And that also just the khaata peeta types. Poors are not allowed because, becharas, not being sophisty and all, they get very drunk, naa.”
“And if it was really about protecting people, then why not ban smog, haan?” he shouted. “It kills more people than kite string.”
“Smog, tau, is from Allah Mian.”
“No, it’s not. Beijing used to have the worst smog in the world but they cleaned it up. And ban child marriages? And cousin marriage? And ban companies from throwing industrial waste into rivers and the sea? And why not…”
“Kulch darling,” I said, ‘I think so your father wants you in the other room. You must go now only.
Dekho zara, here was I trying to give him good news and he just jumped on my head. As if I was Shabaz Sharif and Asim Munir and Maulana Fazlur all rolled into one powerful being, who can unroll smog and ban old men from marrying little girls and young men from beating their wives and big, big companies from throwing their gund bala into rivers.
Iss kay baad tau, I think so, I should better not tell to him kay even though Basant is being allowed again, you can’t fly a kite if you’re a child and you can’t do it here and you can’t do it there and you can’t laugh while doing it and you can’t use dor and you can’t shout ‘bo kata!’ and you can’t do baazis and you can’t chase a loose kite or loose woman or loose man.
Haan. And you also mustn’t have fun. On no account must you have fun. Otherwise, you will be arrested. And no ifs and buts. Even if you are six years old and you are flying a kite on your grandfather’s rooftop with a dor and smiling, you will be arrested and get a criminal record.
Talking of arrests, thanks God all the rumours about the Prisoner of Zenda’s deaths are fake news. I said so to Mulloo, thinking she would say ‘Haan, lakh lakh shukars, baba’, but she also jumped on my head.
“How do you know it’s fake news?” she demanded, her eyes bulging like a toad’s. Aik tau everyone is jumping on my head these days. As if it was a trampoling. I said, “Bhai, his sister has seen him.”
“That’s not now. That was then.”
Kehti tau vaisay theek hai. “Okay Mulloo, I think so Janoo is calling me from the next room.” And I hung up the phone.
Honestly, best is kay I should keep my mouth shut only. In case I also start laughing and smiling and get arrested for having fun.
