"Not Ironic anymore"
When Muhammad bin Qasim conquered Sindh, he was 18. I am 20; I own a farm and 20 sheep, in Farmville.
When I was 11, I became indifferent to images of massacre in Palestine. At 15, images of Iraqi bodies did not prevent me from celebrating Basant. My country is at war today, and I have a trip to make to Thredz; Valentine’s Day is a week away.
When not allowed to ask questions at a press conference, Muntadhar Al-Zaidi was man enough to improvise to express dissent against the US government. I have joined his facebook page. I also hope to secure the USAID scholarship for higher studies.
Zareena of Multan sits on the street with her daughters; the sign propped up beside them reads “For Sale”. I sit in the Pizza Hut waiting area. I got here at 7:14; two minutes before Aftar. The place filled up to choking point 20 minutes ago.
Driven by poverty, Naveed of Lahore kills his wife, daughter and himself days before Eid. I sure could use a gun. My darzee returned only 1 of my 3 suits on chaand raat.
“Butt sahb my saala is precisely the sort of person you want for this job. Oh nahin jee kya baat karte hain, if ever there are any issues, just drop by my place. Lo jee light gayi. Expect no good of this corrupt Zardari I tell you Butt sahb.”
I spend my days toiling at vocation, my nights in hard-earned recreation. I regularly visit the mosque every Jum’a. I am a moderate Muslim, giving deen and duniya each its due share.
“Nahi yaar can’t join you guys, I’m broke for a few days. Acha 350 ki deal hai? Great! See you in 15.” Pocketing my phone, I exit the house, and drop a 2-rupee coin in the maai’s lap, thinking to myself: “She’s been waiting here all day long. Dil bara rakho Talal!”
Muntadhar Al-Zaidi felt what he had witnessed in the past 4 years was not just; he let the world know how he felt, risking barbarous torture. I have had enough, I am thinking of posting a note on facebook.
All characters used above are strictly non-fictitious.