Not a looker, he sways with the music and spits at all things Imran Khan. 'Waapis ao, I've grown an affinity towards you.' It takes plenty of hash for him to admit to being a hopeless romantic. I keep my mouth shut.
I looked around at where I was, mouth covered with a scarf for the first time in my life. Some village called Sajjikot. We climbed all the way down a hill and back up to see a waterfall and I wanted to sit there forever but then my scarf slipped from my head and a man frowned and I remembered where I was. When we finally go to the house, the women were loud and happy and affectionate. They pressed food down our throats and called for countless rounds of tea till we finally begged their leave. Four hours in a car to get back to Islamabad and while everyone slept I read Dr Faustus who sometimes reminds me of myself.
'Tis magic, magic that hath ravish'd me'
Sometimes I feel a little lost and want to run up to somebody, anybody and beg them to tell me how to feel. And when. Make me angry, make me sad, make me happy, make me love. But then I have an eight am class and a two pm one, a stint in the library, an evening out and a good book so I forget.
Six girls in Islamabad and free for the weekend too. An icy, happy blur. Different cities make us all happy. We can act out of line and nobody can say anything. Nobody knows us. Nobody cares.
Veena Malik makes me happy. I'm not getting into a feminist debate here. She just does.
She chose a kurta for some odd reason. A shawl went around her shoulders and as she looked at herself in the mirror she wondered who this was for. A man, a phase or a bit and a piece of the truth?
He's not a looker for sure so why would I give him the time of day?
