You tau know me na. All this faltu women’s protest marching sharching, it’s not my scene. Yes, I admit once or twice me and the girls we’ve gone when the fundos have become too over but aagay peechhay, I tau can’t be bothered yaar. Just time waste if you ask me. So when Serious Salma, who used to be at school with me, she called to say ‘you are coming to this aurat march, na?’ I told her ‘haan, yaar, of course’, just to get her off my back. Serious Salma wears tennis shoes with shalwars, doesn’t dye her hair and I think so she runs a bore carpentry business called ‘Workshops for Self Employed Women’. So Serious Salma and me we are not exactly two bees in a bod.
But then about ten days ago, I was sitting in front of TV, slicking channels when I saw that Khalilur Rehman Qamar, oho baba that guy who writes those third rate TV dramas about weepy women and angry men, he was sitting there with his big puff of Kala Kola hair screaming at this woman, I think so she’s called Marvi Something, yelling at her to shut up and calling her ‘ulloo ki patthi’ just because she kept repeating ‘mera jism, meri marzi.’ Then he shouted at her that what was inside her jism? He spoke to her as if she was a pile of rubbish or something. I was transfixiated. My hand was itching to give him two tight slaps. What did he mean haan? That it was her body and his marzi? Look at his guts. Abusing like that on TV like she was his slave and he was her master. I think so his own pathetic dramas had gone to his head and he thinks he has the right to do bakwaas with women in real life. I wanted to grab him by his dyed hair and shout into his face, ‘Listen kaan khol kay: mera jism meri marzi. Get that inside your thick head.’ As soon as programme was over I called up Serious Salma and said: ‘When and where is this march? I’m so coming.’
But then about ten days ago, I was sitting in front of TV, slicking channels when I saw that Khalilur Rehman Qamar, oho baba that guy who writes those third rate TV dramas about weepy women and angry men, he was sitting there with his big puff of Kala Kola hair screaming at this woman, I think so she’s called Marvi Something, yelling at her to shut up and calling her ‘ulloo ki patthi’ just because she kept repeating ‘mera jism, meri marzi.’ Then he shouted at her that what was inside her jism? He spoke to her as if she was a pile of rubbish or something. I was transfixiated. My hand was itching to give him two tight slaps. What did he mean haan? That it was her body and his marzi? Look at his guts. Abusing like that on TV like she was his slave and he was her master. I think so his own pathetic dramas had gone to his head and he thinks he has the right to do bakwaas with women in real life. I wanted to grab him by his dyed hair and shout into his face, ‘Listen kaan khol kay: mera jism meri marzi. Get that inside your thick head.’ As soon as programme was over I called up Serious Salma and said: ‘When and where is this march? I’m so coming.’