Diary of a Social Butterfly

Diary of a Social Butterfly
You know, na, that I didn’t go to Buddha Pest. Oho baba to that wedding of the Mowjees to the Pauls in Hungry to which all of Karachi and half of desi London went. And why I didn’t go? Because I was stuck up in France still. Imagine karo. In a small village in Province, France, where I was being eaten alive by macchars and heat, while Janoo and Kulchoo ate stinky cheeses and swam every day in the sun until they began to look like Makranis.

But thanks God, a week ago my sentence ended and I was freed. It reminded me of the times me and Jonkers, we used to play Monopoly when we were small and one of us would suddenly get that Get Out of Jail Free card and how jay – oho baba, jealous — the other one woud feel. When we left Aches, Province, I felt like I had won that card.

So now I’m in London for a week before I have to head back to Pakistan. Sales, unfortunately are finished but Arabs, you know, they’re still here. Apparently because of Ramadan al Mubarik being early this year, they did their rozas in Saudi only and then they’ve come here for the rest of summers for a rest from the rest of their lives.

First thing I did when I got to London was I went straight away to Café Dishoom in West End where all the khaata peeta sophisty desis go and there I went and ordered kababs, naan, chaat and chutney and for the first time in three weeks I ate proper food. Bhai salads and bag-its and crossont vaghera apni jagah hain but I swear the maza of desi khana is something else. Vaisay bhi, the only thing that saved me in France was my giant Tabasco ki bottle which I took to every restaurant and sprinkled on that awful French food.

Janoo asked why I hadn’t gone to Lahore Kebab House for a proper desi meal instead of trendy ‘Dishoom’. So I said, ‘Where’s Lahore Kebab House?’ And he said, ‘On Commercial Street.’ And I said ‘Where’s that?’ And he said ‘In the East End.’ And I said ‘Where’s that?’ And he said, ‘Never mind.’