I’m buying a car. I’m trying to buy a car rather. But it refuses to be bought. Or sold. Or forced into slavery. I just can’t find the damn thing for one. Lahore is huge. There ought to be a law against cities growing bigger than ‘blackhead’ size in geographic terms and Lahore is an out and out pimple. If you can’t walk from your house to the nearest shopping center then you know the city’s just too damn big. Which means that I have so many wrong places to look for the right car, it’s like trying to find a pip in a jug of lemon juice. Very small, very slippery. Bring on the cake and party hats.

So I turn to the written word for comfort. And the Word is “damnation!” I have since added the requisite “eternal” and “in hell” to ensconce the Word comfortably forever in the smug minds of used-car salesmen everywhere. Speak of the devil…and then go to a second-hand car garage to speak to him. Although I suppose they have their good points. Their teeth certainly do. Speaking of which, Anne Rice has given up writing about vampires ever since she had a religious epiphany. Which seems a bit funny, because vampires are actually very holy, when you think about it. They just approach it from the wrong direction. So perhaps she could find a workable euphemism for ‘vampire’ (perhaps in this paragraph?) and keep writing about them.

I know now that Pakistan is a nation of euphemisms. To start with, “Land of the pure” is really a euphemism for “illegitimate lovechild of an unholy matrimony between India and Britain” (or if you’re really gung-ho about your euphemisms, an “oops baby”). “Healthy” is a euphemism for “grossly overweight.” And another very common “bohut cute hae!” is a euphemism for just about anything else that you simply can’t express your actual horribly intense dislike for, ranging from hairstyles to Eid gifts to joras to ill-mannered children. There’s plenty more but you’ll have to talk to your aunts to find out.

I recently noticed that my grandmother has a case of the “matrioshka effect.” Note: this is entirely separate from the babushka effect, which only happens to Russian grandmothers. The matrioshka effect, however, in a very ironic twist of fate, occurs only in Pakistani grandmothers. And you may have noticed it about yours, especially after a meal when it most commonly kicks in. The matriarch in question will calmly order, depending on how much of each food group has survived the masticatory assault upon it, a few bowls and plastic dabbas of varying sizes which will reverently be brought to her at the dining table. At this point everyone in the room will expectantly step back a few paces. And then a whirlwind of salon and ghee and chawal will ensue; eyes narrowed in concentration, hands executing deftly precise, snap maneuvers (such as the “bowl-swiping” primarily carried out with the right index finger), her arms a blur in the centre of this toofan that will neatly end in a stack of containers ranging from the largest to the smallest size, which an awed servant will then carry back to the kitchen. And this will happen every meal time until the cartload of chawal from Monday finally ends up in the chotta bowl two days later. You haven’t noticed this about your grandmother? Well, let me invite you over for dinner sometime, say, Wednesday night?

We watch a lot of news together, my grandmother and myself. And I can’t help but softly sing the Mock Turtle’s song “Will he, won’t he, will he, won’t he, will he join the dance?” whenever I think of our local Bad Egg in exile (or Boiled Egg, if you remember the old ditties). In the foreground louder yells of “Off with his uniform!” are heard from the Red Queen, and all the while cunning old Fury prances around exclaiming “I’ll be the judge, I’ll be the jury, I’ll try the whole cause and condemn you to death!” Matters are not helped with the constant interference of the White Rabbit, perpetually glancing at his watch and tsk-ing. Poor little Alice in Wardi, it’s no wonder she keeps taking them little white pills wherever she finds em.

I recently found out a lot about how Pakistanis feel on certain issues. If any of you read the Independence Day issue of the Herald, they had a most interesting survey in there. Questions were asked from a sample population in some of the major cities in Pakistan and people responded with a yes, no or I don’t know. So ninety percent of the respondents feel that women in Pakistan should wear the hijab. Almost seventy-four percent believe in capital punishment and more than half think women should not have the same rights of divorce as men. More than half also felt that women should not marry of their own free will. Strangely though, more than half of the respondents also believe in love marriages, Rawalpindi being the most romantic city at a stunning seventy-four percent in favour of! Very cute. However, extra-marital sex is still a big no-no, more so for women than men. So, where are those cakes and party hats? Let’s celibate!