Archive for the ‘Life in kolachi’ Category


Dettol ka tarana hai…

July 31, 2012

107,427 hits on my Youtube channel! Join now and win a Honda Civic in that sexy Kashmiri chai color. It is my strong desire to shake hands with the person who came up with that color. I wonder if it has a separate tainkee for milk. I might be a little off but I think this is how this million dollar idea took birth: One day, the chief of the colour committee at Honda Tokyo was having milk when suddenly his eyes caught a glimpse of the Rahat-e-Jaan, Freshness ka naya surr, har dil azeez…Rooh Afza. Slowly and carefully, he poured the red stuff in his milk. Eureka! “This will be the colour for my next car”. Try saying that aloud in a Japanese accent. You’ll find yourself saying it over and over again till Iftaar.

Coincidentally, today, I went to check out a Civic that I was attractive to on (in Silver). It stared at me from that bright little computer screen. Then I gave her some attitude. So she smiled at me with those gleaming chinky eyes. Guys, in case you’re having bad luck in the ladies department, this is basic 101. But beware! If you see either of the indicator lights blinking, get the hell out of there. She is going to turn…to her husband.

Back to the story. So I go to the owner’s place, check out the body, interior and most importantly, the horn…and ask him for a test drive. The owner, with a really long beard and extremely short shorts responded, “Pehle garri khareedein, phir jitnee marzee test drive karni hai karein”.  Translation for my two angraiz friends: Buy it first and you can test drive it all you want. Only in Pakistan will you find such geniuses.

I went to the Lux Style Awards…on an empty stomach. After a few hundred nominations, I finally saw what I was looking for. It was tough to differentiate between the male nominees and the waiters as they went to the same Darzees (Translation: Tailors/Designers). So the James bond types carrying trays were heading right in my direction with fresh, deep fried fish. I roll up my napkin, loosen my belt, pick up a fork and totally got into my seafood mode. Come on fish! Come to papa! Come home! Where you belong! “Tartar sauce would be awesome. But will settle for ketchup”, I say to myself. Proximity 7 feet, 6, 5… but when it reached 1, a bunch of Jahils (Translation: Assholes) snatched the entire load from the poor guy’s tray who almost fell down. I looked at the salad plate on my table and saw that even the baby-sized carrots were attacked. On a good note, I was there for my buddy Ali Zafar who kicked some serious ass in the grand finale. I think he should do a Bollywood film now. I got a Magnum though, which I think was meant for Sharmila Farooqui who was sitting next to me. They probably thought we were husband and wife since we looked so good together…or (cough), like brother and sister.

What else? Oh yeah, “Dettol ka tarana hai, Pakistan barhana hai”. The new, improved soap doesn’t only look like every other soap in the world, but in fact has been injected with special non-alcoholic charbi that arms it with super powers never heard or seen before in any of the summer blockbusters. When you use the product to…I don’t know, wash your hands, the special fumes make the soap so powerful that in only one use, it can wash away Poverty, Corruption, Illiteracy, Unemployment, Terrorism and most importantly, Mobile-Snatching. The cure for all of Pakistan’s problems: Dettol! Sing with me, “Dettol ka Tarana hai, Pakistan barhana hai!. One more time…” I think my buddy AWS (Brand manager for Dettol in Lagos, Africa just fell down from his lion in his loin clothes. Guess “Dettol ka tarana hai, Africa bachana hai” is off the table for now.

I think I got another hit on my channel so I gotta go celebrate. Till next time!

But I shall not leave you empty handed. This is the link for my youtube channel for thousands of you restless souls:

Notes for my not-so-bright friends: Please refrain from posting comments or sending me messages like:

1. “That’s not true. Japanese people do not drink Rooh Afza”.

2. “Ali Zafar has already done Bollywood films”

3. “Dettol cannot solve Pakistan’s problems”.

Cause I know.


Off Topic

November 18, 2011

“If you want to go over 3000 hits W, you have to write about stuff other than your measly little life”, exclaimed a friend of mine. We no longer speak by the way. He thinks too much of himself. And has great hair. And big round eyes. Anyways, back to the topic. Since I got a lot of free time these days, I thought I’ll give it a shot. I am pretty sure I will get truckloads of fan mail or at least the usual 4-5 comments telling me, begging me, to bring my original style of writing back so here goes nothing:

I didn’t like Rockstar. 98% of the reviews I read on facebook said it was the best things they ever saw. And not just movie wise, the best thing ever to have happened to them. I mean better than Krispy Kreme , Café Clifton chai, Karachi Broast, Captain Saleem’s lollipops & Sunshine Kulfi combined. Something must be terribly wrong with me and most of the critics in India.

For starters, isn’t a rock star supposed to sing rock songs? I have to admit. Sadda Haq was a good one. No one has to agree with me, but for me, other than Ranbir’s acting, I couldn’t find anything captivating in the film. Where were the ‘moments’ we saw in Zindagi na mile gee, Delhi Belly, Brother ki Dulhan…hell even Ra one.

So Ranbir breaks in into a married woman’s house in a foreign country and gets arrested and gets his ass thrown in jail. And that’s the sole reason for his massive popularity overnight? It would have made sense if he had thrown a shoe at Bush Jr. or maybe said anything remotely in tune with ‘Sadda Haq’. See his character was never rebellious or fighting authority. He didn’t want to change the world. He was just a fool in love. Also, it seemed like they put in the dargah sequence just so that they could fit in the qawali. As he didn’t actually pick anything up from there did he? And maybe Farhan Akhter or his dad should have written the boring long ass speech he gave in the middle of a daytime concert.

I’m assuming this was the writer’s pitch to the studio: A not so good singer falls in love. She gets married to someone else for no particular reason and then falls sick. Ranbir sings a few hindi movie style songs at his concerts and after a while, the heroine dies. The End.

“Write about something other than myself..other than myself”. Shit this is difficult. Ok, I know. I will now make a political statement: I like Imran Khan.

What else is going on? Abhishek and Aishwariya had a daughter. Mein kya karoon?  I’m only waiting for the grand piano Katrina will be gifting to Ali Zafar so that I could perform the same kala jadu he did on her will and make him gift it to me. Don’t tell anyone but I have plans to sell it back to Katrina and make some serious dough. Btw, this kala jadu shit really works. And for only Rs. 300/- after taxes. The Saas Bahu packages are worth looking at but the one I’ve been impatiently waiting is the begum special.

Ah, Fashion Week. How can Fashion Week, the biggest event in Pakistan affecting all 18 crore people from top to bottom, left to right be ignored? Here is an in-depth critical analysis on the last one:

Fashion Week took place. Again. Models walked the ramp. Again. And walked back inside. Again. The End.

Since I was 7 (ok 3), I have been wondering where these models are coming from and where do they go when they go back into that darwaza type cheez. Is there like a fountain of beauty running backstage popping up these beauties one by one landing them directly to the door to the ramp wrapped in expensive clothing? Do they jump back into the fountain once they are done and nobody gets to see them again till the next fashion show? Once I manned up and was about to sneak in backstage and the only bald Rockstar we have caught me, “Kidher ja riha hai puttar. Utthay ja apne bewee de kol”. I don’t speak to him much either. He is bad bald man. Cause he walked in himself conveniently.

Which bring me to Music. Faakhir’s song Allah Karay, Allah Karay ke hit ho jayay. As it’s a genuinely good song and Mahnoor looks stunning as usual. Allah karay ke…ok I’ll stop here.

Sports: Burn the Arrrashee wa Murtashees or they will start playing good cricket for our country again. And that is something we as a nation, cannot tolerate.

If you didn’t quite like the review and critical analysis of the most important things affecting the citizens of Pakistan, please send the most deadliest of viruses to


Maan lo…

July 3, 2011

So after trying my hand at 3 dozen different things (ok, there were more), I try my luck at being a Rockstar. “How’s that working out for you?”, my mother asks me. “Oh great, people are offering me lacs of rupees to do concerts”, said his son, not looking her in the eye. She knows I’m lying. Forces a smile and goes back to taking care of my niece who I think said something to the tune of ‘Flop Admi’ in baby language.

A doctor friend of mine recommended my link on his page. Together, we will prove them wrong that Dentists are suicidal.

Note: Any suicides after today are totally unrelated to my song. Ok bad joke. Edit, Undo.

Drank 3 red bulls (sugar free), manned up and made a fan page for myself on Facebook. 42 people liked it. I knew I should have had the ones with sugar. Does this mean that the remaining 17 crore 99 lacs, 99,058 people hate me? I will settle for indifferent. My younger brother liked it. That’s 1/6th of my direct family. Progress alas.

Wrote and directed a tv play. A network bought it but its fate hangs in the hands/remotes of the 17 people who have people’s meter in their homes. I wish I knew who you were. I would have sent you mangoes. Or at least the mango flavoured candy they have these days. Proud of Shazia, Aashir & Nayel. You guys never seize to amaze me 🙂

Nobody would cast me as an actor so I bullied and hustled the writer/director of the play (myself) into writing a part for me. Yash Raj here I come! You will pay for at least one way right?

Which reminds me… Katrina Kaif still won’t accept my friend request although I have Ali Zafar as a common friend. What more do you want girl? Asif Ali Zardari??

Ali Noor helped me with the song in an online affair ending in heartbreak warfare. That’s one credit he won’t take. Too late buddy. Try Noori’ying your way outta this one 🙂

Here’s to trying new things even if you suck at it. At least no one will kill you for trying. I think.


Back to the Future

December 31, 2010

25 years ago, I swear I thought I’d see flying cars in 2011. That’s right not 2010, but exactly 2011. What I see instead is uglier versions of Honda Civics, Corollas and those Pijaro type vehicles. I had thought by now, I would have travelled back to the future (I mean the past) at least a couple of times and chilled with my younger, cooler parents and helped them hook up. I had thought Pakistan would be an Asian tiger and cheetah printed clothes would be back in Fashion. I had hoped by 2011, Green would be the new Blue or Red and Pakistanis won’t require a visa to travel to the furthest of destinations, like Afghanistan. I knew for a fact that Michael Jackson would be the president of the United States and Billy Jean would be his first lady…and that he would finally admit that ‘he was the one’. I had hoped we’d be better friends with India and all their actresses would be crawling over me, considering how handsome I was supposed to turn out. I was supposed to look like that guy from Miami Vice, instead I turned out like Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. I had envisioned that Imran Khan would be casted as James Bond and ‘Chawkka naheen Chakka’ would replace ‘Shaken not Stirred’. I wanted Minar-e-Pakistan to be the world’s tallest Disco with floors on every level playing different genres of music, including folk. Yes, we called them Discos at that time. I had designed a rough sketch of what my house would look like and who all will live in it. I am not sure why it has drawings of so many bunnies all over it. I wanted to invent something. But someone recently told me about this new fad called the Internet that seems pretty close to my idea. Darn it! Guess I’ll have to go back to my other top secret invention. Don’t tell anyone but I think I might have found a way to heat food without putting it on a choola. I had envisioned Pakistani politicians to mature up and not make fun of each other’s hair anymore. I knew in my heart that PIA would have hot stewardesses in the future. I had an idea that the CIA and ISI will merge and be called CSI (Miami, New York or Gwadar). I had dreamt a million times about my kids saying ‘Thank you Baba for bringing us up in this absolutely safe, secure, un-corrupted, un-polluted, non-superficial, non-hypocrite and magical place called Pakistan instead of taking us to England, America or Canada’.

Well, can’t win ‘em all I guess.


‘The Social Bookface of the Year’

December 26, 2010

This was the year of Mark Zuckerberg, the ‘Times Man of the Year’, Julian Assange, who should have been the ‘Times Man on the Year’, Maulana Fazlu for being Maulana Fazlu, the wicketkeeper who heard ‘Ja Simran Ja’ and thought this was his calling, Ms. Malik for now giving massages on tv and that’s about all the information I could get out of reading that one newspaper at the Dentists’s. (FK: one s or or two s’és here?). Wonder what this last line would sound like if Meera said it out loud.

Facebook is overrated. Why are 500 million people on it? 500 million people are not even on the European sub-continent (ok they are, but you get my point). Remember the actual physical land we humans used to browse and explore around on our tricycles? (Ok, bicycles for you). Dont get me wrong. I love Facebook, I really do. I love knowing who’s doing who on a haystack and self explanatory status updates like ”Mimi doesn’t get it”, “So….” & “Fashion ka Jalwa…” What’s great is how it has 127 comments like “What happened babe?”, “You are gorgeous” “Yes it is..” and other mutual admirations like “You rock”, replied by “No you rock Hunz”, replied by “We both Rock”, finalized by “Cause we are Rawans”…Ayein, where did that come from?

Ok, I’m a hypocrite cause I comment too and chances are that people don’t find my updates as funny as they are to me and my assistant. But the two things that double-handedly take the crown have to be the following:

When using FB on the phone, you can only see like a few updates. Most of the times, these few would be from the same person who is adamant about telling you about his favourite songs from the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, the 90’s and the 2000’s posting them one after the other. Then there are the ‘Óthers’ who love posting dua after dua, dua after dua, dua after dua (How does it feel now?). I’m sure the ‘Higher ups’ had you at hello.

I don’t mind getting friend requests from complete strangers. Complete as in Zero friends in common. I mean it would be the same if someone on the street walked over to you and said he wants to be your friend and look at your wife’s pictures from the time she was in Hawaii right? But what boggles my mind is when people leave their DP’s blank. I mean what do you want us to do? Guess what you look like? Let our imagination run wild and think it might be a muppet at the other end? I’m sorry maybe its just me but I can’t be friends with a name…a hand print would do, maybe one eye. Ok this is getting weird. But all I can say to people who don’t want to reveal their top secret identities in front of the world, for it may have consequences (like not getting rishtas): Go socialize elsewhere, like Radio!

I finally changed my display picture after a year, maybe more. I am convinced now that either due to global warming or the Zionists, the camera now adds 30-40 pounds. They can find water on Mars but cant find a camera that ‘doesn’t’ add this additional weight. To tell you the truth, no one took a picture of me this entire year. Every now and then, I tried to squeeze into a picture with ‘the gang’ but thanks to this state of the art technology known as ‘Paint’, they always find a way to cut me out. But what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. This saying had no relevance here whatsoever but I’ve been meaning to use it since a long time. Thank you cousin Zantiana for the things you do…and tolerate. Guess my new years resolution has to be to come down to 3 quarters of broast at one time. Also, not to use Facebook as the primary form of communication with the wife and kids. I’ve heard Whatsapp is cool these days.

What else? Mahira did that Shoaib Mansoor Movie. Saad Mujeeb got himself a 4 pack. Adnan Siddiqui got wet at the Lux style Awards (by Sprinklers), Shazia met Waseem Akram again after 20 years and immediately filed for divorce. Sharrukh Khan stole Farah’s thunder. Sales of Zandu Baam have gone up. People have stopped naming their daughters Sheila. Ali Zafar didnt recognize Katrina. Inception messed up our minds forever. Muneeb Nawaz won Miami’s famous ‘Yo Mama’ competition, Karachi broast white chutney is still the bomb! (Hopefully this blog will now get flagged and more people will read it).


Zamzama Blvd

July 18, 2009

In a few hours, it’ll be exactly ten days since I returned back from one of the best vacations of my life…ok, I say that every year. The news that driver and potential undercover cop Naseeb Khan has gone to Bunair and wants to extend his vacation by another month (wondering if it’s the weather) hasn’t totally sunk in as yet. So I’m driving down Zamzama blvd trying to write some lyrics for a song in my head by the same name, sipping coffee in my new $3 stainless steel mug that my super smart shopper wife got me, I find myself talking to myself again, “Hey, this place ain’t that bad after  a…”. The next thing I had planned to do after finishing my line was to turn up the radio and sing “Free for Falling” at the top of my lungs (signed copy of the smash new hit single Zamzama blvd for the one who can guess the movie). My dialogue and totally original car scene was rudely interrupted by the following sounds, “Screeeeech! Crash! Thud!” If I was to describe the feeling, it was something like when someone slaps you hard at the back of your head when you’re doing something serene…like reading a book. Not so angered (company car), I get out putting on my WTF face (yes, its different from other WTF faces). I charge towards the car screaming out the same curse word I was taught by the guy who used to slap the back of my head in school…only to find that the owners of the brand new white civic are two 6 feet 2 inches Balochi guys  (both of them exactly the same height and shalwar kurta) who look more furious than I do. You better change the look on your face buddy, is what I say to myself, instead of them. He shakes my hand and says, “Assalamalikum”. I want to say, “Walaikum, kaisay hein iss dafa Eid ki Namaz kahan parhein gay” but instead, I politely say, “Yaar itnee taiz garee chalata hai koee?” When he did not reply for a few seconds, I realized that my question was pretty lame. Why am I asking him a question to start with? He finally replied, “Baat to aap sahee keh rahay hein”. Wajahat: 1. Big strong Balochi guy: 0. “I was going at 30 km/hour and you were at 70 probably, so it’s your fault. “Yes it is, he says”. “There’s something seriously wrong”, I say to myself, almost aloud. Isn’t this the country where people take out guns, swords, acid to throw on your face even if you give a guy a stare if he has brutally cut you off? “I’m sorry aap ka naam kya hai?” he asks of me. W..W..Wajahat, I reply back. Second guy closes in on me. “Run Simran Run!” Sorry, Forest! “I mean Run Forest Run!” were the words that reverberated in my head. Will I look like a complete pussy to the crowd (that has gathered around now) that after getting the big strong guys to admit that it was their mistake, I wish them a good day and…leave? No! The entertainment starved Karachiites deserved more. Probably wanted the little burger guy with the new Ray Bans to get the shit beaten out of him. “Wajahat Bhai”, he says. “Aap kya chahtay hein?” A new wife, another vacation, king chips, move back to America, the inner khopra part of a chilled bounty, peace in Swat and Palestine. Come to think of it, I really did want a lot of things. Focus Wajahat! These are not guys you wanna mess around with. Did I mention that their car windows were tinted solid black? I mean that says something about them, don’t it? Hey, they can’t do that…unless…they’re GOVERNMENT! “Hey, I want you to pay for the damage to to my car!” The burger’s got balls! “Ok”, he replies. “Follow me, I live on Mohafiz”. Aha! There it is. These bad guys are going to take me to a flat or an abandoned house on Mohafiz and tie me up in the basement, gagged with a red apple in my mouth. I will be left there for weeks without a clean toilet or broast chicken. “Follow me” he said. I figured that wasn’t a request. While driving, I save their car’s license plate number and write White Civic on my blackberry and forward it as an email to my coordinator at work. And they say these dozen angraziee movies I see every week are of no use. I follow the white Civic into a congested lane in Zamzama. “He lied. He’s not taking me to Mohafiz, he’s taking me to Sheikh Amir Hasan’s flat.  Maybe these guys were involved. I see their car being parked and I park mine, checking one last time if my email went through and get of my car. After waiting for 30 seconds, I walk towards their car to ask them if I can go sit back in mine if they want to finish listening to the song on the radio.

Star plus soap zooms from all angles in including one from between my legs. My spider senses spoke to me, “You followed the wrong car dumbass!” “Brrrrrrinng, goes my phone.” It’s him! He asks me where I am and if it’s ok if he gets my car repaired instead of paying me cash. In a state of confusion (the guy in the wrong white Civic now giving me the WTF look), I say “sure”. “Ok I’ll wait for you at the Shell pump on Gizri”. I reach at the pump and see him waiting. Either this guy believes in excellent customer service or…he’s going to kidnap me and then kill me. I follow him into a small lane opposite the pump and he stops at one of the mechanics and signals me to come out. I abide.

“Yeh humaray bhai hein, Wajahat bhai” he says to the mechanic as if I am from out of town and he’s hooking me up with a pimp or a coke dealer. “In ki garee set kar dein aur kharcha mujhay bata daina”. I think I’m going to cry now. “Thank you sir…waisay mein eik baat kehna chahta hun”. “ji ji bolein” the mute guy finally speaks up. “Aap log buhat shareef log hein”. Prety lame again Wajahat. “I mean Pakistan mein to aisa naheen hota. Yahan to log bandookein aur talwar nikaal laitay hein chotee chotee baton pay. Aap nay to kamal hee kar diya”. He smiles and says, “koee naheen”. A man of few words I have to say. “Aap kaam kya kartay hein”, I ask him. “Kuch naheen”, he replies. I might be wrong but I got the feeling that he’s not really interested in befriending me. My phone rings again. It’s my coordinator. I give him the directions and he enters the lane in the next 5 seconds. Finally someone I’m taller than! I hug him for no reason and introduce him to the fine, cultured gentlemen and his mechanic and they go over the ‘mechanics’ . “Ok Wajahat bhai mujhay jana hai”, says the main man. “Sure, come over for a cup of coffee to the office sometime. I work for Geo”. I don’t know why I said that. Cause now, he will probably show up.  

I leave the mechanic’s shop, bedazzled and maybe just a wee bit disappointed. I am the kinda guy who likes movies with action and a not so happy ending. I like The Departed…this was Pretty Women…well kinda. 

It’s been 26 hours since the incident. And still no action. No phone calls. No weird guys showing up at work. Maybe they were genuinely nice people who had a sense of right and wrong. Maybe the last few ones left in this country. Or maybe it’s their motto to only pick on people their own size. God, I miss Naseeb Khan!