h1

‘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).

Advertisements
h1

WR’s Super Hit list

January 2, 2010

Haven’t been in any accidents mashallah (read blog 1), nor has anyone else stolen my money other than a particular media moghul (read blog 2). Since it’s a new year, I have decided to write something that is personal and for a select few, rather than the entire group of 9 people who read my blog. Since no magazine is willing to interview me, I thought I’d put my likes, dislikes and recommendations in blog # 3. This is WR’s Super Hit List: (Umm, WR is me J)

1. I say no to:

New Year Balls unless you like getting shot in the ass

2. Oldest friend to date:

Yousuf Pingar

3. Hidden treasures:

Rabeea & Jahanzeb

4. Sweetest person alive:

Zantiana Saqib

5. Always share a good laugh with:

Bilal Khan & Hasan Shareef

6. Need to be a better friend to:

Nomi Ansari

7. Coolest over 40:

Kuchoo and Saad Mujeeb

8. Best sense of humour:

Haroon Farooki

9. Most talented person I know on television:

Mahira Hafeez Khan

10. The ultimate golibaaz yet always there for you:

Adnan Siddiqui

11. Wish I could trade creative bones with:

Imran Aslam

12. The one who believes in me (and vice versa):

Ali Noor

13. The one who gets me:

Ahmed Wahab Shah

14. Friend reborn:

Nadeem Elahi

15. The one you can always count on:

Haider Khan

16. Best old school memories with:

Tariq, Nabil, Faisal & Yousuf

17. Best (female) friend:

Shameneh

18. The one who gave me my first break:

Saad bin Mujeeb

19. Most musically talented people I know:

Ali Noor & Ali Hamza

20. First childhood friends:

Asma Abbass, Ali & Masooma Kachelo

21. Life in America was good because of:

Rizwan, Sameer, Fawad & Ghazi

22. Endless wisdom:

Rauf sb (Abbu)

23. The one who’s fought a hundred battles (including cancer) and survived:

Ammi

24. Miss most:

Apa (dadi), cousin Fimi & cousin Shakir

25. The one who knows more Amitabh songs than Amitabh himself:

Saqib Tata

26. Song(s) of the decade (personal choices):

Pakistani: Roya Re, Indian: Beeri, English: Sex on fire

27. Movie(s) of the decade:

Pakistani: Khuda ke Liyay (only one choice)

Indian:        Guru

English: Pursuit of Happiness

28. Last man standing:

Alaman Javed

29. Last woman standing:

Nida Kazmi

30. Nobody has taken more digital pictures than:

Aisha Zeeshan

31. The most hard working person I know:

Shiraz Farooki

32. Nicest person in the industry (my industry):

Feeha Jamshed

33. The one who’s gone through several transformations but is still the most genuine person around:

Ali  Haider

34. Ever ready and fully charged:

Sana & Shiraz

35. Most fun to be around:

Muneeb Nawaz

36. The one who puts up with all my eccentricities and truly deserves a medal of honour:

Shazia Wajahat

More later…

h1

Close encounters of the 4th kind

September 13, 2009

So I went to a Namaz-e-Janaza and maybe it’s just me, but I just can’t stop thinking about what I am going to have for dinner that night whenever I pray. Beef with Chilly dry from Orient? No, will have to have fried rice with that. Broast from Karachi Broast with white chutney? No, sister Safina made a convincing argument about how many calories the two items carry. Guess I’ll leave this one to destiny…or Kings & Queens (yes, I belong to the generation that hasn’t upgraded itself to the Pizza Huts of this world). So I try to divert my mind to something more apt like, why am I here again? Ah yes, the Namaz-e-Janaza… And something catches my attention.

The dude standing next to me owes me money! Since 2003! For a show that I did for him back then! (Austin Power close-ups after every exclamation mark). He has avoided my phone calls for over 6 years, escaped the assassins I had sent for him on more than one occasion…and in true Matrix style, dodged my requesting and then later, threatening letters. Aakhir kaar pakra gaya! You can run but you can’t hide! God works in mysterious ways! Ok, I’m out of quotes now. And then suddenly it hit me. I can’t ask the poor guy for money at a Namaz-e-Janaza. It is just bad ethics. And the farishta on my left shoulder said in a half Italian, half devil accent, “Dude, this dude hasn’t had a pope-like attitude towards you either”. Go for it! Just do it! Do you have it in you? Eye of the Tiger! Girls just wanna have fun! (Umm, scratch the last one). What should your opening line be? Would ‘Wassup’ be super inappropriate? Cut the small talk. This guy is slippery. Before you can complete your salaam, he’ll say “Energize” and disappear into a place where many men have gone before. So I pull out an old trick from my right sleeve. When you’re supposed to look right for salaam at the end of the prayers, pause for a while till he turns his head to his left. Gotcha! You can’t look away from me now can you?

So we finish our prayers and I say to him, “Mera naam Wajahat hai aur aap nay mujhay paisay dainay hein”. The poor guy was in shock! Ok I’m lying he was cool as a cucumber. “Aap Monday…naheen Monday naheen Tuesday ko office ajayain, aap ka kaam ho jayay ga”. My spider senses tell me he has done this before. Guess I’m not the first guy to have hustled him at a Namaz-e-janaza. “Aap kay office ajaoon?” is what I ask him. “Ji, Tuesday ko hum saree payments clear kar rahay hein”. He replies. I smile. He seems genuine. Looks naik also. “I will see you on Tuesday sir”, said me.

I went to his office on Tuesday and the guard asked me, “Kya hai?” almost in a traffic police wala type tone. “Saab nay bulaya hai, gate kholo!” I demand in a sarkari officer type tone. He opens it. Maybe I will get paid today. So I start walking towards his office, the chorus from Staying Alive playing in my mind. I approach his secretary and tell her, “Saab ko bolo Wajahat sb ayain hein”. Hey, I can get used to this. The reply came in almost perfect slow motion. “Sorrreee, siiiirrrr, saaaaaab to Maaaaa-laaaaysiaaaa meinnnnn heinnnnnn”.
This was 6 months ago. I’ve been to 17 namaze-janazaaz since then. Disguised myself as a Maulvi, an army officer, a nun, Mithun Chakarborthy and George W Bush. But no luck so far. This guy is just too good. There is one thing though that I haven’t tried as yet…
Energize!

h1

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!