Sunday — 14 Rabi ul Awwal 1426 — 04 Vaisakh 1927 — 24 April 2005
Ahhhhhh, the darling buds of April. Rather the memories of the darling buds of March. Karachi weathers early. You have spring in mid March and summer in April. And then for the last two weeks you have horridly hot days. And to top all this off the humidity makes it very very sweaty.
I, of course do not complain. Except for the fact that when I give my dripping wet shirt to the drycleaner and tell him that it is 100% cotton and he is not, I repeat not, I repeat not in the name of his lord, I repeat not in the name of all that is holy and pure, I repeat not in the name of all that is beautiful and lovely from the smile on a babys cheek to the bottom of a newly cleaned baby to starch the shirt. He does it all the same and when I tell him I told him not to do this, he merely smiles at me and moves on.
What am I to do dear lord. What am I to do when my white cotton shirt has been starched so much that when I walk into my office in the morning I can hear it rustling away in such loud a manner that I can hear the sound echo off the walls of the building opposite to ours at a distance of about fifty meters.
What am I to do!
I will leave you now and drink some more Pakola! Take care of yourselved gentlemen and beautiful dames!