Guess who’s coming to dinner? And to breakfast and lunch and dinner. For two whole, looong weeks. And afternoon chai, also. The Old Bag, Janoo’s mother, that’s who. Jee haan. Can you imagine? Look at my kismet, vaisay. She’s coming because, after all these rains we’ve had, Sharkpur is in danger of flooding, being close to the Jhelum or the Jenab or the Nile or whatever it is. And Janoo wants to bring her somewhere, where she can be safe and dry.

So, I said to Janoo, haan, haan of course, sur aankhon pay, but when he went upstairs, I immediately called up Mummy, and wailed down the phone and told her what evil luck had befallen me. She, tau, understood immediately, aur itna unhon nay feel kiya naa, because she is my fresh and blood and, honestly, no one is as touchy feely as your own fresh and blood.

And Mummy, being the feely, bloody type that she is, at once pointed out four things that are wrong with Janoo’s plan.

One, it wasn’t me who asked Janoo’s ancestors to build so close to the river, that every time there’s a flood, they get worried. So, why am I being punished for it?

Even as rain brings unexpected water and an undesired guest to Butterfly’s residence, she is worried about something a lot more valuable…

Two, if there’s been climate change since they built their house, then I didn’t cause it. So, again, why am I being punished?

Three, how do we know she’s going to be safe in my kothi in Lahore? I mean, there have been big, big daakas in five houses in our lane only. Who’s to know that there won’t be one in our kothi when she’s visiting? Who’s to know the daakoos won’t come with guns? Who’s to know if her life is going to be speared even? Haan?

And finally, as far as dry is concerned, bhai, it’s not like while it’s raining cats and frogs in Sharkpur, Lahore is the Sahara dessert, okay? It’s also been raining non-stop over here. It’s just that we never complain, never moan.

Vaisay, you should see my back lawn only. It’s begun to look like Tarbela Damn. You could go boating in it. And front lawn is like Indian Ocean. You could sale the Tightanic in it. What if water comes inside the house when she’s visiting? Phir? What if her bedroom on the ground floor gets flooded? Phir? She can’t go in the upstairs wallah guest bedroom because of her ghutnas, naa. But her ghutnas will be the least of her problems if her room becomes Punjab Club ka swimming pool. And God knows if she can swim even. I suppose she could always float to the top like a football. Knowing her, she could survive a nuclear explosion. Her and Israel. While the rest of us are turned into ash, they’d both come out hail and hatty.

Anyways, after talking with Mummy, I felt so much lighter. Even though I can’t stop the The Old Bag coming — Janoo is hell-bend on bringing her — at least I can keep calling Mummy for sympathy. Just then Mulloo called and said, ‘Haw hai, have you read about this maid called Shahnaz in Karachi, who’s been drugging her maaliks and looting them while they slept? Suna hai, she’s made so much money from her choris, that she’s got a grocery store, several flats and a fleet of motorcycles, and on top, two three bank account with millions inside it. She’s been busy, not just in Karachi but she’s been doing in Pindi before also. Dekho zara! If these are not qayamat kay aasar, then I want to know what it is?

Hearing Mulloo’s kahani, my tau blood went cold, honestly. Imagine! This is what is called aasteen ka saanp. But then another thought occurred to me. What if this happens to The Old Bag when she comes to Lahore? Not with my staff, natch, who’ve all been with me for ten thousand years, and they all love me to bids and wouldn’t dream of doing anything so bhianak. But what if The Old Bag’s own servants turn on her when she comes? I mean, being in the big city can turn any country pumpkin’s head, no?

So, immediately, I called Mummy to tell her but she was busy dealing with an emergency. Apparently, she’d just discovered that Farhat, her maid of fifteen years, has been stealing from her all this time. Mummy only found out when her daughter dropped her off in a car twenty yards outside the gate and Mummy was just leaving to visit Aunty Pussy. She not only saw the car but the daughter in it, wearing Mummy’s Versace dark glasses, that Farhat had told her that she must have dropped in the bazaar because she wasn’t wearing them when she came home. Mummy, as you can imagine, was indisposed and couldn’t talk to me.

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 27th, 2025