smokerings

so i've been told i stopped blogging. acheeeain. you mean people still check? i am sorry. nothing more disappointing than a un-updated blog [hint hint, UA Tribe].

i am in karachi. this much is known. i went swimming today. there were some fat balding CEOs, a retired millionaire, five screaming kids, two ants and bits of grass in the pool. after blowing everyone away with my spectacular freestyle and less-than-spectacular stamina for two laps, i realise that swimming is actually bloody hard. and bloody exhausting.
i stood at the shallow end, stooping slightly, scoping the scene, looking cool, nonchalantly gasping for breath. zia-ul-haq in goggles drifted in from the deep end, two lanes to the left. two CEO's bitched out a third (not present). you know that one? kal hi i saw him. he came in a Corolla. the new one. acha? haan, haan. must be doing well. god knows, yaar. where these people get their money from.

bhaiyya, you're supposed to go on the higher one! the boy looked 14, until i noticed the bulging arms and abs. 17, perhaps. he bounced up and down on the lower diving board, bouncing like one of those olympic medalists. he grinned, skipped in front, pinched his nose and jumped in, bum first.
make that 16.
the retired pensioner came down the right lane, pah, pah, like a small, very slow motor boat. pink goggles sat at the bottom of the pool. a small fish-like child in a bright blue two-piece stared at them through goggled eyes. the boy swam around and dove inside. resurfacing, he snapped the pink rubber around his own head. bhaiyya, you're a girl.

i pushed myself for five laps, trying to concentrate on the way skin looks when it glistens in the sunlight to distract myself from the burn in my muscles.

it's hot today. tapish. i feel myself going darker. feels nice. for those of you who remember the paper that was presented at the SS conference right after our student panel... the one on the politics of beauty in SAsia.. there was something on the way the darker one is always the wayward one (fitnaa).. none of this white purity chastity bullcrap. i hate being mistaken for a gora in my own damn country. offices, cool white tiles, protective concrete, none of the sun-heat-unskilled labour stuff for us. might as well be gora.

its not Chicago Manual Style. its Chicago Manual of Style, like Vogue or Cosmopolitan. get the latest copy today.