Free Duty Free by Moni Mohsin Page B

I live or die but at least think of Kulchoo. And he said in three years Kulchoo would be going to university abroad and after that he could choosefor himself whether he wanted to stay there or return home. And if things became too unsafe before then he would send Kulchoo to boarding school in England.
    And I said what if things became too unsafe for me here? After all, bombs are bursting every day. People are dying, or being robbed by bugglers in their own houses and being shot and beaten also and only the other day I heard that someone who Nina knows had her arms slashed with a naked blade in Liberty Market by a beardo. He said he did it because she was wearing sleeveless.
    “If you are worried about lawlessness in Lahore you can always come with me to Sharkpur,” he said.
    Sharkpur! His bore village, where all you can hear is the mooing of cows and the barking of his mother, the Old Bag, and the snorting of his sisters, the Gruesome Twosome. Where no one uses olive oil and everyone is so illitred that they haven’t even heard of Prada or Versace. Where all you see is bore grass and even more bore fields and male sheeps misbehaving with female sheeps in front of everyone. And all you can do is sit there and pretend you haven’t noticed the shameless sheep. Where there’s no boutique, no spa, no hairdresser, no nice jeweller even. Honestly, I don’t know how people survive there. No, not even my dead body would be happy there.
    “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said to Janoo. If I have to choose between dying of boredom or being blown up by a suicide bomber, I’ll take the bomb. At least it’s quicker.
    Even bloody Jameela is living it up in Abu Dhabi while I die in bloody Lahore.
    We had dinner at home. Just me and Janoo and Kulchoo. You know
na
that once the wedding and party season starts properly, we’ll be out every single night for whole two months. Dinners, balls, musical evenings, parties, weddings,
milaads
, the whole deal. So it’s good to have one night in. Also servants don’t get too spoilt that way. Otherwise, every night the minute we leave, they sneak off back to their quarters. Lazy lumps.
    Haan
, so as soon as Kulchoo came home from his tuition master’s at nine o’clock, I picked up the inner-com and told the bearer to bring the food on a trolley to my bedroom because my fave TV serial was on and in the dining room we have no TV. As yet.
    Kulchoo flopped down on the sofa and sighed loudly.
    I looked up from my TV serial and said, “Are you okay, baby?”
    “Yeah,” he said, making a face. I don’t think so he likes me calling him baby. “I’m just tired.”
    “No tell, na, have you got headache? Tummy ache? Mosquito bites? Fever?” I pressed my hand on his forehead. It seemed hottish to me. I swear if anything happens to my baby I’m going to go and pull each and every one of Aunty Pussy’s backcombed hairs from her head with my own hands.
    “Chill, Mum,” said Kulchoo pulling away. “I’m okay. I told you, I’m okay.”
    Janoo put down his papers and told me not to fuss. I ignored.
    “Then what’s the matter?” I asked. “Anyone said something to you? Tell me, and I’ll go and see them and tell them what’s what.”
    “Don’t give me grief. I’m just tired. Okay? I’ve just had four hours of tuitions.”
    Poor thing, na, every day after school he goes to four different tuition masters’ homes and has tuitions in four different subjects. Maths, Chemistry, Econmics, and Civics. Or is it Physics? My heart breaks but what to do? Everyone goes. Apparently it’s the only way of getting As and place in a college with a good name in America. Places like Yales and Princedom and Havard. Janoo’s always been against tuitions. He says it makes you dependent. And that Kulchoo’s bright enough to do well on his own. All he needs to do is focus. As if our son was a microscope or something. But if we don’t send Kulchoo everyone will say we are too mean to spend on our son even. And