Life after TV: Diary of an ex (axed) tv show host

Once she was the terror of dating couples in public parks. Now she stalks her own garden.

Dear Diary,

It’s not as terrible as I thought. My mornings aren’t so bad after all. True, the first few days were hard. Those beghairat liberal fascists got me! They pulled a Hosni Mubarak on me: twittering and youtubing and what not against me. I was so mad! And all I could do to vent my rage was to kick my hubby in the rear and pull my maid by her hair. That felt good. Kinda cathartic: like relieving yourself after endless constipation. Since then I feel lighter and relaxed. I’ve taken to gardening. And reading digital versions of Baheshti Zewar and Harold Robbins on my iBad. How else do I fill my mornings?

Dear Diary,

The horror! While tending my gardenias today I saw a couple of ladybugs cavorting in the grass! “Oh no,” I said, “not under my watch you don’t!” My first instinct was to get a camera and ask them if they were properly married and whether their parents knew where they were. But I only had the iBad with me, and, seriously, it’s not the same thing as having a big, nosy camera overlooking your shoulder as you pontificate. So I went ahead and just squished the damn insects. It gave me a very satisfying feeling afterward. Like afterglow, but better.

I wonder though: when ladybugs mate, is it a same-sex relationship? Oh, the horror!

Dear Diary,

In a very low mood. I opened a Facebook page earlier, gathering support for my reinstatement and reminding people of the many good things I did on my show. So far I only have one supporter though, someone called Rana-the-Lawsome, who cheered my idea of banning all couples in Pakistan, or at least in Punjab. That’s great but really, just one guy!? Even Mushy has more followers. I felt so down I went to see my doc who, after trying very hard to avoid me and hide behind his desk and all, finally diagnosed me as having excessive menopause, constipation, moralossis and severe Anchoritis. “Whoa,” I said. “Are those last two even real conditions?” “They are now,” he replied.

Dear Diary,

Guess what? Just after I finished practicing my bhangra routine this morning (it’s great aerobics and good for constipation) I got a call from the nation’s biggest proselytizer. You know, the guy who talks all funny and loves silk couture. Apparently he wants me for a joint TV show. Just to show that Muslim women in Pakistan are equal to men in every way and enjoy equal rights and all that crapola. He said I’d love working with him: he’s really decent and all and he says he never even dated his wife! “So,” I quipped, “you dated other people’s wives?” He went really, really quiet for a while until I said I was just joking and then we both had a nervous laugh. I’m impressed, though. I might take up the offer, even though I’ll have to wear hijab and more makeup than usual, you know, just to match his.

Dear Diary,

My email is choking with anonymous messages saying: you are so OUT-DATED! I seriously don’t get it. I mean, I have the iBad and other modern gizmos, don’t I? Some people just make no sense! Anyway I have to go, do some gardening. I just got a new insecticide! I’m so excited!

Oh, and after that, will go shopping for pins. Come Tuesday, I wanna pop as many red-heart balloons as possible. More catharsis!

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, February 12^th, 2012.