The mogra and rose bushes are in full bloom. The love birds are enjoying their new cage which, according to Foofy, has all the characteristics of a jungle gym.
Some adolescents tried following me home and we ended up racing cars all the way to Cantt station. Spring fever, I suppose.
I’m three weeks away to completing my project and moving on with my life, even though I have no idea what I’m moving on to.
I finished “A Case of Exploding Mangoes” and I can tell now why it was so well received abroad: it mocked one of the most disliked rulers in the country’s history; its humour was local but much of its presentation was not; its hero had more of Top Gun’s maverick in him than a Chitrali Sher Khan; it professed an unabashed homosexual relationship within the strictly regimented, conservative space of the military establishment of a country which is constitutionally Islamic. Sure, it had all the ingredients to make it a winner.
