If you want to lose weight, fall in laive, Sheru wrote almost a decade-and-a-half ago.
All of it was true, save a few stray facts to spice up the salad, a tradition Sheru is committed to uphold.
This particular buchi, very pyaari if a little bahut saari, fell in laive, but balma proved extremely beydardi. He did not give her the time and attention she craved.
The buchi yearned and yearned, and lost weight, much to her parents’ delight, and to the torment of a host of admirers springing up almost overnight at Metamorphosis.
Not surprisingly, the beau who had scorned her thence had as much chance as a moth drawn to a flame.
But no such luck for another member of the suffering sorority. Parents rejected Prince Charming.
Distraught, the buchi slashed her wrists. No fun living without someone you call zindagi, you see.
Terrified by the blood gushing out of her arms, her parents picked her up in theirs, and rushed to hospital, their prayers punctuated with thoughts of rishtadaran kiah wanav.
What relative spin to put on the story, in today’s language.
Doctors worked on her blood vessels, and saved her life.
And Daddy-Mummy accepted her Prince Charming.
When Sheru visited for congratulations, the buchi mistook the mubarrak for her daring act.
For, Sheru has this reputation of seeing through all art and craft.
But Sheru solemnly affirms that his felicitation was innocent of any such implication.
Anyway, the buchi winked
“You know,” she said. “I had made only a superficial cut on my arm. It was not dangerous, and it worked.”
She must have been a rare one. Because suicide, whether in acts or in resolutions, does not always pass the floor test.
As in the case of the buchi who had a boyfriend, and Mummy-Daddy had other thoughts – a groom of their choice, whom they engaged her to.
Like a true Bollywood heroine, the buchi rushed to her beau, and gave him the disturbing news.
He was furious.
This was an unforeseen development, but the buchi adapted admiringly:
“Do something, or ba khemaiy zahar,”
“martch wangan tagnay na khen, zahar kath khekh,” he jeered, and walked away.
He was right.
Back home, the buchi had a hearty meal, and was married exactly two months later – jo maan-baap ki pasand, woh meri pasand kind of thing.
As usually happens in such cases, the nakaam aashiq came to Sheru for solace.
Sheru’s shoulders are for all to cry on – waqf ba naam-e-majroohaan-e-mohabbat.
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