a very pakistani christmas

Yes that is me with a Christmas tree fashioned out of a chapatti. What spurred me into creating such a great work of art I hear you cry? This year Christmas has taken somewhat of an inexplicable turn, everything is suddenly quite...Pakistani. And more so than usual because, well you know I'm British Pakistani. As a result the influx of relatives has expanded beyond just any Pakistani in the Greater Manchester area to incorporate relatives from the continent. Ten lovely people from Denmark descended on our doorstep to be fed and watered because nothing says Christmas Eve like people you've never met before. I proceeded to hide my valuables.

What?

By the time Christmas day arrived I was awoken by the sound of Asian Sound radio and my Mum's cooking. The big day was finally here. Zainab was going to escape Yousef. Weeks, nay months in the making. After shouting at the TV in disbelief as super villain Dr Khan appeared inexplicably and foiled every single escape route known to man with a softly uttered syllable. Today is the day Zainab and I will be vindicated...Hopefully.

Alas the serial arsonist is still stalking the square and the Masoods aren't in the clear yet. Nevertheless it's an exciting day when a Pakistani family take centre stage on the biggest soap day of the year. Yes it's a plot about a woman stalked by her deranged first husband who also happens to be a doctor with lashings of "family shame" for good measure. But nevertheless it's a good thing...right?

The Masoods weren't the only Pakistanis setting Twitter alight. One Direction fans ran to the defence of Zayn Malik after he received some abuse on the social networking site. And more importantly if you're not a teenage girl former Pakistani cricketer Imran Khan is gaining momentum as a comeback politician and hundreds of thousands people came to hear him speak in Karachi on Christmas Day. Hopefully the start of something incredibly exciting for Pakistan. See I told you; a very Pakistani Christmas.

Before I go I can't talk about the Masoods and not mention my passing resemblance to Tamwar. I've been heckled in the streets and tormented by my friends and like the girl who was in the paper the other day for spending thousands to stop herself looking like Natalie Cassidy I've often pondered about taking similar drastic measures. But seeing as it's Christmas. I'll attach an old family snap. So here it is...Christmas Mubarak.

theguyinthebowtie

to blog or not to blog

Ah to blog or not to blog. See I've lost you already. Launching a blog at the end of 2011 is like shutting the virtual gate on thousands of cyber horses. It's been done. And done well. But I'm not a Johnny Come lately for every (INSERT FAMOUS BLOGGER NAME HERE) there are thousands of people just like me. Who have tried and failed to blog continuously never mind successfully. I've launched so many blogs now I've lost count. I start each one in the same way a child starts a new notebook at school; best handwriting and immaculate spelling but by the fourth page in (or in this case blog) I begin to get sloppy. Don't blame me; blame TV, my parents, the education system or Tony Blair.

I had a fashion blog, a lifestyle blog and even a blog when I promised to live by the rules Baz Lurhman told me to in Sunscreen. All in an attempt to be appear somewhat relatable. All of them a mere footnote (if that) in Cyber history. Now I've decided to start again. My notebook is on a new page and I once again posses childish optimism. I won't make any mistakes.

See, I've already learnt from them. To blog is one thing. But to blog well, you have to put your heart on your sleeve. Unable to relate to what humans call emotion for many years I've never wrote a blog...well. So here I am. (I was going to say warts and all but didn't want to conjure any strange images on my first blog. in the interest of wearing my heart on my sleeve. I've left it in). Guys don't do it. They don't talk about their feelings. I'm not a manly man either no. Sinnita isn't singing any songs about me. See what I mean. Instead we bottle all that up. All that nonsense. Feelings. Emotions. Leave that aat. But now my heart firmly stitched onto my sleeve I plan on writing about stuff that matters. Cuz that's the point right?

So here I am and after a series of poor metaphors. I'll end with another; this is the first page of a brand new book. I must try harder.


theguyinthebowtie