Speaking doctors

Saturday passes away with cooking. Spaghetti qeema and salad with loads of greenery.  My younger brother has three servings and I can see spaghetti coming from his ears. A touch of imagination. ہمسفر نہ رہآ ہمسفر We have the PTCL smart three in one. But it’s a three or none. It decides to turn on and off on its own. So over my long weekend there is no internet wifi connection , TV and landline phone. We are left with the slow cellphone wifi. We chat and chat among ourselves till our mouths hurt and our heads ache. And it was the last episode of ‘Humsafar ’ yesterday. I can predict the ending. Fareeda khala will turn mad, the threesome will live happily ever after and Sara will die. “Woh  PTCL tha magar us kee service na thee, Kay dhoop chaon ka alam tha…”   The Misbah touch Our nation has a virtue. They continue to poke and provoke anyone with patience and then the one with patience eventually decides to erupt.Here comes the volcano. Its high time the nation accept individuality

Nineteen days of the month done with. The city holds a jalsa on women empowerment and women dance away to show how powerful they are. After a glorious test comes the exam and our team tumbles. The way our wickets topple down is amazing. The way they make runs is just that amazing.Fours, sixes. Every big hit bores my brothers no end. And then the heated discussion that this is not the one day team that we should play with. On my way to private wing while in the lift, a lady starts talking to me. “You work here don’t you?”, she asks. I nod and smile back. “I hope you could notify something to your administration”, she goes on. I wrinkle my eyebrows in question. “ The café’ its too far away. They should build a café near the private wing”, she concluded. I gave her a long explanation about how we have clean food despite the fact that the café’ is far. She did not agree. One of those who just want to be heard, I ponder shrugging my shoulders and walk away.

Its one of those blessed days called ‘long weekend’. Friday was a little tough or maybe just that, tough. But then it was tough for the whole of Pakistan I guess. Our cricket team stumbled at a score of ninety nine. That upset our Pakistani men no end. “Our team always does that”, they say. “But then just the other day our team caused the opposing team to be all out at seventy and remember how excited  we were! ”, I oppose. Of course they don’t like my views. Little do I care. Coming back to my tough day and  as I  think back  it seems that it was rather fun. I told that to Sumaira (our year two) and she didn’t agree. Having smooth rounds always is no fun. There should be some speed breakers. The Baba solution On coming back home I try to find some solution to improve. “Instead of just doing a fellowship in oncology, I feel that I am running some administrative job”, I discuss with my father. “Administration is fun!”, my father smiles away. “But it’s a little tough being in the midd