A Woman Scorned...

Post Imran Khan, while Jemima gets to frolic with Hugh Grant on the beaches of France, Imran’s search for a prospective second begum must be on hold. He must be busy trying to cool flaying tempers in his backyard; or struggling to cover his face; or doing some explaining to his sons in case they are in touch. Or he might be left angry, furious and in a rage. Or he might have shrugged off the whole issue like some dirt on his crisp, if not spotless, shalwar kameez.

We don’t know. But what we do know is that all over the world men are enjoying a cheap thrill, free of cost, and drooling over her long legs; women are turning green over her flat tummy; and local newspapers are circling, for dramatic effect, Hugh boy’s knickers playing truant and getting restless to come undone.

When I tossed the page showing the pictures on hubby’s table, he dismissed it with a, ‘Needs to put on some weight.’

Arrghhhhh!

Even he doesn’t seem to see beyond the body. How typical!

And thus I too am left angry, furious and in a rage.

Why?

Is it any of my business if Jemima wishes to come unwrapped?

No.

Then why am I fuming?

I honestly don’t know for I cannot figure out exactly what it is that is making my blood boil.

As Mrs. Imran Khan, Jemima had an air of respectability around her, whether or not she covered her hair or wore full-length clothes. Somehow, there was a certain innocence reflected on her face, a certain poise and dignified demeanor. As Hugh boy’s girl friend and playmate, she is looking like a witch, as one colleague put it. I agree.

Even though her decision to become Begum Imran Khan was taken with her heart and not brain, I admired her for leaving her shores and willingly adapting a new life style.
When articles splashed bits and news about how Imran’s house didn’t even have a washing machine I blamed the media for playing villain.

Even a nai and a kasai must be having one in Pakistan. To say Imran didn’t seemed like a sick joke.

But really, did it matter whether or not there was a washing machine in the Khan household?

What if it did? Could you then imagine Jemima doing her lingerie and Imran’s socks?
And what if it didn’t? Maybe they sent their clothes to a laundry.

Big deal, huh?

Give her a break, if not your imagination, I said.

Then came the boys.

Thereafter, the Sita White debacle followed by her untimely and sudden death with the Khan finally owning up Tyrian.

They can now finally live happily ever after I thought and woke up to read about their split.

What went wrong?

Where and why?

Reams and reams have been written about the reasons so far but my two cents’ worth goes thus:

Jemima is pretty, young and rich. She is in full bloom and having borne two sons doesn’t have to worry about her biological clock ticking away either, except enjoy her youth.

Imran, on the other hand, has sadly moved away. He is no longer the dashing, sportsman she married. And he is certainly not getting any younger by the day. Besides, he is a full time politician now. If only he could prove his dynamism in his new chosen field, perhaps Jemima could have been entrapped.

But she chose to unwrap, instead.

Post Imran Khan, while Jemima gets to frolic with Hugh Grant on the beaches of France, Imran’s search for a prospective second begum must be on hold. He must be busy trying to cool flaying tempers in his backyard; or struggling to cover his face; or doing some explaining to his sons in case they are in touch. Or he might be left angry, furious and in a rage. Or he might have shrugged off the whole issue like some dirt on his crisp, if not spotless, shalwar kameez.

We don’t know. But what we do know is that all over the world men are enjoying a cheap thrill, free of cost, and drooling over her long legs; women are turning green over her flat tummy; and local newspapers are circling, for dramatic effect, Hugh boy’s knickers playing truant and getting restless to come undone.

When I tossed the page showing the pictures on hubby’s table, he dismissed it with a, ‘Needs to put on some weight.’

Arrghhhhh!

Even he doesn’t seem to see beyond the body. How typical!

And thus I too am left angry, furious and in a rage.

Why?

Is it any of my business if Jemima wishes to come unwrapped?

No.

Then why am I fuming?

I honestly don’t know for I cannot figure out exactly what it is that is making my blood boil.

As Mrs. Imran Khan, Jemima had an air of respectability around her, whether or not she covered her hair or wore full-length clothes. Somehow, there was a certain innocence reflected on her face, a certain poise and dignified demeanor. As Hugh boy’s girl friend and playmate, she is looking like a witch, as one colleague put it. I agree.

Even though her decision to become Begum Imran Khan was taken with her heart and not brain, I admired her for leaving her shores and willingly adapting a new life style.

When articles splashed bits and news about how Imran’s house didn’t even have a washing machine I blamed the media for playing villain.

Even a nai and a kasai must be having one in Pakistan. To say Imran didn’t seemed like a sick joke.

But really, did it matter whether or not there was a washing machine in the Khan household?

What if it did? Could you then imagine Jemima doing her lingerie and Imran’s socks?
And what if it didn’t? Maybe they sent their clothes to a laundry.

Big deal, huh?

Give her a break, if not your imagination, I said.

Then came the boys.

Thereafter, the Sita White debacle followed by her untimely and sudden death with the Khan finally owning up Tyrian.

They can now finally live happily ever after I thought and woke up to read about their split.

What went wrong?

Where and why?

Reams and reams have been written about the reasons so far but my two cents’ worth goes thus:

Jemima is pretty, young and rich. She is in full bloom and having borne two sons doesn’t have to worry about her biological clock ticking away either, except enjoy her youth.
Imran, on the other hand, has sadly moved away. He is no longer the dashing, sportsman she married. And he is certainly not getting any younger by the day. Besides, he is a full time politician now. If only he could prove his dynamism in his new chosen field, perhaps Jemima could have been entrapped.

But she chose to unwrap, instead.

This could be an act of defiance. Perhaps she couldn’t forgive Imran even though she so magnanimously accepted Tyrian. Perhaps she is revolted by the holier-than-thou attitude of us desis, the double standards we harbor and our failure to practice what we preach.

And what is it with the British women to let go of themselves once they file for divorce?

Remember Sara Ferguson? She went topless with just an apology of an undergarment after calling it quits with Prince Andrews. Princess Diana showed up in a bikini or two on some European beach following her estrangement from Prince Charles.

I understand the current mantra is to flaunt it if you have it. But goris have been flaunting it for ages whether they had it or not. They just can’t live without flaunting it, is it? As Mrs. K, Jemima could have never done that, frolic with him openly on the beach, that is. So, was she itching to do it? Or as I said before, is it just an act of defiance? Her way of taking revenge and getting equal. For after all, hell knows no fury like a woman scorned.