Sarzameena, the festering, bloated, infected existence!

burka

Toxic, yes Sarzameena’s existence was toxic; festering, bloated and oozing puss. The moral bridges hiding in her bosom told her about the length of her shalwars, the colour of her abayas and the God she could worship. No questions were ever raised because “buri baat hai”
How do you tell someone that they are dying? I decided to sit down and have a conversation with my beloved Sarzameena.
I was sitting in my living room when “Sarzameena” barged in; no chador on her head. I guessed she must have forgotten it at Chaienia’s place. She would often spend nights there with him. Their illicit relationship was talk of the town but nothing stopped her from shamelessly confessing her love for him. He was just another male chauvinist; sexist, objectified women, went to karaoke bars and worshipped some Khuda called “Mau Zaza Dingdong”. He was your typical kafir, atheist ,agnostic, drunkard “Kanjar”.
I told sarzameena that I’ve got some news. Sensing the worst, she tried ignoring me, but I held her by the arm and made her sit down right in front of me. She was very opinionated and strong willed. I would watch her telling her younger sister “Afjanie” what to do. She bossed her ruthlessly and would laugh mercilessly at her polio stricken limbs. Afjanie took it like a very mature girl and would happily clean up after Sarzameena would soil the carpets with her regular bouts of diarrhoea. Eventually she got sick and tired of her sister’s sleazy antics as Sarzameena would often invite Chaineia over and he’d soak her rag-dolls in a warm shower of piss and cheap Chaynese alcohol.
I told Sarzameena that I’d require her full attention for the next hour or so. A tear drop rolled down her cheek; clenching her fists, she tried holding them back. I told her to let them flow. I could clearly see shame in those jaundiced eyes. She was eager to get out of this whole situation but I held her arm tight and firm. I was sure not to let her escape. She tried hard not to let me steer the conversation. but I was blunt and to the point with my sentences. I told her there is nothing more revolting  and horrible than having to witness a loved one take that final choking gasp before they finally pass away. I told her not to expect any deathbed visitations. She won’t be having any excited or animated conversations with her dead peers or the founding fathers. Death is never pleasant but her existence was diseased. Her final moments will be full of rattling, gurgling, moaning and rasping. She was vile and evil to people who looked up to her. She aborted her friend “Shieismi’s baby by hitting her in the pelvis. She even strangled her own half sister Kidyenki with “Sippie’s (her best friend) dupatta.
I told her that her brain would try seeking out those last bursts of oxygen. Her breathing would get deeper and faster, but it will also get shallower until it stops altogether. It will be this very moment that she will cease to exist.
She won’t be able to parade her vulgarity and bring a bad name to us respectable citizens of this Islamic country. ShukerAllah!
She ran out of the room, screaming, wailing, crying, never to return. Her last words were “Allah, buri baat hai”.
Picture credits : https://woodturtle.wordpress.com/tag/niqab/
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~ by zainrezashah on January 9, 2017.

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