by Sheheryar Badar Sheikh
“A priest, a rabbi and a mullah enter a bar,” begins Nazim. We’ve heard this one before, but that doesn’t stop Ghaus from laughing and saying, “Bhanchod Nazim, let me sleep.” We are at the Hangu bus station, sprawled in the early morning fog on the platform with our heads on our bags. I’m hungry. I always feel hungry, even when I’ve just finished eating.
Nazim doesn’t finish the joke. He doesn’t need to. Sameer’s hyena laughter begins and I choke on my spittled grin, laughing even though I don’t want to. I keep my eyes closed through the laughter, hoping sleep will come back.
Between the four of us, we have enough money for meals, a cheap hotel stay for a couple of nights and the bus back to Peshawar. We left at midnight on Nowroz eve to have the entire day in Hangu. The few passengers that got off with us in Hangu disappeared into the night and the bus went on west. We put our bags in a row on the open platform, and slept through the call for prayers and the sunrise.
Nazim gets up and starts playing soccer with our feet. He taps a foot lightly with his own, which by itself is neither annoying nor funny. But Nazim does his running commentary thing. “Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who have just joined us, welcome to the last minutes of the FIFA World Cup final between Pakistan and Italy. Neither team has scored as yet. Pakistan’s Kalimullah has the ball and he doesn’t want to pass it forward to the open Salimullah. What’s this? Salimullah approaches Kalimullah. Salimullah politely requests Kalimullah to pass up the ball.” Nazim does this in his deadpan documentary-narrating James Earl Jones voice. I’m apparently Salimullah, because he taps my left shoe whenever he says the name. “Kalimullah replies that Salimullah needs a written application from the coach in order to receive the ball. So Salimullah goes to the sidelines to get the application, but what’s this? Oh no! Salimulla is calling out to the waiter, ladies and gentlemen! He orders a jumboburger with fries! Meanwhile, Hasibullah makes a run for the wrong goal because he sees his girlfriend on that side of the crowd.”
“Bhanchod!” It’s me and Ghaus both, pissed and amused. It’s usual for me to be picked on because of my size. But Ghaus isn’t easy to annoy. He’s got a dark, intense look and he’s easily the best looking among us four, possibly the most handsome guy in Peshawar Model High School (Boys branch). The problem is, Ghaus knows he’s good-looking.
We’re in Hangu for Ghaus to see his girlfriend, Shumaila. We’ve told our parents we’re on a school trip. That’s why we all have money. Lying comes easy when you don’t get to do any living unless you lie. Ghaus is the tall and dark one. Nazim and Sameer are both fair, taller than me, and pencil thin. I compensate for colour, height and weight in our group by being wheatish, short and pudgy. This is probably the last holiday we’ll get to spend together unless all of us make it to the computer engineering program at the Ghulam Ishaq Khan Institute of Technology.
Ghaus is the only one among us friends who has a girlfriend. So when Ghaus says “Bhanchod!” to Nazim’s joke at the bus station, he’s in a spot. With Shumaila, he can be king and all, but with us, for these few hours before his date, he is the sacrificial goat. It’s nearly too easy. Nazim’s the lead roaster. Sameer with his cacophonous laughter is the fire and I, as the alternative victim, am buffer for more jokes, like garnishing. Our school’s off for Nowroz, and the Pakistan Day follows after Sunday, so we have a total of three days off. If Ghaus’s date goes well, we might hitch up for a night or two at a hostel.
Sheheryar Badar Sheikh has an MFA from the University of Notre Dame. His work is forthcoming in or has appeared in Black Warrior Review, The New Orphic Review, 5_Trope and The Potomac. He is also staff critic for NewPages.com and Pakistan’s features heaven, The Friday Times. Sheheryar lives in New York.