The Diary of a Social Butterfly

by Moni Mohsin

  True to my original brief to address real-life issues, I have attempted to confront the concerns that govern the daily life of a character such as the Butterfly. Hence her preoccupation with in-laws, kala jadoo, mannats and money; holidays abroad, shopping, designerwear and money; domestic staff, BMWs, botox and money; society weddings, charity balls, scandals and money; property, Bollywood, divorce and money. I have also tried to include in this column the bigger events of our times that have reverberated even in the life of one as coddled as the Butterfly. So 9/11, the invasion of Iraq, the Kashmir earthquake, the tsunami, Lal Masjid and Benazir’s assassination, as they have impacted the Butterfly, have all been recorded in this diary. Moreover, the larger sociopolitical trends of recent years have also, I hope, been adequately reflected in the Butterfly’s life: the face-off between civil society and the army, the rise of consumerism, the increasing cultural alienation of the rich, the gradual breakdown of law and order, the media revolution, women’s growing presence in the workplace, the tension between landed gentry and new money, and the multifarious pleasures and pains of globalisation. So without ever intending to be, The Diary of a Social Butterfly has become a record—compiled admittedly by a rather cross-eyed observer—of some of Pakistan’s most turbulent years.

  That is not to say that I have ever approached it as a sociological treatise. With a protagonist as frivolous as the Butterfly, there was only so much seriousness that this column could reasonably accommodate. For me it has been, and continues to be, great fun to write. More than thinking up themes or creating situations and introducing characters, I have enjoyed inventing the language that has become the Butterfly’s sine qua non. And in this effort Lahoris of my acquaintance have—often unknowingly—helped hugely. On my own, I would never have been able to think up priceless phrases like ‘three-tiara cake’, ‘paindu pastry’, ‘do number ka maal’ and, my personal favourite, ‘what cheeks!’ Nor would I have had the imagination to ‘slip into a comma’, to meet ‘business typhoons and textile magnets’ or ‘get knocked up by a truck’. And I certainly would not have ‘laughed till I became historical’. For this unintended largesse I thank my Pakistani friends, relatives and acquaintances.

  I owe another enormous thank you to my sister, Jugnu Mohsin, who, for the last twelve years that I have been living in London, cut off for the main part from the comings and goings of Lahori society, has fed me the priceless gems and nuggets that have allowed this column to continue. Without her encouragement and input, it would have died long since. To my original editor, Najam Sethi, my deep gratitude for giving me the space and indulgence to begin this diary on the pages of his esteemed newspaper. Were it not for his persistent haranguing, it would never have been compiled into a book either. My thanks also to Chiki Sarkar, my effervescent editor, who helped me realise the full potential of the Butterfly. And for you, my readers, my heartfelt appreciation for keeping faith with the Butterfly. Which brings me to my final disclosure and the second most-asked question about this column: why does Janoo not ditch her? The answer, in all honesty, is: I don’t know. Maybe, one day, he will.

  Moni Mohsin

  London, July 2008

  Moni Mohsin is the author of Tender Hooks and The End of Innocence. She writes a popular column called ‘The Diary of a Social Butterfly’ for Pakistan’s Friday Times, selections of which make up this, her second book. She grew up in Lahore and now divides her time between Lahore and London, where she lives with her husband and two children.