Tag Archives: aunties

These Boots Are Made For Walking

Dada Giri (slang): bullying; pushing somebody around because you think you can; walking all over somebody.

Suffering from an acute sense of confusion and general embarrassment (the whole world is laughing and pointing fingers), I figured now is a good time to think about bullying. I googled dada giri and got some interesting results:

Well “dada” means elder brother and “Dadagiri” means exercising your rights as an elder brother but with a wrong sense. You force your juniors to listen to you and make them do whatever you feel like even if its wrong. And if they dont obey you, you simply punish them badly…!!

Emphasis on the exclamations! It sounds like the NCA (oh no, I’ve said it!) and most of the world, even.

Hit, beat, cheat or make pains to people; for money and other forms of profit. Demonstrate a power against a mass and loot them or produce a strong feeling of unsafe environment.

Uhm, yes. That sounds like the whole world.

I was bullied a lot (and still am to some extent since it seems to be the way of the world) and it’s not exactly fun. Being pushed around cannot be fun. It’s just in bad taste. A friend told me I was being a push-over when it came to somebody I care(d) about. And my brain tells me she is right. I don’t think I’m generally a doormat but in some situations I can be. Old habits die hard.

Somebody I care(d) about just ran away and has been denying communication. Everything in my stupid head tells me that reeks of abuse. I have a good heart (unreasonable, too, it seems) and I have forgiven such acts in the past. However, this time, it’s gone too far. I used to think I could forgive anything but I guess I was wrong. People can be abusive in so many ways. I have thought about this for the past 4 days. In silence.

I have always believed in common courtesy and I foolishly assumed that other people had similar inclinations. I have been proved wrong on various occasions but I never gave up on what I thought was goodness. Here, I confused myself. I have often confused myself with the noises that other people make in their heads. Being empathetic, I feel their pain and own it. Then I open the door to the blame-game which is form of bullying (usually I get bullied into some form of submission). This makes me wonder if I have masochistic tendencies. All of that aside, I forgive and forgive. But now I’m finding it harder to forget. Bullying is abusive. It is complete disregard of another person’s existence as a separate being with rights of their own.

I have also realized that such abuse stems from mental imbalance. But do I have to put up with it? Do I have to even be a part of it? My permissiveness just makes me party to it. I become the aggressor by allowing aggression. I’ve seen this happening to a lot of people. Are we naive and trusting or just plain stupid? Is it the Pakistani upbringing? Is it lack of self-esteem? So many questions arise but the truth remains the same: my friend ran out on me.

It hurts but it also makes me wonder why I am around such a person. A person who blames me for every failure of his own. A person who cannot come to terms with his own mistakes. A person who never apologizes or admits his mistakes. Being compassionate and eager to help/please makes me a prime target for such people. Their overestimation of themselves is justified. Their delusions are justified. And they have a convenient person to blame.

If I step back and look at it, I feel like a fool (emotional reaction) but I also see the need to back off (sensible reaction). This dichotomy is where the confusion begins. We are slaves to our minds and our hearts. When they say two different and opposing things, confusion is only natural. I’m not trying to justify my confusion. I’m just stating things as I see them right now.

People who commit such unforgivable acts of inconsideration have to be either completely selfish or completely stupid. They are bullies and I think they need counseling. But is that my problem? Am I out to save the whole world? That would be so ridiculous that it wouldn’t even be funny.

On a brighter note, I saw something absurd yesterday:

Aunties outside Masoom's Cafe. Coffee?

I think this one was looking for a nice spot to have a cigarette.

Sometimes, you get to see the strangest things in Islamabad that really change your perspective on life. Such things also have the power to make the pain of living easier to endure.

Another One Bites the Dust

I’ve been thinking about my progressive loss of innocence. This is a continuing process. Understanding it requires some thought and practice. It gives birth to cynicism and pessimism, the almost identical sisters that run along, hand in hand, spreading poison.

But enough of that whining and bitching. In the end, I’m just pissed off that the world didn’t turn out the way I expected. So now, the ranting can begin:

The art-world in Pakistan bites me in the ass every now and then. It can’t even be called the art-world really. It’s probably just an art-meteor – the kind that burns when it hits the atmosphere and some random debris might just plonk down in somebody’s backyard – or some gallery, in other words. You see a shooting star when it burns, and make a wish, which never comes true. So, it’s pretty lame. It involves a bunch of suits and aunties in galleries oohing and aahing and stuffing their faces with oily samosas. Yes, that’s a pretty good definition of the Pakistani art-world/meteor. Shiny but no cigar. And oily samosas (ofcourse).

A recent event disappointed me more than usual. It was an epic fail. An International Artist residency came to its drab conclusion and left quite a few of us fiesty types in the doldrums. I’m quite sure the intentions of the various organizers were honorable – though I’m sure they couldn’t have predicted the outcome: a complete “shartfest” as I’d like to call it.

Shart: (According the Urban Dictionary) 1. a small, unintended defecation that occurs when one relaxes the anal sphincter to fart (blend of “shit” and “fart”) and 2. gas followed by mass.

Now, I’ve had some minimal experience with International Artist Residencies before, but the outcome was mostly interesting and sometimes mindblowing. Or maybe not. My mind just refuses to blow. It is firmly held together with cynical armor. This particular event was the result of five weeks of – well, I don’t know what, really.

I had a bad feeling about it from the beginning. A friend and I were asked to be on board as working members. Ofcourse, I was interested. I’m always interested. We were also led to believe that we’d be on the selection panel for the applicants to this residency. However, the “selection” was a complete sham. We were shown the work of the already selected artists and then the rest of the “rabble” who were rejected for vague reasons. We selected some of our own anyway but nothing really became of that. I suppose there were valid reasons. Besides, not having had the experience in such things, our selections were probably not considered. Again, I’m sure that the organizers had good intentions. Or not enough time. Or something.

Being reasonable adults, we welcomed them to the best of our combined abilities. But I have a job so I couldn’t really spend much time with the artists. Neither could my friend (who is also my colleague). We had nice conversations. We laughed. We went for dinner. The usual. I even arranged some volunteers to help them and take them around. These volunteers were young people who had graduated in the last two years. I figured it would be a good experience for them. Everything was making sense. Or so I thought.

A few days ago, the students (mine included) visited this residency space to look at the artists at work and to speak to them about it. This was a disappointing experience as one artist – a young woman from Pakistan – was extremely rude during her “talk” – she began by yelling “shut up everyone” even though nobody was talking. Being reasonable adults (and horrified and insulted adults), we didn’t walk out and sat through an excruciatingly boring presentation of her excruciatingly trite and boring work. Some students questioned her which led to a very heated argument (which kept us awake) but she ended up talking rubbish. We heard that later she went somewhere to hide and cry. We weren’t too concerned, however. She insulted us all throughout her “talk” and didn’t answer most of our questions with anything that made any sense. We realized that an artist cannot be a moron and then expect to be respected. We learnt a very valuable lesson. We also lost some of our innocence right then since we learnt that:

  1. Morons are funded and promoted as artists of some value.
  2. Morons with excruciatingly ridiculous work are also promoted and funded.
  3. Morons who insult large groups of people are accepted into programs that are meant for artistic and cultural exchange.

Having learnt all that, we were then presented with a complete “shartfest” on the open day of this program/residency. The work was dull mostly with a few exceptions – mostly work by two of the artists “from abroad” – although the third one (also from an Islamic Republic like our own pure and holy land) created mildly offensive work. The work was mostly offensive because it was boring and we had all seen it many times before. We decided we like to look at things we haven’t seen before. However, we are gracious enough to accept that everything has been done before but we also expect that people show us a new and interesting was to look at what we have seen before.

We saw arrogance and lack of common sense. We saw a complete disregard for our feelings. We saw decadence and lack of respect. We also felt insulted and bored. Then we felt more insulted because this open day and residency space was quite far from civilization and we had made a great effort to be there.

Some of the important things we (my students, my colleagues and myself) learnt were mostly related to what it means to be an artist. Having an artistic license does not mean that:

  1. You turn into a moron overnight
  2. You can be rude whenever you like and insult people
  3. You can make anything and call it art and then refuse to answer people’s questions. When you put something up for people to see, answering their questions should be the next on your list of things to do.
  4. You become arrogant and strut about with a knowing look on your face. Then you’re just a pompous ass.
  5. You disrespect people’s beliefs like it’s your right.
  6. You expect people to love you and your work even though you’re a pompous ass and your work is dull.

Perhaps I am very harsh in my evaluation of this event. But pulling punches when something as dumb as this occurs only makes it worse. A student has been very accurate in her understanding of the whole mess. This is a very hopeful sign. This new wave of young people who will have artistic license will not be complete morons who are disrespectful and pompous. They will have common sense and the courage to be honest.

Auntie Wars

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

Auntie Wars

It is a period of civil war. Rebel art educators, striking from a
hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Administrative
Empire (or not).
During the battle, Rebel spies managed to steal secret plans to the
Empire’s ultimate weapon, the Auntie Office Assistant, an armored weapon of mass destruction
with enough power to destroy an entire planet.
Pursued by the Empire’s sinister agents, the hopeless artist races home
in her second-hand car, custodian of the stolen plans that can save her
people and restore freedom to the government college…

Hopefully the John Williams soundtrack will accompany my escape from this auntie-infested hell. Unfortunately, I cannot leave until office hours are over. Yes folks, I’m back to auntie-bashing. And with good reason.

The above was written hastily in a moment of inspiration in my office. Now that I’m safely home, I can actually sigh with relief and get on with my post. Remember the office assistant from hell? The same creature has harrassed me to the point of no return. Here I was, braving my way through the education system of Pakistan and I get a gift from satan himself: an incompetent aunty and now, her side-kick. Yes, she has one of those too.


  1. Lack of physical or intellectual ability or qualifications
  2. Inability of a part or organ to function properly

Yes. That organ would be her brain. And the other one probably lacks one altogether. I’m willing to overlook their ample presence, their four-inch heels, their oily smell…but I cannot overlook their sly incompetence. It annoys me beyond reason. I day-dream about knocking in their silly blank faces with a hammer. They get everything wrong and don’t bother to correct anything. Well, I’m done training these morons. I’d rather just teach the kids who are worth a hell of a lot more.

Sometimes I regret I took up administration with my teaching. But I’ve come to realize I didn’t have much of a choice. But now that I’m in it up to my eyeballs, I must get it right, see? And these moron aunties with their flowing dupattas can kiss my ass. I’m tempted to just back off and do nothing and see what happens. When things fall apart, it won’t really be my fault – but it will still be my fault in a way so I just cannot seem to let go.

If this is how government institutions are run, then we’re in a sorry state. As it is, there are too many aunties creeping around. A student of mine clarified their type – according to him, they’re the drop-the-file aunties. They drop files, bend down to pick them up and they get jobs. Harsh, I know. But I’m beginning to realize it might just be true. I’m involved in another endeavor coordinated by a drop-the-file aunty. And it hasn’t made my life easier in any way. Wherever I go, these aunties are there – lying in wait to make my life miserable.

As for my secret plan – well, I’m still working on it. I’m a lover, not a fighter – but what the hell, right?

Disclaimer: I mean no offence to women or to any other kind of human being. These aunties I write about aren’t human. They are scum.

The Auntie Bomb

Ok back to auntie bashing. I couldn’t help myself. Same shit, different day (yes, I adore Stephen King). For a while there, I was wallowing in self-indulgent introspection but how long can that last? I waited a while to get into this but shying away from what I can’t help doing seems retarded. And I need catharsis too, you know. I go to work everyday and I project this adult, reasonable personality that I can hardly relate to most of the time. It’s like an endless game of pretend and the side-effects of this game are not pretty. My brain feels like a puddle of – well, watery crap.

That said and done, I should get down to business. I accept it’s a small crime. And I’m not naming names – oh no, the name game never helps. Yeah. So there I was, minding my business (I try, I really do) and along comes an auntie and ruins everything. You know, some of them aren’t as bad as I used to think but some are just incorrigible.

It was a small issue. There was a sizable misunderstanding. But then it became personal and the whole world exploded. The story goes like this: she said and then she said and then both the shes (or maybe there were more than just those two) said some more and humpty dumpty was a broken egg-man. All in a days work, right? I’ve forgotten what the real issue was. And then there was the cat.

My friend and I share a cat. It lives in his house. But I claim it too. It’s one of those friendly things. A very friendly thing. Oh you know what I mean. We love that cat. He belonged to somebody else who didn’t want him anymore. A friend’s relative. Now that friend gave him to an auntie with a horrible set of kids who really wanted the cat. The equally horrible auntie (who didn’t even feed the cat right) eventually didn’t want the cat anymore. So my friend and I adopted the cat. Boring story, I know but it gets interesting.

This auntie now wants the cat back occassionally. How does that figure? Oh it doesn’t. My friend let her take him once and she sent him back with a bad case of tick fever. Poor cat almost died and had a thermometer shoved up his backside by the vet too. Besides, it cost a fortune to have him up and about again. So I don’t like this auntie.

She’s the same auntie at work who took a big dump on my head by really screwing things up. And I had to swallow my hatred of her ways and deal with it all. I don’t think anyone likes her and I cannot really disclose what really happened except that she screwed up big time and offended everyone. And yours truly had to pick up the pieces (with some help from some good friends who I love for their ability to swallow their own hatred of aunties) in the name of professionalism.

This woman is a selfish piece of donkey shit. She cares only about herself (and her ugly children maybe) and thinks she’s god’s own shit. A queen. As if her interminable BO wasn’t bad enough (yes folks, she stinks of onion sweat), she is always complaining about something. I’d love to kick her in the head. And she has no bathroom manners. She wafts in followed by her stink, and uses my office bathroom and makes such a mess that it isn’t funny anymore.

Sometimes I have no idea why I have to put up with people like her. And I have to show respect when all I want to do is run away screaming. But then again, nobody said it would be easy. Oh well.

Office Assistant from Hell

Deeply immersed within all the nine circles of suffering (allegorically) amidst aunties of the worst kind, now I am presented with yet another evil – the assistant from hell.

Now this woman is a true auntie (besides being a hellish being of monstrous proportions). She is overly endowed with ungainly flesh that wobbles its way into my space. Frankly, her presence itself makes me nauseous and slightly dizzy (considering the smell). Also, she is gifted with making people uncomfortable with her lurking – she lurks instead of merely being there. I don’t know how some people master this art of lurking in wide open spaces. In other words, she is an auntie from hell.

This particular monster has an appalling fashion sense that might appeal to a myopic, lecherous cab driver on Murree Road (you know, the kind that spits out of his window right into yours) with vulgarly transparent clothes on her excessive flesh, oily face and beady little eyes and those impossible heels. Gosh, those heels scare me a little. Ofcourse, she expects to sit in the office all day on her fat ass instead of actually doing her job which might even get her some excercise. Aside from the thrusting wobbly bosom (which probably got her the job in the first place, in my humble opinion), the stink and the excessive oil on her, she truly belongs in the Pakistani Auntie Hall of Fame as one hell of a good example of paindu auntie.

I fail to understand how such people get hired to communicate when they can barely manage decent speech. And the attitude that goes with her bizarre appearance makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. She thinks she owns the place and has been attempting to boss yours truly. Now, I don’t take that too well – especially from a two-bit, almost illiterate monster from auntie hell who used her balloon breasts to get a job. Of course I sort of approved her appointment because I really didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. But Ms. Balloon Breasts will get an ass-kicking she hasn’t dreamt of in her oily little brain.

Maybe it isn’t even worth it. I mean she hasn’t heard of the spell-check that MS Word does automatically. Also she has strange ideas about toilet paper that are truly unprintable. Sigh. Just my luck.


These are terms people used to find your site.

Search Views
desi aunty showing ass 1

See what I mean?

Sigh – Another Auntie Post

I was looking through my blog statistics and I realized that people are unreasonably obsessed with aunties in/from Pakistan. The following table illustrates that curious obsession:

Search Views
aunties unlimited 107
http://aunties.unlimited.wordpress.com 18
unlimited aunties 18
auntiesunlimited 16
pakistan aunties 14
pakistani aunties 10
aunties-unlimited 8
pakistani aunty 8
aunties.unlimited.wordpress.com 7
pakistan auntie 7
pakistani aunties photos 7
pakistani aunty showing everything 7
aunties unlimited blogspot 5
aunties unlimited.com 4
art ka pakistan 4
pak aunties 4
aunties sex stories 4
aunties 4
aunty unlimited 3
anties unlimited 3
aunties. unlimited wordpress 3
aunties-unlimites 2
anties.unlimited.wordpress.com 2
pakestani aunties 2
un limited aunties 2
aunties.unlimited.wordpress 2
pakistan aunty 2
mens shoddy shoes 2
pakistani aunty photos 2
pakistani art 2
http://www.aunties.unlimited.wordpress.com 2
auntes unlimited 2
aunties in pakistan 2
pakistani aunty ka number 2
pierced perception rohtas 2 2
unlimited auntess.worldpress 2
pakistani desi aunty panters photos 1
arjumand faisel 1
aunties.unlimited.wordpres 1
http://www.auntiesunlimited.wordpress.com 1
paki aunties-unlimited blogspot 1
unlimited aunties.com 1
what does art ka mean 1
auntiesunlimited.wordpress.com 1
pakistani aunties unlimited 1
“fair and lovely” 1
auntys aunlimited 1
auntiesunlimeted 1
pakistani artwork 1
auntiy anlimitad 1

There is a lonely little “fair and lovely” in there too (of course) which only adds to my amusement. Apparently, these search terms led to my blog (I think). Why would they lead to my blog, though? As an auntie would say, it’s probably fate. Weird karmic justice. Like my new assistant. Definitely an auntie and fate’s slap on my smug little face. I cannot get away so easily when I bitch out them shiny aunties with their ample bosoms and more than ample behinds. More to hate, I guess.

Bite that Auntie!

Hello folks. I’m back.

After hiding in various corners for a long, long time, I was rudely pulled back into the world with the end of summer break. I won’t even go into the painful eid festivities. I’ll just stick to auntie bashing. After all, it’s been a while.

Things are chaotic at work. My esteemed colleagues are like flies that get trapped in cars and they just go bonkers and bump into everything without getting anywhere. The aunties have descended upon me in full force. The first day at work was insane. They talked utter shit for hours. I kept fantasizing I was the Terminator shooting them dead. Or just kicking their faces in and laughing maniacally. Of course I got all messed up by the time I got home. So, I decided an attitude adjustment was the best way to survive the first few days of work. Being uber cool, I will survive.

The truth is that they’re dumb bitches. There. I’ve said it. Bite me.

The beginning of the term is hectic. Especially after summer break. Everyone gets used to relaxing a lot so it’s hard to get back to work anyway. I’m sure the aunties relax too. I wonder how they do it but then I really shouldn’t give a shit. Curiosity killed the cat afterall. There really is a lot of work to be done so that the term goes as smoothly as possible. Amidst all this chaos, the aunties appear. Some haven’t bothered to show up which is a relief but the ones who are present are mostly interested in:

  • talking about their lameass kids
  • talking about what they were wearing on eid
  • talking about what others were wearing on eid
  • talking about how much their clothes matched their shoes on eid
  • wondering about who married whom during the summer
  • talking about their lameass kids
  • talking some more about their lameass kids

Do they realize how utterly boring and nonsensical they are? The country is falling apart. People have lost their lives and minds. Planes have crashed. The floods have wiped out everything. But no. None of that please. Lets talk about little booger eating monsters (that they have dutifully produced almost asexually since husbands are only good for money) and matching clothes with shoes. I hate them with a passion. They will produce more like themselves and bore this country to death. Who hires these people? Completely irresponsible idiots, I suppose. Why isn’t anyone watching?

Also, they know nothing except how to turn normal stuff into elaborate intrigues so they don’t have to work. They really don’t want to work. They want to match their clothes and their shoes. They want to talk shit all day long. They want me to stop smoking in MY office because they’re allergic. Look, I know it’s bad for me. I’m old enough to want to quit. But it’s really up to me, isn’t it?

There is one particular lameass auntie who I’d love to beat up to a pulp. She has been so far up my ass that I can taste her loud perfume. All she does is annoy me for no apparent reason. She has come to a point where she physically tries to nudge me into submission. It’s ridiculous and sad. These are the educators of young Pakistan. I don’t know what to say anymore.