After a fun night of watching old Grammarians putting on a stellar performance of Ayub, I finally got home and collapsed on my bed and dreamed of dancing devils until seven, at which point I had to wake up and get ready for my eight o'clock session of Personal Management, a subject wasted on people who have been learning (the hard way) and implementing its principles for three years. Little did I know that the collective reward for myself and my cohorts would be to get unceremoniously asked to leave the class since they could not "accommodate" us and add to their class of 38. So here I am, waiting for the higher powers to arrive so that the mess can be sorted out.

A few words about last night. I enjoyed the play, despite its blatant religiousness, but found the end a bit predictable. I mean, come on, we all know the main character will not renounce his God, nor will be die. Only one way out, then, isn't there? The ticket pricing, however, I was less satisfied with. No matter how good a play is and no matter how worthy a charity the proceeds go to, 750 is still a bit much. Of course, there were tickets available to students for Rs. 400, but these, as expected, would have flown out of the box and even students would have been forced to purchase the ultra-pricey tickets. When I arrived on the scene, the show was sold out and off in the side a young man was noting down names and numbers for people who wanted to get in and would be willing to sit in the aisle for four hundred. Since most people were already on the scene, they were willing to sit on the floor for four hundred and we were one of them until we managed to procure tickets from another source. Rumors were rife that the cast and crew were planning to have one extra performance on Sunday due to the success of the play and the cancellation of the performance scheduled for Thursday.

Now, on to the cast. Jaffer Hoti as Yazid Aagwala is a treat to watch, honestly. He prances and giggles and dances into every scene and, in my opinion, steals every single one he's in. Sheheryar Kabraji as Ayub seemed a bit off because of the strictly upper-class British accent of the actor, which didn't strike me as the correct accent for a noveau riche but pious Karachiite, Ayub Siddqui. The Desi-ization of the original works brilliantly, with quips about everything from political leaders in the limelight to Lahore's landmarks to EFU thrown in with hilarious results. The only two female characters in the play are one-dimensional till the end, where we finally see Aisha, Ayub's wife, shed some of her comic relief base and show some depth. The daughter, while played well, is strictly only in it for the comic relief, as even the younger son gets more interesting lines than she does. This brings us to the older son, Emad, played by a young actor also named Emad. The boy has talent, but is just outshone by excellent performances by Mr. Kabraji and Hoti. Singularly loved by all, Hoti's performance reminded a friend of Peter Sellers at his peak. All in all, definitely a must-see, at least once.