| Photo: Rahraw Omarzad, Centre for Contemporary Arts |
Whatever happened to old what's-her-name? You remember, the one with the long, shiny hair, black like raven's feathers, who was always wearing those really brightly coloured kameezes that were too big for her; they would billow out like a sail when the wind whipped off the plains, back and forth, colours flying. You remember, the one who would always lapse into song whenever she had to say something critical, or when she was forced to relay a message from an adult. "Mom says to come clean the dishes," she'd warble in a lilting, fake-sunny melody. "And she says to forget about catching fireflies."