Review: Between You, Me and the Four Walls by Moni Mohsin

Author and columnist Moni Mohsin has outdone herself with her new book Between You, Me and the Four Walls (2022). This work of satire combines socio-political critique with rib-tickling humour, foregrounding the first-world problems of the Pakistani elite. Their lives are sharply examined and dissected through the perspective of Butterfly, a self-proclaimed “khandani” woman from Lahore, who previously appeared in The Diary of a Social Butterfly (2008), Tender Hooks (2011) and The Return of the Butterfly (2014).

If you are unfamiliar with this fictional universe, it might help to know that Butterfly loves partying, gossip, and shopping. She is married to an Oxford-educated man who owns vast swathes of land in Pakistan and is close friends with the “goras” he studied with. She calls him Janoo when she is not referring to him as “Oxen”. Unlike her politically incorrect self, her son – a teenager named Kulchoo – is quite woke. Butterfly wants him to have an Arabian Nights themed wedding that will last for 1001 nights, which he is terribly embarrassed about. Janoo has a younger sister called Qubra. Butterfly likes to call her Cobra as the woman is “slimy, slithery and poisonous”. Qubra’s husband is Shadaab, and we are told that everyone calls him Shady, “pyaar say”. Butterfly’s mother-in-law is introduced as “The Old Bag”.

Between You, Me and the Four Walls is structured in the form of diary entries addressed to the reader of this book. It begins with an entry in January 2014, and concludes with one in December 2021. This gives Mohsin a chance to comment on prominent events in the news cycle during this period. The COVID-19 pandemic occupies an important place in the book, as do the antics of cricketer-turned-politician Imran Khan. Butterfly is not particularly fond of him. Unlike Mohsin’s novel The Impeccable Integrity of Ruby R (2020), where she takes potshots at Khan via Saif Haq, a character loosely based on Khan, the erstwhile heartthrob is directly in the line of fire when Butterfly speaks her mind. She is brutal and entertaining.

The chutnification of language, which Salman Rushdie made so commonplace in South Asian fiction, re-emerges in a spicy avatar with Butterfly. She writes, “When he (Khan) was chalaowing chukkers with all those Indian actresses in the 70s, Reham was probably being potty trained.” Butterfly also chides Khan for not being able to make up his mind. She writes, “On one side, he can’t live without a camera on top of him 24/7 and on the other, he says he wants privacy… Bhai, if you want privacy then don’t do all that tamasha, na…But problem with Imran is he’s actually married to the camera, na.”

What makes this book a real hoot is the fact that the person trolling the swish set is not an outsider making snide remarks about privilege or raising hell about social capital. Butterfly is a proud insider of the “khaata peeta” gang that she gives us the dirt on. Her brother-in-law Shady has political ambitions, so he – and his wife Qubra – are trying to warm up to Khan. Butterfly is not committed to any ideology. She is happy to change her mind as quickly as her clothes and shoes. She wants to keep herself in the good books of those with access to power. Who knows when she might have to reach out with a phone call to get some work done?

Thankfully, Butterfly does not spare herself either. During a coffee party on Zoom, she shows up in a bathrobe with her hair wrapped in a towel. This is a ploy to protect herself from making the embarrassing confession that her hair is in bad shape because Janoo is not allowing her to step out for beauty treatments during the pandemic. When she pretends to have forgotten about this meeting, and tells her friends that she has just rushed out of the shower, they catch her red-handed and ask about the make-up on her face. She says, “No, no, my face tau is naturally like this.” Of course, they cannot lose the opportunity to rub it in. One of them replies, “Acchha? Allah gave you maroon lips and turquoise eyelids?”

Mohsin does an excellent job with showing how the well-heeled exaggerate their place in the social hierarchy through association and name-dropping. In one of the diary entries, Butterfly writes, “You know my friend Kamila Shamsie? Bhai, she’s from Karachi only. Writes story books. Good bagground, parhi likhi, English medium type, so basically same to same as me.” Butterfly wants us to know that she is friends with all the “super stars” from the art world – Rashid Rana, Imran Qureshi, Bani Abidi, Mohammed Ali Talpur, Huma Mulji, Ayaz Joko, Ayesha Khalid, Ali Kazim – who sell their work in London at astronomical prices.

Like many others who have money but are clueless about how to spend it, Butterfly buys art. According to her, it is a thing that rich people do. The art does not even appeal to her sensibilities but she has to swallow her pride. Qureshi’s paintings seem like “someone had had a nosebleed all over them”. She thinks that Rana is overrated because “all he does is take photos really, which I can take myself with my own Eye Phone, thank you very much”. That said, she is aware that these artists are taken seriously on the international art circuit because “Indian buyers… are buying dharha dharh”. She is upset with them for pushing up prices.

While Mohsin lives in London, she grew up in Lahore and visits the city frequently. Her stinging observations of people with old money and the nouveau riche come from knowing their world intimately. In case you were unaware, she and her sister Jugnu – who is a journalist-turned-politician – went to boarding school in England. Mohsin also happens to be singer-author Ali Sethi and actor-author Mira Sethi’s maternal aunt. There is no dearth of material for her to draw from. What makes Mohsin stand out are the elements of good storytelling. Butterfly is memorable character because she has a unique voice that is rooted in her social milieu. Without Mohsin’s understanding of her world, this character would fall flat.

The author has no intention of painting everyone from the same class with the same brush. Janoo and Kulchoo serve as foils to Butterfly’s character. They read widely, think critically, and try to be conscience-keepers unlike Butterfly who is full of hot-takes. She wants Pakistan to become “nice, rich and clean” like Sweden. Her idea of “jannat” is Dubai because “everything is saaf suthra and so peaceful”; most importantly, “there are no trees, so there are no leaves to sweep and no birds to sit in them and do potty on your car.” She thinks that Meghan Markle “talks too much” about “bore things like women’s lib”, and appears “like one of those NGO lectury types” rather than a princess who “should just smile and nod”.

If this is not enough to make you laugh, read what Butterfly has to say about the India-Pakistan conflict. She wants to open a poultry farm and inject chickens with “protein kay teekay” that will make them “chalaak” and run at the speed of light and “cluck in seven languages”. As a Pakistani patriot, she vows to never export the eggs to India. They will be exported only to friendlier countries like China, Malaysia and Saudi Arabia. This is her idea of tit-for-tat because she cannot get a visa to meet friends and shop in India.

Butterfly suspects “a foreign hand” behind the pollution in Pakistan. She blames Indians for sending smog across the border. This is plain posturing. What she truly wants is to visit India as she has more in common with Indian elites than Pakistani “poors”. Her words are reminiscent of Fehmida Riaz’s poem Tum bilkul hum jaise nikle when she comments on “lynchings and gagged press and banned beef and Modi’s danda”. In her usual self-congratulatory manner, Butterfly says, “…now when we and the Indians from Delhi, Mumbai and all bypass each other in Harrods in summers, they can’t give us superior si looks.”

If you have been to Pakistan, you’d know that Butterfly is not a caricature. There are people who think and speak like her. If you are wondering where her adventures will take her next, Mohsin leaves us with a hint. Butterfly wants Kulchoo to help her become an Instagram influencer so that she can make everyone burn with envy when they see her designer outfits. “I’m not an Aunty. I’m a Yummy Mummy.” She has some styling tips for British politician Boris Johnson, who “can’t even do kungi properly” and Kate Middleton who should apparently “try harder” to go blonde. Why? Well, if Butterfly and half her “kitty group in Lahore can be blonde”, the Princess of Wales is not allowed to make excuses. Whoops!

Chintan Girish Modi is an independent writer, journalist and book reviewer.

Author and columnist Moni Mohsin has outdone herself with her new book Between You, Me and the Four Walls (2022). This work of satire combines socio-political critique with rib-tickling humour, foregrounding the first-world problems of the Pakistani elite. Their lives are sharply examined and dissected through the perspective of Butterfly, a self-proclaimed “khandani” woman from Lahore, who previously appeared in The Diary of a Social Butterfly (2008), Tender Hooks (2011) and The Return of the Butterfly (2014).

If you are unfamiliar with this fictional universe, it might help to know that Butterfly loves partying, gossip, and shopping. She is married to an Oxford-educated man who owns vast swathes of land in Pakistan and is close friends with the “goras” he studied with. She calls him Janoo when she is not referring to him as “Oxen”. Unlike her politically incorrect self, her son – a teenager named Kulchoo – is quite woke. Butterfly wants him to have an Arabian Nights themed wedding that will last for 1001 nights, which he is terribly embarrassed about. Janoo has a younger sister called Qubra. Butterfly likes to call her Cobra as the woman is “slimy, slithery and poisonous”. Qubra’s husband is Shadaab, and we are told that everyone calls him Shady, “pyaar say”. Butterfly’s mother-in-law is introduced as “The Old Bag”.

Between You, Me and the Four Walls is structured in the form of diary entries addressed to the reader of this book. It begins with an entry in January 2014, and concludes with one in December 2021. This gives Mohsin a chance to comment on prominent events in the news cycle during this period. The COVID-19 pandemic occupies an important place in the book, as do the antics of cricketer-turned-politician Imran Khan. Butterfly is not particularly fond of him. Unlike Mohsin’s novel The Impeccable Integrity of Ruby R (2020), where she takes potshots at Khan via Saif Haq, a character loosely based on Khan, the erstwhile heartthrob is directly in the line of fire when Butterfly speaks her mind. She is brutal and entertaining.

The chutnification of language, which Salman Rushdie made so commonplace in South Asian fiction, re-emerges in a spicy avatar with Butterfly. She writes, “When he (Khan) was chalaowing chukkers with all those Indian actresses in the 70s, Reham was probably being potty trained.” Butterfly also chides Khan for not being able to make up his mind. She writes, “On one side, he can’t live without a camera on top of him 24/7 and on the other, he says he wants privacy… Bhai, if you want privacy then don’t do all that tamasha, na…But problem with Imran is he’s actually married to the camera, na.”

What makes this book a real hoot is the fact that the person trolling the swish set is not an outsider making snide remarks about privilege or raising hell about social capital. Butterfly is a proud insider of the “khaata peeta” gang that she gives us the dirt on. Her brother-in-law Shady has political ambitions, so he – and his wife Qubra – are trying to warm up to Khan. Butterfly is not committed to any ideology. She is happy to change her mind as quickly as her clothes and shoes. She wants to keep herself in the good books of those with access to power. Who knows when she might have to reach out with a phone call to get some work done?

Thankfully, Butterfly does not spare herself either. During a coffee party on Zoom, she shows up in a bathrobe with her hair wrapped in a towel. This is a ploy to protect herself from making the embarrassing confession that her hair is in bad shape because Janoo is not allowing her to step out for beauty treatments during the pandemic. When she pretends to have forgotten about this meeting, and tells her friends that she has just rushed out of the shower, they catch her red-handed and ask about the make-up on her face. She says, “No, no, my face tau is naturally like this.” Of course, they cannot lose the opportunity to rub it in. One of them replies, “Acchha? Allah gave you maroon lips and turquoise eyelids?”

Mohsin does an excellent job with showing how the well-heeled exaggerate their place in the social hierarchy through association and name-dropping. In one of the diary entries, Butterfly writes, “You know my friend Kamila Shamsie? Bhai, she’s from Karachi only. Writes story books. Good bagground, parhi likhi, English medium type, so basically same to same as me.” Butterfly wants us to know that she is friends with all the “super stars” from the art world – Rashid Rana, Imran Qureshi, Bani Abidi, Mohammed Ali Talpur, Huma Mulji, Ayaz Joko, Ayesha Khalid, Ali Kazim – who sell their work in London at astronomical prices.

Like many others who have money but are clueless about how to spend it, Butterfly buys art. According to her, it is a thing that rich people do. The art does not even appeal to her sensibilities but she has to swallow her pride. Qureshi’s paintings seem like “someone had had a nosebleed all over them”. She thinks that Rana is overrated because “all he does is take photos really, which I can take myself with my own Eye Phone, thank you very much”. That said, she is aware that these artists are taken seriously on the international art circuit because “Indian buyers… are buying dharha dharh”. She is upset with them for pushing up prices.

While Mohsin lives in London, she grew up in Lahore and visits the city frequently. Her stinging observations of people with old money and the nouveau riche come from knowing their world intimately. In case you were unaware, she and her sister Jugnu – who is a journalist-turned-politician – went to boarding school in England. Mohsin also happens to be singer-author Ali Sethi and actor-author Mira Sethi’s maternal aunt. There is no dearth of material for her to draw from. What makes Mohsin stand out are the elements of good storytelling. Butterfly is memorable character because she has a unique voice that is rooted in her social milieu. Without Mohsin’s understanding of her world, this character would fall flat.

The author has no intention of painting everyone from the same class with the same brush. Janoo and Kulchoo serve as foils to Butterfly’s character. They read widely, think critically, and try to be conscience-keepers unlike Butterfly who is full of hot-takes. She wants Pakistan to become “nice, rich and clean” like Sweden. Her idea of “jannat” is Dubai because “everything is saaf suthra and so peaceful”; most importantly, “there are no trees, so there are no leaves to sweep and no birds to sit in them and do potty on your car.” She thinks that Meghan Markle “talks too much” about “bore things like women’s lib”, and appears “like one of those NGO lectury types” rather than a princess who “should just smile and nod”.

If this is not enough to make you laugh, read what Butterfly has to say about the India-Pakistan conflict. She wants to open a poultry farm and inject chickens with “protein kay teekay” that will make them “chalaak” and run at the speed of light and “cluck in seven languages”. As a Pakistani patriot, she vows to never export the eggs to India. They will be exported only to friendlier countries like China, Malaysia and Saudi Arabia. This is her idea of tit-for-tat because she cannot get a visa to meet friends and shop in India.

Butterfly suspects “a foreign hand” behind the pollution in Pakistan. She blames Indians for sending smog across the border. This is plain posturing. What she truly wants is to visit India as she has more in common with Indian elites than Pakistani “poors”. Her words are reminiscent of Fehmida Riaz’s poem Tum bilkul hum jaise nikle when she comments on “lynchings and gagged press and banned beef and Modi’s danda”. In her usual self-congratulatory manner, Butterfly says, “…now when we and the Indians from Delhi, Mumbai and all bypass each other in Harrods in summers, they can’t give us superior si looks.”

If you have been to Pakistan, you’d know that Butterfly is not a caricature. There are people who think and speak like her. If you are wondering where her adventures will take her next, Mohsin leaves us with a hint. Butterfly wants Kulchoo to help her become an Instagram influencer so that she can make everyone burn with envy when they see her designer outfits. “I’m not an Aunty. I’m a Yummy Mummy.” She has some styling tips for British politician Boris Johnson, who “can’t even do kungi properly” and Kate Middleton who should apparently “try harder” to go blonde. Why? Well, if Butterfly and half her “kitty group in Lahore can be blonde”, the Princess of Wales is not allowed to make excuses. Whoops!

Chintan Girish Modi is an independent writer, journalist and book reviewer.