Cities: In View of Lahore

Cities. All too familiar. We live in them, but so what?

We live in these entities and take them for granted. It may be Dubai, New York, Delhi or Islamabad, or any others besides - they all share distinct features.

Cities are living, breathing organisms in a sense. There has even been an experiment to measure the so-called 'breathing rate' of a city! [courtesy: Discovery Channel]

I went to Lahore with my university class this weekend on an industrial tour. I've been to Lahore twice before, the most recent being in Gr8 though that seems like long ago.

I realized there how similar different cities in the same country were! There were places and parts of Lahore we visited that reminded me of Rawalpindi, and others of Islamabad. It stands to reason that Lahore has a night-life whereas Islamabad and Rawalpindi are European only in that they shut down early (something I had a hard time adjusting to since Dubai is a nocturnal-city). There were the same billboards up along the roads to sell soap and cloth as in Rawalpindi, the same dusty look all too characteristic of Taxila with it's granite-cutting machines. There was the same divisioning into the posh and urban areas with the noisy city centre. There were the same run-down workshops with electricity poles dangling dangerously at the entrance. There were the same side-walls splashed hues of orange-ish red with spit 'paan'. There were the same hawkers pulling carts loaded with goods of every imaginable kind; shouting after potential customers, lowering prices to insane levels just to get a purchase.

There were the same traffic jams where Punjabi folk music blared from the colorfully painted trucks and buses; the drivers shouted obscenities to show their dominance  while the conductors couldn't resist the temptation to swing with the outer pole and poke their heads outside to get a look(as if that would make the traffic clear, lol!)

There were the same corner shops we prefer to call 'tuck shops' selling your average biscuits and Lays^®. There were the same smokey roadside inns selling curry steeped in unnecessarily extra cooking oil for a 'tarri'.

But some things stood out too. One of the most prominent and probably the most disgusting too, was the smell of sewage in just SO many areas of Lahore! Even the posh areas weren't safe and you couldn't be far from the stench wherever you went. Another feature I thought had already become obsolete was DONKEY CARTS. Yes, donkey carts. I mean, are they still in use? :|

I saw a LOT of them along the sidewalks and they reminded me so strongly of something, which I'd better not mention for fear of being discovered!

Lahore is world-famous for its food - both the cooked delicacies and the gazillion eateries of all standards and stature dotted about the city. 'Vegetarian' is a forbidden word around and it's just meat galore there!  And while in Lahore, we clearly felt the capacity of our appetites expanding too; in short, we felt ourselves turning distinctly 'Lahori'.

The experience on Food Street was amazing. The 'kulcha' especially was mouth watering and the Kulfi beat the best I've tasted so far! But there I start again, showing off my primal partiality for things food.

Lahore was as near to Taxila and Rawalpindi as it was far away.

Though there are just so many intersecting points in the Venn diagram of Pakistani cities, Lahore is, simply, Lahore.

For that is the reason a proverb goes: He who hasn't seen Lahore has yet to be born! [Adapted from Punjabi]

Watch out, I'm a Punjabi!

Do not be surprised, for this event is from the PMO bus too.

It was yesterday when I was getting back from university. Anyone who has had any experience with a semi-military facility will know the hard-core entrance procedure. The requirement is thus: if you're a non-resident, you're supposed to make a call at the main gate to inform your host about your arrival, and then deposit your ID card till departure.

A lot of guests do not make that call, and boy! does it delay the bus every day!

Yesterday was no exception.

There was a Punjabi 'jat' [ جٹ ]-type lady at the back. The guard asked her to show her card and she stood up, completely blocking the aisle. She had a large gold nose-pin of the style preferred by rural women, her 'dupatta' thrown over carelessly and giving the picture of the real 'desi' woman. Milk and it's associated products are loved by villagers in Pakistan. Especially 'desi ghee'. And they feel proud to mention the amount they consume a day!

Even though the trend across the world has changed toward slimness, not in the 'gaaon/pind' [ گاؤں / پنڈ]!

Getting back to the lady. After she had stood up, she placed both hands on hips.
The guard was one burly fellow too with moustaches so long they seemed to get into his mouth every time he spoke. Dressed in the green soldier’s uniform he crossed his arms across the chest and braced for a fight. One Punabi pitted against the other.

And so began their diatribe. I'll write it in Punjabi first for those who can understand, and then in English [though sadly, the translation will remove some of the funny essence from the dialogue]

:خالہ 

 !اوے

!مینڈا پرآ اتھے  ڈریور  اے  اور الله ناں شکر اے  کھاندے پیندے کار تو اے

 ! ہینرڑ مینڈے نال پنج بچے ,ماں بس توں توں نہیں لا  سکنا 

:گارڈ 

! خالہ ، تساں  اترنا  ای  پیسی ، اے ہی اصول  اے

:خالہ 

چنگے او  تسی لوگ وی ، عورتاں  ناں کوئی لحاظ  ای  نہیں ! مینڈ ے  کول  فون  اے ، میں  ہونڑے  ملانی  آں  کال ! پتہ  لگ  ویسی  آ

:گارڈ 

.نہیں  خالہ ، ایجوں  کم  نہیں  بنڑنا ، اترنا  تی پیسی . بچی  آں  ہی  پیج  چھوڑو

:خالہ 

!ایڈا  توں ******! چلو  بچو ، اترو  تھلے ! دسںے  آں  انناں ہونڑ 

Lady: 'Oi, you cannot get me off the bus! My brother is the driver here and is from a well-to-do family by the grace of God. And I've *emphasis* 5 children, who are you to ask me to confirm?'

Guard: 'But Miss, you have to. It's standard procedure!'

Lady: 'Right, then I have a phone with me. I'll call him and he'll tell you. No shame at all, asking women to get down!'

Guard: 'Miss, I'm sorry, but I can't. According to procedure you HAVE to get down and call from the booth.'

Lady: 'You *beep*, have you NO shame? Fine, *beep*. (calling all her children) Get up, and come down now! We'll show them what they asked for!'

She almost hit the guard in the chest and got down with her brood she was so proud of. One would have thought they were something like her too, but they were timid as hell. They just looked at their feet, shuffled nervously and began to get down.

Lady: 'Oi you, *beeps* get down FAST! Stop acting like cowards and be like MEN!'

! چودھری لے  بھی  پوؤ ، مڑد  بنڑ  کے  دسسو ، اسی  وی  چودھری  آں 

I could hear her shouting even once inside the booth.

Watch out, I'm a Punjabi, she seemed to say.

The scene was hilarious, really! 

Interviewing, haha!

Today was my first 'proper' experience interviewing students. It was for the SIEP, our department's native technical society.

I was a little apprehensive at first but soon transitioned into an interviewer proper. I had only a vague idea of what to ask. I was sceptical about the level of the questions I would ask since my technical knowledge as yet is quite lagging in phase to the senior students'.

Still, I braced. It was completely impromptu and I surprised myself with smoothly getting into the flow of talk! I asked Q's I thought were relevant. All of us in the panel of five were slightly apprehensive at the start, and each of us somehow asked only from a particular domain in the beginning. But after a few candidates were done with, the atmosphere changed visibly. We became more comfortable and began to pick up each other's points. For instance, one would start asking about the function of the stabilizer, and the others would begin the process of cross-questioning and somewhere in between, a new topic would pop up.

There were some funny incidents too. There was a guy who jay-walked in, literally; hands in pockets, shabby jeans, jiggle in the walk. Yeah, I'm an engineer. Right.

We asked him about the methods used for circuit analysis and he receded somewhere deep within as if on a spiritual quest. 'Umm, there's Thevenin, we just did Norton, I guess? Oh yeah, and there's mesh analysis too!’ Amid his talking we spotted the chewing gum in his mouth. It became visible at an odd angle and God!did we have a long laugh afterward!

Then there was another guy who didn't even know what the society stood for proper, and was like, 'Yeah, choose me. I'll see later what I can do'. 'Hmm, so can you pin-point a talent for which you should be preferred?' 'I don't know, is this the kind of stuff you ask?' I mean, :|

He was acting like he was doing someone a favour just showing up!

Today I learnt that keeping some things spontaneous without prior preparation has a charm all its own. And I cannot emphasize enough the unique beauty of the experience of a group-talk. And a little sheepishly, of confusing the person in front with rapid questioning!

Perhaps we haven't yet outgrown our ancestors' affinity for story-telling after all.

Kaleidoscope of Life

Life - sometimes so beautiful in its bitterness.

There are times of extreme mental clarity; then there are times you feel your senses clouded. Some days are good, but some are at the opposite end of the scale. There are times when you feel elated, feel like you're the world and it is you, one with each other. You feel at perfect harmony with everything around, at one with 'life'. You could jump just for the sake of joy, and laugh at the top of your voice, a free spirit on the horizon. Then there are times nothing can be darker than your own consciousness. It becomes a burden, and what wouldn't you give up to silence it for some time, drug it, numb it, whatever it takes to get a 'blackout' in the head. The very act of staying alive, making it to another day, seems like a pain.

But the element common to all these experiences is 'variety'. Life is spontaneous, and not just from Darwin's perspective. Happiness exists only till there is relativism and contrast. Absolute happiness is nothing.

I spotted an orange wasp on the windowsill in the bus today while coming back home. My first response was of course one of fear and caution since those wasps are known to have a highly painful sting!

 I kept a close eye on it. It would fly up a little toward the top of the window but the next jolt by the bus would bring it back down. I wished constantly for it to just go away so I could relax in my seat and enjoy the view of the Margalla Hills outside, which I love gazing at despite passing by every day! Amidst this, I suddenly became imbued with the wasp. I began to notice details of its anatomy; how it moved its tiny but muscular legs in their 'small' way, how it scratched what I can only assume was some equivalent of a nose with its, again, assumed foot; how it had black eyes that were on the oval side, and throughout it all, it's determination to get to the window's head. There was immense beauty in its every move and God truly has created works of art for us to see. Even in the most prosaic of beings.

In this strange mode, I noticed beauty while fear and disgust were parallel with the emotions. It's strange how something so troublesome can have such a different side to it too.

Then there are feelings which pull us in opposite directions and make it seem like they will tear us apart, shatter our very consciousness. And the trigger doesn't have to be anything more than a single word, a glance, a fleeting thought. It is at times like these that we feel the extremes of all emotions at once, and the ensuing result is nothing but total confusion. There's beauty, feeling, thought, parallel with hatred, sadness, confusion, wish, hope, darkness.

Such is the kaleidoscope of life.

Messenger

Colours were morphing into hues of orange and yellow.

Leaves were crunchy beneath your feet. The slightest tread and you could hear the crackle of the withered leaves, the outlines turning in on themselves.

Trees were laid bare and what was once thriving, was giving way to the dead. In the hope of a new future. But to pay the price, dormancy would ensue for a time before spring blossomed once more.

The sky was exceptionally clear.

Sweaters and hoods could be seen around, though some cotton too.

It was the time when everyone was exhausted from the day's bustle. Friends were sitting chatting, talking about all that had happened during the day.

And so was she sitting, with a group of students. They were discussing the assignment to be submitted the next day but she felt cut-off, far away. She couldn't point out the source of her disharmony when she should be paying attention to the assignment.

Someone at the back suddenly shouted, 'Look, look, a butterfly!' and sure enough, a small yellow-and-black butterfly was fluttering among the tall grass. The sight was strange since Fall was the last time you could expect to see the creature around. After the excitement had died down and she had turned back toward watching the sky, she felt a slight rustle on her pyjama. The butterfly had flown in and lodged itself gently on her knee.

Looking at the little creature, she realised what was troubling her. What it was that was keeping her from concentrating on anything. And she knew, he was somewhere around. How, why, she didn't care.

The butterfly had conveyed its message, and after a shudder of the wings, it flew away into the hedge.

She looked up without intent.

And sure enough, there he was. Coming out of the building with a friend. Laughing, somewhat boisterous.

He didn't appear to realize it, but she had seen him, sure as the sun was out. It was only after he disappeared down the lane that she realized she'd been following him with her gaze all along. In that single minute, she wanted to jump, shout with happiness, cry out the wild cry of joy.

She was smiling insanely into thin air.

The girls out back were questioning her on the sudden spacing out. But she didn't care. She had found what she was looking for.

She had no doubt in her mind:  the butterfly had been a messenger from God.

Oh, samosa!

What do you think when you see a samosa?

'Delicious!'

'Get me some yoghurt and chutni, can't wait to delve in!'

'It's just a trillion-carlorie-packed- triangle! Never!'

'The WHAT...?!'

Put quite simply, I love samosas! They may be reeking oil, fresh out of the 'karahi'. They may be the AlBaker small triangles that come in the cheese/meat/vegetable variety, or the terribly unhygienic kind made in Pakistani corner shops. They should technically be rejected by the sensible mind. After all, fat makes us lethargic, blocks up arteries, makes us look ugly and what not!

But the simple truth s that they're just *wow*!

But just as with anything tasty [I admit, it's most always junk food!], there's a catch.

Not that it'll make me a size-jumbo person [of course it will1], but something else…uh, how do I say it? It's something related to the gut. Then there's gastric juices as well. Oh, and that foul-smelling place near the Sharjah Cricket Stadium. Get the picture?

There's a new café that's started up in my university. It's nothing fancy. In fact, the term 'café' is quite misleading! It brings the image of something like Starbucks/Costa Café/Gloria Jeans, but it's a 'government cafeteria' and you can expect only as much.

There was a lot of excitement around when it opened.
Here’s an analogy:  A LUMS student visits it. His jaw drops. Why? Two possibilities exist:
1. It’s beautiful
2. It’s better than LUMS’s [haha]
 3. 'Do places like this even EXIST on Earth?!' :O? Yeh. Sad.

And of course, no.3’s the winner!

A rainy day and we went there for a samosa. There was a burly guy frying them beneath a steel shelter in a large 'karahi' flooded with angry bubbles of hot oil. I had a bad feeling just looking at the platter of as-yet unfried samosas beside him, and then up at HIM with sleeves folded up, sweat dripping down. I usually take my own lunch since that prepared in university is hardly something a decent stomach can tolerate. But that day, I gave in to insistence against my better judgement.

We sat at a table, got talking.

A couple of minutes later, 6 plates with a samosa each arrive. We start eating without wasting time, talking all the while. And it was that talk that made me forget I'd to be careful with the triangle. That it always did what it does *ummmmm*.

No problem. We finished them up and started toward the buses as it was home time.

Unremarkable. Everything normal. Feeling different? Nah, on top of the world!

A soon as I reached home, the trouble started. Quick reaction. A minute later and I felt as if the world was spinning. It felt like cramps, pinches, hammer-blows, stuck-in-a-washing-machine feel, all at once! I doubled over with the sheer intensity of it all.

And? Made a dash for the...

           

Oh, samosa!

Saviour

It was in the bus, yesterday.

We were waiting at the PMO gate to get our entrance passes checked while the 'guests', those non-PMO, had to go to the army post to sign in with their NADRA ID cards.

The weather seemed to be taking a turn toward winter last week, but were we wrong! And so it was, stuck in a sweltering atmosphere with a revving 'zrrrrooommm'-ing engine like the ones we used to have in my first school, AUS.

A group of quite-obese ladies were sitting in the front seat, filling up the space with their loud Punjabi gossip; the maids, with quick succession to wickedness of daughter-in-laws, to what happened in last week's so-and-so sitcom on HumTV. Did they spare any field of gossip? Oh boy, not them!  You'd think they were some kind of Obese Encyclopedia of Punjabi Nonsense, audio version. No need for a hearing aid even if you happen to experience auditory trouble, guaranteed!

10 minutes of waiting and I was beginning to grow sick of it all. The guards gazing suspiciously, the ladies chattering incessantly, a silly child throwing tantrums at the back, and the as-yet long queue of waiting guests at the window. All of it!

Unremarkably, in stepped a girl of about 10yrs of age.

She seemed a Pathan-i by look, and the pink net frock she was wearing even in such heat seemed to put a stamp on her Pashtoon-ness (no offence intended!). She had a small white handkerchief folded into a triangle and tied around her hair. It was difficult to grasp the outlook of her footwear among all the tangled feet in the crowded bus, but I spotted a colourful 'khussa' as she stepped over bags blocking the aisle to get to her mother. She instantly reminded me of the picture of Mariam on the book cover of 'A Thousand Splendid Suns', walking along the steppes of Afghan soil.

As soon as she'd snuggled right next to her mama, she began to ask her how did the entry go? What did the guards ask? Hopefully, no trouble at the post? Her girlish voice came chiming back. No mama, it was alright. The guard was very nice to me. I signed on the slip myself, and the guard patted me on the head.

She'd spoken in Urdu - albeit accented - so I was able to understand her words despite the buzz of talk all around.

And then, her mother put her arm around the girl's shoulders and kissed her on the head. Bravo, my daughter! I'm really proud of you. That was the first time I was able to see the mother: white 'chador', missing front teeth, deeply freckled skin, and a perpetual worried look dimmed only momentarily by her daughter's feat of the day. Her eyes lined with tears of gratitude were shut in a gesture of love as she kissed her daughter, and then stroked the girl's head, making her handkerchief come loose.

The girl was smiling. All of a sudden, she turned her face back.

And in that fleeting moment, I caught her eye flat on. She smiled a smile that seemed to say: yes, I've done it. And I will do it again. And someday, I'll free my mother of all the worries that shackle her and others alike. Someday, I'll break the taboos of our region. I'm a warrior, and I know it.

Her 10-yr old face looked triumphant as she turned away.

She was truly the saviour of the day.