...Of Five Conversations

A window into the surreal place I currently call home .

Conversation 1:


W. Doctor sahab, yeh aap ke laptop ke wallpaper pe kis ki photo hai?
Me. Woody Guthrie.
W. Woh kaun hai?
Me. Singer tha ek.
W. Accha .. Doctor sahab, mere laptop pe bhi ek singer ka wallpaper hai.
Me. Accha, kaun ?

W. Justin Bieber.

 .........................................................................................

Conversation 2:

Katy Perry's 'Firework' is playing on the telly, as she sings "Boom boom boom!! / You're shining like a moon, moon, moon!!

Me. Aren't Katy Perry's lyrics awesome?

R. Exactly doctor saheb, itne beautiful lyrics haina. And so deep.

Me. Oh-kay....

...............................................................................................

Conversation 3:

Rob Schneider's 'The Animal' is playing on the telly.

B. Yaar yeh banda kya zabardast actor hai.

W. Exactly sir, kya expressions hain iss ke.

B. Haan, tum ne iss ki 'The Hot Chick' dekhi hai? Pata nahi Oscar ke liye kyun nahi nominate hota yeh.

W. Waqai sir, uss Al Pacino se to bohat behtar acting hai iss ki, kyun Doctor saheb?

Me.  .........

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Conversation 4:

I'm watchin F.W Murnau's 'Faust' on my laptop.

W.  Doctor saheb, yeh footage kitni purani hai?

Me. 1926 ki hai.

W. Itni purani? Phir to iss main Quaid-e-Azam bhi hongay, haina ?

Me ............

...................................................................................................

Conversation 5:

H. Doctor saheb, yeh saaray posters aap ke hain ?

Me. Ji sir.

H. Yeh chaar boorhay kaun hain?

Me. Sir yeh Rolling Stones hain, ek band hai kafi purana.

H. Yeh abhi bhi gaatay hain?

Me. Ji sir.

H. Hmm, Iss umer main to ghazlain hi gatay hongay. Haina doctor saheb?

Me. Bilkul sir.

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P.S ... Of Infernos

Dame Nellie Melba announced her retirement from singing opera in 1920, announcing she'd go on one final farewell tour. She completed that tour, then another one, then another one and then at least a dozen more "farewell" tours until finally giving her last performance in 1928.

When I wrote the rather hastily written farewell in my last post, I had an inkling that I might have to reconsider. I am in the process of reconsidering now and any and all of these, my "Melba farewell" posts will be in the form of postscripts till the either/or situation of me giving up for good/writing actively again arises.

In The Divine Comedy, Dante mentions the 9 circles of hell, or "Inferno" with the 9th reserved for the most malicious sins imaginable. What he fails to mention is the secret 10th and most viciously horrendous circle "l'interrogatorio" - the examinification.

The 21 days spent preparing for them, the 11 days that I've been busy in them and the 10 days that remain have convinced me that there is no greater torture; mental, physical and indeed gastronomical, that can compare to examinations. And the absolute cherry on the cake is that these aren't even the finals. The mind boggles at what new horrors they will bring.

Ramazan has added another variable to the already tangled up equation making it necessary to mould the gargantuan study schedule around sehr, iftaar and hypoglycaemia. Add to that the nightly ritual of drinking the burnt-cockroach-extract that passes off as coffee in the hostel cafeteria and forces you to shower at least twice lest the steam building up between one's ears turn the already gumbo'd grey matter to an evanescent vapor, and you've got a furture looking as grim as a Weight-Watchers Sunday Picnic.

As half my hostel knows by now, I've rediscovered Qawwali in the last 2 months. With a little help from my friends, and the ever helpful internet, I've managed to gather some 6 gigabytes of brilliant recordings from what have quickly become some of my favorite artists. I was already quite a fan of the Sabri Brothers since childhood, with 3 or 4 of their qawwalis ubiquitous on PTV. But the absolute wealth of stuff I found over the internet has completely blown me over.


Another name that I was familiar with but hadn't had the chance to hear was Munshi Raziuddin Khan - a pre-eminent qawwal from the greatest gharana of them all, the "Qawwal Bacchhon Ka Gharana" from Delhi. When I finally got hold of some of his recordings, they were all that I had expected and much more. The Sabris and Munshi sahib currently share top billing as my favorite Qawwals.

Then there's Nusrat, about whom no words can suffice, so I won't waste any. I'm trying to upload one recording each from these three artists, and if there's no hitch, I hope readers (if any) can get to hear something that's been sustaining me over the last two months.

First, the Sabri Brothers singing Iqbal...


And then there's Nusrat singing Bulleh Shah...




There's nothing that perks me up more than something to look forward to, and thankfully there's plenty of those on the horizon. First of all, there's the mother of all things-to-look-forward-to, a new Dylan album. This time the old coot's gone and confounded everyone by announcing an album of Christmas standards in the vein of Elvis, Bing Crosby and The Beatles. A very un-21st-century-rocker move, but then Bobby's always been a tad old fashioned.


The second, albeit distant glimmer on the horizon is the upcoming Tim Burton production of Alice In Wonderland. I don't think I have to say any more than this.


1. It releases on my birthday next year.
2. Johnny Depp is the Mad Hatter.
3.Stephen Fry is the Cheshire Cat......talk about perfect casting.


Even though when the movie is released, I'll be celebrating my birthday wearing 20 kgs of kit, doing one-armed push ups in a muddy ditch somewhere in PMA, the very thought that I'll have Alice to come home to will be a more than welcome birthday gift.


Finally, a word about the Wodehouse charity appeal that I posted 8 months ago. A ton of thanks to all the marvelous friends and relatives who've been generous beyond belief, you know who you are. With your ultra-Pickwickian benevolence, you've managed to a) Bring me to within 10 books of completing my Wodehouse collection, and b) make me your slave for life. I'll try and start finding ways to repay all those who've sent books, or directed me to bookstores or encouraged me, just as soon as my exams are done....

Finally, Munshi Raziuddin and Sons ...


Songs Of The Past Two Months, "Uss Bewafaa Ka Shehr Hai",Naseem Begum, "Can't Buy me Love",Peter Sellers
Movies Of The Past Two Months, "Aguirre:The Wrath Of God","Fitzcarraldo","Encounters At The End Of The World",Werner Herzog.
Books Of The Past Two Months, Don't ask.

…Of Exams

There’s a scene in the Simpsons Movie where the guys inside the giant dome are having an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting when suddenly the discover that they’ve run out of coffee. Pandemonium ensues.
I used to laugh at that, till the same thing happened to me.
Exams are my favorite-most thing in the world, as my friends can testify, hence the month-long worry sessions, the compulsive eating that sends my waistline flying, and the caffeine trips that play havoc with my biological clock. And each year, as the stakes get higher, the worry-weight-coffee cycle begins earlier and grows more intense.
This past month were my first exams of my Final year, the beginning of the end as it were, and the enormity of the occasion had me taking uncharacteristically desperate measures. My new phone, which had me losing at least 12 man-hours (I love the term “man-hours”, reminds me of Charlie Chaplin punching clocks in Modern Times) each day, was exchanged on a whim with a much more basic model in the hope of conserving time and concentration. The feeling of being completely cut off from the rest of the world that this swap entailed was partly compensated by the addictive Snakes game that made the many trips to the loo immensely more entertaining.
I had began prepping earnestly (that’s another world I quite like) three weeks before the start of the exams, and bearing the odd football match that distracted me, I was amazed at my bone headed insistence to actually study. The build-up was fine, I even had the odd weekend to come home and watch a bunch of movies, plus the obligatory ‘Wake-up-early-morning,-bunk-classes-and-watch-the-Oscars’ ritual 5 days before the exams started, which warrants its own post I think.The pace of preparation was slow and assured, at least till 2 days before the exams, when all hell broke loose.
Ever since 3rd Year, I’ve been relying on two addictive legal stimulants to help me get my ganglions jangling-pots of coffee and the occasional Red Bull-, and I wasn’t expecting this year to be any different. Three nights before the exam, me and my study group (worth at least one more post) set out to the cafeteria for our symbolic First Coffee Dose Of The Year. This usually is the sign that things have come to a head and “Squeaky Bum time” has begun. What we found at the cafeteria was too horrible to even contemplate. The place was closed….
Apparently, the cafe owner’s mother-in-law had passed away, and he was out celebrating, or at least that’s what we thought. As the thought of three coffee-less days before an exam hit us, the horror everyone felt was obvious. I could well imagine the amount of work I could get done with an unstimulated brain and thought for a moment to give up the pretense of study, get my phone back and not give a damn. But that was only a fleeting thought, because doing that would have required a sort of perverse courage that I knew I didn’t have.
God made the Universe, heaven and hell and everything in between, and then he made Mothers. Thank heavens for that. Knowing that I was broke and couldn’t go out to buy anything because of the shortage of time, my mum came to the rescue. One phone call and half an hour later, I had a package from home…. A box of instant coffee packets and the world’s biggest stash of Zeera biscuits. I wondered what the strange significance of Zeera was, but they’re my favorite flavor now.
Armed with the ammunition we needed, we managed to get down to studying, when suddenly at around midnight, we heard blood curdling shrieks coming from the corridor. I wasn’t unduly alarmed, knowing from experience that an anguished scream or two every night were routine from any one of the dorm rooms around mine, a time-honored exam tradition. But when they continued, became more protracted and louder, I had to investigate.
It was the hostel cat.
I have a special enmity with the hostel cat, who shall henceforth be called Aunt Agatha (Wodehouse-reference-with-a-desperate-hope-that-someone-would-notice No. 2413) A few days ago, coming back from a four day holiday, I had found the heap of my (usually) freshly washed laundry slightly, how shall I say ,soiled. Apparently mistaking it for the sand-pit, Aunt Agatha had relieved herself liberally on a stash of me shirts, leaving me with a distinctive odor that repeated subsequent washings had done little to dissipate, and had made me the centre of attention in the feline circles.
So, watching the cat scream and writhe in apparent agony made me say a silent, contented prayer for whichever angel-in-human-form had kicked it in the ribs or stepped on it’s tail or given it whatever retribution it deserved. Happy, I returned to my room, and the cat went away after an hour of vocal calisthenics. But it returned the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that ….
Pleadings, an odd thrown shoe, an Exorcism…., nothing seemed to appease it. Finally, after the first exam and four nights of successive feline wailing, we gave in and left the cat alone to pursue it’s Galli-Gurci impressions in peace. It became our nightly alarm clock, reminding us that it was 11 pm and the night only had 4 more hours of study-time left. It was only after the last exam that we found out what the zoologists in our hostel had deduced ages ago, the poor animal was in heat…
The exams ended Monday, and the overwhelming sense of relief was enhanced by the misprint-laden exam paper that now hangs in my room as a hilarious testament to the power a word-processor holds in the wrong hands. Now was the time for the de-mob, the detox, the de-brief and the de-examinifitication.
I’m glad to report, the 6:30 show of Watchmen at the local multiplex did that admirably…
The fact that the exams almost ruined my birthday, which was only rescued by the birthday present to end all birthday presents, the fact that the personal habits of my study mates made me doubt the statement that Man is at the top of the evolutionary chain, the fact that a flu, a backache and a crocked body-clock that the exams left me with shall take ages to recover, the fact that the prospect of a new Dylan album coming out in a month’s time has perked me up to no end…. shall have to wait for another day, laziness permitting.

Book Of The Week,”The Reader”
Movie Of The Week,”Watchmen”
Album of the Week,The Watchmen Soundtrack

...Of Rafi And Family Curses

Its 28 years since Rafi died. It’s terribly shameful that I didn’t realize this till ‘round 7 pm this evening when I came back from jogging and there was a show about him on Geo. A pretty commendable show at that, comforting in the fact that even if the Indian film community, or at least certain members of it are deliberately trying to dilute his legacy, Pakistan hasn’t forgotten one of Lahore’s greatest sons. I don’t think I need to repeat how I feel about him, but to paraphrase; I think he was inarguably the greatest singer I’ve ever heard. And if I haven’t heard a greater singer, it’s not from want of trying.

The funny thing is that each day brings forth another gem that I hadn’t heard before. Take this, for example. A silly little song with Dev Anand as an Ice-Cream vendor, and a bunch of little kids (one of whom is in quite a state of undress) dancing around him. It is what was called a filler song, of little importance, but Rafi has sung it in his “special voice”. If anyone doesn’t know what his “special” voice is, here’s an example. I had bought a brilliant CD of old Pakistani songs from a roadside CD-wala in Pindi, which is pretty mind-blowing in it’s own right, but that’ll have to wait now. It’s Rafi for a whole week now, and nothing else.

…………………………………………………………………………..

The Lalis are an endemic clan, with Jhang and Sargodha their areas of greatest concentration. A storied tribe, with bloodlines linking them with Sultan Tipu, the Lion Of Mysore, as well as quite a few prominent Muslim saints. A few may have made Lahore their home, but the nucleus of the clan is the little town of Lalian, an hour’s journey from Sargodha on the Sargodha-Faisalabad road. Around a hundred odd years ago, their activities included bothering “peaceful” Sikhs and Hindus, having a go at Bhattis and Sipras, and during the World Wars, receiving the “Acknowledgement And Appreciation Of The Viceroy And His Britannic Majesty” for generous donations towards the Red Cross.

These traits have now been substituted with even more admirable ones like drug-trading, stealing canal-water and selling off huge tracts of land. But two things have remained with the Lalis form the days of Gaji Khan (Ghazi Khan, our oldest common ancestor) and those constitute the Lali Family Curse…..Obesity and Male Pattern Baldness!!

The main clan, the cadet branches, even the poor unfortunates who married into the Lali clan, all are inflicted by this curse. The baldness of course is the sole property of males, but the obesity is pretty equally distributed amongst both the sexes. In my case, the baldness stayed on one side and the obesity on the other side of the gender divide in case of my grandparents, but my uncles and aunts have been more equitably blessed with varying combinations of both.

So I’ve been aware ever since I was a tyke that one day I too would be struck down by any one, or God forbid, both of these afflictions. There was a faint glimmer of hope when my kid brother started losing hair like nobody’s business. A year later, the temples began receding, and now the poor sod is earnestly saving cash for a hair transplant. But though his hairline was betraying him, the waistline was above reproach. Sadly I resigned myself to the worse of the two curses (the curse of the two verses???), namely the potbelly.

I wasn’t too worried over hair-loss though, a benevolent Kismet (gimme another word for it if you can), and plenty of head-shaves in infancy had given me good hair, albeit with the consistency of obstinate barbed wire. I was beginning to believe that I would be like one of those lucky uncles of mine who went through life without a toupee to hide their shame. And thus I earnestly set out to achieve the second of the major family traits, and I’m pleased to report that a beer-belly is already developing and ‘tis but a few more weeks of hard work that keep me from a pot belly.

But the sense of security was a false one. Around the time my 4th year exam cycle started three and a half months ago, the unthinkable happened; I began to lose hair. And as it never rains but pours, began to lose ‘em aplenty. Now I’m a pretty strong hearted kid, and don’t get unduly alarmed by much (I think the snakebite and shotgun wound have something to do with that) , but I was darned well frightened. I consider combs to be unnecessary luxuries, and consider a few strokes of my fingers sufficient to make my hair presentable (the Oxford English Dictionary even has a pretty fruity name for people like me; “finger waver”). But now each “wave” of the fingers brought forth further follicular fatalities (hehehe).

I persevered as well as I could during my exams, losing many a precious hair in the process. Finally, as my exams ended, I faced a grim decision. Carry on in the same vein and be the proud owner of a shiny pate in a couple of years, or take the plunge. After a few days of hesitation, and much to my mum’s consternation, I took the ultimate step.

As of exactly 1200 hours today, I am officially a skinhead (no, not one of the neo Nazi, National Front, White Power twits) and I must admit, it feels ultra-groovy…

Now if only I could jog that waistline back to its senses……

....Of Lethargy And Long Sabbatticals

Ages and ages since I last blogged.A variety of reasons my dears,have kept me from posting crazy stuff.Call it blogger's block(it would be too presuptous to call myself a writer),ennui or plain old laziness,whatever it is;now's the time to make amends.I sat down to write today with no clear topic in my mind(something pretty unusual for a didact like me).





It's been a long winter.A dry,not-quite-so-cold-but-hard-on-the-sinuses winter.No need for quilts and heaters,but still a craving for roasted peanuts.Initially it was exams,pretty average,even by my own measly standards.That took a lot of the energy out,and energy was just the thing I was to need in the coming weeks.If any reader remembers(reader...who am I kidding here !),one of my posts was about moviemaking.





Last year-end,I had particitipated in a shall we say,cinematic adventure.Never one to learn from my mistakes,I signed up again when the opportunity presented itself.I had thought it would be a bit easier this time around,what with experience and so forth.No marks for guessing how wrong I was.Having already garnered a Razzie for Worst Acting last year,I was determined not to show my map on screen this time.





I don't know how wasted I was,but clearly I wasn't in control of my senses when I agreed to produce the thing.Well,the first part involved the crew pinching 2000 quid from my wallet while I was semi-asleep..


Well,what with one thing and another,the movie's done,shown and even distributed to four countries by the time I am writing this.Aah,laziness prevented me from completing a post about ...erm laziness.


Book Of The Week,'Gielgud,The Authorized Biography'
Movie Of The Week,'The Producers'

....Of A Strategically Placed Kick Versus A More Humane Treatment

"....And that,doc is why my brain's frozen up.I can't seem to write anything,my life's full of ennui and my football team's got just about as much chance of winning as a blind man in a dark room trying to shove a pound of melted butter in the ear of a wildcat with a red hot darning needle !!"

"Aah,jus,I can see the sypmtoms quite clearly my child.Eet ees a vairy common malady,but one that ish easily cured.Yes..."

"Oh thank heavens doc,what's the treatment?"

"Very simple,dear child.I will administer what we call in medical terms,a "Kick up the nargles!!"

"A WHAT ??"

" A kick up the nargles,my child.Simple yet effective."

"But wouldn't that hurt,and what about the damage to my err,you know what I'm referring to."

"Aah,yes.It's not all pleasant,as several of my patients tell me.But that's the whole point.And as for the damage.Well you don't have to worry about that,we both know that all those years of listening to Dylan have left you sterile already.So vee cannot do any more damage,hein.."

"Are you sure doctor there isn't any other cure ?"

"No mein child,it iss ze only way."

"Aah well,what's gotta be done's gotta be done.Hoof away doc."

"Excellent mein child,excellent. Now if you would just bend over.A little more.Just a little more.There,that's perfect.
And ze one ,and ze two and ze......"

No such luck,dear reader,it was just a dream.Too bad,you say.You would have liked to see me kicked up the nargles,wouldn't you? I'm sure you would.But thankfully that didn't happen.Unlike the good doctor,I found a more humane means of relieving my symptoms.It's called a Big Weekend !!

A series of unfortunate events had prevented me from coming home last week,and that had ripened my already magnificent grouch to a finer vintage.I felt that it was time matters were taken into my own hands,and an escape was plotted.A slightly fictitious excuse,and voila ! I had an extra day's leave along with the weekend.Another excuse once I got home,and I barely escaped going to a wedding in Lahore with my folks...

Finally,HOME ALONE !!!!

I had prepared well,a whole horde of movies including one that I had been waiting eighteen years for.Well not me personally,but you know what I mean.There was food in the fridge,comfort food! And the weather was as perfect as it could ever be.

Did it work ? By Golly It Did !!

Just to test if my brain had been de-barnacled,I sat down to write a synopsis-precis to a story a friend had sent me.I was hesitant,wondering if anything would click into place or not.It took work.And coffee.And frequent trips to the loo.But finally the gears started clicking,and there I was...

If anyone else has the same problem,here's the prescription.See if it works,otherwise the good doctor's foot is always an option...

Rx

The Simpsons Movie - Single Dose
The Clockwork Orange - Single Dose
High Fidelity - Two doses.King Size.
The 40 Year Old Virgin - Liberal Doses
Smiles Of A Summer Night - Single Dose,Stat.
The Lavender Hill Mob - Single Dose,taken slowly and luxuriantly

Ray Charles - No less than three albums
Beethoven - The Third,Fifth Seventh and Ninth Synphonies
Stephen Lynch - For symptomatic relief,as needed.

Perfect weather,if available...

There,try it.And do come back for follow-up.That'll be nine hundred rupees.Please pay the receptionist on the way out.

Thankyou for coming.....



Movie Of The Past Few Weeks,"The Lavender Hill Mob,(1951)

Songs Of The Past Few Weeks,If I Were Gay,Stephen Lynch.Sun Le Tu Dil Ki Sadaa,Rafi.Slow Train Coming,The Groom's Still Waiting At The Altar,Bob Dylan.

Books Of The Past Few Weeks,"Irmeghan-e-Hijaz",Iqbal."WLT",Garrison Keillor."Leaving Home",Garrisson Keillor

...Of One Final Trip

It's the darkest hour of the night.The usual night traffic rolls on by while everything stand still.But there is still some life stirring someplace.Under the shadow of Chauburji,there sits a lone bluesman smoking pot.Wearing his worn down hat and his beaten up shoes,with barely a shred in between,he lovingly nestles his slide guitar in his lap.Polishes it with his dhoti,spits away the guthka and starts to sing...


"I got the rickshaw jitters,man they's messin' up my mind

Lawd I got them rickshaw jitters,they's done mess'd up my min'

I feel that shakin' in my bones Lawd,right down to my intestines !!"



With the last week of the holidays upon me,there was still time for me to drag my bootheels a' wanderin' again.Having learned nothing from the gut-busting hikes in the Northern Areas,I was off again.This time it was gonna be a trip to the plains,Lahore to be precise.It was gonna be a train trip from Pindi,two nights in lahore and then back home again.It shoulda taken two days,ended up spanning over four nights...


The first night was a surreptitious trip up to Islamabad.Surreptitious because I would never have been allowed to go there with the whole Lal Masjid drama going on.But go there I did.Now,Islamabad's a pretty organized place,and that's what numbs my brain.I'm a pretty disorganized person,and it doesn't take much for me to get completely lost.And that's exactly what happens everytime I go to the capital.But before getting lost,I managed to run into the mother lode of good luck.An hour later,lugging two thousand rupees worth of CDs and DVDs,griining like a Cheshire,I rode out to eat.


And this is where my GPS handed in the dinner pail.Now I knew,and my friend knew that there's just one darn Pizza Hut in the whole of Islamabad,but for the life of us we couldn't find it.At least ten times 'round Jinnah Super,and almost as many around Super Market left us dizzy,hungry and queasy.At last,giving up,we went into a KFC for a burger and that's when we found out,those damn Pizza Hut buggers had closed down the joint two weeks ago.It was midnight when we set out to my friend's house,knowing full well that the train to lahore was at 7.30 the next morning.So either we were gonna miss some sleep,or be late for the train.


In our ever-obligin' way,we managed to do both.Stayed up half the night,and had to run like blazes to catch the train.And even then,the adventures didn't cease.Now how were we to know that there were two trains to Lahore,and how were we to guess that they both looked the same,and both were rearing to go.To cut the long story short,we got into the wrong train,and realized our mistake at the very last moment,sending us runnin' crazy across the platform to the right train and to the comfort of our seats.And comfort it sure was,a credit to the Railway department.Five hours later,(it was a local train,dontcha know) we were in Lahore.


Now there's something in the Lahore air.A mix of petrol,lavender,sweat and soil,it freshens up a man like nothing I've known.Leaving me at the Mess,my friend went out to meet some of his relatives while I slept.When I woke up round about six,I still couldn't find the bugger anywhere.Turns out he was gonna be out till nine,leaving me stranded.I stood it as much as I could,but finally decided to take matters into my own hands and set out to meet an old College friend of mine.Now I know there must be thousands of rickshaws in Lahore,but I couldn't find a single one.


There's something in my demeanor that sorta invites confidence.People look at me and say, "Say,this here looks like a nice chap.Sort of decent,well behaved lad,dontcha think.Let's ask him for directions !!"

And they stop,roll down their windows and ask me the way to such-and-such.And I bend down,look 'em straight in the eye,flash my most charming smile....and send 'em off to god knows where !!

At least five cars stopped to ask me for directions,and unless they ran into a bit of luck,they might still be wandering listlessly across Lahore,trying to find their way back home.Thus a word of warning,do NOT ask me for directions.Ever.


I finally managed to find a rickshaw,and headed out to Jinnah Hospital,where I was to meet this friend of mine.It had been ages since I had ridden one,and it was bloomin' good fun.My innards got the churning they deserved,and any earwax I might 'ave had must have perished in that magnificent wall of sound.Finally I was at the rendezvous point,waiting for my friend to come.


Now,I'm a cad when it comes to keeping in touch with friends.All through my life,as soon as we moved to a new city,the old friendships were ancient history.I used to,and still evade any contact with some of the best friends I ever had.So it was by a bit of effort that I got around to hooking up with a bunch of old acquaintances.Meeting up,exchanging pleasantries,we set out towards my first destination,a bookstore.Now the only nice place I had heard about was Readings,Main Boulevard,and that's where I headed.Excellent place,nice ambience,great books,(I bought seven!),and bloomin' cheap.Try to imagine eighty rupee books in Islamabad or Rawalpindi and you'll understand my excitement.My errant friend and his cousin hooked up with us and we set out to eat round about midnight.A hearty meal,and a good night's sleep,and that was that for the first day.


Sunday was Tourist day,sightseeing day.The museum,the fort,the mosque.And that compulsory trip to Iqbal's tomb.The fort's in pretty bad shape from when I last saw it,but the Masjid's as beautiful as ever.Strange bit of irony that Chinese tourists are allowed in the mosque,and we can't enter the adjacent Gurdwara.Ce la vie...


Another hooking up with a friend,and then to a couple of other places.Went roaming about NCA and FC College out of pure ennui,and then more shopping.I bought another bunch of cds as my friends' hair turned white at the thought of these fresh monstrosities that would eventually find their way to my hostel room,and hence to their tormented ears.Then it was a walk across deserted Defence,where a strange thing happened.As we were walking,a bike passed by and suddenly bust it's chain.I shrugged and passed on,found a rickshaw to take me back to the mess,but the driver refused,saying that the chain was broken!

Another mile of walking brought me to another rickshaw,this one with all of it's innards thankfully intact.We rode on home,weary but elated,when it suddenly stopped.The driver got out,did a quick diagnostic,and delivered the verdict,the chain's broken.Well,I mean really !! Finally we were back in our room,and slept soundly..


The final day was reserved for shopping for clothes,something I detest.But a phone call to another long lost friend saved the day.I picked up a couple of Dockers,and a bunch of tees,and that was it for shopping.Then roaming about Lahore,killing time till I had to go back,I realized what a nut I'd been in not keeping in touch with all these lads.Finally it was time to head home,and I boarded the Daewoo with the song of the Chauburji bluesman ringin' in my ears...



"Well the rickshaw's a howlin',howlin' for all to hear

Lawd that rickshaw's howlin,n' it's howlin' for y'all to hear

It's turned my brain all to puddin'and it's a tricklin out ma ear"



Shopping For The Week,

CDs;
A Bob Seger compilation
A Johnny Cash comp
A Leonard Cohen collection
Another comp of Cohen covers
A Joni Mitchell comp
We Shall Overcome,Bruce Springsteen
A Springsteen live bootleg
A Neil Young comp
A Jackson Browne comp
A Naushad collection
A Van Morrisson comp
And the latest White Stripes record,Icky Thump...


DVDs;
Dracula (the original 1931 film)
The Grapes Of Wrath
The Lavender Hill Mob


Books;
Sula,Toni Morrisson
Ovid's Metamorphoses
My War,Andy Rooney
Leaving Home,Garrisson Keillor
WLT-A Radio Romance,Garrisson Keillor
Two more for my friends...

...Of The Great Summer Trip

If ever I have any children,a pretty slim chance,as I'll come to later,I know what I'll do on long winter evenings.

I'll sit the little buggers on my knees,give 'em something to eat so that they keep their mouths shut.And then I'll start my story...

"Today,me lads,daddy's gonna tell you the story of how he went on the first great trip of his life"




And they'll all squirm,look at each other and roll their eyes,as if saying,"Oh heavens,not again !!"




"Keep still you little varmints,and listen.This is how it all began"

DAY ONE...







I woke up in front of the PC.I had fallen asleep on the wicker chair recording the tapes for the trip to Shogran(see previous post).Grudgingly I put the final tape into the console and finished the seven hour recording session.Now was the time to pack.As always,mine was minimalist;a toothbrush,a Vonnegutt and my cellphone,plus the trusty inhaler for emergencies.The three cars were soon loaded up as we set out round about one in the afternoon.And this is where all the headfone-wearing bore its reward as Abida Perveen blared from then stereo.My cousins,caught unawares,quickly covered their ears and hid for cover...




We rolled along,smooth as can be,and by and by we came to Balakot.It's been one and a half years since the terrible earthquake of 8th October,but the land still hasn't healed.The mountains lay bare their scarred and bruised bodies everywhere one looked.The city itself was a jumble of blue-roofed prefab homes,a sign of the world's generosity.The Kunhar,the red river,still flowed in all it's roaring majesty.It cut and clawed at the already ravaged land,forcing a new path for itself amid all the sliding and slipping rock.





We passed on,along the makeshift one-way bridges.
The roads,once glistening two lane affairs,were utterly ruined.At places,almost unpassably dangerous,it was a miracle that the three cars managed to navigate them safely,their prodigious cargoes intact.Finally,we reached better roads,amid wonderful foliage,and snaked up the road to Shogran.Here,one of the cars which had drawn the short straw and was carrying the,er most generous load,finally gave up.It refused to go any further,citing the Geneva Conventions,unloading all who sat(applying the term very loosely) inside.It was for the rest of tha caravan to take turns depositing the whole traveling party to their destination.I was urged(shoved) out of my seat to make way for one of the others,and waited by the side of the road for the car to return.I whiled away the time by admiring the magnificent foliage,especially the fern forests.

Finally,I was there,Shogran.At a height of 2500 metres,a vast green plain nestled among the mountains,looking out to the snow-clad Kaghan mountains.

Our accomodation was reserved in a marvelous Forest Department rest house,a lavish new building constructed after the original one had been destroyed in the earthquake.It was cold,calm and windy,in short perfect for Frisbee !! An hour later,invigorated by cold sweat,sitting out in deck chairs,sipping tea,I saw one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen.

The sun set over the mountains at a quarter to eight,and the twilight lasted another half hour.Our appetites whetted by the mountain breeze,not that mine needs any whetting,I quickly wolfishly gulped down a hearty dinner,and had mangoes afterwards.(Just had to mention the mangoes,dontcha know !).

The night ended with everyone huddled up in the giant sitting room for a sing-along.Nano couldn't stop laughing at all her brood singing themselves silly in the night.then it was time for bed..

DAY TWO...

I was woken up at the ungodly hour of 4.30 am,and went out into the biting cold to watch the sunrise over the snow-clad mountains.My dad had assured me that it was going to be worth the lost sleep.Unfortunately,the clouds had different plans,and crowded out the whole east face,turning it into a kaliedoscope of light and shade,like something Rembrandt would have turned up if he had decided to take up landscapes.A single glimpse of the sun was all that was afforded us in that sunrise.

That day was earmarked for a trip even higher to a place called "Sarri Paye",a series of two mountains that in their confusion,had gotten topsy turvy,with Sarri on a lower altitude than Paye.We were all urged to partake a hearty breakfast,especially us dunces who had volunteered to forsake the jeep trail in favour of a nine kilometer hike.Me,my brother and the most,let's say,well endowed cousin collected the camera,the water flask and a pack of Wrigleys and set forth in advance of the rest of the family who would follow in jeeps up the trecherous track.My brother,the sly devil,quickly ran off ahead,leaving me to lumber up the mountain with my cousin at snail's pace.The poor sod would stop every ten paces with pitiful cries of"Ouch,my legs!","Ouch,my knees!","Ouch,my feet!","Ouch,my bum!"

Anyway,we trudged along.It was a sheer climb,slippery,steep and muddy,with not a bit of plain level track along the way.But it was as beautiful as could be,with vistas opening up at every bend,revealing the fabulous valley below in splendid detail.

The mountain sun blazed on my neck all along.the trek seemed to be never-ending,with every bend in the road exposing further stretches of the track.Halfway up,just as I was fed up with my cousin's whining,one of our jeeps met us and picked him up,thus relieving both of us of our misery.Instead,dad got out and decided to keep me company for the remaining four and a half hours.It was a very difficult hike,but we finally managed to make it to the top,albeit not without a heavy price.The damage my,ahem,family jewels took on the way set me halfway along a future devoid of the pattering of tiny little feet in the tiny little homestead.
But what awaited me on the top was well worth the sacrifice.As I trudged my now insubordinating limbs to the crest of the peak,a marvelous sight awaited me.Acre upon acre of the most flat,the most green,and the most flower-carpeted terrain I had ever seen.It was colourful enough to burn my retinas,after they had been greyed into oblivion by the mundane terrain of the plains.there were little lakes of rainwater,each fifty feet across,clear blue,with the green of the moutains reflected in them.All around were sheer drops into the valleys down below.




And that was not all.For rising from the plains was the Crab Mountain,"Makra" to the locals,which was still wearing a tattered mantle of last year's snow.All that snow re-awakened our hiking spirits that had been dampened somewhat by the nine kilometer climb.

Taking an empty water bottle,we wowed to trek up the mountain and bring back some of the snow.It was farther than we had thought,a total of five kilometres.Finally we reached the snow.It was dirty,in a rocky depression quite a long way down,and difficult to reach,but we were nothing if not resilient.We finally managed to gather a fistful of snow and brought it back like spoils of war.

We finally managed to gather a fistful of snow and brought it back like spoils of war.After three hours up at "Paye",we headed down to"Sarri" for a traditional mountain lunch,again courtesy the forest department.A mix-up with the jeeps meant that there wasn't anyone to bring the rest of the family down to "Sarri",and they all trudged down in groups of two or three.Everyone was tested to their limits,most of all,my Nano.She's hypertensive,diabetic,and as she let everyone know along the way,well versed in the choicest Punjabi expletives.Everyone was worried out of their skins at the thought of her climbing down the steep tracks and heaved a huge sigh of relief when she made it to "Sarri" safe and sound,although a little worse for wear.Everyone attacked the food with gusto,especially the silly hikers.

In a moment of madness,I had decided to opt for the jeep,instead of hiking down,thinking that my knees had already taken enough of a beating.I had thought that the trip in the jeep would be tranquil compared to the gruesome hike,instead,it put the fear of God into me !!The jeep swayed and rolled,jumped and flew down the bends that seemed ten times more treacherous.All the while,finishing the good work that the upward hike had started on my,er,you-know-whats.That's the moment I resigned myself to a life of sterility.I got off halfway,and in damage control mode,hiked very gingerly down the slopes.Once again,the valleys were generous in the views they provided me.

I dragged myself back to the hut,and fell headfirst onto the bed,thinking I would never regain the use of my battered legs after a total of 23 kilometres up and down the mountains.Elsewhere around me were similar sights to see.Everyone was nursing their legs,arms and other assorted body parts.I lay down that night expecting a deep,healing sleep.Instead...

DAY THREE...

I woke up at two in the morning to the scariest sound I had ever heard.Gale force winds were tearing through the rafters,with sleet crashing on the windows and awesome flashes of lightning that burned up the whole sky.I dozed off again,waking up on the final morning of our trip,expecting to see signs of last night's tempest.But a different sight awaited me as I stepped out into the bitter cold morning.The sky was clear,the distant mountains were fully exposed and bore on their backs a sparkling white burden of fresh snow.Hitchin up my sagged jaw,I called up the rest of the family to feast their eyes on the sight.

That sight,with the whole clan,the oldest member at 66 and the youngest at 5 summers old,gazing in awe at nature's handiwork,capped off a wonderful trip..
A few parting snaps,and we loaded up our stuff to head back.Thankfully,the road back passed without any incident.We stopped in Balakot to offer Fateha at the grave of Syed Ahmed Shaheed,who had laid down his life back when Jihad really meant what it meant.After that it was a smooth drive back to Abbottabad,with wonderful music playing all along the way.

"So,that me lads,is how your old dad went on the first great trip of his life.Wasn't it exciting,eh lads?."

"Lads ?? Where've you run off to ??"

"Lads,LADS !!"

N.B,All the photographs were taken from my mobile phone,apologies for the picture quality.

...Of The Start Of The Summer Holidays

The first day of the summer holidays.


You wake up at five in the morning.An ungodly time,a relic of those disturbed sleep patterns that I detest the most about examinations.

Outside,the mountains are shrouded in white mist.You nibble on a couple of fresh plums from the kitchen garden,inhale a gallonfull of mountain air and say to your immortal soul;

"I say,old chap!Jolly good place this,innit? Smashing weather,what?".To which the jolly old immortal soul replies,

"You said it,old horse.Topping weather.Topping !!"

A sudden rush of Pickwickian benevolence gushes through you as you think of all your chums sweating it out on the plains.A couple of phone calls,and they're all invited for a trip to the hills.You lounge back in the deck chair,with a feeling of "something finished,something done".Pick up your Kerouac and smile in the expectation of a nice hour of reading,when suddenly,there is a car outside.

Me;"I say,any idea who that could be,old I.S?"

Old I.S;"I'm as blank as you,old horse.But I'm getting a rather sinister feeling..."

Then I see the first one.Then another,and finally the whole clan.

RELATIVES !!!!

As seething horde of humanity streams through my gate,it seems that the whole family have suddenly realised four things.

1.It's way too hot down here in Sargodha

2.It must be much cooler somewhere higher up,like say,Abbottabad.

3.Hey,dontcha know,we've got a relative up there.And doesn't he run some kind of school?

4.Come to think of it,aren't our children just at the schoolgoing age?

It doesn't take Einstein to add it all up,and Voila !!,here they all are.In a mass exodus from Sargodha,a host of Uncles and Aunties and Cousins and Maids and Servants.
Fat uncles,rotund uncles,obese uncles,portly uncles,each one a marvel of creation.And the aunties...
Once they were the meaty Mutiaars of Punjab.Now there's no sign of the mutiaar anywhere,only meat.And plenty of it.
And then there are the cousins,those little critters with fish-like goggling eyes.They stare at you,as if saying,"Here I am smearing marble cake all over your computer,tearing up all your Wodehouse,and there's nothing you can do about it."It's not that hard to break under the strain and give them ten of the best with the backside of a hairbrush down where it would do them the most good.But no,we've got to keep it together,ain't that right old soul?

"Absolutely right old horse.It's just not done,just not cricket.Stiff upper lip,old top.Stiff upper lip !!"

Now I'm not saying I don't like my relatives.But there are cousins,and then there are cousins.There are those with whom I've spent my childhood,played with them,ran with them as grandpa's sandals whistled past our ears,stolen their fruit,twisted their ears,and this creates a bond.And then there are those,whose faces I have never before seen.And in the case of a couple of Winston Churchill-Boris Karloff combinations,faces I wouldn't ever want to see in my lifetime.

But it's not all gloom and doom,fair reader,because these uncles and aunts don't come empty handed.They bring MANGOES !!

Crates upon crates of those golden delights fill our kitchen.I had thought that getting posted up here in Abbottabad,I'd be deprived of these wondrous gifts of summer.But no,this sudden onrush of visitors has brought me mangoes beyond my wildest dreams.And that's not all.Three course meals morning,day and night.Souffles and trifles and cakes and creams,enough to stock up on blubber for two or three winters.

As I write this,the rain is incessant.The mountains are all hidden behind the roving clouds and I'm thinking up a rather beastly rhymed abomination that shows my fevered state..

The 'lectricity's gone and the raindrops patter
As the uncles smoke and the cousins chatter
While I stuff my face and keep getting fatter
'S wonderful up here but that doesn't matter
Cuz a few more days of this,and I'll be as mad as a hatter...

I.S.,"I say old horse,was it you who wrote this bilge?
"Yes I was old top."
"Tsk Tsk,I think you'd better lie down,old boy."
"I think you're right,old chum.I'd better lie down"



Movie Of The Week,"Rosemary's Baby"

Books Of The Week,Finished: "Dear Me",Peter Ustinov.Started,"On The Road",Jack Kerouac

Song Of The Week,"Kaun Aya Mere Man Ke Dware",Manna Dey

Movie Dialogue Of The Week,Peter Falk,"Surely,you can't be serious."
Leslie Nielsen,"I am serious.And don't call me Shirley !!"
Airplane(1980)

.....Of Pain

Every one has their own waking up rituals.Some just jump off the bed,fresh as a daisy.Others lie there,waiting in vain for a miracle to turn back the clock just one more hour so they can snooze some more.With me,it's just a quick stretch and I'm off.Never again am I stretching after today !!!
Woke up today with no premonition of the coming agony.Was just stretching a bit when out of the blue,something went Pop in my right ear!!.Suddenly a whacking great flash of pain shot up from my toes upto my neck,and stayed there.I couldn't move my neck one bit and all I could do was shout out HOLY CRAAAAAPP !!!!.And a fat lot of help that did.I had sprained one of my neck muscles really bad,and it was hurting like the dickens.After a lot of swearing,wheezing and hefting,I managed to sit up straight,one arm supporting my neck,with the elbow jutting forward like a rocket launcher or something.I called up a friend,woke him from sleep and asked (yelled at) him to come and take me to the hospital.
Now I've been acquainted with pain from my earliest days.After having been shot twice while out boar hunting,bitten by a snake,putting my finger in a meat grinder out of curiosity and having it's tip chopped off (i was seven,for pete's sake),you'd think I would take this minor misfortune in my stride.But each kind of pain is different.Sometimes it's that slight sweet pain you get when you've got a light fever,a little flu and lot's of ovaltine to keep you company.Sometimes it's that horrid,mysterious pain that comes out of nowhere and forces you to stand utterly still and hope you've not busted you're guts or something.Sometimes it's that silly niggling pain that just won't let you play football.This was of a new kind.The kind where you are completely paralyzed and each slight movement is rewarded by an electric shock putting you back in your place...
Well,holding my head at an ungodly angle I headed out to the hospital,wincing at each speed breaker along the way.The doctor at the trauma centre took one look at me and decided that I was bluffing,so he decided to confirm.A simple F%^%&^%#@^%!*$^*%& !!!!!!!!!!!! radically changed his views,and taught him never to touch my neck again.With a vengeful look in his filthy,leering eyes,he handed me a prescription,all the while muttering "That'll teach you". An injection,aah well,I was expecting it.So I uncovered my arm and braced for the needle.But no,I wasn't getting off that easy."Lie down",said the sadistic doctor,and I reluctantly lay down with a horid premonition as he applied his needle to you know where.
So,as I write this,i find myself in the singularly unenviable position of simultaneously having a pain in the neck,and a pain in the a**e !!!

Song of the Week ;Diamonds And Rust by Joan Baez
Movie Of The Week;Gigi (perfectly horrid)