...Of Mountains And The Melodies Therein

A month or so ago, I was in the deserts of Bahawalpur. Now I am in the vale of Swat, one of the most beautiful, and in the recent past, most volatile regions of the world. To be transplanted from a place where the average temperatures are in the high 40's to a place where there's still snow on the ridge-line is an interesting experience to say the least. It involved a whole lot of traveling in not a whole lot of time, as well as physical/mental readjustment of a significant nature. I happen to be inordinately fond of long road-trips and my car has stuck with me through thick and thin despite my very rudimentary driving skills, so the traveling bit wasn't an issue. The physical readjustment wasn't too difficult either because I spent half a week acclimatizing (and touching base with the family) in Murree which has a height and temperature slightly more temperate than Swat. The mental readjustment took some time, but with the help of my "Survival Kit" I managed to make the initial days here a tad more 'bardaasht-able'.

I have been here for a month and a half now, and expect to stay till sometime after the New Year at least. In the last five weeks my duties have led me across some of the most remote as well as the some of the most widely visited parts of Swat. To say that Swat is beautiful would be a gross understatement. It currently enjoys a restive peace after a couple of traumatic years, and the tourists - the primary source of the region's bread and butter - have begun to return in droves. During my travels in Swat, I've "enjoyed" a variety of living conditions and weather, and have had to pitch and roll my tent every few days or so. In a brilliant symbiotic relationship, I have kept my camera and my iPod charged and they have done likewise for me. The result is that I have the beginnings of a wonderful audiovisual travelogue of Swat. Whether it was the subconscious influence of my surroundings or an organic choice, what I listened to gradually became more in tune with what I saw or photographed. What follows is a series of selections from my audiovisual travelogue. As with the Bahawalpur post, the music here is of, from, or about the mountains.

Mountain Melodies - A Swat Playlist 

1. Saiyyan Bina Ghar Soona - Raag Pahadi - Ustad Salamat Ali - Nazakat Ali Khan
2. Hari Om Tatsat - Raag Pahadi - Ustad Barre Ghulam Ali Khan
3. Dhun - Raag Pahadi - Ustad Vilayat Khan

I should preface the post by admitting that I know next to nothing about the technical intricacies of North Indian classical music. I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between an Asavari and an Anandi if my life depended on it. It is a failing that I have tried to correct, but it'll take plenty of time. However, I can identify a few basic Ragas, Pahadi being one of them. It is an enchanting Raga, described by one musicologist; The raga is like a lover, unruffled in union, serene in separation, powerful enough to achieve eternal union, but resigned to the painful parting ordained by destiny. Ustad Salamat Ali Khan , despite once referring to it disdainfully as just a "halka phulka raag" , performed many extremely enchanting pieces in Pahadi. This playlist starts off with a wonderful little thumri by the two scions of the Shaam-Chaurasi Gharana, imbued with mellowness and longing.

This is followed by one of the very first pieces of Classical music I ever heard, and one of the most magical. I bought a CD of Ustad Barre Ghulam Ali Khan at my favorite record store / video store / abode of awesomeness , which sadly burnt to the ground four years ago. The very first track on the album was a stupendous Bhajan in Pahadi, and listening to it still gives me goosebumps. It immediately evokes something mystical, powerful and immortal, yet at the same time feels infused with the freshness and vitality of the mountains that are symbolized by the Raga.. The final Classical performance in this playlist is by my favorite Sitar-nawaz, Ustad Vilayat Khansaheb. Taken from a set of remastered 78 RPM recordings, this short 'Gat" displays Vilayat Khansaheb's unique ability to literally make the Sitar sing, the epitome of the "Vilayatkhani" or "Gayeki" style. Sounding almost like a folk tune, this piece is best enjoyed while sitting on the grassy banks of a mountain stream.

4. Blue Ridge Mountains - Fleet Foxes
5. Country Roads - John Denver
6. The Mountain - Levon Helm
7. Moonlight In Vermont - Billlie Holiday
8. Pinegum - Paul Reddick And The Sidemen

As these next five performances show, mountains evoke a set of similar themes throughout the world. There is a sense of longing, a sense of separation and a yearning for return pervading songs about mountains, along with a sense of mystery and wonder. The mountains in these songs are settings for tales of separation and return; of toil and hardship, of nature in its beauty, and of a very strange night. Fleet Foxes describe their music as "Cosmic tones for mental therapy", and provide immaculate harmonies as they sing of quivering forests and shivering darkness. John Denver's "Country Roads" was our official road-trip anthem, my father's favorite English song, and is one of the seminal songs of my life. "Drummers shouldn't sing. Except Levon Helm." said Joe Strummer, and one's bound to agree with him. Levon's last two albums are a triumph in more ways than one, and this ballad is one of the highlights. Moonlight In Vermont may refer to the titular US state, but the way Lady Day sings it here, it could refer to any sycamore-lined, meadowlark-populated valley anywhere. This recording from 1957 features the stupendous Ben Webster on tenor saxophone. And ending on a spooky, bluesy note, Paul Reddick and The Sidemen sing of a nighttime trip through a forest with a mysterious companion, amid snow, the scent of pinegum and a lacquer moon.

9. Isharon Isharon Main - Asha Bhosle And Muhammad Rafi - OP Nayyar
10. Yeh Dil Aur Unn Ki Nigaahon Ke Saaye - Lata Mangeshkar - Jaidev
11. Parbaton Ke Pairron Pe - Sumand Kalyanpur And Muhammad Rafi - Khayyam
12. Tum Apna Ranj-o-Gham - Jagjit Kaur - Khayyam 

The next four recordings are from some of the most amazing soundtracks of Bollywood's Golden Age. OP Nayyar's fresh, folk based and unbelievably melodic soundtrack to "Kashmir Ki Kali" is filled with gem after gem. Asha and Rafi add magic to Shammi Kapoor and Sharmila Tagore's playful cavort through the pine forest in a pure Pahadi folk-tune. Following this is Jaidev's wonderful composition for 1973's Prem Parbat. Jaidev is an oft overlooked composer, but here, with more than a little help from Lata, he allows the mountains, the streams and flowers to sing their song in their own words. The next two songs are from the soundtrack to 1964's "Shagoon" by Khayyam. The first song is as perfect an evocation of the mountains as I've ever heard, the castanets literally chirping in the background. The second is a stunning song, part accusation - part lament - part love song, sung by Khayyam's very gifted wife, Jagjit Kaur. Of all the classic Bollywood songs, these four were on most heavy rotation this past month and a half, and the reason is obvious I think.

13. Ajj Na Javeen Ve - Mubarak Ali Lahori - Agha Majeed Fareedi Qawwal
14. Saif-ul-Mulook - Inayat Hussain Bhatti   

I had to pick a Qawwali recording for the playlist, and I chose this mehfil performance by two relatively obscure but immensely talented performers because, musically and lyrically, this performance brings Pahadi to life. The beloved is leaving, with only the weather and the pleadings of the lover tarrying him. It has a rich Potohari flavour, with glimpses of the Do-Aba style of Punjabi singing, and I've listened to it many a rainy, stormy night. From the folk canon, I have selected a recording of THE seminal mountain epic in subcontinental Sufi poetry, Hz Mian Muhammad Bukhsh (RA)'s Saif-ul-Mulook. This recording from a delightful cassette features the monumental voice of one of my personal heroes, Inayat Hussain Bhatti. Each word, each cadence of the poem is soaked in mountain dew, and Bhatti Sb's magnificent voice brings it to life. 

15. Star Dust - Lester Young With The Oscar Peterson Trio
16. Winter - Edward Simon Trio  

The two jazz recordings that conclude this playlist are very special to me. As soon as I arrived in Swat, I was sent to a remote valley, where there were ten of us living in an abandoned building located next to a mountain stream. There were no sources of artificial light for miles around, and for almost two weeks I was almost totally cut off from the rest of the world. The beauty of the place and the sound of gushing water nearby made the days extremely pleasant, but it was at night that the place truly came alive. An hour or so after Iftar (it was Ramazan back then), a group of locals would gather near the stream next to our building and sing local folksongs, accompanying themselves on the Rubab. Almost simultaneously, the stars would begin appearing in the night sky. I had never seen such a wonderful sky in my life, and for the first time in my life, I actually saw the band of stars that form the Milky Way, our galaxy. After the musicians would leave, I would listen to these two recordings on repeat, and watch as the stars wound their way across the night sky. Most nights I fell asleep with the music still playing in my ears, and I can still hear a faint tinkle of it whenever I look up into the mountain sky. In the first, Lester Young plays with unbelievable feeling and restraint while Oscar Peterson offers faint glimmers of starlight in the background. Lester Young is one of my favorite jazz musician and here he turns the Tenor Sax into a living, breathing creation. The final recording (pardon the poor audio, I recorded it off the late Masood Hasan's wonderful radio show) is by a group that I haven't heard much by. It evokes all the various shades of mountain life; the streams and breezes, the children playing up and down steep mountain tracks, the buzzing of the bees in the honey-farms, the gently falling snow of winter and the sudden torrents of spring. 


Mountain Melodies - A Swat Playlist

That was the audio part of my audiovisual travelogue, and to end this post, here's the visual part, a selection from the photos I took over the last five weeks.

...Of A Pilgrimage

This Sunday I went here

From the outside, it may look like just another shop in a random Pakistani market but in terms of folk music in Punjab in general and Sufi music in particular, Rehmat Gramophone House in Faisalabad is Pakistan's answer to the Abbey Road studios. For me as for many other Pakistani music geeks, RGH is an almost mythical place.

Nusrat cut his first records here, his father recorded some of his last. Attaullah Khan Essakhelvi's journey from unknown performer to the darling of truck drivers all over Pakistan started here. Allahditta Loonaywala was a circus singer before he came to RGH to record. Alam Lohar, Inayat Hussain Bhatti, Zahida Parveen, Reshman, Pathanay Khan, Saeen Zahoor...everybody recorded at RGH. Their archives probably contain more Punjabi folk cultural artifacts than anywhere else in the world.

I had been planning to go to RGH for a while now but due to the unpredictable ward-duties timetable that's the bane of a House-Officer, most of my weekends were spent in the wards. This time though, I specifically requested the powers-that-be to give me a day off so I could go to Faisalabad and finally see the place. Thankully, I got the weekend and on Sunday, I left Lahore for Faisalabad at 9.30 in the morning.

------------------------------Unsolicited Product Testimonial-----------------------------

I consider my phone my Swiss Army knife, and the most potent and useful app in my phone is Google Maps. I can't count the number of times it has saved me from the consequences of my terrible sense of direction. Google Maps made Islamabad and Lahore navigable for me, it took me to my Powergliding trip and now it got me right to RGH Faisalabad from my place in Lahore without ONCE having to stop and ask for directions. In short, Google Maps gets the coveted Official Seal Of Awesomeness

I can say for a fact that I loved Faisalabad, especially the whole 'Ghanta-ghar and Gol Bazar' area. Anarkali in Lahore used to be an interesting place, with bookstores, music shops, people selling trinkets, herbal medicines and the like. But now it's just one huge clothes market. Thankfully, the Gol Bazar in Faisalabad has retained its diversity and you find phoolon ke haar sellers right next to multinational banks, and from what I saw, each doing a roaring trade.

I took a deep breath once I entered Rehmat Gramophone House and I was immediately floored; if old books smell an 8 on the awesomeness scale, old records smell an 11 !! Granted there aren't many vinyls at the shop, but they've still got enough to give me an odour-gasm. I had talked to one of the people at RGH a day earlier and they were expecting me. Before I started to give a look and listen to the qawwali recordings I wanted, I asked them to let me wander around the place a bit. RGH is like a museum and it was an experience just looking at the millions of cassettes on the shelves and imagining the treasures they contained. I thought the gentleman in the photograph in the store was the late supernaturally brilliant Agha Rasheed Fareedi Qawwal, but it turned out to be that of the founder of RGH, Chaudhry Rehmat Ali.



My already huge respect for the musical tastes of the people of Faisalabad increased as I noticed that RGH is almost always full of customers. People are regularly coming in with names of Qawwalis or folk-songs written on slips of paper that the staff take a look at and immediately find for them. I didn't see a single customer turned away because they didn't have the recording he wanted.

After my tour was done I requested them to let me see the tapes I had asked them for, the staff bustled off to underground vaults and returned bearing huge boxes filled with cassette tapes, (something that reminded me partly of Gringotts obviously, but also of a brilliant Bill Bailey spiel about the Argos stores). They had the stuff alright, and giving every cassette a whirl on their stereo cleared any doubts about the sound quality (something I'm very finicky about, knowing the hours that go into cleaning a muddy recording) Once I had expressed my satisfaction with the 10 odd cassettes that I'd ordered, I started looking around for other rarer artists that I didn't really expect them to have.

Suffice to say, they had 'em. They opened up their old recording ledgers and let me look at the various artists and recording dates and when I'd picked one, the store staff would go and retrieve the master-tapes to make me a copy. I spent 3 hours there, exploring, listening to and discussing music with possibly the most knowledgeable and accommodating people I've met. In the end, I left with 7 recordings and they promised to parcel me the rest after they'd made copies from the master-tapes. The rest of my stash arrived today and although I know it'll be a long hard slog digitizing and editing these recordings, I'm terribly, terribly happy.

(RGH photos courtesy Sohail Abid)

...Of Summer Trip 2.0

Before I start, let me say that “Kahin Dil Pe Na Jadoo Kar Jaaye” by Masood Rana is my new favorite song.

As I sit here writing this, my four month long exam ordeal is over.It has been an inhumanly exhausting and nerve racking experience. From the early reports, I don’t appear to be in danger of flunking any of my subjects, which is more than good enough. Examinifitications not being the pleasantest of topics, I shan’t linger on them for too long. The highlights of the three week long finals were I think,

- The beer-belly that munching on endless Cheetos brought about, and I’m trying to get rid of now.
- The beard that appeared somewhere during my pre-Pre-Finals break and now appears to be a fixture, and my mum’s trying to get rid of now.
- Watching Kung Fu Panda and the new Aamir \Imran Khan thingy the same day and enjoying both immensely.
- Late night laptop borrowings to watch Chori Chori and Fantasia. Yes the Disney one, not the Idol one.

As George Harrison (my favorite Beatle, dontcha know) sang, “All Things Must Pass”, my exams have passed and I hope to heavens that I do too. My attention turns back to the start of my Pre-Finals holidays and the Annual Summer Trip.

Twenty-one days had seemed woefully short to prepare for the 4th Year finals, what with there being two extra subjects and the holidays being at least ten days shorter than the normal thirty we get.. So I wasn’t very eager when dad kept asking me if I could spare three or four days at the start of the holidays for the Annual Summer Trip. It appeared that ‘round 18 relatives (and quite a few of them were very round indeed) were gonna be joining us this time and that the trip would be a very elaborate affair, complete with production numbers and chorus lines. The only incentive for me was the new 8 megapixel camera and remembering how great the last trip had been.

Road-trip-mixtape-making is one of my favorite things to do,but as anyone who’se done it knows, time consuming. And with the trip starting the very next day from the end of my pre-finals, it seemed that Road-Trip-Music was in danger. God bless the Chinese !! For apart from their child restriction programs and state approved exercise regimens, they also make those delightful little cassette thingies that you can plug an ipod into and with a few whacks on it’s side, play in any decent car deck. The added advantage was that I could carry all my music with me. The disadvantage was that I forgot my wall charger back at the hostel and so could only use the darned pod in the car and not anywhere else. Aah well…

A picture’s worth a thousand words, as they say, so I’ll just let the pictures do the talking. All the following were taken by me with the 8 megapixel camera and I’m pretty proud of them if I might say so myself….

……As I write this, I’ve found out that Bob Dylan’s new album, “Tell Tale Signs- The Bootleg Series Volume 8” is coming out on the 7th of October…..

A Bearded Chappie In White Trainers

A Bridge Over Troubled Waters

Mist Mountains

The Kunhaar




The Spider In The Mist



The Spider By Day

Saif-ul-Mulook

The Cold Stranger

The Three Brothers


The Three Sisters




Islands In The Stream



Songs Of The Week,The new Ahmed Rushdi\Saleem Raza CD.
Books Of The Week,"The Last Lion:Alone",William Manchester
Movie Of The Week,"The Bicycle Thieves"

....Of Home

There's this porcupine that's proving to be a thorn in my side(lame,I know).It lives in our village graveyard,has a strange penchant for digging up graves,sleeping in them and generally going about like it owns the goddamn place.Now I'm all for animal rights,no matter how hideously revolting an animal is.I mean,hey the human race ain't all that pretty itself.But when the aforesaid quadruped constantly snuggles up with long dead relatives and disturbs their eternal snooze and so forth,it's time to defy the critter.

It's easier said than done.I mean you can't just step up to the varmint and say"I Defy You !!!" Steps need to be taken,measures need to be implemented,bums need to be gotten off of.So,as I leave for my village this Eid/Winter Holiday season,my mind's working in overdrive.A veritable Rube-Goldberg device consisting of jumper cables,fishing nets,electric batteries,sattelite-dish-mesh and little jingly bells is all sketched up and ready.This time the little son of Belial won't know what hit him.Muahahaha...


Each visit back home,and by home I mean the village home,continues the metamorphosis that started almost three or four years ago.First a bit of background.I mean I can't just go gabbing on about tube wells and shot-guns and bunyan trees while the readers (yeah,right) sit there scratching their heads.Now there's two villages,the maternal village Jagoka,and the paternal one,Wallah.You can pronounce them anywhichway you want,they still sound musical to me.


Now Jagoka'd been the Mecca for me all my childhood.The reason was simple,it was full of cousins.And Nano's homemade pickles.And the curious red Masala that could wake you up with one sniff.The place was a bustling metropolis,ruled over by Nani Amman and Nana Bawa,the best grandparents anyone ever had(apart from Dadi Amman and Dada Bawa of course).Our uncle had millions of sattelite dishes and there was Telly.Every holiday,me and my brother would pester our parents to let us go to Jagoka and not the paternal place,Wallah.


Wallah,our place,wasn't such a bad place,but to our jaundiced childhood eyes,it was pretty drab.No children.No telly.But there were the attractions too.Dada Bawa was the best tickler in the world,but as I mentioned in an earlier post,his moods could change.Dadi Amman was the sweetest little creature in the world.Warm and tender,with that wonderful old-people-skin hanging from her arms and neck.She always had huge chunks of sweet,white Misri for us,and we would suck and chew on it for hours.


This polarity remained for a significant time,undisturbed by our parents ' constant reminders that we'd have to learn to like our place because it was after all OUR place,whereas Jagoka of course belonged to our maternal clan.But did we listen,erm no.Slowly,imperceptibly,things changed.Dadi Amman died,and the guilt I had felt for not being there for her in her last days as much as I should've,made me rethink a couple of things.


This was after all OUR place.It had the Big Red Trunk,the orange grove,Dada Bawa's horse and a lot of other small things that slowly endeared that place to me.And after Nana Bawa died two years ago (the only time i've cried over somebody's death),suddenly Jagoka didn't seem that inviting anymore.The cousins are still there,the telly's still there and the uncles are as brilliant as ever.And there's the added attraction of Nani Amman,the only grandparent I have left.But now I can sense(and i'm pretty shrewd at sensing stuff) that it's just a matter of time before the place starts closing it's doors on me.


So now it's me,heading off to make up for lost time at my new/old home.I have my air-gun to shoot the lizards,my books to while away the hours I have to spend on the Dera socializing(being the eldest son and all that),my pen and paper to list all the people I have to distribute Zakat to before Eid,and of course my cellphone to keep in touch with football.With a little bit of work,this place could feel like home.


And then there's this small matter of the porcupine too...


Movie Of The Week,"Monty Python And The Holy Grail"
Song Of The Week,"Salaamat Raho",Rafi.
Book Of The Week,"The Moon's A Balloon",David Niven.

...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 Road-Trip-Music

The "BIG SUMMER TRIP" is upon us finally,praise the Lord !!.

Sitting at home watching barnacles grow on my derriere,although an admirable pursuit,soon loses charm.And with a brigade of seven cousins,two uncles and two aunts straining at the bit,things start getting cagey unless some excursion diverts the attention.So,tomorrow,taking advantage of the strategically placed Long Weekend,I'm off.Off to Shogran,as pretty a place as can be.The sleeping bags,long mothballed,finally get their moment in the sun,or rather moon.The picnic baskets are being packed,the motel reservations completed.The three cars are being prepared for the ordeal of their lifetimes,namely,lugging 600 pounds of prime Sargodha meat and sinew up the most treacherous roads in Pakistan.May God have mercy on their souls...

The best part of the summer trip ?

The respite from heat ?
No.

The beauty of the magestic mountains ?
No.

The basketfuls of mangoes ?
Err...maybe

The music playing along the way ?
Spot On !!

One of my oldest memories is driving down the old Jhelum bridge one night,just me and my dad,with Faiz playing in the car stereo.Then there's the Elton John album that was playing one rainy morning when our car skidded on a road in Chakwal and hit a tractor.The first time I heard John Denver singing,"Country Roads" somewhere in the foothills of Murree.Jagjeet Singh,Kishore,John Denver,Faiz,Faraz,Ghalib...the first time these names entered my mind was in the back seat of a car when I hesitantly asked dad to turn up the volume and asked him who that voice was.

It's been a vital part of my education,this roadtripsong.How many couplets have I heard,only to be asked a moment later by dad to paraphrase or explain it.My many stumbling responses awoke the appreciation of poetry in theHow many folk songs have I listened to,trying to make sense of the obtrusely elegant Punjabi,only to be revealed in wondrous detail on the next trip.How many songs are part of my family album,just because Nana hummed along with them,or Dadi Amman rememberd them from a Bioscope seen long ago...

Soon the tide turned.It was now my job to get the music for the roadtrips.Dad was introduced to Clapton,Sinatra,Lobo,Ella and many more via me.I was told to take trips to Islamabad to buy this CD of Kafis from Lok Virsa,that cassette of Talat Mehmood from Bombeat etc.And then there's today...

Daunted by a five hour trip up the mountains accompanied by a bunch of noisy kids,dad's asked(read ordered) me to make five tapes of his favourite stuff out of all the tons of stuff in my PC.After two hours of exhaustive selection,I stand ready to make these tapes ala High Fidelity.To make 'em,tentatively titled "The Tripped Out Tapes Vol 1-5",I've been presented with a behemoth of a recording console.It's old,it's clunky and it's short circuited,and I have before me at least six hours of headphone-wearing,monitor-staring fun.Here's to making music..


Song Of The Week,"If You Gotta Go,Go Now",Bob Dylan
Movie Of The Week,"Invasion Quartet",1961