Z o m b i s t a n

For a recent escapade I decided to take the down train from Islamabad (Rawalpindi) to Lahore, as I was tired of the cramped bus seats and sick of the out dated Bollywood music lambasting through their busted speakers.

If you have traveled there the terrain near Islamabad is lovely; especially when the train weaves through the Potohar landscape on its iron track cutting through the mountains.

Train going through Potohar mountains in Pakistan

But as usual, the loveliness doesn’t last forever… right after Gujar Khan (the third stop from Rawalpindi) starts one of the most populated rural area of Pakistan, although the train stops for gradually shorter periods on the next stations, the hordes rushing in to grab the remaining vacant seat keep swelling.

Wrong Entry!

I had started to roam up and down the train carriage, but not before carefully securing my travel bag, and cautiously confirming that all of the concomitant passengers were heading for the same destination. As I glanced through, I noticed the lovely shades and moods of people in this land of myriad races; from a healthy and wealthy Pashtun business men (talking/shouting at someone over his cell phone) to a Jatt woman (digging through her silverware and hopelessly trying to provide equal proportions of food to her unruly and uncountable children)

It grew difficult to float around in the carriage by the time the train reached Gujranwala, as the passageway had been completely occupied either by the persons who were not able to acquire seats, or by the goods they brought along.

The train was slowing down, I scampered through to my compartment (which was in the middle of the carriage) but by the time I reached there, the trained had stopped and new passengers were trying to get on it anyway they believed possible. The carriage had two doors -at both ends- and people were dashing in through both, till they could find some nook or reached the other door (where they would be eventually pushed back)

Within a minute the corridor was packed and the doors were plugged, then there was that loud crying whistle of the train, and it started on with a strong jolt… I could see people running along outside; some hoping to climb up, and others trying to look through the thick curtain of mingled sweating bodies (to make sure their relatives/friends had found a corner to settle in.

Travel: anyway possible

Just then, a desperado threw in his luggage through an open window -barely missing the head of an old man who was sitting on the floor- and then jumped in from another window… I could see the shimmer of insanity (or adventure or accomplishment) in his eyes, as he pushed his torso in; with his legs flailing outside matching with the speed of the train! The guy sitting next to the window finally got over his apathy and helped the ‘dangling dude’ in.

Train picked up the pace and the mayhem was quieted a bit; people were going through their belongings now; men counting luggage items, women counting kids… one ‘Burqa’ clad lady started thrashing her young boy who was tired of sticking to her side and an old man took out his ‘Beeri’ (a local cigarette made of cheap tobacco and Pipal leaves) lit it up and start puffing it despite many complains from other passengers.

I checked the train ticket, just to make sure that I was in the right carriage and right compartment, because I knew the ticket checker would come any minute to make the further mockery of the mob rule here. 

I glanced back… my seat was taken! A young man was loitering there, hoping that the legal passenger wouldn’t return… I turned around and moved forward, the young man saw the look on my face and immediately vacated it, with a similarly vacant smile on his face.

I was about to repossess my seat and just then, in the distance near the carriage door, my right eye caught the contrast of the clean and bright feminine colors hopelessly fidgeting and protesting against the greyish blues and pale yellows of the coarse and sweaty cloths of male passengers hanging around the carriage door. 

Those men there… they were mostly frequent travelers, some of them where sticking there to puff another cigarette before pushing inwards; towards their companions… others knew that it was futile to look for a vacant spot in the carriage… and the only source of fresh air was the open door of the moving train.

I counted them; 7 women, approximately 16 to 40 years old, they would try to move towards the compartments of the carriage but the passage was too narrow and clogged by the men standing there, it was virtually impossible for their fragile and unaccustomed ‘virtuous’ bodies/selves to push through the massive pile of perspiring flesh around them. 

One of them was slightly taller (and dauntless too) she puckered up and decided to get ahead, but no matter which angle she would try her body couldn’t avoid the friction with the male passengers standing in the way, a few of the men sheepishly tried to cramped themselves against the carriage’s walls to make way but there was just no room there! And then others would stand firmly not willing to miss the chance… the touch; no matter how pathetic and offensive it seemed. 

There was an exchange of few conniving smiles and one of the men decided that his self was too heavy to move or give way to the oncoming party of females, his ‘Standoff’ created a rigid bottle neck, and then there were couple of hands added to the previously unavoidable ‘Friction’. He caught her in mid stride, and then he grouped her with surgical precision (or more like a butcher dividing through the latest hot kill) the leading girl was flabbergasted for a second… and the man standing against him willful… in the following moment, the men -who previously seemed content with the body slithers- caved in on the rest of the girls/women coming behind the leader… what happened in the next 10 seconds was (or had been) unthinkable for me… 

If immorality is caused by a virus then it is the most contagious one!

 

That was the thought that got stuck in my head.

The tall girl pushed through, as the man who set this diabolical performance in action let go of her, he pushed ahead and disappeared towards the adjacent carriage, rest of the girls and women went through the opening made by the tall girl. 

An old bearded man realized what had happened, he started abusing the men standing in the passage; threatening, scolding about the imminent wrath of the G-d about to decent on them… on the nation… on its political leaders.… those who were sheepish, remained sheepish, those who participated in the situation laughed and moved on.

The harassed and molested group of the trembling women had no one but themselves to look up to… so they wiped out each other’s tears, horrors, sorrows….

I would refrain from the resolving details of the great train temerity as I need to cut to another scene now…

Empress Market, Karachi

One week later, I was present at the main chowk (cross roads) of the notoriously crowded Empress Market or Sadder Bazar of Karachi, if you take a bus from Merewether Tower to Sadder you will get off precisely at where I was at that moment… Peshawari Ice cream parlor! Such a wonderful spot for guilty pleasures (hmm… Peshawaris or Pathans do make other things than Naswaar, Hashish and guns)  It was summer, and summer in Karachi is not dissimilar to a very hot sauna (say 45 degree Celsius with 80% humidity) 

I was trying my best to savor the creamy ice and not to let it waste in the shape of a sugary mud, just then an angry horde of men (mostly middle aged) came crashing out of a side street, they were carrying rolled up flags which they were using as batons to thrash anything that came in their way (or they found in their eye sight) it was some religious/political rally gone out of control…. again  within seconds the whole scenario had changed; shop keepers were pulling down shutters to save their property, passersby and passengers waiting for their buses were running for cover, while the buses sped away instead of stopping at the station.

A rally in Karachi

There was an old woman with a young girl, across the road; standing in the opposite direction probably waiting for a bus at the stop. I could read the fear on her face while she clutched the young girl with her trembling hands. They main body of the frenzied crowd  had rushed out of that part of the street by then, with a trailing line of young men who were either busy picking fruits and sweets from unmanned stalls or thrashing bulbs on the lamp posts or kicking shutters or bolted doors of the shops; doing what their tastes allowed them.

Two boys in their late teens spotted the old women and her young companion trying to camouflage their selves in a corner, the boys looked at each other and idled towards the women in an unnoticeable manner, one of them was holding a large tree branch in his hand –like a club. I was reliving the train nightmare….!

The boys were on my side of the street, they walked slowly to come level to the women, but they didn’t know that I was watching them. I stood my ground as the distance between them and I grew shorter, and just as they were about to cross the street I stepped in:

“Salam” I barged in. 

They were perplexed for a second. One of them seemed slightly mature or older.

“Kya men aap ki tasveer bana sakta hon?” (Can I take your photograph?) I took out my camera

“No”, the elder boy briskly denied the request.

There was a momentary silence.

“Ye digital hae kay reel wala hae?” (Is this a digital camera or an old SLR?) the younger boy had a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Digital hae… ye dekho!” (It is digital, see!) I took out my camera, brandishing it like a sword.

Just as the young boy was about to hold my camera the elder boy grabbed it, he tossed it in his hands for a while and then glanced at my face to see how I would react.

“Journalist ho?” (Are you a journalist?) Elder boy inquired.

“haan… men journalist hon… bolo tasveer khenchon tumhari?” (Yes… I am a journalist… can I take your photo?) the idea had some assurance in it, now!

“Nahi! Is ko andar rakho!” (No! keep it in your bag!) he thumped the camera in my hand said in a rough voice.

I followed the instruction quietly!

The younger boy seemed disappointed as he watched the camera disappearing back into my shoulder bag, while he played with his club/tree branch. I glanced over my shoulder and felt some relief; the old woman and her young associate had managed to slip away in the meantime.

Both boys realized the missed opportunity, and also that their fellow men had continued down the street leaving them behind, they started off after them. My curiosity had over ridden my apprehension by then. I started walking with them.

“Kahan ja rahy ho tum log?” (Where are you guys heading?) I asked

The elder glared at me.

“Pata nahi!” (We don’t know!) the younger one replied with a wry smile.

“Ye log kon hen jo agay ja rahy hen?” (Who are you following?)

He shrugged his shoulders in indifference, a clear sign that they didn’t know. The elder boy whispered something in the younger boy’s ear, the young boy replied with a nod; then he took out an apple from his Kameez’s (long shirt) pocket and started chewing it with force, he swung the tree branch and put it over his shoulder with a threatening glance towards me, I read his intention quite clearly, and slowly parted my way.

Those boys had nothing else to do; no sports, no education, no entertainment, but loads of untapped energy, they were following that horde of devastation just for fun! They were plunderers in making.

These two happenings bewildered me for days… I couldn’t place it… where are we heading?

 I knew where we came from.

Mock Zombies

Then I was invited by a dear friend to watch the new Brad Pitt movie… World War Z

 

And there was the scene; when a zombie spots a living person… fresh meat they sniff… and then they rush to get it; brutality in unison, like an angry river bursting through the levee. 

I couldn’t help but relate to it!