Ever-changing Goals!

Life is strange enough to let one realize how it passes by. It engrosses one’s energies towards translating ever-changing personal and family objectives & dreams into reality from the early age to the last breathe. People neither come out of this vicious circle nor do they surrender. Let’s take a look at some of our most common goals and priorities under an age span of 70 years.

                

Infant

Natural goals; crying, sleeping and getting regular feeds

Kid                                         

Innocent goals; candies, chocolates, toys and getting filthy

Initial schooling     

Kindergarten goals; eating all the time, games and stiff resistance against schooling

Regular schooling

Childish goals; high-tech toys, ample junk food and; how to get rid of “homework”?

Adolescence                      

Teen goals; computer, casual clothes, hangout with friends but shy; careless in studies

College life  

Late-teen goals; jeans, music, motorbike, romantic novels/movies, cell phone, texting to girls; dad is furious over staying away till late midnight

Welcome to university     

Young goals; overcoming shyness, hangout till late, love burgers and pizzas; studying a bit harder, aiming for better grades

Farewell to university       

Serious in studies for final exams, expecting excellent results

Exciting goals; Life will be complete with a better job, a car, an apartment and the most beautiful wife

Ten years later                   

Still struggling; less salary, small & old car, just married to an ordinary looking girl – neighbours’ have always good-looking wives - paying back loans, and living in a parental home.

Grown-up goals; life free of loans, a new & bigger car, own a better house in posh area, and two children (preferably; son, daughter)

Ten more years                 

Maintaining a bigger but old car, reasonable salary but still inadequate to meet expenses, rented apartment and no respite from borrowing.

Mature-age goals; need handsome amount to fulfill children’s endless demands, a sleek new car, converting rented house into home

Ageing                                  

Good job, good salary, own a car, a house.

Ageing goals; maintain good health, top position in office, high salary, children to attend expensive & reputable universities, separate car for the children, and to find the best match for the daughter

Twilight                                

Retired from active life, living with wife, watch family videos, scan photo albums, enjoy talk shows on TV, bigger house than needed, surplus money, one car sold out, the other sparingly used - children living separately and busy accomplishing their own goals.

Twilight goals; serve the nation, seek children’s next visit, strict diet control, and take medicines regularly to live healthy & long life

3 Days on Roof of the World

As a result of an important assignment I along with two other gentlemen visited Ladakh Region from 02-05 October 2011 in the Indian-held Jammu & Kashmir. This area comprising two districts namely Leh and Kargil lies at an elevation between 13500 feet to 7000 feet, and is locally and commonly called as “Cold Desert”. Cold Desert because most part of the year, this region remains without rain, under intense cold and extremely dry with almost no humidity at all.  District Leh is at a higher elevation than Kargil and hence experiences more severe weathering conditions.

Understandingly high altitude creates breathing problems due to loss of oxygen in and around Leh Town. The local people advise for excessive intake of water and that newcomer/visitor must take rest and acclimatize at least for a couple of days before embarking upon the trekking on high, dirty and bald mountains or enjoying rafting in the pristine waters of Indus River. Cold and dry weather makes Leh a perfect place for the treatment of burns and the town runs a hospital for this purpose. It has a large airport and receives tens of flights every day. In winter, air route is the only way of transportation in the whole region. Road journey remains cut off for almost 6 months.

And yes; if you want to see how sky looked like when Allah (SWT) created this world, perhaps this is one of the few regions where the sky remains in its purest color, the original blue or sky blue. One can also watch moon on the horizon all day long in the presence of sun. Moreover, one may love to remain under the sunlight to enjoy cool breeze but it proves awfully wrong because sun rays can be unnoticingly very piercing through your skin and vanish all the moisture from your face and body instantly.

Leh Valley is comparatively flatter and as such the town is quite big and has wide roads with little or no plantation. Leh Town has a population of over 100,000 people, and consists of predominantly Buddhists, followed by about 20% Sunni Muslims.

While travelling on National Highway (NH 1) connecting Leh with Kargil (about 250 km) one can find interesting and picturesque spots like Camping sites, Rafting clubs, Green valleys/villages with abundance of Apricot trees, ancient Monasteries, Pagodas, and an “Anti-Gravity” spot.  This spot is located about 20 kilometers from Leh where you just need to park the car in neutral at a particular location marked on the road, turn off the engine and get stunned to see that it starts moving for some distance up the hill instead of down the slope. Tourists throng this spot throughout the day.

Kargil Town is located in a comparatively narrower valley on the banks of Suru tributary of Indus but it is much greener than Leh. It is a small town of about 25,000 people with almost entire population comprising of Shiite Muslims.

People of Ladakh Region especially Leh district are very friendly, hard-working, peace-loving and hospitable. Literacy rate in the region is better than Pakistan, with percentage of women workforce is greater than men. Rice is the staple food, along with variety of vegetables like Mushrooms, Palak Panir, Kashmiree Momo, Kaddu Ke Koftay, etc. The size of Chapatee is 4 inch diameter only. Guests are usually served with locally produced dry Apricots (Khobani) and Khobani seeds.

Travelling back from Kargil to Leh we took a different route via Batalak-Darchik-Khaltsi road which was narrower and also not in a very good condition. I wanted to take a glimpse of Tiger Hills and Batalak Hills where Pakistan Army took a brief control in 1999 but they were not on my route. While passing through Batalak I saw two relatively not much old graves along the road. My host informed me that although no one knows for sure whose these last abodes were but people say that Pakistani Jawans are in eternal slumber here.

Just crossing the Batalak, one enters Dharchik; an area where ancient “Ariyans (Remember Mohen-Jo-Daro)” still live here. Like women in Kailash Valley of Chitral, these women also dress traditionally, smell foul and ask for money if you want to take their photographs or ask them for a traditional dance.

My assignment required exhaustive traveling and almost all the work under the sun. High altitude and scarce oxygen kept constant severe headache till I touched down the beautiful Indra Gandhi International Airport, New Delhi.  At the end of the trip I was absolutely fatigued, suntanned and my lips, nose and edges of the eyes turned excessively sun-burnt.

Lastly; visiting Ladakh Region will remain an unforgettable and unique experience in the memory and I will keep cherishing it for the rest of my life.  

Stinky Socks

While one never puts on shoes without pulling over socks on one’s feet, the other day I noticed one of my colleagues having shoes sans socks. This prompted me to search for explanations for use (or otherwise) of socks. Hence, according to the definition;

A sock is an item of clothing worn on the feet. The foot is among the heaviest producers of sweat in the body, as it is able to produce over a pint of perspiration per day. Socks help to absorb this sweat and draw it to areas where air can evaporate the perspiration. In cold environments, socks provide warmness and decrease the risk of frostbite.

Hence, irrespective of weather conditions, everyone wears socks as part of his formal dress. The trouble starts when one keeps wearing the same pair repeatedly, day after day, resultantly generating unbearable stench around one’s seat. Ironically most of such people remain unaware of this bad habit or tend to be or simply don’t care. And whose socks stink most of the time? Perhaps no one would confess. Interview the wives and majority of them would reveal that their husbands keep wearing dirty and smelly socks without having a feeling of embarrassment.

I remember vividly a hostel-mate who would change his socks only rarely. The horrible odour of filthy & perspirant socks would bar us from visiting his room especially at times when we knew he would dry them out on the edge of study table so that he could again use them next day. One day I was forced to visit him for exchange of study notes and much to my surprise I spotted a stainless bedsheet. I couldn’t resist asking him; Yar! New and clean bedsheet! Amazing! How come a pleasant change? He smiled at me mockingly and replied; I’ve just placed it upside down. Its’ front side has gone dirty. My God! At least he could distinguish clean from dirty. I was lucky not to spot any socks drying up around.

The hazardous areas where you need to be careful of the stinky socks are drawing room (highly polluted because traditionally the guests are requested to put off their shoes. I wish the hosts asked for putting off socks as well! ), living room (people would always put off shoes and stretch their legs on center table so that everyone around could get benefitted of socksy-aroma while they enjoy watching silly and incessant talk shows on TV), and, of course, bedroom (Poor wife! she has to live up with all kinds of hubby’s smells).

Some hosts are quite caring and kind; while they request you to put off the shoes before entering the drawing room, they also spray your socks with eau de toilette.

So, how frequently one needs to change the socks?

Ask yourself or your wife preferably.

A Bald Man Speaks Out!

Don’t know why but everyone considers I was born as I’m now; just countable hair on the crown, a barren and shining front and somewhat thicker than thin temples. Had I been a TUKLA (bald) completely I would’ve agreed with you that I was born like that; in fact born like most of all but I’m not, so I reject this accusation forthwith. Friends say your consumption of soap & cold cream must’ve been increased with ever expanding forehead alongside a sharp decline in the use of shampoo & jell.

They advise me to go for a hair transplant so that I can look under-age, smart, charming and attractive. One even went on saying that girls would simply die for your company once you grew hair. Tell you what! This is the reason I stay away from considering it. I just can’t withstand lovely girls dying just for hair.

It’s a universal truth (partly agreeing to it, though) that hair loss brings disadvantages to one’s life. I for one take this demerit as the most humiliating of all types; enter a barber shop for a hair trim and get an amusing & sarcastic grin not only from the barber but other customers in waiting as well. The irony is you are charged more money than those with a labyrinth of hair.

Let me confide in some secrets: I love the sound of scissors cutting a chunk of my hair. Unfortunately this happens only when the barber works down the back of my neck (at or near the nape) or around temples. Sadly enough, most of the time the scissors finds sparsely placed weak hair and works as if it has put on a silencer.

Other secret; when my wife strokes the large hairless curved crown with her finger tips I can’t share how lovely it feels. The same feeling can only be had once you become a TUKLA. Now don’t retreat by arguing that stroking the hair gives more ecstasy. I’ve been subjected to all of these experiences and still stick to my earlier judgment. Try it!

Can someone tell me why bald men always carry combs with them? Poor fellows! Wind is their number one enemy. It simply won’t let the hair stay and stick to the slippery surface because the lifeless hair grown excessively long around one temple are stretched and pulled across the crown to the opposite temple.

There are some ways to tackle the embarrassment of your hair swinging down the earlobe tickling the cheek, like; hold your hair with the palm, put on a cap, or comb it again and again.

Capital Hills – Through My Eyes

Islamabad, the capital city, has its own peculiarity with so many given names; city of rulers (civilian and army included), city of diplomats, bureaucrats, and elites; city of large and beautiful houses; city of expensive cars; a boring city where you can’t make friends; lush green with unusually high amount of pollen to make you sick with allergies and asthma; calm nights with sporadic yelling of jackals; good restaurants, small shopping markets, spacious roads and a number of hiking trails on Margalla hills.

If you are entering the city from either Lahore or Peshawar through Motorway you may not feel a vast difference in the landscape or quality of roads but if you travel through the adjoining Rawalpindi, you are bound to observe some changes; the driver immediately puts on seat belt, roads widen, traffic signals start working, and informative guide maps, street names/house numbers appear everywhere along the roads.

In spite of several incidents of terrorism, the Jinnah Super (main shopping mall of the city) remains bustling with local and foreigner shoppers. Centrally located in the market is a large open-air restaurant where you can take a coffee break and soothe your feet. The same premises has an attached open-air mosque, partly covered with tarpaulin to provide respite from scorching sun, rain, and to a certain extent from cold and chilly weather. I offered Mughrib (sunset) prayers here on two occasions during which it was hard to brush aside thinking that how soft target it was for a suicide bomber. Capital police can be seen everywhere to thwart any such attempt but unfortunately incidents do happen.

I had a chance to go for hiking twice on Trail 5 of Margalla hills. In the first instance I could hardly cover 2 kilometers; on next turn I made it to the 2.5 Km mark but not without panting heavily. Trail 5 is comparatively less visited and less glamorous unlike other trails. It is calm, surrounded by thick wild berry trees, and without much steeper incline till it reaches 2 km stone. Beyond that point it is like a ladder. On both occasions I was surprised to find brave solitary women hikers, both local and foreigners on the trail, beside groups of children, families, and of course, few couples on dating adventure. I was told that after some robbing incidents, Pak Rangers established pickets on the hills to prevent crimes. From then onwards hiking trails have been peaceful, full of fun and adventure.

Now let’s visit a graveyard located in I-8 Sector. This is the first of Muslim graveyards I have ever visited which is well maintained with scores of gardeners working in it; flowers and roses everywhere; graves garnished with glazed, expensive and colorful marble tiles have been made in well disciplined symmetries, and neat & clean walkways paved with concrete. Graveyard speaks of itself that only a rich can find a place here. Once high ranked army officers, top bureaucrats, renowned poets and elites of the city, are buried here now. Some of the innocent young boys, girls, and army officers who martyred in the terrorism acts in Islamabad are also resting here peacefully. Let’s pray for all the departed souls resting here.

Pen-Friends; Extinct Community!

Penning down on beautiful & colorful writing pads, buying smart pens, choosing impressive postage stamps and inserting pictures & view cards in elegant & scented envelopes were some of the hallmarks of pen-friendship. The exciting moment was when one received a letter from an unknown person, unknown city/country with a request for friendship. Who would send his/her picture first between the two newly pen-friends was the trickiest as well as funniest thing of pen-friendship. Faking the identity from a boy to a girl or otherwise was non-existent in that relatively simple life. Pen-friendship was all about writing letters; no oral communication.

I remember receiving my first ever letter for pen-friendship from an elderly boy living in a comparatively smaller town. It was beautifully hand-written in rich Urdu and I had to seek the help of my elder brother to fully comprehend it. Brimming with jubilation I ran to my parents to share the exhilaration with them. Making a new friend or breaking away from the old one like practice kept on for years except the one; once my father sent me a packet which contained a small transistor (radio) and a letter addressed in my name while I was a boarder in the hostel of Engineering University in 1979-80. The envelope had a stamp of a foreign country. With sheer excitement I opened it and to my utter disbelief it had come from a girl. Why a girl hailing from a cosmopolitan city would write to a boy living in an ordinary town of Pakistan? Where did she get my address from? These were two immediate questions I tried to figure out answers of. After settling down my euphoria and reading the contents of letter repeatedly I learnt that she picked my address from an international pen-pal magazine on the basis of my hobbies i.e. making pen-pals, playing cricket, music, watching movies, etc. In the very next letter she sent her picture and other pictures kept flowing in. I reciprocated in the same manner. Her writing skills were envious, so was her command over vocabulary. On the contrary I communicated in broken English and that even after making drafts on rough papers. In spite of my hiccups our pen-friendship remained unbroken.

Do we still write letters? No longer are they needed because we remain connected through scores of technological gadgets. Electronic mail, texting through cell phones, Facebook, and Twitter are some of the modes of our instant communication. Do we call each other frequently? Never; this is the only trait of traditional pen-friendship left with us that is being followed in its true spirit, though unintentionally.

The romance of writing letters to friends has vanished. The music of a knock on the door by a postman is gone. Once flourishing all across the world in the later half of 20^th century, particularly during 1960s to 1980s conventional pen-friendships are no more in vogue. Few years from now, the children will just ask with a frowned forehead what it was all about! Some elderly people maybe still doing it simply out of tradition or fun but the younger generation is not aware of it and surely not interested in it.

The biggest foe of this once ever-loving pastime of young boys and girls is the advent of computer and its subsequent by-product i.e. Internet. The texting facility on cellular phones nailed the casket of pen-friendship once and for all. Conventional pen-pals have gone extinct. Information technology have introduced new terms like cellular friends, facebook followers and twitterites. Friends in these categories run in thousands but do they replace conventional pen-pals is hard to answer!

My Early Fantasies

Almost everyone used to daydream in the childhood and during teenage years about various things. Some people even at old age continue to do so. I’m one of them carrying this habit all these years. During school and college time my teachers would often shake me up and ask what I was pondering about. At home Mom finding me in a pensive mood would yell; Utho (Get up)! Do some homework.

Following are my early fantasies I could remember:

1. Someone slapped me across the face. I started shedding tears while enjoying the toffee in my mouth! Bizarre, isn’t it? Here is how it happened; our rented house was just in front of the only Post Office in the town. A new Post Master arrived on his transfer from a comparatively larger town and stayed with his family in the official house attached with the Post Office. It was a decent educated family. One of his sons Tufail became my classmate in fourth grade. Tufail was handsome, taller than me with dark, straight and silky hair which covered his forehead all the time. Once Tufail’s elder brother got angry and slapped him across the face while he was still eating the toffee. He started crying and tears flowed down his face. I still remember and adore Tufail’s crying face. However, my desire remained unfulfilled.

2. Kidnapped by the stature of Behram or Sultana Daku (Dacoit), raised me in the caves, I became a Daku and helped the poor! Watching movies was my prime craze at the young age of ten onwards and I used to like action Urdu films with the basic standard of having at least eight fights in a film. I enjoyed going to the cinema to watch black & white oldies having sword fights while sitting in the front lane. Later I turned to Punjabi films in mid 1970s to enjoy actions of Sudheer, Yousuf Khan and Sultan Rahi, etc. Most favorite films depicted dacoits fighting and looting rich and cruel landlords to help poor and in distress. Alas! No Daku came to kidnap me!

3. Thud; Sound of closing door of a car! This fantasy must be termed as something between strange and nonsense! Unfortunately it is true. I fell in love with the sound of closing doors of cars preferably new and bigger ones. I enjoyed this dull sound as a bystander since I wasn’t able to own a car for better part of the early age. When I did, the charm had subsided but it still dwells within. One more thing; Have anyone ever noticed the aroma of the interior of a new car? I’m obsessed with it. Your guess is far from the reality; I don’t change my cars frequently. Rich relatives, friends and official vehicles provide ample chance of enjoying this peculiar odor. Maddening!