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!

Being Optimistic

Living in Pakistan is like living on the edge. Negative, undesirable, annoying, and frightening things keep happening around you relentlessly, only if you do not fall part of it. Reading newspapers, watching news on TV channels, having friendly gossips or informal discussions with office colleagues; you’ll end up depressed, distressed, frustrated and shattered.

I am such one of those millions affected citizens trying hard to change lifestyle by ignoring all negative effects and aim at living positively enjoying every bit of life. Henceforth following pessimistic things and events are not going to make any influence upon my life and will not impair my buoyant attitude:

1. Rejection of admission of my child in the desired private school because I failed to make some “donations” to the school.
2. Land-line telephone is out of order for more than two weeks despite lodging complaints.
3. Electricity Supply Company wrongly sent an inflated bill of 20,000 rupees three months ago. I’m still running pillar to post to get it waived off.
4. More than 26 years of service in a public organization brings just one promotion.
5. My children are sick of our car which breaks down every now and then. They demand a new and bigger car.
6. Why can’t we go to Dubai or Saudi Arabia while all our friends visit in vacations? Children inquire.
7. Deafening noise of music coming from the nearest Marriage Hall is going to last till late night.
8. Corruptive practices prevalent from top to bottom, political instability, terrorism, sectarianism, etc. Natural calamities such as earthquakes and floods. Religious and ethnic exploitations.
9. Poverty, hunger, unemployment, increasing number of incidents of self immolation, suicides.
10. Lawlessness, kidnapping for ransom, murders on petty matters, and honor-killings.

The list can simply be unending.

Only an insane can remain unaffected.

Donkey!

A terrified donkey was attached to a parasail and flown across the sky for 30 minutes in a sick publicity stunt over a beach on the Sea of Azov in Russia. The creature was pulled through the air by a speedboat over a crowded beach — near the Russian resort village of Golubitskaya in a warped bid to promote parasailing for tourists. A local entrepreneur was said to be trying to lure holidaymakers to his private beach club. The petrified donkey, which was braying in terror, was described as "half dead" when it was finally released. Onlookers said the animal was "faint and dizzy" as it tried to get to its feet following the ordeal (news excerpt).

The Russian “feat” was seen as a shameful act by the general public as well as animals-loving NGOs in the West but cruelty to animals especially donkeys is a daily affair in our Sub-Continent. Donkey-Cart owners/drivers can be seen beating donkeys with hunters and sticks fiercely so that this innocent and docile animal could pull and drag loads that even a horse cannot do. Donkey is the most submissive, down-to-earth (literally) and indefatigable animal. Ironically it is also the one who receives unabated brutality by its master (always men) but still remains quiet and faithful. I am sure everyone must have seen a donkey hanging in air while still tied to the cart when it fails to carry heavy load in busy streets of our cities.

Sometimes carts are driven by two parallel donkeys; first reason being the kindness of master who considers inappropriate for a donkey to pull up large loads all alone. This additional donkey is traditionally known as “Pakh”. You may be not aware of other interesting reason; it’s under training. Yes, young donkeys, not accustomed to pulling heavy carts in city streets, are attached parallel with the experienced and old donkeys to receive “on-job” training before getting independent.

Those who opened their eyes (like me) in poor and slum areas must have thrown stones at stray dogs and beaten donkeys with sticks. The painful barks of dogs and pathetic brays (Dheechoon Dheechoon…) of donkeys used to amuse us. At the same time, we would not let an opportunity go waste and enjoyed taking brief rides on donkeys which returned after unloading construction material. These donkeys can hardly be sighted in cities now. Small and medium trucks have replaced them. In order to recall your childhood, just visit a small town or suburb slums of big cities and you’ll come across all similar acts. Life has retained its original color even after decades! Another favorite pastime of our unemployed “Tapori” youth is to place a thief backward on donkey and take a procession in the streets with thief’s face blackened and his neck is garlanded with old shoes. Insulting a red-handed nabbed thief may be an outburst of the crowd but what crime does a donkey commits to go through this heinous ordeal is indigestible!

Riding a donkey is considered a shameful act in our society except poor who take donkey as an integral part of their lives for earning “Do Waqt Ki Roti”. Donkeys are rarely seen as running fast. They look rather lazy and tired. In the Liyari area of Karachi, “Donkey-Cart Race” holds regularly every year where one enjoys watching donkeys running surprisingly much faster than usual. The racing carts are not meant for carrying loads on ordinary days. Fitted with two bike wheels this small & smart racing cart carries the “Jockey” only. Good thing about this race is that donkeys are never hit by their respective Jockeys. Jockey carries a metal box filled with pebbles, and shakes the box rigorously signaling donkey to run faster.

We the human beings of Sub-Continent feel proud in making fun of donkey and have labeled it as a symbol of foolishness. We love to ridicule our employees, sub-ordinates, and maid servants, and while scolding kids a comparatively mild word “Khota” is used when they perform certain actions contrary to our expectations. Khota means young donkey and usually reflects our persistent love and care to the target while still being angry. I never heard a mother calling her daughter “Khotee” no matter how annoyed she had been!

We find plenty of folklore on donkey but stupidity of donkey is yet to be seen or proved. Donkeys are herbivores (eat plants), eat less food than a horse of similar size, and need a lower protein content in their feed. Average age of donkey is said to be 34 years whereas world’s oldest donkey was 62.

Can a donkey earn respect and escape wrath in our society? Perhaps, never!