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Last week, the gardener came upstairs and woke me from a nap. First of all, yes, I have a gardener, and secondly, no, he doesn’t usually wake me from my naps (unless I’m snoring, in which case he nudges me gently to roll over). I came groggily to the door, and he said, “Oh! Sahib sleeping?” Such an observant gardener we have. “Yes, yes, Sahib sleeping,” I replied somewhat testily. He gave his judgment, “Sahib sleeps too much, I think.” I shook my head and rolled my eyes, “Gardener talks too much,” I said. He laughed. I tend to have strange relationships with servants, as I’ve explained before. Generally though, as my command of the language increases slightly, I’ve become more comfortable with them. They seem to like me, which I think is derived from my unique tendency to treat them like human beings rather than the dirt under my feet that happens to unquestioningly clean up after me. My more skeptical friends tell me that I’m setting myself to be taken advantage of, but oh well, I like trusting people, it makes me feel nice.
Anyway, the gardener was now saying something about how I had to go with him because he was done in the house. I couldn’t really figure out what he was doing in the house anyway, since surprisingly enough, the gardens are all outside. “Done in the house?” I asked to clarify. Big nods, “Yes, yes, done in the [...]
Yes, that’s right. Dave is on TV. The boob is on the tube. The first episode of my show aired last week on national television. Now, I have to admit that before I left, when people asked me what the hell I was planning to do in Pakistan, I certainly did not foresee acting in shoddy television productions. Wasn’t exactly on the radar, as they say. Still, I’m never adverse to the ways the winds blow me (or anyone else for that matter), so I’m just going with the flow.
But you know, it is a rush seeing yourself on television, no matter what it is. And honestly, the show wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Don’t get me wrong, it was still pretty terrible, but happily, it was not the complete catastrophic destruction of all things good and natural in this world that I thought it might be. I also happen to have the inside scoop that the episodes do get better… marginally. I took over writing around the fifth episode, so I guess I have to get behind the show at some point there. In the meantime, I was pretty confident that not many people would have caught the episode. But sure enough, within days, I had aunties and co-workers stopping and saying, “I saw you on TV!” Usually, I responded with a simple, “I’m sorry.” But even though I’m living proof that you only have to be [...]
Well, sadly, and surprisingly, there was no white Christmas in Karachi for me this year. I waited up until midnight, gazing wistfully from the balcony, hoping for that light dusting of snow that makes Christmas so much sweeter. But alas, it was not to be. Of course, the fact that I was wearing a T-shirt outside at midnight should have tipped me off, but as I mentioned, I was full of wist, and, as it happens, a bottle or two of wine. In fact, at that point in time, I would have been well and truly satisfied with a light dusting of ashes on the Karachi streets. I was half-tempted to go to the vacant lot next door and light a pile of garbage on fire, but the prospect of catching the flakes on my tongue seemed less than appetizing, and even in my inebriated state, I knew it would lose a little in translation. But then, with a flash of insight, I walked down to the kitchen, smashed up some ice and tossed it around like confetti, singing, “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow” in my best Bing Crosby voice (which is surprisingly similar to my own voice). It was nice for a few moments, but sadly, my “Christmas in the kitchen” idea was short lived, as I almost immediately slipped on the now saturated floor and hit my head on the counter. That more or less destroyed the effect, but at least I [...]
In an unfortunate, Dead Poets’ Society inspired delusion of grandeur, I recently accepted a position teaching English Literature and Language to Grade 9 and 10 students at a private school here in Karachi. The idea being, that I could inspire young minds in the mornings, continue working with the NGO in the afternoons and evenings, and still write and shoot the odd television show (and I mean odd in both senses of the word). Little did I know that I would be walking into the classroom like a one legged man, dripping blood into an open shark tank.
Now, I’ve had a lot of jobs over the years: Teenage Landscape Artist; Junior Forest Ranger; Computer Fix-it-Guy; Forest-Fire-Fighter; Salmon Kidney Remover; Office Clerk; Teacher’s Assistant; Bartender; Tech-line Call Centre Operator; Bar Manager; Restaurant Manager; Writer; Editor; Researcher; NGO – Third World Educationist; TV Writer; TV Actor; Sometime Stand-Up Comedian; and Body Guard for Mr. Burns… but so far, teaching is by far the most challenging. Growing up as the son of a popular high-school teacher, I have always been well-aware of the supremely undervalued, overworked and massively underpaid status of educators, but I still was not quite prepared for the work involved. I was unaware at the outset that the previous teacher had “resigned” under special circumstances, that I would be starting two weeks before the end of term, or that ADHD and dyslexia have somehow become more common than paperjams in a copier. In any case, I’m not one to give up [...]
It is with a heavy heart that I garner the courage to relate the final chapter of the pigeon family, with whom I shared my bathroom. For weeks, I had been peeping in on the pigeon sanctuary while I peed. The old Peep and Pee play. I watched the baby pigeons grow from hideous, reptilian creatures into hideous, avian creatures, and finally into what one might imagine could possibly become a pigeon some day. I had named them “Squawky” and “Stinky” for reasons you can probably guess. As it turned out, “Stinky” never shut up, and “Squawky” stunk to high-heavens, but I think they appreciated the effort from their Dawood-mamo (Sorry, joke applicable only to Pakistanis). I found it heartwarming to watch the mother pigeon shelter the young, while the male stood perched on the outer window, keeping a watchful eye. Both parents worked together to raise the children, just like humans… well, theoretically just like humans.
For the duration of my stay at Subaru Kazoo’s place, his parents had been living in Saudi Arabia. This made for a cozy pad for myself, Subaru, Winston and Fiesty (our kittens) and Squawky, Stinky, Mama and Papa Pigeon. Our latest intelligence dossiers had Subaru’s parents coming back into Karachi in December. So it was a shock when our intelligence gathering was shattered by the Downing Street memo that came in the form of a call from Subaru’s mother. The Subaru Legacy (sorry, joke applicable only to North [...]
A few days ago, King-Pin asked me casually whether I had plans for dinner. I was curious, since dinner is not something that the King-Pin ever takes casually. He let me know that he was planning a small Nihari excursion, if I was interested. Now, as I believe I have explained somewhere in the mists of blog-history, Nihari is basically stewed meat in its own gravy, doused in oil and served with fresh, hot Naan. Nihari is tender and almost buttery, the flavour is amazing, and even if you’re not a big fan, you really can’t beat fresh, hot naan bread. There are many things in this world I would cheerfully throw out a seventh floor window in exchange for hot naan. So, needless to say, I was interested.
We set off in two cars toward northern Nazmibad, or maybe it was FB Area… not dead sure. Although, I do remember that it wasn’t far from the roundabout that features that frightening depiction of a clenched fist. Half way there, two guys on a motorcycle, trying to weave through the traffic like a couple of wasps (albeit less intelligent), slammed into the back of our car. “What the hell?” I said, startled by the two dudes’ high-speed rearrangement of the back panel nearest me. They spilled out on to the pavement, none the worse for wear, as if this kind of thing happens everyday, brushed themselves off and flashed us their best sheepish smiles. Ooops. [...]
Alright, here’s the story. Remember that stand-up comedy bit I did a few weeks back. Well, as it turned out, there was a TV producer there that night. He called me a couple days later, said he thought I was pretty funny, and asked me if I wanted a part in a sitcom he was working on. I had some reservations, but figured, well, being on TV in Pakistan had way too much comic potential to resist. The show is a very original concept involving six friends, three guys and three girls, who hang out in their apartments a lot, and even go down to the local coffee shop once and a while (remind me to write something about original ideas in the media over here at some point). I play “Mike,” an easy-going white guy from Canada, who comes to Pakistan to visit a friend and ends up staying to work for an NGO. My character reminds me of someone, but I just can’t put my finger on it.
In any case, taking on the project has meant that I’ve spent less time at the NGO where I usually type things up and post to the blog. Now, it doesn’t help that the days that I have been at my desk, the Internet connection has been as slow as a turtle on its back in a puddle of molasses. Neither have I been very excited about the way this shoot is going, which I [...]
The other day, I noticed that my toilet wouldn’t stop running. Before someone told me that I’d better go catch it, and being conscious of water conservation, I decided I’d better see if I could fix it. Most toilets over here are the type with the knob that you pull up from the centre of the tank. So I loosened it and figured out how to remove the cover. I’m no plumbing expert, but I’ve got a few shards of common sense left kicking around my skull, so I realized that the stopper wasn’t forming a seal down at the bottom of the tank. I undertook my usual handyman action, which I like to call “fiddling,” that I have performed with next to no success on various appliances and fixtures the world over. I fiddled with the stopper shaft, and it seemed to form a seal. The toilet stopped running and the tank began to fill. Ah, success never smelled so sweet… well… not exactly. It may not have been a permanent fix, but in any case, I left the cover off in case it happened again.
Having finished my work as a plumber, I hitched up my pants, and decided I had earned a nap. I settled down and was soon dreaming of a magical land where Q’s aren’t followed by U’s. About an hour later, I woke up, but I wasn’t sure why. I had the distinct sensation that something wasn’t right. [...]
Sunday night, I went with some friends to the PAF Museum parking lots, which are serving as the drop point for disaster relief donations from Karachi citizens. I didn’t exactly know what to expect as we headed up there, but I was hoping to help out in some way, however small. When we arrived, we were confronted by lines of cars dropping off donations, and people like us hoping to lend a hand. Every available space in the parking lots was piled with mounds of supplies, crates of water, milk and juices, and mountain ranges of quilts and blankets. The extent of the generosity was heart-warming. Of course, it’s impossible to look at a vast pile of supplies such as that and try to estimate just how many people it might serve, but whatever the numbers, it was certainly a start.
We made our way toward the main staging ground, where things seemed strangled and confused. Hundreds of people stood around or wandered from place to place, looking for things to do. Civilians pitched to, working at one thing or another, while the military stood by watching, or sitting looking bored. I had been afraid of something like this. I looked around and tried to assess what was going on. Finally, I did the only thing I could do. I stood around, and wandered from place to place, looking for something to do.
Here and there, I found bits of work. I taped together some boxes, helped [...]
Yes, folks, I am fine.
Thank you for your concern. Karachi is just about as far as you can get from the epicentre of the massive earthquake that occurred yesterday morning in Northern Pakistan.
But enough about me. The human toll of this natural disaster will be immense. The count today sits at 18,000, but projections are for well over 50,000. Whole villages up north have been wiped off the map, and even getting any aide there at all will be extremely difficult. But, as it stands, I feel unqualified to comment as I have only been watching the news like everyone else.
Thanks to Abbas for pointing out that the Lahore Metroblogging site has some excellent coverage. You can read first person testimony, view photos and find out how you [...]
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We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time
-T.S. Eliot
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