The flight from hell - a traveler's worst nightmare

If there ever was a contest for people who get to sit with worst possible travel mates while flying, I will win the first three positions in that contest, without doubt. On a recent trip to Quetta, I specifically asked for a window seat while checking in. I had not slept the night before and was looking forward for some shut-eye. When I boarded the plane, the gentleman sitting next to my seat looked like the heavy weight version of Hamid Karzai. He was about 188 cms, must have weighed over 300 lbs and with his Karzai like silk robe (in mustard colour) and huge headgear, there hardly was any room left in the adjacent seat for me, or anyone else for that matter. Seeing me trying to fit in that space, my colleague offered to swap seats with me. I readily agreed, which later proved to be one of the gravest mistakes of my life. 

The seats next to mine were empty and I sent a little prayer asking God to let them remain vacant for the next hour and half, but with my luck, it was a given that I would not be spared. Within minutes, a young family of 4 occupied the two seats next to mine. There was a dad, with his son who was about 17-18 months old in another while the mother and her loud 3 years old daughter who tore a copy of Hamsafar, PIA’s in flight magazine, into smithereens within minutes, settled in next to me. I opened my copy of Morgan Spurlock’s “Where in the world is Osama Bin Laden?” that I bought from the airport bookshop. The minute that little girl saw the book, she wanted it. The mother had the audacity to ask me if I will hand my book to her daughter. Seeing what happened to the magazine, I had to be a total nut to hand that kid my book. I politely refused saying that I am reading and cannot give it to her. I then asked the flight attendant if I can change my seat but apparently, the plane was packed and there was not a single vacant seat available and I did not have the nerve to inflict my fellow passengers on anyone else.

Before the take off, the flight attendant came and asked them to split for safety reasons. There were four seats in the row and five oxygen masks, the flight attendant tried his level best to convince them to change seats because the passengers safety is his concern and in case any emergency, there will not be sufficient number of oxygen masks for the people sitting in that particular row. The woman first said that nothing will happen in a 75 minutes flight, when the flight attendant persisted that they must do what they are told, the husband left the seat with the boy and I sighed with relief, but it was extremely short-lived. The little girl started crying for her daddy and the daddy started placating the daughter from the other aisle at the top of his lungs. To tune out their combined commotion, I took my iPod out and started listening to the music. The minute that girl saw my iPod, she stopped bawling and started smiling at me. I ignored. She again said something to me and I decided to keep ignoring her, after all I had the perfect excuse. My ears were plugged in. 

When mummy dearest thought her daughter was being ignored by a fellow passenger, she shook my shoulder and mouthed, “meri beti aap se kuch kehna chah rahee hai.” I had to take my ear phones out and asked her what happened. She asked if I can lend her my ipod as her daughter wanted to listen to music. Aghast that I was at the mother’s cheek, I said that it is not only rude to ask someone for their personal item, it is also unhygienic; I could have had an ear infection, would she expose her daughter to that? She looked at me for a few seconds and then told her daughter, “beta baaji ki music naheen lena, baji ke kaan kharab hain.”

Although my ears were in perfect condition (I did hear her remark despite wearing ear bugs after all ) I decided not to respond to it. 

When the crew served the food, that little girl threw salt, pepper and sugar all over the place. As I am allergic to pepper, I started sneezing like crazy. When I asked the mother – as politely as I could – to control her wild child, she said, “Array bhai bachi hai, isko main kya kahoon.” I asked for a wet towel with which I covered my nose to stop sneezing. She then started screaming for coke and the mother started calling the steward as array bhai zara bachi ko coke tau day dain. The steward was at the other end of the aisle attending to other passengers but the mother couldn’t wait that long. The woman who was sitting on the other side of the disastrous mother daughter duo had to call another steward to shut them up. 

To add insult to the injury, the last 20 minutes of the flight were as turbulent as any flight which eventually lands on ground can be. When I landed in Quetta, I resolved not to board another plane in my lifetime which did not even last for two days as I had to get back home. 

If anyone here thinks that I could not have topped this mother daughter duo, they are so very wrong. On my way back, I sat with an aunty ji who told me her life history, including the fact that she had her first orgasm at the ripe old age of 51 when she divorced her first husband and married her stud of a second husband. She also pointed out that the first husband was a 'Muhajir' and the second husband was a 'Punjabi', perhaps implying that Muhajir men are less conversant in the ways of loving a woman properly. As I am neither a muhajir man nor a Punjabi one, I decided not to take offense or pride in it and feigned yawns. At least the aunty was decent enough not to pursue with her tales of belatedly found orgasmic delights and left me in peace.

Can anyone top that???


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The ABC of Teaching English

My latest article published in Herald.

Faras, your name is in a bigger font than mine. Somebody in Haroon House must love you very much. You are in the blurb as well.

King Lear comes to Pakistan

My Latest published work

The story of Sufaid Khoon, Agha Hashar's adaptation of Shakespeare's 'King Lear', is as old as time and still relevant to us all.

Like its inspiration, the play opens with a court scene where King Khaqan (superbly played by Talat Hussain) asks his daughters about affections for their father. The elder daughters Mahpara (Bakhtawar Mazhar) and Dil Ara (Maria Rabab) eloquently praised their father to the skies and were suitably rewarded for flattery; the king distributed the kingdom between the two of them.

However, the king was not happy with the youngest daughter Zara (Aymen Aly) who did not display affection for her father in the court and was consequently sent away. The daughters turn out to be greedy and power hungry and drove their father to madness. He took refuge in the jungle along with a couple of his loyal ministers. When Zara hears about it, she comes to take her father with her. When the older sisters learned that Zara is now taking care of their father, they abducted Zara and their father with the help of Bairam (Paras Masroor), the scheming son of one of the loyal ministers of the king and attempted to kill them both but end up killing each other.

The play was interspersed with a parallel comedic story which depicted an early 20th century haveli with a patriarch Turram (Jamal Abro), his son Jalil (Zeeshan Haider Nalwala), his daughter-in-law Laila (Shagufta Mumtaz Shah) and Jalil's tutor Baghlol (Syed Ather Abbas) along with two extremely cheeky servants Guldam (Uroosa Shamim Siddiqui) and Gul Khairu (Farhan Shah) and two guests Karak (Kashif Sial )and Bharak (Mohsin Ali Shah).

Although not related to the original story line, a comedic portion was written to break up the original tragedy as was the tradition in early 20th century. Apart from the genre and storyline, the parallel stories are visually different as well. The actors in the tragedy were attired in elaborate period costumes while the comedic period had actors wearing early 20th century outfits such as achkans and chooridar pajamas.

The play was the first production of NAPA (National Academy of Performing Arts) Repertory Theatre Company. According to the artistic director of NAPA Repertory Theatre Company (NRTC) Rahat Kazmi, the company is established to promote an appreciation for professional theatre and is committed to all forms of theatre; from high brow experimental work to comedy and hyperbolic melodrama. The company will also work on translations from across the globe.

Staged at the the Karachi Arts Council, the play is produced and directed by theatre veteran Zia Mohyeddin. Apart from Talat Hussain, all the actors were NAPA students. The set and props, designed by Schahbaz Chaudhry were minimal. The costumes designed by Ismail Fareed, Ambreen Inayat Ali and M. Talha were suitable, however, the accessories used by male artists were make-shift and it showed. The original music was composed by Nafees Ahmed and beautifully performed by the Napa music ensemble.

Talat Hussain turned in another stellar performance. His dialogue delivery was impeccable and the shift from an arrogant emperor to a senile old man in rags was flawless. Among the young actors, Paras Masroor had the best lines and did full justice to his role. His costume was perhaps the best in the play and was designed keeping in mind his sinister character which added a new dimension to his character. Bakhtawar Mazhar and Aymen Aly played their parts with conviction. It was a pleasure to listen to such lyrical dialogues in Urdu with correct diction. It shows the hard work put in by the director Zia Mohyeddin and the young actors. The only weak performance of the play was from Maria Rabab who played middle sister Dil Ara.

Among the actors in the comedic part of the play, Uroosa Shamim Siddiqui as the cheeky maid was a winner and drew most claps. Farhan Shah and Syed Athar Abbas were excellent and carried their roles with requisite chutzpah.

NRTC deserves all the credit for staging this Agha Hashar play as their maiden venture.

Brag pack

A recent article of mine published in dawn.

In the 15th century, simplicity may have been the ultimate sophistication for Leonardo da Vinci, but it no longer carries weight — at least for us Pakistanis. Consider anything — gadgets, cars, art, lifestyle, food, educational institutions or a wedding invitation — and it will seem that everything has become more elaborate, ostentatious and complex. What was once considered simple and sophisticated is now considered basic and frugal.

Is it just the market economy that’s driving people to go bigger and grander? Or have our values really changed, and being simple is no longer viable in any sphere of life?

Let’s take gadgets first. What used to be a cellphone can now take pictures and videos, store a million songs, catch a hundred and one radio channels and can send and receive email, browse the web… and what not. I am sure many people who own these all-in-one phones don’t even know how to use them. For them a complex gadget is a symbol: it speaks of their status.

In the past, electronic items such as refrigerators or toasters used to be quite straightforward. They now come with multiple control dials, multiple LCD displays and a complexity that defies description. When I recently asked a dealer if things could be made simpler for people like me, he told me that people didn’t want to spend money on simple things.

Extra features, even if they are totally useless, win over simplicity. So if the next time you go shopping for a washing machine and find one which is equipped with FM radio and television to make the rinsing of clothes a much more enjoyable experience, you know it is public demand that should be blamed for it.

A few days ago, I received a wedding invitation. The cards were wrapped in a huge silk handkerchief with velvet trimming and a tissue string to tie it up. The letters on the cards scented in Coco Channel (the brides favourite perfume), were gold embossed and had pictures of the bride -- and groom-to-be. There was so much detail to absorb that I did not see the most important part, the invitation date, and therefore missed the wedding. I am sure the wedding was as ostentatious, if not more, than the wedding invitation.

If people are to be believed, no one eats simple food any more. It has to be exotic, foreign and unpronounceable to sound cool. It is mispronounced but happily eaten like the popular lasagna and various pasta types! The funny thing is that the minute most of us step out of the country, we crave desi food. I once traipsed the streets of Laos with a Pakistani colleague looking for a desi restaurant, and this is a man who wouldn’t be caught dead eating Pakistani food outside his kitchen.

Most of the ladies at my gym boast of hiring a chef who is a wizard at concocting Italian and other Mediterranean dishes. Their girth belie the presence of any such chef because if they had been having their food cooked in extra virgin olive oil and eating salads with tomatoes and low fat goat’s cheese, they would not need expensive gym memberships. Eating a simple daal chawal is passé, only an elaborate bistecca alla Florentina will do.

There was a time when having a single car was enough. Now people aspire to have more than one. Someone I know just bought a bright yellow mini cooper, but only to drive on weekends. When asked about it, he said the “mini cooper was a form of self-expression and suited his personality better”. But as an investment banker he has to maintain a sedate professional persona; hence a regular black Honda for going to work. What happened to writing poetry or painting for self expression?

Another trend that I don’t get is the craze for Sports Utility Vehicles (SUVs), especially in a city like Karachi where our cars stay jammed on either Shahrae Faisal or I. I. Chundrigar Road (depending on where you go to work) and one rarely gets a chance to drive over 60 kilometres an hour. We hardly drive out of the city (inner city commute is painful enough) and plying those huge monstrosities on the congested Karachi roads borders on cruelty, yet people keep on doing it to show off that they can afford a fuel-guzzling vehicle. Three years ago, a steering wheel was just a steering wheel. They now come with complex control structures with multiple buttons and controls, including two sets of loudness controls, one for music and one for the cellphone. The rear view mirror now comes with an on-off switch and some cars even come with a back-view camera and an LCD screen which shows if the driver behind your car is picking his nose or not.

I am sure most of us can do without that information. Mr Einstein was right when he said, “Any fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent; but it takes a touch of genius -- and a lot of courage — to move in the opposite direction.”

Sunday, fun day

This is an updated and published version of an old blog entry.

Sunday Bazaar is the place where one comes across a host of people. The Afghani vendor selling huge shopping bags, insisting on speaking in English -- his standard words would be something like: “very good shopping bags, only Rs10 for you, very strong, very beautiful, thank you, goodbye, have a nice day...” No matter how hard one tries, the vendor will not utter a word in Urdu.

A young mother pushing a stroller alongside a bored-looking toddler and an equally disinterested husband who is not too happy about spending Sunday morning browsing for tees, old magazines and groceries.

The begum sahib whose driver will block the road bang in the middle so that the begum sahiba will not have to take one extra step.

The other begum sahiba type will be haggling over the price of a pair of second-hand Dorothy Perkins sandals, even though she drove to Sunday Bazaar in her Rs3 million four-wheel-drive.

I must confess that I am not a Sunday Bazaar regular. The other day I just wanted to buy Samuel Butler’s The way of all flesh. I did look for it at a couple of bookshops that I frequently go to, but when I couldn’t find it there, I thought I should try my luck at the Sunday Bazaar bookstalls, which are said to house treasures… at times. Although I couldn’t find anything by Mr Butler -- the bookseller insisted on calling him Samuel Butter and kept thrusting Mills & Boon my way saying, “baby, larkiyan tau aaj kal yehi ley raheen hain (I was secretly flattered that he thought I was a teenager looking for M&Bs). I most certainly did come across a couple of treasures, but not the bookish kind. I saw this woman sweeping in the bookstall I was at, greeting all the booksellers with a regal air, asking them how they were doing. The booksellers were also waiting on her and fetched her all the books she asked. I was impressed by the way she commanded attention and asked one of the vendors if she was a literary aficionado. He told me that the lady had recently built a huge mansion with a room designated as library. She came in every Sunday and bought all the books available in hard cover, even if they’re in French, to fill in her mahogany shelves. After all, it would be an insult to fill up mahogany shelves with cheap paperbacks.

Recovering from the shock and clutching my copy of a moth-eaten Down and Out in Paris and London I ventured a little further and met another kind that I never expected to see at Sunday Bazaar: the rich who do their business in the middle of second-hand shoe stalls. While I was trying to jostle my way ahead, I saw a really cute guy and I said to myself, “At last, some eye candy!” He was talking to a very pretty girl, and when I heard what they were talking about, such was my shock that I stopped in my tracks. Apparently the guy was managing an investment portfolio for that girl and she had invested Rs10 million with him. She was toying with the idea of investing another Rs5 million and the man insisted that she do that with him -- right in the middle of Sunday Bazaar -- with dirt pathways and flies all around us. The girl did not look too eager, but the guy, with his charm and good looks must have persuaded her to invest the aforementioned Rs5 million. Despite being curious, decency prevailed and I stopped eavesdropping and moved on.

This business conversation amidst haggling aunties and vendors got me thinking: who needs posh clubs, fancy restaurants and sprawling golf clubs to conduct business when you can do it round the dusty stalls of Sunday Bazaar? Just take your client for a bit of aloo gobi shopping and wrap deals worth millions.

I think the idea has some merit, but can only work when one happens to be as good looking as that guy and the client has to be a single, unattached receptive female. The rest of us mere mortals will have to conduct business in a posh restaurant or a golf course.

The mirage of cool

An article of mine got published in Dawn’s Sunday Magazine but I am pasting the non edited version here.

Taz

A couple of months back, I went to my colleagues home to drop some papers off and witnessed an argument between her and her teenaged son. It was about vacations during the winter break. My colleague was preparing to go to Lahore for a host of weddings in the family while her son wanted to go to Europe for a ski trip in the winter break. She tried reasoning with him for various reasons, but he was adamant that he must go skiing this winter as it is a matter of life and death for him. His argument was that all his friends have been to ski trips and he does not want to be the only 'uncool' person who has never experienced skiing. When my colleague said that ski trips are very expensive, he should think about it. He accused her of being partisan as she can pay thousands of dollars in tuition fee for his older brother who is studying in a posh private university in US but cannot rustle up enough funds for him to go skiing. When I tried to lighten the mood by telling the 15 year old Ahmed that I sat in an aero plane for the first time when I was 14 and bungee jumped at 25. His response was a sardonic look and 'I don't wanna do things when I am geriatric.' I have to say that I was quite taken by surprise for his contempt for losers like myself, his knowledge about costing of international luxury vacations and tuition fees of Ivy League schools and his vocabulary. One must admit that not many 15 years old would use the word geriatric.

It is not just Ahmed, most teenagers, at least the affluent and upper middle class teenagers, these days are like that; materialist and seeking instant gratification. They don't want to share things even with their siblings so everyone want their own music systems, ipods, laptops, digital cameras, mobile phones and they want the latest possible versions of all the gadgets. Not only that, they are extremely brand conscious and will only be happy with the clothing or gadget of their brand choice. Sadly, the schools are feeding into this trend. Students bring in their latest possessions to school; they compare notes and if their gadgets are found wanting, they urge their parents to upgrade it. Those who cannot afford argue with their parents and are bitter, some even go into depression.

What is sad that there are no checks on it by the school administrations. Children are allowed obscene display of wealth, whether they are flaunting imported stationary, designer school bags (yes, there is something called designer school bags) or bragging about their expensive vacations to exotic locales. It is agreed that the primary responsibility rests with the parents but schools need to come up with some rules to control the exhibitionist streak in its young fellows. Most posh schools do not offer van services and discourage parents to use outside van services. They insist that parents drop and their pick their children themselves. Not only that it is wreaking havoc with the climate, it creates what now is normally known as 'School Hour Traffic Jam'. Imagine how environment friendly it would be if there were just 12 buses ferrying school children instead of 400 cars per school, but school managements discourage that. So mummies come in their 4000 cc Cherokees to pick up 3 year old toddlers and anyone who wants to step out anytime between 12.00 pm to 1.00 pm in that area either has to battle the mummy traffic or stay put till it is all over.

I recently volunteered as an alumnus of my university at an education fair and most of the students wanted to know about degrees in actuarial sciences, medicine, merchandising (I swear I did not even know what merchandising was when I was a teenager) and business and finance. When I tried to point out that studying medicine abroad is extremely expensive, almost all the prospective students (most of them were either in their last year of GCSE or first year of GSE) brushed it as an irrelevant irritant. An hour later, I went to the ladies room and overheard two students. One of them asked her friend as to why were she making repeated queries about a course (medicine) that she cannot afford and the other one replied that initially she did not know but later did it so save face. Apparently she was embarrassed about the fact that her parents do not have an insane amount of money to send her abroad for a extremely expensive course.

As an alumnus of a convent school, I remember we had to strictly follow the uniform down to Bata shoes which was a great leveler. We were not allowed to wear even hair clips and other such accessories. I remember that one of my class mates brought a Rs. 500 note to school cafeteria and created a stir amongst the rest of us who had, at best, a 50 rupees note. It was so out of ordinary that her parents were called by the school administration and duly reprimanded for setting up the bad example of exhibiting inappropriate amount of money in the school. With the exception of a very tiny minority, all of us used van to get back home which instilled a sense of camaraderie in the students from different grades and section. Some of us are still friends and keep in touch even though it has been over a decade since we passed out.

Providing children with comfortable life is something that all parents aspire to, but they should also be taught about the value of money and its importance in determining life choices. Similarly teachers and school administrations cannot be absolved of their responsibility towards their wards and should encourage community activities and discourage display of wealth and other luxuries to develop a more harmonious environment in the schools, such practices will lead to a society which values humans more than material gains.

Kiss of Death

My story published in the current issue of Herald.