Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Monday, November 06, 2006
wednesday blog word: complete
It was a typical Karachi evening. After the hot glaring sun, the tired city was attempting to rejuvenate itself with a rare breeze, now that the day was complete.
The sun was setting at Sea View, and already, the nighlty crawlers were emerging. A gross sight, over weight women and men… men with their portly looks and overgrown moustaches scratching their groins publicly without any apology; women dressed shabbily, slouching behind their men, with at least three children in tow; with the sound of the azaan, they covered their hair, if it wasn’t covered already, and urged their children to hush. The ragged children, with smeared faces, dirty hair, chewing on something… ignored them, and kept walking on the dirty sand, not knowing the pleasures of the French Beach that lay just less than a half an hour drive away.
On French beach, a crowd was beginning to emerge. With blaring music, foreign beer; or murree brewery vodka bought from a tucked away lane in zamzama. The music began, ignoring the sound of the azaan that was blaring despite everything. The inhibitions lessened, the dancing began. It was Saturday night, after all… time to forget the long week of working, stress, and other social callings. It was time for a line… cocaine was back, after all.
Back on sea view, a different line emerged. The crowds of lumpen proletarians gathered, they were all the same – dirty, slimy – mailas – wondering if they could afford pizza this time – peeeza – they yelped, I want peeza, on TV everyone eats pizza yelled the children. Stand in line yelled the man from the pizza hut van.
The pan stains drew blood on the dirty sand, while they waited in line… the bhutta burnt; the malish walas jiggled their wares, the man with the monkey called Shah Rukh beat the monkey forcing it to dance, and the camel and donkey men tried to get customers.
There were no monkey walas on French beach, oh no. Yes, a donkey or camel man was there now and then, after all the rich kids also liked these humble past times, but here they got paid a lot more.
But the children were long gone and as the cold November air pricked them, they bid audieu to the French beach, without knowing what audieu meant, of course.
Thus the day ended, complete. Until another one began the next day. The same day, the same night. Until tomorrow. Until today.
The sun was setting at Sea View, and already, the nighlty crawlers were emerging. A gross sight, over weight women and men… men with their portly looks and overgrown moustaches scratching their groins publicly without any apology; women dressed shabbily, slouching behind their men, with at least three children in tow; with the sound of the azaan, they covered their hair, if it wasn’t covered already, and urged their children to hush. The ragged children, with smeared faces, dirty hair, chewing on something… ignored them, and kept walking on the dirty sand, not knowing the pleasures of the French Beach that lay just less than a half an hour drive away.
On French beach, a crowd was beginning to emerge. With blaring music, foreign beer; or murree brewery vodka bought from a tucked away lane in zamzama. The music began, ignoring the sound of the azaan that was blaring despite everything. The inhibitions lessened, the dancing began. It was Saturday night, after all… time to forget the long week of working, stress, and other social callings. It was time for a line… cocaine was back, after all.
Back on sea view, a different line emerged. The crowds of lumpen proletarians gathered, they were all the same – dirty, slimy – mailas – wondering if they could afford pizza this time – peeeza – they yelped, I want peeza, on TV everyone eats pizza yelled the children. Stand in line yelled the man from the pizza hut van.
The pan stains drew blood on the dirty sand, while they waited in line… the bhutta burnt; the malish walas jiggled their wares, the man with the monkey called Shah Rukh beat the monkey forcing it to dance, and the camel and donkey men tried to get customers.
There were no monkey walas on French beach, oh no. Yes, a donkey or camel man was there now and then, after all the rich kids also liked these humble past times, but here they got paid a lot more.
But the children were long gone and as the cold November air pricked them, they bid audieu to the French beach, without knowing what audieu meant, of course.
Thus the day ended, complete. Until another one began the next day. The same day, the same night. Until tomorrow. Until today.
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