Exile

"In October 2000 the world was tuned in to the Sydney Olympics. In the hostel, on D-day we were all glued to the TV set eager for the opening ceremony to begin. Halfway into the event I realized that I couldn't see clearly anymore and my face felt wet. I was crying. No, it wasn't the fact that I clearly wished I was in Sydney or the splendour of the atmosphere or the spirit of the games, I tried hard to explain to those around me. Bu they couldn't understand, couldn't even begin to understand....how could they? They belong to a nation. They have never had to conceive of its loss, they have never had to cry for their country. They belonged and had a space of their own not only on the world map but also in the Olympic Games. Their countrymen could march proudly, confident of their nationality, in their national dress and with their national flag flying high. I was so happy for them."

-- Tenzin Tsundue

It's 3AM

I hear there are no more tangas left in Lahore. This places me in a predicament: you see, I have very clear memories of riding tangas in Pakistan, invariably with the smell of shit coming from the horse in front of us. In particular, I clearly recall eating a huge paan quite happily while squished between two women (perhaps one was my mother who surprisingly did not scold me for finishing the entire paan off at the age of four; I mark that as the beginning of my degeneration). So where is this predicament? Well, without any tangas, I have no sense of what Pakistan is. What will happen when I go back? I will be utterly lost. Tangas were almost as indispensible to my memory of P. as dancing women with colorful dupattas are for any Yash Raj film trying desperately to evoke nostalgia for the homeland. Horse shit, where else can I get that smell? I came close driving through the cow lands of coalinga, ca - but there was no horse and no tanga, and usually a struggle to keep the windows up while my brother tried to put them down shouting "but this is our pind!" Let me tell you, freedom does not smell like that. Nineteen years of memory and I won't be able to appreciate it when I go back; now I have to recall something that is hopefully not untrue - like kite-flying, although it's banned in Lahore (I believe), and I only did it in Karachi...

Hm, perhaps this can be resolved. I just remembered - I never lived in Lahore, only Multan. There is still hope...maybe not so much for my memory. And I think one of my friends would argue not for my facial recognition abilities either. Unfortunately, the slow waves caused a little bit of trouble earlier when I couldn't recognize a friend's friend in time and failed to respond with a nod and wave in the elevator; he came to the conclusion that my friend was ignoring him and that she had told me to do the same. I would suggest no one really read into my facial expressions - they say more of what I don't intend than the other way around. A similar thing happened today, though I in fact did not know the person, and hopefully no drama will result from the interaction; point is, elevators are dangerous for social interaction.

For those of you who are probably wondering why this post even exists, I think you should appreciate that it's a clear improvement from my 3am posts in my previous blog.