Soaking: the act of absorbing, imbibing and taking it all in. Slang = Chillin'
I am currently ‘soaking’ in Islamabad after arriving here last night. After the chaos, bedlam and tumult of Peshawar it is a relief finally to be somewhere with a semblance of orderliness. The streets here are huge freeways lined with trees and flowers and relatively civilised driving (thanks to the tough traffic police who keep an eye out on maniac drivers). It didn't start too well though: as I alighted from my bus from the 'Pir Whadi bus terminal', I was immediatey accosted by a vulture like taxi driver. Red eyed, and a bit wan and rough looking. The fare to my hotel seemed reasonable so I got into his decrepit beaten up taxi. His constant questioning (when all I wanted to do was switch off) was taxing my patience: Where are you from? Where are you staying? How much do you earn? Are you married? 'Do you have an English girlfriend?' and more worryingly 'why don't you let me take you to a nice hotel I know?' - as if! At one point we went down a narrow alley and I grabbed hold of my bag, ready to jump out, lest he attempt to rob me - but it was Ok. He was only doing a short cut and me being a tad paranoid. My nerves we're a little frayed though from my time in Peshawar and my stomach a little worst for wear.
I checked into one of the nicer hotels (Wi-Fi in my bedroom anyone?!) and went out for a meal in the evening to one of the more salubrious shopping areas called ‘Jinnah Super-Market’ - thronged with Levi’s, Hush Puppy boots outlets, Apple Computer stores, an array of designer shops and some extremely plush looking restaurants. I had a hard time choosing where to eat and finally settled for a pretentious eatery called ‘The American Steak House’. But first I had to get by airport-style ‘security’ – the armed guard outside performed a quick mandatory frisk with a metal detector before I was led in. It took me a while to adjust to the lighting or lack thereof. It seems that the more expensive the restaurant the darker the ambience. This place was pretty dark. I seated myself at a comfortable corner table where I could see outside onto the large lighted square below – where men and their wives and children were beginning to congregate to break their Ramzan fast. There was a Pakora sellers stall below doing a brisk trade and queues of people outside the fresh juice outlet. Well I say queues but people in Pakistan don't actualy 'queue' as such. They just barge in and the worst thing is they don't even realise it! It's fucking annoying and it always drives me nuts. But I try and suppress my wrath by convincing myself that the act of queing is unnatural to the human species. So in Pakistan they're just acting au natural. Does it work? Does it make me feel better? No!
Anyway, the restaurant itself was nicely decorated with a huge dollop of class. The chairs were comfortable. The tables brown teak. The napkins we’re crimson velvety and soft and you weren’t sure whether they were for decorative purposes or for wiping your mouth with! I ordered a T-Bone Steak with Pepper Jus with all the trappings washed down with a strawberry smoothie. The staff were attentive. Sometimes too attentive. It wasn’t busy so they had the unnerving habit of hanging around your table fidgeting. But it was ok. There was a large plasma television on the far wall showing a cricket match or something and the music was uber-americano. They asked me whether I was fasting to which I replied ‘yes’ (liar liar bum on fire) – this confirmed, to them atleast, that I was a Muslim which they weren’t sure of initially from my enigmatic and cool accent – and after that they seemed to relax a little. I was one of them! For breaking the fast they provided a complimentary platter that included the usual dates, fruit and some fried savourites. I took a little nibble at these but only a nibble lest I ruin my appetite.
In between waiting for my food I read: The Last Mughal by Darymple or sometimes just looked out through the window at the chorus of people below eating in the square in groups. And the food? Well it was ok. A bit pricey considering what I got (Rs 1,200 when you can get a better meal somewhere less pretentious for Rs 120), but as always it’s really about the atmosphere in these sorts of places, and the feeling of being somewhere comfortable and reassuringly Western!
The shopping area itself was busy in the evening with the upper crust elite of Pakistan strolling through the arcades and squares. It being Ramadhan and too hot during the day, people tend to come out mainly in the evenings and the shops cater by being open till way past midnight. I felt more at home here. The people seemed better educated. The women were decked in dupatta-less outfits, the latest western trends, and were walking around comfortably and confidently in female only troupes. One of the major problems for women in Pakistan, being a male dominated society, is the constant ogling that goes on by men of less ‘sophisticated ilk’ (pardon my haughtiness!). I was wondering why the men here we’re better behaved here, when lo and behold, I spotted a policeman whacking a group of men with a stick for misbehaving. Apparently the shopping area has its own ‘chowkedars’ or ‘crowd controllers’, huge lumbering mustachioed Pathans who keep a constant visual for undesirables lurking in the cracks and being a general nuisance. I found this ironic. The majority of Pakistani's belong to, what I lovingly call, 'The Mob'. These are the boorish, mannerless, crass, un-cultivated, philistines you see everywhere. However, there 'masters'; the bourgeois, educated, elite classes who shop in malls in the evenings, have nothing but contempt for them! The very people whose support they need. I think the middle-class in Pakistan lives in constant fear of being usurped by the tsunami of the barbarian mob.
I did a little shopping too by the way. Popped into a Levi’s store and purchased a t-shirt costing the equivalent of a weeks stay in Northern Pakistan! I also paid a visit to ‘The Saeed Book Bank’ – the largest bookshop in the whole of Pakistan. What a delight it was to stroll through the endless aisles perusing what they stocked and what they didn’t. They had all the English classics and naturally quite a substantial collection on the Indian Subcontinent. They even had a few titles by that staunch atheist Richard Dawkins – but I didn’t see a copy of the God Delusions…Perhaps they we’re out of stock?! They had a large collection of Lonely Planet guides, so seeing my opportunity, I purchased one for Thailand and Laos and a book by Hanif Kureishi. I’ve just realised that I’m going to have to carry these with me everywhere I go. So I’m not sure whether that was smart thinking! Oh well.
See you in Thailand. Inshallah.
