Kala Kala Saday-A Short Story

The men were talking about the usual border security and the outgoing Afghan government–American’s puppets they called them.  Ahmad was deaf to such talk, instead, his mind wandered cross-border into Pakistan. 

His daydreaming, unlike him,  was free to roam into Pakistan and drive the off-roader he saw there on his last visit to the Afghan-Pakistan border. He pictured himself behind the wheel zipping past everyone on the road and sending plumes of dust in the air behind him. 

A heavy tap to his forehead snapped him back into reality.

“What father,” Ahmad asked befuddled.

“Rahim was kind enough to get you..,” Bahadur looked to his left and motioned towards Rahim.

Rahim handed the kid the envelope and asked him to open it. Ahmad emptied the content on his lap.

Bahadur shrieked, “Alaka careful, you might catapult them into the tea. You don’t know the trouble Rahim went through for this.”

Harbored in the creases of his kameez were two cards! The first one was an Identity card that made his 2 years older and the stretched picture seconded it. The next card he picked up was the Border Permit with his name written in bold.

A wide-eyed Ahmad now held the cards in his hands and looked back and forth towards his father and Kala Kala Saday whose seemed to say ” At last! It dawned upon him at last! ”

“Alaka, you can cross over to Chaman on your own now,” Rahim told him.

Breakfast at Square Leg

Her motherhood seeped through the comical sight as she chuckled, “Qaym! Just be careful not to twist your neck.” He nodded his head back as in agreement but only ended up stretching his neck more.

“That’s enough! ” a smile followed the order still and she added, “Come have breakfast with your dad and wake up Salman too.” This time he did not nod, not out of obedience but because he was too busy picturing his inverted world where the teapot and the cups slam into the wooden beamed floor that ran throughout the house.

Halal Homicide

He felt with his other hand for her jugular, where he would cut into her throat according to the religious tradition. She was laid on the ground bounded while the color black flowed around her.
..
..
..
the knife gnawed into her neck once again and this time the grunts took the form of a wail!
..
..
The knife was at work again a third time and only then the slaughter concluded.

The Camel, The Turban, & The Existentialist

The camel sauntered with pomp– its head swayed from side to side-; the man’s gait, however, was cold and rigid as if on a military march.  An imperial mustache sat atop his lips and accentuated his wide forehead and thick jawline. 

“This is a fine camel you got here,” Jabbar complimented as he stopped by them. The camel stopped first, the man followed. 

“Thank you! ” the reply came but from the camel!

Flabbergasted, his hand remained frozen mid-air as he was about to pat the camel’s shoulder. He let drop it drop to his side eventually but not before the camel rolled his eyes at him as if saying: “here we go again!”.

The Domaki Blacksmith

Hunza is situated in the mountainous north of Pakistan, where before the construction of roads and mule tracks, people were cut off from one group of villages to the next and between them were high rising mountains and insuperable passes and naturally, each group of villages developed their own language; majority of these weren’t dialects but distinct languages, each capable of baffling the linguists.

Domaaki is one of those languages; the Domaaki speakers traditionally were either musicians or blacksmiths but they now hold various professions.

At present, unfortunately, there are fewer than 350 Domaaki speakers present in the world and the language is on the brink of extinction!

How do you Like your Bokeh?

“I don’t know man. I just like it,” she answered with a lost expression.

He kept looking at her in order for her to explain more. He learned in this article recently, where certain conversational hacks were mentioned; one of which was that after getting a short answer from the other person, if one continues looking at the person as if waiting for a more input, the other will add a few more lines.

“Maybe because of this cozy feeling it provides; the kind that keeps one in bed on a winter morning.” He nodded at that and thought ‘it worked’. She continued staring blankly at her hands, “they settle so peacefully on the eyes, gives me the feeling of comfort with objects fused together and nothing to focus at all.”

Ser Jorah of Punjab

It was by chance that he stumbled upon the Lannister , while he was whoring around in Volantis( his last stop towards Westeros.)

“Ser Jorah Mormont san ei ragi shuon pruth,” he said at the top of his lungs now.

The crowd erupted around him at this point. It was the females that found it funny more. Getting the sense of what it meant Mormont got down from the steed and smacked Tyrion across his face and sent him without a single word.

“I was only telling them about the size of your…. brain!” he uttered getting back on his short legs. “You old hag.”

The last part made him got his hands shackled.

Happy Independence Day

“Who is that?” I asked.
“Oh that’s Pakistan; it’s his 70th birthday today.” The lady replied.
The guys still had their eyes fixed upon Pakistan and were anxiously waiting for something. I saw they had a ten dollar and a hundred bill lying in front of them.
“It is just a stupid bet they have every year,” she said abating my curiosity, “The loser gets to pay the other a hundred dollars.”
“What do they bet…”
“Shush you two,” one of the guys interrupted.
The lady smiled and whispered, “You will see.”

RUN!!

What we saw confused us. They were people alright but none of them were actually moving. They were in a constant sway and doing nothing. By now the stench was gone almost and we took our time observing them to. We could only hear the queer murmur and nothing else. ‘The rangers will be here soon’ I thought as I caught myself looking forwards to the people we were running away from all this time.

Riding the meanders up north!

“Okay, so I also have to get the charger adapter or maybe get the previous one fixed. Do remind me of that Punno if you will.”

“If I remember that is. See, I forget stuff too. I forgot to pick up the morning delivery for the hotel,” he chuckled.

“And here I was thinking I am dragging you with me.” Jerry turned around and gave Punno a pat.

The road turned sharply as it descended down the steep mountain slope. Naveed made it seem effortless, as he was used to the roads in Northern Pakistan. Jerry, however, being more accustomed to the European city life did not find himself relaxed despite making several trips up and down.

“Where is the seat belt?” Jerry exclaimed as he grappled at thin air, “Punno, there is no seat belt!”

Spreading his arms on the back seat Punno replied, “Relax Jerry no one wears a seat belt here. The last jeep was abnormal, it had one.”

“We are so screwed if something happens, especially on this road,” Jerry said as they were making their first of many turns.

“Oh, you are safer without a belt, you see. I rather get thrown out of this open jeep then accompany it tumbling downhill.”

“That Just made me more apprehensive. Thank you!”

Rustic Splendor

  The water dribbled down his coarse long hair and over his thick beard.  ‘How do I end up in the most rustic places around!’ he thought as he capped the water bottle. The sun was near his zenith in the cloudless sky, a bag beside him laden with everything from a sleeping bag to…