Thursday, January 5, 2023

On Traditional Food

 

Traditional Food and Modern Lifestyles

“The main cause of disease is eating one meal on top of another.” 
                                                            A Hadith of The Prophet (pbuh)
"Resistance, whether to one's appetites or to the ways of the world, is a chief factor in the shaping of character."                         Eric Hoffer

"People are fed by the food industry, which pays no attention to health, and are treated by the health industry, which pays no attention to food."                                              Wendell Berry
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What has surprised me most during my recent trips to Quetta in particular and Pakistan in general is the proliferation of eateries, of restaurants and cafes that have sprouted up everywhere. Every street corner now has a snacking place, a chaikhana or a BBQ joint. There are “food streets”, “food courts” and even “food towns” in every town and city, in shopping malls and even in mohallas. Same is the case with the TV channels with their glittering cooking shows, not to say anything about Youtube, Instagram and TikTok---nothing sells like food and sex online. Every TV channel has a cooking show, some even more than one. Chefs and cooks, of both the sexes, are the new celebrities, the new demi-gods of the silver screen. For someone of the old school like yours truly, these are really amazing developments that have radically modified the cultural landscape there, especially of the traditional food culture.

That wickedly witty old man Gandhi used to say, “You are what you eat.” Indeed: what we eat---not to say anything about how and how much we eat--- has deep effects on and implications for our personality and character. And not just on our physical health and well-being, but more profoundly on our moral and spiritual wholeness and integrity. I say this not because of some sentimental reaction but because in traditional cultures food and sanctity have always been tied together. As a gift of mercy from the Creator, the preparation and eating of food have always had sacred contexts, have been heavily ritualized, from the initial act of preparing the land to growing and harvesting, to the sacrificial rites of slaughtering animals and all the way to starting and finishing a meal with prayers. For traditional people, food has never simply been a matter of utility or about nourishing the body. It has always meant much more in the traditional, pre-modern universe. This was mainly because the very conception of reality and of man as a microcosm (anfus) reflecting the bigger macrocosm (aafaq)---as body, soul and Spirit/Intellect---differed from the modern understanding of homo sapiens as merely the Cartesian duality, body and mind. With the pornification of food and eating, as with most other things in the modern world, all these symbolisms are now lost to the modern mindset. (Observe the perverted food fads and fashions, the unrestrained quantification and rampant commodification that turns everything into material for all sorts of sensual, carnal indulgences---instead of offering grace, people nowadays first take filtered pictures of what they are about to eat and then quickly upload them on Instagram!),

Says the critical traditionalist writer Rodney Blackhirst:


"The health food movement is a profane reaction to the obvious inadequacies of the modern diet; it thinks in terms of chemical constituents and vitamins. In the traditional mind “nature” is, more importantly, Creation—foods are evidence of God‟s mercy and bounty, and the natural order reflects a sacred design with an exact relation to the human being….When modern man sees a traditional Chinese meal being prepared he may think no more than “Yum! I love stir-fry!” The health food enthusiast may take stock of the meal’s protein content, minerals and enzymes and feel satisfied, in a sentimental way, that it is full of “natural” ingredients. But a traditional man sees the bowl of the heavens in the smooth, black concave form of the wok, and he sees the grains of rice as stars and the vegetables—parsnips and carrots cut as half-moons or hexagrams—as representatives of the planets. He sees the stirring and agitation of the ingredients as mimicry of the swirling courses of the heavenly bodies and the whole act of cooking as a cosmological process in miniature. It is an act that participates in the processes of a divine and intelligent creation. Traditional approaches to foods place them within a wider cosmological context."

My great grandmother who died at the ripe old age of 95 used to tell us about the types of food using the old, traditional taxonomies or categories. For example, she would describe some food as hot (garam) while others as cold or cool (sard). Moreover, certain food were not good for men to eat, or not good to eat them in certain seasons; the same applied to women, especially when they were undergoing pregnancy and childbirth. Eating too much onions and coriander were considered not good for men. Certain legumes or lentils were not to be eaten with certain other foods at the same time. Foods, especially vegetables and fruit were good if they were eaten in-season, during their growing season and not out-of-season as people do these days because post-harvest technologies have made it possible to do so. When we had some injury, we were not allowed to eat vegetables such as eggplants because doing so would prolong the healing time and would make the wound worse. A natural craving for yogurt was a sure sign of health. Then there were the many mysterious qualities of garlic, olive oil, turmeric, black pepper and cloves. To the university educated moderns---the linear-thinking souls with flattened, shrunken intellects and dull, monochrome imaginations----who find any kind of traditional symbolism ridiculous and often laugh them off, these all now seem nothing more than old wives’ tales. But all those observations were based on a cosmology and metaphysics that held to the traditional understanding of man and his reality; the cosmology that always reminded us that “man does not live by bread alone” and that the bread that he did consume was not just bread in the ordinary, visible sense. “In fact, these systems were aspects of a profound sacred science transmitting the wisdom of an ancient contemplation of nature rooted in metaphysical principles.” (Blackhirst)
     
Then there were the special methodologies for preparing or cooking food. Not just the ingredients, their seasonality, the amounts to be used and their complex and complicated combinations, but the time needed to cook the dishes. Time was of the utmost importance in traditional cooking. Traditional cooking meant time, lots of time: slow food, as opposed to what we now universally call fast food. Rodney Blackhirst in his work on traditional food, from which I have already quoted above, thinks that it was an “alchemical” process. He argues:


"Time was considered an essential factor in nutrition. This is still recognized in the case of foods like cheese and wine, which mature over time, but it is no longer recognized as important to the preparation of grain and vegetable foods. Traditional methods, found throughout the world, typically take a whole grain such as wheat berries, cover in water or broth, add a little salt, and seal in a heavy pot cooked over a very low heat overnight or for several days. Other ingredients may be added at particular stages of the cooking. Jewish cuisine knows several dishes cooked for seven days, including the proverbial Chicken Soup where a whole bird, head to feet, is boiled slowly for seven days until it is reduced to a gelatinous liquid. This is indeed a type of domestic alchemy….Traditional long cooking methods seek to transmute food, not just warm it through. These methods of food preparation…transform the essence of foodstuffs, not only their crude constituents."
  
Soulfood: The Hazaragi dish kocha
Those readers of this blogsite who know about the Hazara dish of kocha can confirm what he is saying. Kocha is made with different kinds of grains, lentils and some meat, especially meat from a cow’s tail and backbone. The ingredients are added one by one and it is boiled and cooked for hours, left overnight on low heat until morning. Now, the purpose is not just to soften the ingredients but to transform its "essence", to “transmute” it in a process that is akin to alchemy: something raw, ordinary, base and inferior is turned into something special, noble and superior. The low heat and time do the magic to the ingredients and the end product is nothing short of miracle. Every traditional culture has these dishes which we can call “soul food”. This particular dish of kocha is eaten with much relish by all ages in different parts of West and Central Asia, especially on cold days and nights.

I want to end this piece with a word on gluttony, perhaps in the way of a layman’s exegesis of the hadith I have put at the head of this post as an epigraph. Also because gluttony is a typical modern malaise with all those fashionable but inherently harmful and fraudulent dieting techniques, the eating disorders, food wastefulness, imbalances in food production especially in the industrial production of meat and in the overall ecology of food. Modern, industrial food processing techniques are now one of the main causes of the planetary ecological imbalances: extremely resource exhaustive and unsustainable practices that have pushed all life on the brink of irreversible collapse. Many forms of depression and anxiety disorders are now closely related to modern food consumption patterns. Bulimia, anorexia and so on, all have an undeniable food connection. Meat especially needs mentioning. What was once a side dish, only prepared and eaten at rare and special occasions and that after the carrying out of strict rituals of sacrifice and prayers with the blessings of the highest religious authorities, is now the main obsession of many people the world over. No surprise here since modernity---a cynical theology of utter negation logically culminating in nihilism---has this diabolical cunning for inversion of everything: it turns what is trivial and secondary into something essential and primary and vice versa. Walk around anywhere in Quetta nowadays, or in any city in Pakistan, in the evening and the smell of grilled, charcoaled meat is the first thing that will fill your nostrils. No wonder that diabetes, high BP and heart failure remain the top killers in the South Asian region.
In his excellent books, especially in Ihya Uloom e Deen and in Breaking the Two Desires, Abu Hamid Al Ghazzali identifies gluttony (excessive desire of, or hunger for, food) and lust (sexual desire) as the two paradigmatic desires that often result in the destruction of the heedless and the forgetful (ghaflah). From these two carnal desires stem all the other sins of pride and arrogance, the craving for worldly status, for pelf and power, and the vices of envy, hoarding, hatred and oppression (zulm) and so on. The belly is where it all starts, he reminds us. If one is not mindful about what to eat, how to obtain one’s food (the question of halal and haram earnings), how to eat (the manners of eating, the adab of food consumption) and especially how much and how often to eat, the great Ghazzali tells us that one is bound to commit all the other sins listed above. And we cannot be mindful, cannot be aware if we do not have the right attitude of gratitude and humility towards food and especially towards our Creator who is also the All-Provider (Ar-Razzaq) of everything. Let me recall the wise words of my great-grandmother, an illiterate woman who had, obviously, not read any of the books of the great scholars, but what she used to say to us always carried the same kind of profound wisdom that we find in the words of sages like Ghazzali. In one of her typical exhortations she would say: “Eat what is in front of you. If you are a real man, a mard, then don’t complain about food because real men are not obsessed with food and desire less. Offer shukr and abstain from takkabur. Naan piaz, qaash waaz.” It meant that one must be content with what one has (as in food but also with one’s other worldly possessions). This was especially required of men and this attitude was considered noble, a true sign of culture and even of chivalry in males (she would give the examples of The Prophet of Islam, of the wise and righteous caliphs and imams, especially Ali ibn Abi Talib). Be content with what is available even if it is just some slices of raw onion and plain bread. With food in particular, show gratitude and not arrogance or ungratefulness.

For more, please click Hanna Lake: A DrowningQuetta Chawni



Tuesday, January 3, 2023

Hanna Lake: A drowning

The Shashmaina of Hussainabad, Quetta

Hanna Lake: A drowning

It is mid-summer in early or mid-1970s in Hussainabad, Quetta. I am sitting on a charpai in the shade of our old, gigantic shahtoot tree eating my share of the freshly picked shahtoot (mulberries) from that tree. The doorbell rings and I run to see who it is. I open the door and see our neighbor’s youngest son standing with two uniformed men, army people, sentry types. One of them asks, “Is this Sikander and Sadiq’s house? Are they home?” I reply, “Yes, it is. What’s the matter?” The other uniformed man picks up the conversation from there and says to me, “There has been another drowning in the lake, in Hanna Lake. We have failed to retrieve the body after three hours of search. We need the swimmer guys to help us find the dead body. We were told to ask for Sikander , Sadiq, Kako, Saadat and Jaffer in Hussainabad. This young boy brought us here. Are they home?” I ask them to wait and rush back into the house, to my uncle Sikander who is busy washing and waxing his car. I quickly explain the situation to him and he runs with me back to the door. Within minutes we are on our way to Hanna Lake: the two army men in their old Willy’s jeep followed by my uncle Sikander’s Toyota Mark II with four people inside and behind it another car, a jeepster, carrying the other young men from Hussainabad.
  
Hanna Lake, Quetta
We reach the lake, that iconic landmark of Quetta famous for its colorful pagoda like gazebo perched on a hillock and jutting out right in the center of its turquoise water, visible from miles away. It is the very first image that comes to mind when one thinks of Quetta. What Big Ben or London Bridge is to London, the Statue of Liberty is to New York, or Champs-Elysees is to Paris, Hanna Lake is to Quetta. Anyway, we reach the lake and see a small crowd gathered near the water. There is murmuring and even some wailing. Eyes turn to us as we all run to and then through the crowd to the water where some more army personnel are standing, two of them in swimming gear. My uncle and the other Hussainabadis---shash mainas as they were called then---quickly strip down to their over-used, faded Speedos and jump into the water. Some get on the small motor boat with the army men and are quickly taken to the exact spot of the drowning. Others don’t bother and quickly swim to the spot. Jaffer, Saadat Agha, Kako, Ramzan, Mohd Ali, Shaukat, Ishaq, Nouroz and some others from Hussainabad and Hajiabad are part of the search party (see note below). In and out and in and out they swim and dive as everybody waits and watches. There is a young boy standing not far away from me who just keeps on crying as another man tries to calm him down, saying things to him in Pashto. But he just keeps on crying, calling out the name of the drowned man. Faiz Muhammad? Faizullah? I think, or some such name.
Hussainabad, late 1970s or early 80s
Some thirty minutes pass. The army men constantly talk on their walkie-talkies, most probably updating their superiors. The weather is hot and dry, the usual Quetta summer. The shadows of the surrounding barren hills keep stretching on the ground as the afternoon progresses. The orange glow engulfs the whole place and the light on the calm surface of the water seem to dance to a hidden and mysterious tune that is not audible to the human ear. I gaze at the gently undulating waves, now moving in and then peacefully receding. Soon it will be sunset time, will be dark. And then it will not be possible to continue the search for the unfortunate guy, for Faizo, I contemplate. I quickly look at the boy whose wailing has now turned into whimpering, and pray that the search is successful. As I am doing that in my heart, I see Kako coming out of the water and our eyes meet for a few seconds. He says to me, “We will find him. This is not the first time, after all.” I just look at him without saying anything. He returns to the water after a few stretches.

Indeed, it is not the first time, after all. I don’t remember how many times these Hazara swimmers from Hussainabad retrieved dead bodies from Hanna Lake. Often it would be the body of someone who had strayed away from the shallows and drowned in the deeper sections of the lake where the dense and deadly underwater weed usually grew in abundance. Once a boat had capsized and more than ten perished in the lake.

It was at Hanna Lake where these boys and young men first learned how to swim. It was either the lake or the “Panj Foota” (five feet deep) in Baleli (or was it in Samungli??), a small talab or pool that stored irrigation water for the orchards of the local growers just outside Quetta City going in the direction of Pishin. I learned to swim at the lake, too. In summer, Hanna Lake was the place to be for us swimmer Hazara boys. I was lucky to have uncles and male relatives who were excellent swimmers. My uncle Sadiq, a smooth crawler (freestyler) and one of the better underwater swimmers, in order to break my fear of water, would first push me into the water and then come after me and help me learn to float and use my limbs. Although I learned how to swim, I never had the heart to dive, or even jump off the top of the high dam wall on the west side of the lake. When the water was high enough, all these swimmers, challenging and daring one another, would dive off the top of the dam embankment whose side facing the lake looked like a menacing barren cliff.


I hear something. Someone is calling out loudly, screaming, “Here, here. Come, come here”, in Farsi. All the swimmers rush toward that spot. The small army motor boat also speeds in that direction making a puny roaring sound. There is some noise among the crowd and, in the midst of it all, I can hear the small boy crying out loud again. The drowned man’s body has been found, at last. It is late afternoon and there is still light. The unfortunate man, Faizo or Faizullah, is a laddish twenty something. He is a handsome guy with a big, bony chin and thick black hair whose face is now pale blue, especially the swollen lips. He is dead. Completely dead. The small boy leaps forward and throws himself on the cold corpse lying on the floor in the gently fading afternoon light. He just screams and screams…
 
Hussainabadis at Hanna Lake

Note: I may have got some of the names wrong in this blogpost. For example, some of the people mentioned here may not have been present on that day even if they were all swimmers and had been involved in similar searches at other times. I apologize in advance for that failure, for the unintentional act of omission and commission. Time, as we all know, is not the best friend of a man's memory.

For more, please click HussainabadZari GulRegal Cinema

Quetta: A LamentUnderqualified in QuettaMusic Centers of Quetta

Illuminations #5Harf e Dervaish#8Harf e Dervaish#11 (Urdu)

Illuminations #4Education: Old and New

Monday, January 2, 2023

Harf e Dervaish # 11 (Urdu)


Harf e Dervaish #11

"Modern civilization, by its divorce from any principle, can be likened to a headless corpse of which the last motions are convulsive and insignificant."

                                                                 Ananda K. Coomaraswamy 

"The more he blasphemes, the more he praises God."    

                                                                                 Meister Eckhardt

Progress? What Progress? It's all "committing the oldest sins in the newest kind of ways."

                                                                             William Shakespeare


جدیدیت میں جو کچھ بھی اچھا ہے وہ صرف حادثاتی ہے، ورنہ وہ بنیادی طور پر شیطانی ہے۔

مثال کے طور پر، جس چیز کو ہم انٹرنیٹ کہتے ہیں اسے انسانوں کو ایک دوسرے کے ساتھ بات چیت کرنے میں مدد کے لیے تیار نہیں کیا گیا تھا۔ یہ جدید دنیا کے حکمرانوں اور مالکوں کی مہربانیوں کی وجہ سے وجود میں نہیں آیا جو چاہتے تھے کہ ہم سب ایک دوسرے کی ثقافت، مذہب اور طرز زندگی وغیرہ کو سمجھیں۔ یہ امریکی فوج کا ایک خفیہ منصوبہ تھا۔

اس کا واحد مقصد یہ تھا کہ دنیا کی سب سے زیادہ نسل پرست اور سامراجی طاقت کے قتل کی مشینوں اور آلات کو کیسے بہتر اور مکمل کیا جائے۔

اس خفیہ منصوبے کے پیچھے پورا خیال امریکہ کو زیادہ موثر لوٹ مار اور قتل کرنے والی میگا مشین بنانا تھا۔

 اسی طرح، جسے ہم مسافر طیارے کے طور پر دیکھتے ہیں اور اسے جمبو جیٹ ہوائی جہاز کہتے ہیں، وہ تھوڑا سا تبدیل شدہ تباہی پھیلانے والا بمبار طیارہ ہے۔

اور میں اس طرح کی اور بھی بہت سی مثالیں دے سکتا ہوں۔

جدیدیت اور جدید تہذیب کوئی پانچ سو سال پہلے وجود میں آئی۔ اس کا بنیادی اصول جو کچھ بھی مقدس اور روایتی ہے اس کی نفی ہے۔ بلاشبہ یہ صرف ایک فضول کوشش ہے کیونکہ جو کچھ بھی مقدس ہے وہ ابدی ہے، زمان و مکان سے قطع نظر۔ جو کچھ بھی مقدس ہے وہ آخری وقت تک باقی رہے گا چاہے اس کرہ ارض پر زندہ آخری انسان اسے بھول جائے اور بالکل اندھا ہو جائے یا اسے دیکھنے سے انکار کر دے۔

جدید تہذیب سچائی، اچھائی اور خوبصورتی کے تمام روایتی نظریات کی نفی کرنے کی پرتشدد کوشش ہے۔ یہ خدا کو تمام وجود کے مرکز سے ہٹانا چاہتا ہے اور خدا کی جگہ نئے، جدید انسان کو خدا کے طور پر رکھنا چاہتا ہے۔

جدیدیت کے تمام جھوٹے پیغمبروں، مارکس، ڈارون، فرائیڈ، کانٹ اور ہیوم سے لے کر دورِ حاضر کے مابعد جدید کے دھوکے باز دانشوروں کے نظریات کا واحد مقصد یہی ہے۔

اور یہ سب بری طرح ناکام ہو چکے ہیں۔

یہ تمام دانشور جوکر روایت کے ابدی سورج کے سامنے سے گزرتے بادلوں کی مانند ثابت ہوئے ہیں۔

برسوں سے، بہت سے حکیم ہمیں بتاتے رہے ہیں کہ جدیدیت بوریت کے بے معنی سمندر میں ڈوبنے کے سوا کچھ نہیں ہے۔ بیوقوف بننے کا یہ سب سے ذہین طریقہ ہے۔

یہ ہمیں سکھاتا ہے کہ جو چیز معمولی اور ثانوی ہے، ہمیں ان کو ضروری اور بنیادی سمجھ کر قبول کرنا چاہیے۔

یہ ہمیں تعلیم دیتا ہے کہ جو عارضی ہے وہ مطلق اور ابدی ہے۔

مختصر یہ کہ یہ فتنہ کا سب سے مکروہ فلسفہ ہے۔

جدیدیت کا فلسفہ اور جدید طرز زندگی اور سوچنے کے طریقوں نے اب زمین کو مکمل اور ناقابل واپسی تباہی کے دہانے پر پہنچا دیا ہے۔

وہ دنیا جو ہزاروں سال تک روایتی لوگوں کے ہاتھوں محفوظ تھی اب جدیدیت کے ہاتھوں صرف پانچ سو سالوں میں ٹوٹ پھوٹ کا شکار ہو گئی ہے۔

اور ہم اس بربریت اور تشدد کو "تہذیب" اور "ترقی" کہتے ہیں۔

جدید انسان نے ایسی مشینیں بنائی ہیں جن کو چلانے اور کنٹرول کرنے کی اس میں اخلاقی صلاحیت نہیں ہے۔

روایتی آدمی کے پاس ایک حقیقت تھی جو عمودی اور افقی دونوں تھی۔ عمودی طور پر، وہ ہمیشہ اپنے خدا کا بندہ (عبداللہ) تھا۔ افقی طور پر وہ خدا کی تمام مخلوقات، انسان یا غیر انسان کے لیے اپنے خدا کا نائب (خلیفہ اللہ) تھا۔

جدید انسان ایسی کوئی چیز نہیں ہے۔ اس کا وجود صرف چپٹا اور افقی ہے۔ صرف دو جہتی۔ اس کی وجہ یہ ہے کہ اس نے خود کو ہمیشہ کے لیے باور کرایا ہے کہ وہ قدیم گندگی اور کیچڑ کی سب سے اعلیٰ اور حتمی پیداوار ہے جو برسوں پہلے کچھ پراسرار طریقوں سے اکٹھی ہوئی تھی۔ اس کے جھوٹے نبی ڈارون اور ڈارون ازم کے زہریلے نظریے کے دیگر تمام رہنمائوں نے مسلسل انسان کے اس غلط تصور کو جدید انسان کے سکڑے ہوئے دماغ میں ڈال دیا ہے۔

جدیدیت کے جھوٹے نظریے کو سمجھیں۔ انسان کی ابدی روایتی اقدار کو یاد کریں اور ان کو زندہ کریں۔ انسان کوئی ڈارون یا مارکسی جانور نہیں ہے جس کا صرف دنیاوی وجود اور ضروریات ہیں۔ انسان کے اندر مقدس روح ہے۔ وہ اس زمین پر ابدیت کی تصویر ہے۔ صرف انسان جانتا ہے کہ اس نے ایک دن مرنا ہے۔ اس کی جسمانی ناپائیداری کا یہی علم اسے یہ دیکھنے اور سمجھنے پر مجبور کرتا ہے کہ وہ لافانی ہے۔


For more, click: Illuminations #5Bumper StickersIndians

Harf e Dervaish #8The Hollow MenOn Belief

Underqualified in BalochistanZari Gul

Quetta: A LamentHarf e Dervaish #10 (Urdu)

Uncle Marx


Monday, October 10, 2022

The Music Centers of Quetta


The Music Centers of Quetta

Before there was MP3, there was TDK. Before there were Spotify and iTunes, there were Sangeet Palace and Odeon Music Center, Quetta.

Next to books, music occupies a huge space in my life. It also gets a significant chunk of my free time. And as in reading, so in music: I am an omnivore. I read across the genres and listen to many kinds of music. In this post, I am going to reminisce about some of the more popular and well-known music centers of Quetta, places that unfortunately no longer exist in reality but are very much present and alive in the minds and hearts of the music aficionados of the city’s old cassette tape sub-culture of the 1970s and 1980s.

I give the pride of place to Odeon Music Center. Others may disagree but as far as I can recall, this store had the largest Indian (and maybe Pakistani) music collection. Situated in the rather obscure and poorly lit Lalazar Market in the middle of Liaquat Bazaar, it used to be a double-sized corner joint with dark glass panels always adorned with huge, colorful posters that depicted famous Bollywood movies and actors: Sholay, Deewar, Dostana and Yarana with Amitabh Bachan; Anand, Amar Prem and Kati Patang with Rajesh Khanna; and, Aandhi and Mausam with Sanjev Kumar, and so on. And yes, the posters of the ubiquitous, lovely Zeenat Aman, the “sex symbol” reefer queen of the era dressed in hippy rags with her dazzling, alluring smile. Her posters were always among the big selling items of popular culture and her images could be seen everywhere, painted on the backs of auto-rickshaws and trucks and gracing the walls of college and university dorms. Even now, a predatory capitalist behemoth like Apple (the iPhone and iPad maker) cannot resist using her images for the promotion of their products. Odeon music center was equally impressive from inside, with wall-to-wall racks brimming with LPs, tapes and other music paraphernalia. It specialized in high quality stereo and echo recording and did not sell cheap pre-recorded tapes then. It had some of the finest recording equipment, big brand names like Teac, Kenwood, Onkyo, Sansui cassette decks, amplifiers and equalizers and Kenwood, JVC and Technics speakers. My father and my uncle Nasim always got their tapes from this store. All my father’s TDK and Sony Lata tapes carried the shiny silver and gold stickers reading “Odeon Music Center” on them. Recording of one’s favorite selections on a tape of one’s choice would take at least a week and sometimes even more.
Dum Maro Dum!
Zeenat Aman: The Poster Queen of the 1970s
Tip Top Music Center was in Fateh Khan Market on Jinnah Road. Although not as impressive as Odeon when it came to history, reputation and authority, it had its own charm and place in the music culture of the city. First of all, it was situated in a rather strange place, in a market that nobody then identified with tapes, music and colorful movie posters. Unlike the old and established arcade style markets in Liaquat Bazaar, the old Anderson, or maybe “Under the Sun” Bazaar---the “three big” being Liaquat Market, Hashmi Market and Sunehri Market---Fateh Khan was a relatively newer place with shiny shops selling cheaply produced shiny goods---fake copies of big brands---imported (smuggled) from the then newly emerging economies in South East Asia, places like Thailand, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Korea and Singapore etc. This music center also had a different décor and atmosphere: no dark glass panels and especially no scent of vinyl mixed with the unmistakable mustiness that was a heady cocktail of tobacco, tea leaves, old carpets and aged timber. Or, in this place music not only looked differently, but it also smelled differently. But it was music nevertheless, good music. Like Odeon, Tip Top was also famous for its good quality recordings and it too boasted a huge collection of Indian/Bollywood music. But unlike Odeon, it sold pre-recorded tapes as well. My uncle Nisar was a regular customer, and so was yours truly.

Most of the pre-recorded tapes that I used to buy, and still have with me, were bought at Sangeet Palace on Abdus Sattar Road, Quetta. The owners of this old music store were three brothers, one of whom, Javed, was my class fellow for a while at Balochistan University. These pre-recorded tapes were the cheaper items. They were mostly manufactured in Karachi, Saddar Karachi to be precise, and sold all over the country, including at the music centers of Quetta, of which Sangeet Palace was the largest and the most famous. For a long time they were fixed at Rs. 25 per cassette. The tapes were mostly “Asahi” brand, and they were most probably Hong Kong or Thailand copies of the original Japanese Asahi. In the beginning, their recording quality was poor but over time they got better and better. Carrying miniature-poster pictures of Bollywood stars on the tape jackets and wrapped in cellophane, they weighed far less than the TDK, Sony, BASF and Scotch tapes. All cheap plastic, including the tiny screws that held the tape body together! For me, Javed was also a good source of information about music, about the ever-evolving music technology and what was new or latest in the industry then. Our Google then! Sangeet Palace did not deal in on-demand recordings. They only sold pre-recorded items but during the later years, in the early and mid 80s when VHS appeared, they expanded into the video business selling in mass quantities to smaller businesses which were mostly in the rural areas of the province. Sangeet Palace and other music stores like Bambino on Archer Road that sold the affordable pre-recorded tapes made music accessible to the masses. Not everybody could afford the high-quality Odeon Music, Disco Music and Tip Top merchandise.

Pre-recorded tapes from Sangeet Palace, Abdus Sattar Road, Quetta

Of all the recorded English tapes that I ever bought and still have, the majority are from Disco Music Center. This music house, situated in one of the smaller markets called Zulfiqar Market in Liaquat Bazaar, was the only one in the city that specialized in high quality English music recordings. It was a tiny, tiny place, so small that three people inside it would make it look and feel over-crowded. A kiosk, a cubicle, in fact. The owner was a mustached guy--a dandy who always wore strong perfumes---related to Haji Fateh Khan of Lodi Maidan, Nichari. I think he was his son-in-law. His younger brother owns and runs some kind of an adventure or sports club in Quetta, if I am not wrong.  Almost all of my Pink Floyd, Neil Young and Bob Dylan music is on Disco Music recorded TDK and Sony tapes, some on the more expensive Chrome and Metal tapes. English (middle-of-the-road-)rock and folk music---the two genres I mostly liked and often listened to in those days--- but especially the music of the 70s’ big rock bands like The Eagles, Jefferson Starship, Creedence Clearwater Revival, America, Toto, Led Zeppelin, CSNY, Cream, Journey, to name a few, required a different kind and level of recording skill on the equalizer and the amplifier. I mean a different use of settings than those required for the recording of Bollywood music. Since it was the age of vinyl, most of the famous bands and singers were originally produced on LPs from where they were transferred onto individual tapes and that required some very specialized equipment and recording studio skills. There were no programmed presets on the equalizers and amplifiers. They had to be manually manipulated and/or adjusted according to taste and demand. Tapes were recorded individually and it was a time consuming task. In Quetta of those days, Disco Music was one of the few places, if not the only place, where these tapes were made and sold. They cost a pretty penny then, more so when recorded on the high-end metal and chrome tapes for a more refined, sharper and bassy sound. My heartbeat would race, my mouth would always water, so to speak, as soon as I would step inside that rare, almost magical cubicle overflowing with the treasures of LPs and especially with the expensive equipment carrying brand names like Onkyo, Marantz and Nakamichi (amplifiers), Sansui and Technics (equalizers), Kenwood and JBL (speakers) and Teac and Denon (cassette decks). It was like stepping into a different world, a dream world.
Disco Music Tapes

Tapes from Off-Beat Music Lahore (TDK A Series)

In the early 90s a new music store opened in Shalimar Market, on Abdus Sattar Road. It was called Digital Sound. Like Disco Music, this store also specialized in English songs and music but its collection was limited. The owner, however, was very knowledgeable about Western rock and pop music especially about the bands and their legendary rock guitarists and performers: Eric Clapton, Roger Waters, Jeff Beck, Peter Green, Santana and Mark Knopfler et al. He had spent a quarter of his life in Europe and had first-hand knowledge about some of the music icons of the day.

There was also Gulistan Music House which sat on the corner of Suranj Ganj Bazaar and Jinnah Road. A huge art-gallery of a place, it was a strange music store, perhaps even not really a music house but a front for some other, darker business. There were colorful posters of show business celebrities---from James Dean and Frank Sinatra to Raj Kapoor and Amitabh Bachan---all over the place, on the walls, on the wide and tall window panes and even on the glass showcases, but the place just did not look like, did not feel like, and especially did not smell like music. It was on the other extreme end, the barren end, of Odeon Music or Disco Music, if you know what I am mean. It was a ghost house of a place, a haunted exhibition hall, as far as music was concerned, or as far as what I thought then what a music center should have been like. There used to be a few LP jackets taped or nailed to the white walls, a few tapes in the wide showcases running the entire length and breadth of the store and no signs of the real things, the treasures of a good music house: the Kenwoods, the Sansuis and JVCs, the Onkyos and the Technics. I don’t recall ever buying anything from there.

The superior stuff: A TDK metal tape

Virgin Air, Lahore cassette tapes (TDK B Series)

Years later after I moved out of Quetta and went to Punjab for higher studies, I amassed tapes from music centers in Lahore and some even from Peshawar. Among the famous music stores in Lahore was, of course, Off-Beat Music in Fortress Stadium. I still have many of their tapes with me. Off-Beat had a nation-wide presence and anyone who listened to English music knew about it. Then there was, sort of its rival, Virgin Air Music in Liberty Market. But not really. Another small place, also in Lahore, was called Kin Electronics. I still have some Paul Simon tapes that I bought there in the early 1990s. Some of my tapes were bought at Teen Beat Music, Peshawar, which was the Off-Beat of that city.

Pre-recorded cassette tapes. Price in the 1980s: Rs. 25 each

The Tape: TDK

TDK was the king of cassette tapes. At least it was in Quetta. In fact, quality music, good music, meant TDK. Period. It was a solid, jet black product made of opaque plastic with simple designs. The most popular was the “normal bias” “D” series tapes, especially the one-hour duration D60 with the decal printed in red, and the 90-minutes duration D90 with the decal printed in green on the black plastic. The two-hour duration D120 became available late in the 80s, or maybe in the early 90s, but was not that popular. The D series was followed by the screen-printed, transparent plastic “A” and “B” series tapes, which were not bad, but didn’t quite feel like the real thing, the legendary sturdy black D tapes. The competitors of the mighty TDK were mainly Sony, Maxell, BASF and Scotch, the last two being non-Japanese products. I liked the Sony and Maxell tapes, too. Sony Chrome II was a fine thing. Maxell black had the same heavy and sturdy look and feel as the D series. They were quality products as well. I got my BASF and Scotch tapes from my late uncle, Sikander Ali, who had brought them from Germany. They were also good products but not as popular in Quetta as the Japanese brands like TDK and Sony. Only a few stores sold them. The BASF tapes with their yellow and orange stickers on black background were very attractive. To this day, they remind me of the 70s superstars like the reggae king Bob Marley and especially Al Stewart and his catchy guitar tunes and songs. I guess it is because the first time I ever heard an Al Stewart song ---“Year of the cat” and also “On the Border”, for example--- was on a BASF tape given to me by my uncle.


The Mighty TDK D Series D60 and D90 Tapes

BASF and Scotch tapes

In the year 1980, the British new wave/synth-pop band The Buggles announced the death of audio, or of “the radio star” with their hit song “Video killed the radio star”. The age of MTV had arrived with a big bang. Music became “video music” or "music video". The prevailing zeitgeist was that it, or at least popular music, was no longer an aural-only experience but also visual, or more visual than aural. Arguably, like the modern waves of fashionable theories, discoveries and inventions spreading like jungle fire in other fields of life that were fast coarsening ethical and aesthetic sensibilities, dulling intelligence and killing imagination, or simply rapidly infantilizing the thinking and feeling habits of many people then, a phenomenon known as "dumbing down"---for example, first only children but later adults too were no longer able to find text-only books interesting, they got “bored” easily and quickly and started demanding books with more visuals, with more pictures and illustrations, to which the publishing market responded positively with books, including textbooks, carrying pictures on almost every page--- the new format music videos were doing the same with until-then a purely sonoral and aural art form of music. "MTV is to music as KFC is to chicken!" as someone snapped then (Lewis Black??). 

Now, some may think that when the MTV/video revolution arrived, the cassette tape disappeared. Not really. It is true that some of the iconic music centers of Quetta closed shutters and vanished into history, but many of them diversified and started selling VHS tapes and movies as well. I have already cited the example of Sangeet Palace. In such cases, “music center” gradually but surely morphed into a business that mostly rented out pirated Bollywood and Hollywood movies, first on Sony Betamax and then exclusively on VHS tapes. However, the cassette tape was still very much there. I think what really killed the cassette tapes, the unique sound of music on them, and the equally distinct sub-culture that had formed around them over the decades, was the compact disc, or the CD. This new technology changed the game entirely. It literally did “kill” the tape and that had profound implications, not just for the singers and performers but also, and especially for the fans, the millions of music lovers. After all, as the guru himself, the great Canadian media critic and sociologist/philosopher Marshall McLuhan, has said: “The medium IS the message” or “It is the framework which changes with each new technology and not just the picture within the frame.” Change the framework, the worldview, the way we see, understand and feel things, and you change the very nature of whatever is captured in that frame. The gullible souls---totally ideologized, thoroughly conditioned, completely bamboozled----of course, will keep on babbling the manufactured mythologies and falsities that come neatly packaged with every new gadget and technology nowadays, inanities like, "It depends on how one uses it". No, it doesn't: An AK47 machine gun is not a screw driver just like a B-52 bomber is not a bicycle. But this point for another post in the future.

Try buying a cassette tape from any of the “music centers” of Quetta today, if they are still around, that is. They will probably think you are a Rip Van Winkle, a mad man, a crazy woman. The current generation, now known as the iGen, has never seen a real cassette tape, let alone used one. For them, both the medium and the message have shifted radically and there is no way to make them understand what the cassette tape once was, what it actually meant to a whole lot of people in a place like Quetta.

For more on similar topics, please click:



Regal Cinema Quetta

The Battle of the Kawasakis

Harf e Dervaish (Urdu)

St. Francis Grammar High, Qta

Overqualified and Underqualified in Quetta

Saturday, October 1, 2022

Bumper Stickers

 

Contemporary Pakistan through bumper stickers

"We  can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when adults are afraid of the light."   
Plato, circa 400 B.C.
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Pakistan is a South Asian country in the Middle East. It has four provinces whose names are as follows: Punjab.

The divine Plato once said that in a sane and humane republic either the philosophers will have to become politicians, or the politicians will have to become philosophers. In Pakistan, both the philosophers and the politicians compete with one another to become the favored janitors of The Vampires (of The System).

In other countries, political parties publish manifestoes before elections. In Pakistan, political parties publish biryani menus!

The fate of 220 million Pakistanis always hangs on sneakily recorded audios and especially videos of what their criminal ruling classes---the generals, judges, journalists and all the other jokers that make up the country’s perennially racketeering and totally depraved stratum----do with their reproductive organs.

Pakistan is once again teetering on the edge of crisis, and even collapse this time around, because a general or a judge was secretly recorded in the middle of an S&M like act probably with a Lollywood, a Coke Studio, or a TikTok wench.

Dear Pakistanis: The Vampires exist and continue to suck your blood dry because you are all afraid all the time. It's FEAR, your FEAR that gives the booted bloodsuckers strength and confidence. Shatter the hoary myth, end the violent farce, and get rid of this artificially constructed and cunningly instilled FEAR once and for all. "Those who don't move do not notice their chains" as Red Emma (Luxemburg) once said.

To the biryani-bribed and PSL-drugged awam: Only when you move you will realize that you have been tied down in khaki shackles all these seven decades. So, switch off the idiot box and Coke Studio, get off TikTok and Instagram, move your lazy and afraid asses, and redeem yourselves once and for all!

To the ugly, rotten maskharas (clowns) who insist that all must "respect the institutions” ("ادارے کا احترام کریں"), we say what the great and wise Spanish hakim Baltasar Gracian said four hundred years ago: “Those who insist on the dignity of their office show they have not deserved it.”

Don’t respect “the institution”: Criticize it, ridicule it! It is not, has never been, an institution at all but the ugliest euphemism for The System of The Vampires. Destroy it, only to save the country, to save yourselves. After all, there is such a thing called constructive demolition or "creative destruction". (after Joseph Schumpeter)

“All propaganda is lies, even when it is telling the truth.” George Orwell

To young Pakistanis: REMEMBER what they tell you to forget, and FORGET what they tell you to remember.

PTI "Long March" and what will/can happen:

The Vampires of The System clearly know, and they have always openly said and showed with their brutal acts that the rest of the people of the occupied regions of Pakistan, places euphemistically called the "provinces", do not really matter. As long as the people of Punjab are their criminal accomplices, their partners in, and the beneficiaries of, their crimes, however trivial those benefits are, they have no fear. And FEAR is with which The Vampires, the booted bloodsuckers, always maintain and consolidate their deadly hold on The System. Yes, FEAR. Until now, Punjab has never disappointed them and its clearly culpable people have always justified their crimes against everybody else, against the Bengalis, the Sindhis and the Balochis and everybody else. That is why the burden of delivering Pakistan is now squarely on the shoulders of Punjab and on the shoulders of the people of that only province that matters. Will they once again sell their mothers and sisters for a few dollars? Will they again opt for biryani, or will they for once listen to the voice of their conscience? Will they finally redeem themselves and deliver the country or not? All of that remain to be seen.

To young Balochistanis, or the people of the peripheries: Never listen to a single word of whatever they (the Center) say to you especially in the way of promises, but just look them squarely and intently in the eyes. Just look them in the eyes, never listen and never say a word, either.

There is no hope of real change for the awam in Pakistan, Insaf Khan or no Insaf Khan, as long as there is PSL and as long as there is Coke Studio.

Social Media in Pakistan: fighting EVIL with evil. But everywhere else, it is fighting evil with EVIL.

“I don’t know anything about good and evil, about right and wrong. In my line of work you don’t have to.”     A Pakistani politician

“Make them afraid. Make them very, very afraid. Instill fear in their hearts and minds. Tell them, tell them repeatedly, day and night, all year round, that the enemy is inches away from devouring us. The bogeyman---the Indian, the Yehudi, the Hindu, the Afghani---is absolutely necessary. Ridicule the naysayers, torture them, strip them naked and record their videos, abuse them with dirty slogans and especially with words like “traitor”, “separatist” and “terrorist”, blackmail the critics, disappear and kill the awake and the protesting ones. Only then we can have and keep our fauji cereals, our golf courses, our officers messes, our cantonments, and our DHAs.”         
The Vampires of The System

Taken from the Pakistani Animal Farm manifesto (with apologies to the great man, George Orwell):

“All the 220 million animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”

A newly minted atheist in Pakistan says, “When I told my people that I did not believe in God, a young, bearded man in the audience stood up and inquired, ‘Yes, but is it the God of the Sunnis or the God of the Shias in whom you don’t believe?’”
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You want real---REAL---change in Pakistan, REAL Naya Pakistan? Yes? Then do the following:

1. Create more provinces---increase from the present  one (1) province to up to at least 25 provinces; (Japan is half the size of Pakistan, both in area and in population, and it has 47 provinces)

2. Cut down the size of the khaki bloodsuckers---The Vampires---to 1/5th of their current size; (a quarter of Pakistani children who are malnourished have stunted growth and have zero access to education and health services. They have been watering the lavish golf courses and have been sustaining all sorts of subsidized debaucheries at the thousands of officers’ messes spread all over the country with their blood for too long. This must stop. Period.)

3. End the artificially constructed and fraudulently sustained belligerency which only benefit the many mafias of the land at the expense of the people. Improve relations and trade with neighbors and regional countries;

4. Make local, regional trade and defense blocks; (Understand, and especially make the hoi polloi understand, that The Universal White Imperialists want and create EU, NATO, NAFTA for themselves, but promote and sponsor bloody balkanization through “color revolutions” in the rest of the world)

5. Pay the police more than The Vampires---overall the whole civilian legal system, improve recruitment and training standards, increase their authority, update their equipment;

6. Nationalize all DHAs and the entire commercial empire of The Vampires---ban fauji cereals;

7. Abolish the old racist, colonial special quarters, the ugly apartheid enclaves euphemistically referred to as “cantonments”;

8. Move the capital from Islamabad to Khuzdar, or Loralai, for at least 10 years (AA)*;

9. Amend the constitution so that the chief vampire and the chief hathora walla will never again be from Punjab (AA)*;

10. Ban cricket---for at least ten years; (only then Pakistan will start winning Olympic medals in other sports) (AA)*

Continued…more to come

*AA = Affirmative Action

For more, please click: The Vampires of The System

The System

The Hollow Men

Harf e Dervaish (Urdu)

Illuminations #5

Harf e Dervaish #7 (Urdu)

The American

Quetta: Hazara Ethnic Cleansing

Propaganda and Language

Overqualified and underqualified in Balochistan


Friday, September 30, 2022

Yaadish Bakhair: Zari Gul

Zari Gul of Spinzer Beauty, Liaquat Market, Quetta

Yaadish Bakhair: Zari Gul

"People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within." 
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

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One of my better childhood memories of growing up in Quetta is of Eid days. While it meant all those things that usually excite a child on these two traditional Muslim occasions celebrated across the Islamic world twice a year---new clothes, new shoes, Eidi money from elders, going to the fairgrounds with friends, eating specially prepared food and all---it was also associated with some faces, the faces of much loved people many of whom are no longer with us. This post is about one such person whose presence in my life is not just limited to the two Eid festivals, but it is impossible to think of Eid without thinking of Zari Gul.

Zari Gul was a good friend of my father's. He was not just a friend. In fact, he was more like a brother to him and a dear uncle to all us kids. He belonged to an old Ghilzai Pashtun family of Quetta. A few years older than my father, their friendship stretched way back before I was even born, at least six decades old. The eldest brother of three, he was a well-known businessman and socialite in the city with his main office, or shop, situated in the city’s old Liaquat Market. Called Spinzer Beauty, it started as an electronics store, one of the oldest in the city ---the first double-sized store on the right hand side as we enter the market from the main Liaquat Bazaar--- but over the years it became a kind of headquarter for all his commercial and social, and sometimes political, undertakings.

My father tells me that they first met in the early 1960s. My father used to run a wholesale business dealing with grains, sugar, open tea leaves and ghee in Qandhari Bazaar. It was called Shirkat e Biradaraan (brothers). It all started then. Over the years, they became not only good business partners in the many business projects they ran together, from clothes and crockery (dinner sets) to dried nuts and food grains, from electronics and car showrooms to big government contracts, but they also became very good friends. Zari Gul, always meticulously dressed with his fine wool Karakul cap and glittering, bulky Seiko 5 and Rado watches, was then a small trader in goods that were mostly brought into the city from Iran and Afghanistan and sold in the small arcade style Quetta markets of which Liaquat Market was one of the oldest and the largest. In the beginning, he had his shop near the old fire brigade, off main Liaquat Bazaar. Then he used to deal in cloth, especially the Iranian synthetic mixed fabric popularly known as “summer” in those days. This particular fabric was known for its all-weather toughness and ease of maintenance when it came to washing and ironing. It was very popular in Punjab and Sindh.

One of the first lots of this fabric was introduced in Quetta by some friends of my father who were Anglo-Indians. Many of the Anglo-Indians---Tony and Andrew were the most well-known in the city and with whom my father had gone to school, as had many other Quettawaal then----were mostly employed by the provincial police department in those days, particularly by its traffic branch. It was either Tony or Andrew who was then stationed in Dalbandin and who brought the first big load of “summer” to my father and asked him to store it in one of his godowns. These godowns were located on a backstreet of Qandhari Bazaar, around the old chakla. I think they were either on Alibhoy Street or on Thana Road. To digress a bit, those godowns my father had bought at a discounted price from none other than Jamshed Marker. But that story for another day.

My father often recalls this episode of the Iranian “summer” fabric and his meeting with Zari Gul with much relish and he never tires of telling it to us. This is how he often tells it,

“One bright sunny day in summer, Tony arrived in his old jeepster at the Qandhari Bazaar shop and took out a 30-yard bolt (a ‘taan’ in the vernacular) of the Iranian fabric. He said he had truckloads of the stuff. He was not sure what to do with it, not sure if anyone would be interested in buying the stuff. I was also unsure but I took all the fabric and dumped it in the godown. Tony disappeared and almost a month passed. One day, Haji Taj Muhammad, who was also one of the tea merchants in the city, and a neighbor, came to me. I showed him the fabric and asked him if anyone would be interested. He promptly said ‘Zari Gul. Give it to him’. And that is how I met Zari Gul for the first time.”

The Iranian ‘summer’ became a cause and catalyst for the start of a beautiful relationship that would last many, many Quetta summers, would continue and grow in strength for more than six decades.

Zari Gul was a big fan of cinema, especially of the old western and action movies that were regular fare at the iconic but now defunct Regal Cinema in those years. My father tells me that for more than 15 years Zari Gul would buy four tickets for his three friends and himself for every new movie, and that often meant once a week. The four were, my father, Noor Muhammad Sarraf, the Lehri sajji wala (Aslam?? his name escapes him now) and Zari Gul. He would take us kids to the movies as well. I watched many memorable movies with him and my father, movies with such Hollywood luminaries of the day in them: Jack Palance, Gregory Peck, Kirk Douglas, Gary Cooper, Sean Connery, Paul Newman, Humphrey Bogart, Steve McQueen, James Dean, Yul Bryner, Charles Bronson, to name a few.

Bibi Nani, Bolan.
Zari Gul (second from left), my father. Rozie second from right.

Zari Gul, alongwith Dr. Afzal Butt, Ghulam Hussain, Safar Ali and Gullai and sometimes others like Rozie (Zari Gul’s relative and also a good friend of my father’s) and Noor Muhammad were regular guests at our house on Eid days. For my father, Eid meant visiting the graveyard, offering fatiha early in the morning and then spending the rest of the day with his friends. For us kids also Eid was incomplete without Zari Gul's visit. They, the friends, would visit our house just before lunch and would stay till late in the evening, often watching Hollywood movies and sometimes playing cards or just chatting and joking while sipping tea. A very social creature, Zari Gul also loved good food and good company, just as he loved fine clothes and expensive watches, very unlike my father who still does not care much for what he wears and eats. His special request was always for the salty mutton dish (namkeen gosht cooked in salt and black pepper or in garam masala only) that my mother used to make for them. That particular dish would always be placed in front of him and he would do the honors of serving it to others. I remember this clearly because I was the one who would usually do the running back and forth, from the kitchen to the guest room, or to the mehmaan khana, first serving the dishes and then clearing the dastar khwan.
Zari Gul (wedding ??)
After I left Quetta, Zari Gul and friends continued with the tradition of the Eid day gathering at our place, but over time, especially when some in the group passed away and when the many vicissitudes of life started taking their toll on others, the gatherings became less regular with fewer and fewer members. I would make sure to visit him whenever I was in Quetta, but every time I met him and witnessed the same Zari Gul with his warm and smiling face, I also sensed in him a kind of aloofness or, to use a better word, an unease or even anxiety that seemed to be always growing and eating him from inside. I knew some of the causes for that state of distress which mostly had to do with the many business projects--- especially in real estate and construction--- he had got himself involved in. This information mostly came to me from my father and his other friends, but because I had moved away from Quetta and was not in touch with him on a regular basis like in the old days, I was not privy to the whole problem. Things went downhill for him from thereon.

Zari Gul with friends.
Sometime later, after my last meeting with him during his difficult and anxiety-laden years, the news of his death reached me through my father. He did not use so many words, but just said to me, "Zari Gul is gone!" and then went quiet. And I knew very well then what that silence meant. We both knew, he more than I. In that sad silence were buried more than five decades of friendship, many years of brotherly and fatherly love, of caring and generosity, of innocence, loyalty, simplicity and sincerity that were the traditional values embodied by not only men like Zari Gul, but they represented and meant old Quetta itself. They were values and virtues that cut across all barriers of language, ethnicity, religion or sect. The ugly, dividing walls, the rigid fences of bigotry, that have now been erected with the bricks of distortions and the mortar of hypocrisy did not exist then. These are the pathological distortions and corruption of all that once was true, good and beautiful in old Quetta.

Eid day comes every year and I usually make the salty--peppery mutton dish for my family, for my wife and daughters. As we sit to eat, I silently recall the old days in Quetta, the gathering of my father’s friends at our house, the cooking and the eating, the B-grade western and action movies on the Panasonic VCR, the black and green tea, the bandaar and loud laughter of men coming from the guest room and, above all, the happy face of Zari Gul enjoying his favorite dish with his good friends on Eid day. I whisper his name and smile as I chew on the salty meat.

Yaadish Bakhair. Khuda Biyamurza marhoom Zari Gul ra.

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