Where the Chinese guy went – Part I

[Dance]

So, if you still remember me, I am the Malaysian-born Chinese intern from Dawn.com. I am still alive in Karachi despite the usual chaos in the city (I will elaborate to you later about how hesitant I felt on the historic day when being told that Osama was just one hour away from where I was, though I was braver than that). Since I wrote the blogs ‘What the Chinese guy said’ and ‘For the love of cricket … not the green insect’ earlier this year, I have been staying in my dim gloomy cavern, silently observing this metropolis for nearly five, full months. I would not mind if you define me as a half-Pakistani now, yet my neighborhood would never agree with this idea. They still point and stare at me every day without saying hello or a smile, as if I am a strange creature showing up in front of them, though they have been seeing me since January. They’ll talk to me only when I do those daily, unglamorous things in front of them (for example, brush my teeth in the shared toilets, clean my dirty clothes etc). In that case, my snooping neighbours would come to me and ask, “Chinese (with the funky Pakistani accent, it sounds like “Chai-nis”) also do this?” Nah, I am not complaining. I realized how nice they are after I visited a remote village in central Punjab. Well, what I am trying to say is, can you ever imagine that I have been living alone in this heavily populated city without seeing any Chinese people (or whoever looks like me) and not speaking Mandarin (my mother tongue) for nearly half a year?

“You are not even from China, how can you be a hard-core Chinese?’ Nadir, my colleague said to me while we were having lunch once.

While facing these gigantic ‘culture shocks’, I isolated myself in my lovely home (my friends prefer to use the word ‘haunted’ to describe my hostel), and meditated for hours, with the help of divine beverages and Pakistani herbs. Sometimes, I went out for pleasure weekend-parties and Chinese food cooking parties, living it up with my local friends.

One fine day, while I was going through what they call the ‘self-realisation process,’ a question came to my mind, “Why did you come to Pakistan and what do you really want to do here?”

“Life is very short and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend,” John Lennon tried to persuade me through my Sony Walkman, “Imagine all the people, living for today…” He was right. I longed to travel around this country, what was I waiting for?

Subsequently, I made my decision to head out for the long and exhaustive yet exhilarating and adventurous Pakistan travels. After one week of research on the route planning, my Pakistan discovery expedition, kicked off!

Saying goodbye to Karachi was not as painless as I thought it to be initially. It was joy and sadness both mixed up. I felt keyed up about what lay ahead of me as I said my goodbyes to my friends. The Chinese say, “The bitterness of saying goodbyes comes from the sweetness and the warmth contained by the sourness.” Partially it was because that I loved this metropolis too much. As quoted by Nadir, this city is “so alive and chaotic” that everyday can be a new experience. Unlike Singapore…that country is too calm remains the same everyday…not adventurous at all.

On 24 April, my journey officially commenced with the company of my colleague, Farooq, to interior Sindh, meeting our friend, Abib, in Nawabshah. Well, let’s be frank, I was at a farewell party a few hours before my departure. So, you could imagine how exhausted I was when I saw Farooq. I was saying goodbye to my American-desi friend the night before as she was leaving this country after silently helping the Pakistani society for four months, while my friend, Zeeshan, suddenly panicked because he realised that he had lost his car key at three o’clock in the morning. We had no other mode of transport. After a long discussion we found our way to Zeeshan’s house. I slept for a few hours and then woke up with a severe headache. It was a boiling, sun-drenched, long day and now I was sitting in Farooq’s car. The weather was so blistering hot that even the air-conditioner refused to work properly, marking a noteworthy start of my journey.

On my way from Karachi to Hyderabad (while the car was still working smooth). – Photo by author

After dropping Farooq’s mother at his relative’s house in Hyderabad, we headed straight for Nawabshah. Having a glance at the vivacity of one of Pakistan’s primeval towns, I swore to myself that I would come back again and pay a visit to Hyderabad.

Traveling in between the narrow crannies – they were too narrow! – Photo by author

Well, it kind of came true pretty easily as 20 minutes later our car broke down and so we were on our way back to Hyderabad. The car could not stand the Sindhi heat anymore and its engine refused to work. We had no other alternative but to stay a night in Hyderabad.

In Hyderabad, I met Farooq’s friend, Ali Shah, a young Talpur. I did not know how influential the Talpur family was before the colonization period until I left the town, although I overheard a conversation about the feudal system in interior Sindh and I couldn’t believe that landlords still existed in this day and age. That evening, we had dinner together, along with Ali Shah’s friends. Unlike the image of brutal landlords I had in mind, he was a well-mannered and helpful, young man.

We decided to take public transport to Nawabshah; leaving Farooq’s car at Ali Shah’s place for maintenance. On our way to the bus station, Ali Shah said to me, “You should see this place.

Standing in front of the Talpur family’s tombs…one word: Amazing! – Photo by author

Here we were, standing in front of the Talpur family’s tombs. Hyderabad, being one of the oldest towns in Sindh, was founded in 1768 by the Kalhoros upon the ruins of a fishing village. It was known as “Nerun” at that time. Fifteen years later, in 1783, the Baloch tribe-Talpurs took over power and built the Talpurs dynasty in Sindh. The family settled down in Hyderabad and most of them were later buried in these domed burial chambers.

Located five minutes away from the centre of the town, the navy marble-carved tombs stood out pompously in front of me. Sadly, they were completely ruined, veiled in a congested neighbourhood.

I was extremely surprised. Conservation of country heritage was barely visible in this part of the world. – Photo by author


Not only that, the colours on the decorated walls were fading away and some marble pieces seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. It seemed people had ruined the site by carving their loved ones’ names on the walls leading to permanent damage.

“Why did anyone not protect this site from being defaced?” I asked, with resentment. “I am sure that if it was in Malaysia, or Singapore, it would have been guarded soundly.”

“It is registered under the Department of Archeology, and when they did not get any money from the government, what could they do?” replied Ali Shah. “Now, we are using our family’s power to protect the tombs from being destroyed, but what we can do is limited.

The family’s legends were being narrated by the old Talpurs to the young. – Photo by author

Ali Shah had the key to the heritage, so we went into the tomb to pay our respects to the deceased. It was absolutely quiet inside the room and the temperature turned cool and pleasant, compared to the hot-and-dry weather out in the open. Traditional Islamic paintings covered the walls.

“So, if the money did not go to the tourism industry and the people, where did it go, weapons?” I asked.

There were no replies to my question.

The Talpur dynasty lasted for over 50 years before the British came with the incursion of expanding their colonial map, and their interests in the Punjab region. The Talpurs hence signed a peace agreement after several gory battles. The fort was smashed and thousands were killed. Some of the Talpur family members were banished to Burma and Rangoon, and never got to see Sindh again. The glory of the family lay in damaged ruins and architectural tombs while Hyderabad became a major commercial centre which the British used to call ‘The Bombay Presidency.’

The tombs of the Talpur Mirs are registered under the department of Archaeology, Pakistan. They remain in a dreadful shape. – Photo by author

We met Abib in the evening and headed for his swimming pool, immediately after we had lunch, to cool ourselves from the heat wave. I was not a swimmer, so I tried to make myself float on the surface while Abib shouted, “You are a Chinese, how come you can’t swim?”

I knew that it would be a Sindhi speaking night when I noticed that Abib’s friends did not speak proper English. I wondered how the conversation between us would work out. “Sain chahala,” I greeted them in Sindhi (one of the only Sindhi sentences I had learnt). Farooq and Abib were the translators between the Sindhis and I.

I remained silent for the most part of the two-hour conversation, while observing the way the Sindhi language sounded. I was exceptionally amused by the out-of-tune, gigantic laughs during the conversation, which I later observed almost all Sindhi’s typically laughed this way. “Sindhis believe that if you enjoy the conversation, you need to show it to everyone by laughing out loud,” Farooq said trying to explain the custom to me.

We visited several places the next day, surrounded by banana trees and sweltering Sindhi air, it seemed to me that the rest of the world, or even Pakistan, was very far-off. The people looked as if they walked in slow motion, living life their own traditional ways. It looked like there was nothing for them to worry about, despite the poverty written in their sad eyes. Life could be tough, yet simple.

Consequently, people in Nawabshah were more conservative – there were only two civil hospitals in Nawabshah where one was for men and another for women, and men were not allowed to enter the women’s hospital, vice versa. The rationale of it, I am sure most of the readers know well. So, I asked Abib, “If I met a car accident right in front of the women’s hospital and I was about to die, would they send me all the way to the men’s hospital, instead of the nearest hospital?”

“You are a foreigner, maybe a different rule would apply for you. But, for us, yes, to the men’s hospital we would go.”

Waiting for the train to Lahore. – Photo by author

Joyful moments flew past. Before the sun set, I was already standing at the railway station in Nawabshah, waiting for the train heading to Lahore. I would have to say goodbye to the company of Farooq and Abib, and the rest of the journey would be on my own.

“Man, I am very excited and nervous,” I said. Farooq examined my checklist to make sure that I had everything with me before I headed for Lahore unaided.

“Don’t receive food from others, don’t talk to strangers…” reminded Farooq.

“Hey, I am not a child! You are talking like my parents,” I complained. In Pakistan, there is nothing to worry about as long as friends are around. I placed the Sindhi topi and Ajrak gifted by Farooq and Abib at the bottom of my backpack. They claimed that giving gifts was part of the Sindhi custom to show hospitality.

I waved goodbye to my friends, seventeen hours before I would arrive in Lahore, wish me luck!

http://www.dawn.com/2011/06/16/where-the-chinese-guy-went-–-part-i.html

 

[Dance]

Where the Chinese guy went – Part II

“Lahore, Lahore hay.” These Punjabi lyrics were painted at the corner of a wall at Lahore Fort – vandalism.

Finally I had reached the city of Lahore by train from Nawabshah.

“Lahore is Lahore. What you see in Lahore – the brilliance of making poetry, art, film and music – is Lahore,” the manager of the backpackers’ hostel explained the meaning of the phrase to me proudly. “The sun is warmer in Lahore than in other areas of Pakistan, so are the people.”

I saw what lay in front of me as I woke up on the train. Good morning, Lahore!

I met many travelers at the backpackers’ hostel. Dusan of the Czech Republic made his way from Iran to Lahore by crossing the border in Balochistan. There was a also Belgian girl who drove all the way from Belgium to Pakistan.

“Pakistan is not that dangerous as long as you are smart enough,” an Italian said.

Walking on the streets of Lahore with a backpack on my back, I could not figure out where exactly my backpackers’ hostel was located. “You go straight from here and walk for about five minutes, and then you’ll see it…” A helpful man showed me the way.

“Not this way, that guy was wrong. You have to walk back to where you were,” said another as everyone was giving me different directions – even when they were not sure about the whereabouts of the hostel. Sometimes, Pakistanis were too helpful.

Did anyone ever notice that the skies in Lahore look very different from the rest visible in Pakistan?

I traveled around the city on motorbikes with my Lahori friend, Naeem. This was not Malaysia and the traffic was horrifying. I thought I would die any second. “Generally, Pakistanis do not drive fast, but they do drive dangerously,” I recalled what I read from a travel guidebook.

When we finally reached the entrance of the Lahore Fort…“10 rupees for locals, 200 for foreigners,” said the ticketing manager. Well, foreigners had to pay more to visit the Lahore Fort.

“Don’t worry, your wife will be very rich and you will have three kids with her,” a fortune teller revealed my future after having seen my palm.

“But I am planning to have only two kids, where is the third one from?” I am not superstitious and I do not believe in religion.

The Badshahi Mosque - a fine example of Mughal architecture built by Aurangzeb Alamgir - along with its crimson marble domes, tells visitors stories that date back to hundreds of years ago. The sunsets are the only thing which remain since 1674.

“See, the greatest mosque is located next to a Sikh Gurdawara (temple). It's a good sign that we Lahoris respect people from all kinds of backgrounds,” said Naeem - a Christian in Pakistan.

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[Dance]

“The only bad thing is that the ‘red light area’ is also situated next to the Badshahi Mosque,” Naeem further said.

It is the mixture of the sky, heritage and the tranquil atmosphere in Lahore which makes the city so unique.

Even Christians in Lahore speak up for themselves – does anyone hear them?

Taking the local bus alone marked another exciting adventure in my life. I was trying hard to make the bus conductor understand where I wanted to go. I reached the bus interchange five minutes before the bus to Islamabad departed.

Islamabad…here I come!

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[Dance]

Where the Chinese guy went – Part III​

When I woke up in Islamabad, I could not feel any sense of cheerfulness. Supposedly it was my last day there – and I should have felt excited because I would be heading for Gilgit the day after. My plan was ruined when I was told that Osama Bin Laden had been killed in Abbottabad the night before.

The first few hours after the incident I was quite eager to know what was going on. I posted the breaking news on Facebook (showing off to my friends) by saying, “Osama bin Laden is dead and I was one hour away from him.” I could not believe that I was so close to the world’s focus. I heard that the Natco (Northern Areas Transport Corporation) Bus would make a pit stop in Abbottabad on its way to Gilgit, so I couldn’t wait for more than a second, because I wanted to be there and witness the town filling with correspondents from all over the country. I was walking around ‘The Supermarket’ area in Islamabad and finally decided to treat myself to some ‘Nandos’ food. It was around seven o’clock in the evening. I went into the restaurant. Ten minutes later, I received a phone call from Farooq (the same collegue again).

“Listen, I hope you’ve already been told about what has happened. Osama was killed and the Taliban could take revenge at any point in time. Cancel your plan up north and come back to Karachi as soon as possible,” said Farooq. The words sounded harsh to me.

I finished the Peri-Peri Chicken hurriedly and took a taxi to the hotel. They were right – it was a big loss to the al Qaeda. Yet Islamabad was calm at dusk, people walked on the streets like usual – it seemed so peaceful, how could I convince myself that something bad was about to happen? Part of my mind was persuading me to go ahead. I was stuck between fear and hope.

But wait. Let me begin right from the start. I arrived at the bus interchange in Rawalpindi three days before the Bin Laden episode – the dusty city did not smell good. Naeem, a reporter of a local news agency whom I had met in Karachi – was on his way from Lahore to Islamabad to attend a journalism workshop and so we would travel together. It was always good to have company.

We headed to a hotel immediately after we reached the capital, and had dinner with Naeem’s classmates. I met Irtebal, the station manager of a Kashmiri radio station called ‘Voice of Kashmir’, and learned from him that there was a vast population of Chinese workers living in Kashmir. Later on I was invited by him to the station along with Naeem and Sundus (an amazing, friendly Pakistani girl), and took part in a voice recording session. I said, “Mera naam Jia Wei hai, Pakistan China dosti, Zindabad!” I wished the Chinese workers would have a chance to hear that, though I doubted it.

Irtebal explains to me his daily work in the studio at the radio station. –Photo by author

The next morning, I took out my map and began planning my day. Islamabad was not a big city, so it was possible to take a walking tour. I had tried walking tours before (the most eco-friendly way to visit a city) once when I was exploring New Zealand. Plus, you always miss the chance of seeing a great many things when you travel by car or bus.

A glance at my route plan: Melody Market – Post Office (next to Melody Market) – The Supermarket – Lunch at KFC – Jinnah Supermarket – Faisal Mosque – Daman-e-Koh – Supreme Court and some government building – National Art Gallery. I walked leisurely, observing the serenity in the city. The way Islamabad was designed it looked a lot like Singapore, except it was busier and more crowded in Singapore.

I stopped by a bookshop at Jinnah Supermarket and bought ‘Gulliver’s Travels’ – I needed a book so that I would not feel so lonely while I was traveling. The first time I read it, I was at the age of three (the colourful younger-reading-version was the first book I’d ever read in my life and it somehow could explain the reasons I love to travel so much). It was time to read the book again.

With ‘Gulliver’s Travels’, I entered KFC and ordered my favourite ‘Zinger Burger’ meal, spending another hour at the restaurant starting an illustrated journey with Mr. Gulliver. The old names were coming back to my memory – Lilliput, Brobdingnag, etc. It was fun when you root back to how people traveled a hundred years ago and realised that you were still practicing the same way – using maps, travel guides, backpacks, and trying to learn some local languages to survive.

KFC all round the world smells the same, have you ever noticed? That’s why I always treat myself with a KFC Zinger Burger whenever I miss home.

According to my travel guidebook, Faisal mosque is the largest mosque in the world. The mosque itself looks really spiritual while Muslims offer prayers inside. –Photo by author


“US officials in Washington said a small US team conducted a helicopter raid on a compound in Abbottabad, a military garrison town some 60 km (35 miles) north of the capital Islamabad. After 40 minutes of fighting, bin Laden, an adult son, one unidentified woman and two men were dead.”

“Pakistani TV stations also showed a picture purportedly of bin Laden shot in the head, his mouth pulled back in grimace. Reuters photo editors determined the image was a fake after discovering a number of inconsistencies in the picture.”

It was 9 o’clock in the evening, two hours after I had received the warning from Farooq. I felt confused and tired. Reading news about bin Laden’s death at an internet cafe shop did not do any good to my travel plan, because I could not figure out the accuracy of all the information and besides, the Taliban had not confirmed Osama’s death.

Sadly, none of the Pakistani leaders had responded to the media. There had been no confirmation about the death news, no announcement and no press conference – nothing from the country’s government. Everyone in America was celebrating the victory before they had even seen the body or any evidence which proved that Osama was dead. The worst thing was that I was traveling alone and was so close to the where the incident had taken place.

I walked into my room and lay on the floor. I thought about the past when I was still an innocent kid, when I had nothing to worry about, when I was in Malaysia. Sitting in front of the old television in the living room with my parents, I saw the World Trade Center crumbling. It was 2001. I did not know what had happened to America, yet I could tell that something very bad was going on from my parents’ rarely seen serious faces. Trying to read the subtitles on the screen, I asked my mother, “What is terrorism?”
“You don’t need to know, it is very far away from you. You would understand when you’ve grown up,” she answered.

On my way to Murree - Hey man, why are you looking at me like that? Do I look weird to you? –Photo by author

Murree, situated at the foothill of the Himalayan Range, was built by the British a hundred and fifty years ago as a getaway from the heat of the plains during summer. It takes about one and half hour to drive to Murree from Islamabad.
“Aap Murree jaiengay?” I asked a taxi driver to take me to Murree. The Urdu I learnt from a local girl.
“800 rupees, and return back.”

That was the beginning of my adventure to Murree hills, but I ended up falling sick 12 hours later on my way back to Islamabad. The summary of the whole incident: Two hours into the trip to Murree, I was told that we were lost in the hills. The driver told me that it was his first time driving to Murree and that’s why he could not find the way.

Even with all the sickness I planned to go to Nathia Gali next. This was the challenging part (also the fun part) about backpacking alone. Nothing was prepared for you, so you had to organise everything and make sure that you’re adventurous enough to confront all kinds of hardships. When we finally reached Nathia Gali, it was one o’clock in the afternoon. I only had two hours to explore the town, so I gave up on the plan of trekking there. From Nathia Gali, I was told by a local that it was possible to catch a glimpse of Nanga Parbat (a mountain) further up north.

The shopkeeper told me that Nanga Parbat is right in front of me. Can you see it?

Breathtaking moments: clear sky, fresh air, and green pine trees – though I could not see anything which looked like ‘Nanga’ (naked) no matter how hard the old local shopkeeper tried to point it out to me. I wanted to build a house over there and make myself a cup of hot Chinese Oolong tea every morning.

A cup of tea with the locals in Murree. –Photo by author

So his daughter was there when Osama was shot dead. What a cruel reality – seeing your own father being killed right in front of you. At the same time, the Taliban confirmed the death news and further claimed that they would take revenge on his account. Yet the situation seemed indefinite. No one could tell what was going on and when would the ‘revenge’ take place. Someone at the hotel even warned me, “You’ll be kidnapped if you travel (in the northern areas) alone.” True, it did not seem wise to travel now. So, I made a plan: why don’t I pay a visit to the central Punjab instead? It sounded great, spending a week to exploring more of Pakistan. At the same time, I could observe the situation in the country.

I opened the ‘Taxila’ and ‘Khewra’ chapters in my travel guidebook.

http://www.dawn.com/2011/06/25/where-the-chinese-guy-went-–-part-iii.html