Waleed Khan: The eight-hour drive for chai…

The eight-hour drive for chai…:

The eight-hour drive for chai…

Illustration by Faraz Aamer Khan/Dawn.com

Introductions are in order here so let’s say it is safe to remember me as Bisma from Brooklyn. I am at that age where your dreams no longer matter because you must get married or suffer at the hands of all Pakistani aunties in the whole wide world.

My family and friends, with only good intentions, are constantly setting me up with rishtas and blind dates. All the chai time and dinners have been, to say the least, an interesting experience and a few stand out for many different reasons.

Rishtas are a huge part of Pakistani culture and at one point in the world’s history it was the only way marriages actually happened. So Pakistanis are not any different from any other culture — we just like tokeep things traditional. As a matter fact, after going on a few bad dates, rishtas seem refreshing. But as pleasant as they are for me — they can also be just as awkward as any dating experience.

And I know how embarrassing it can be for a girl or guy to get dressed up like an ‘Eid ki goat’ and serve chai or get served by a nervous young woman. But every once in a while – you get to meet people that like you just the way you are with the glasses and simple clothes.

But before I delve into the rishta I met — lets clear up a few things about my family so no one makes any assumptions about my parents being one of those snobby families (far from it trust me).

My family comes from a religiously moderate middle class background, both parents have worked in their respective fields for over 25 years and my siblings and I worked while we went to school and college (and are still working/studying). My parents prefer to find me a Muslim, Pakistani (not a must) guy who works hard and comes from a decent family, nothing more or less, because my father strongly believes that a good man is a hard-working man. And I agree with them because, well, I am not into money (or I wouldn’t be writing) or looks (because I am no super-model).  Besides, I am a hard-working person and it is a quality I tend to admire and appreciate in any person.

For this story, I will have to name my parents, my mother’s name is Anjum (*) and my father’s name is Zafar (*).

It was a Thursday evening and we were going to have dinner with someone who was bringing over someone to meet me through some aunty’s reference. The background bio-data: he lived in Minnesota, and he worked in IT.

A couple of hours before the arrival of the guests and during a long search for the lemon-scented polishing wood spray, I received a phone call at home. And the conversation went something like this (in urdu):

Bisma: Hello
Arshad (*): Salaam
Bisma: Wa alaikum salaam
Arshad: May I speak with Bisma Auntie?
Bisma: (smiling) You want to speak to whom?
Arshad: Bisma Auntie
Bisma: And you are…
Arshad: I will be visiting today to meet Anjum for a rishta
Bisma: Oh my, that’s gonna be problem.
Arshad: Why?! What happened?!?!??
Bisma: Well, Anjum married Zafar like 30 years ago so she is just not available….
Arshad: (starts laughing) Well then….maybe I am coming to visit Bisma?
Bisma: Yeah, Bisma Auntie is still single…despite Anjum’s marriage.
Arshad: And who am I speaking with now?
Bisma: Oh right – you are speaking with Bisma Auntie…
Arshad: HAHA, oh so sorry – this is awkward.
Bisma: Not anymore – I think we just might be friends now.
Arshad: That’s true – awkward part is pretty much over and passed by.

The conversation ended with directions to the house and then of course a long wait. My father is one of those punctual men – he still does not understand why desi people cannot make it in time for anything.

Among one of the things I was expecting from meeting Arshad was a good laugh to share after the phone episode but things do not always go as I expect them to…

When Arshad and his aunt arrived, he was completely quiet…almost anti-social. If it wasn’t for my father who was trying to make conversation – we wouldn’t have heard his voice at all. While my mother and his aunt chatted away, my sister and I made chai and stuff.

My father asked him questions about where he lives and works, in return he gave one word answers, awkwardly. He had both his hands firmly placed on his lap, face down, and would lean forward to reply – it was weird. Even their conversation was pretty awkward:

Zafar: So son, where do you live?
Arshad: Jee, Minneapolis.

Five minutes later…
Zafar: It must be a cold city, how was your flight?
Arshad: Jee, it is. I drove.

Five minutes later…
Zafar: So how was the drive?
Arshad: Jee, long.
Zafar: I see, how long to be exact?
Arshad: Eight hours.
Zafar: Okay, let me see, what is keeping the chai…

My dad came over to the kitchen and said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with him but something is.”

And then walked out.

I brought the chai out and thought maybe he would be friendlier with me but nothing changed despite all my efforts. Soon they left – although not soon enough for my dad. Surprisingly, his aunt called that night to say that he wanted to meet me, privately, but my mother felt he was a bit too old for me (a little over eight years). Age was actually the excuse — the real issue was his communication skills or the lack thereof — I get being nervous at moments like these but his behavior was nothing short of being plain odd…

P.S. I would like to take this opportunity to invite the reader, men and women, to share your story. Please take the following advice into consideration:

Please refrain from using disrespectful language, ranting on women or men, and using real names and/or places out of respect for others.

Other than that, I wish you “happy sharing.”

For the love of cricket … not the green insect BY JIA WEI ON 03 9TH, 2011

For those of you who do not know me, I am the Chinese guy from ‘What the Chinese guy said.’ Ever since I have been living in Karachi, my Pakistani friends and colleagues have been asking me about cricket. People always questioned me, “Do you like cricket?” or “Have you played cricket?” It usually came after the question “Do you know kung-fu?” I am sure most of you would agree if I said that cricket is the second official national religion in Pakistan. I remember one reader of my previous blog mentioned that I had not yet experienced the real Pakistani life till I understood the spirit of cricket. Cricket takes a significant position in every Pakistani’s heart; from what I observed, at least half of the nation, even girls, takes part in street cricket. Just like how Malaysians are obsessed with badminton.

You would surely give me a flabbergasted look then, if I told you I was not aware of cricket (I swear did not know that such a ball game existed on Earth) two months ago, like I did not know the word ‘Pakistan’ plainly means ‘the land of the pure’ in the Urdu language. I remember, back in Singapore, my professor once told me “You will find it very fascinating to see local kids play cricket on the streets in Pakistan.” At that time, I really thought she was referring to the insect called cricket (the green creature which looks like a grasshopper). That would out rightly be extraordinary if kids made two crickets fight on the streets (I never heard about crickets fighting), like how we make roosters and fighter-fish brawl as our pastime in Malaysia.

I finally knew that cricket referred to the ball game when I was in Sri Lanka, just three days before I came to Pakistan. There was a banner at the airport that said ‘ICC Cricket World Cup 2011’ (Imagine what occurred in my mind at that moment “Cricket, the insect…and World Cup?”). Curiously, I asked around and finally got to know from a Sri Lankan about this baseball-like ball game (the Sri Lankan guy must be thinking this Malaysian is a fool).

Lesson one: Cricket is a type of ball game. It is very popular amongst subcontinent countries and British colonials, except for Malaysia and Singapore and other tropical countries.

Cricket can be found everywhere in Pakistan. – Photo by author

A wise man once said ‘curiosity killed the cat’; yet, my curiosity never sleeps. Especially when everyone around me was describing how fun the game was. However, I had never got a chance to actually touch a cricket ball yet before the momentous Saturday evening came. It was another chilly February when I left the Dawn.com office with Nadir, my colleague, at around nine o’clock. We were heading to Burns Road (one of my favorite places now in Karachi: it is dirty and unglamorous and it is, certainly, not as well-developed as the Clifton area for tourists, but it shows the real image of the old Karachi. Burns Road is a living dictionary to study this city and its residents’ orientation. Rome was not built in a day; walking on Burns Road, I could even smell the filth from the drains from over a hundred years ago. Plus, there is FOOD! So we went to have dinner with three of Nadir’s friends. We went to an old restaurant which sells delicious Shawarma, fried kebab and brain-masala. After that, we went toNadir’s house and began men’s talk along with a music-playing-session, surely with Pakistan’s favorite hot drink – ‘chai’ (milk tea). Out of the blue, one of his friends suggested, “Shall we play cricket?”

One thing that makes Pakistanis so interesting to me is that they argue and criticize everything; it could be something about politics and religion, or life, or small things like whether to play cricket or not. They are so enthusiastic about letting others hear his/her thoughts that it happens every time, even during a casual conversation, a Pakistani would voice out whatever is in his mind expressively (sometimes even aggressively). So, in this case, debate and argument came after the suggestion. Some of them (including me) loved the idea of playing cricket, and were trying to work it out, while others complained about the time – it was getting pretty late in the night. Most of the time, I would quietly observe the conversations, mostly because I was amused by the scene (sometimes I used to be frightened by these aggressive behaviors).

Finally, a decision was made. Pakistanis never let me down. The plan was on.

Lesson two: Decision making comes along with a battle, as well as sacrifice, if needed.

After several cricket sessions, I am still far from being a good batsman. – Photo by Osman Siddiqi

It was midnight. We were standing in the middle of the road. Nadir and his friends started marking territory while others were warming up.

“Are you familiar with baseball?” one of them asked.

“I have played it before…but…not really.”

“What about tennis? Or badminton?”

“Yes, badminton.”

“Okay then, I guess it is very similar to badminton.”

Usman, another friend of his, tried to visualise the game of cricket for me while explaining all the rules and the role-playing. Of course, everything was bewildering and it seemed nothing similar to badminton. From what I understood, the batsman had to hit the ball and make sure that it flies as far as it can so that both batsmen would have enough time to run. While the fielder had to catch the flying ball or run after it and try to hit one of the wickets before the batsmen are back from running – a batsman is out of the game if his wicket is hit by the ball. To me, it sounded more like ‘Quidditch’ which Harry Potter and his wizard friends played at school – the batsmen (the beaters) hit the Quaffle and the fielders (the seekers) are catching the golden Snitch. I was startled by the manner in which the ball was supposed to be bowled. It was different from what I expected and so much fun. Furthermore, it was definitely a good way to release stress and anger. Jawad, another friend of Nadir’s came to me and said, “Now, you are the fielder.”

Lesson three: Bowling is a good way to let go off some steam.

I bowled the first ball of my life after a short training session. – Photo by Osman Siddiqi

“What does a fielder need to do?” I asked.

“Well, you run as fast as you can to the ball, grasp it and throw it back to the nearest fielder/bowler near the wicket.” So the game finally began, with many question marks still in my head, plus the curiosity about the magic of this tiny white ball that it plays on Pakistanis’ minds. The balls that we played with were not exactly cricket balls you see on TV. They were actually tennis balls. We bought them from a nearby petrol station and covered each of them with a sticky tape used to join electrical wires so that the balls were more visible. Everyone stood at their positions and looked a lot more serious than they did five minutes ago, prior to the game. As a beginner, I really hoped that I would play well. The first ball was hit by the batsman and I knew the game had started. Usman was the one who caught the ball while people were shouting and running, for reasons that I did not really know yet. Then, before even realizing what had happened, the next ball was bowled and things were repeated. The pace on field was very fast, and no one except me was so unoccupied that I asked, “What happened?” while I was waiting for a chance to catch the ball. Too bad the ball had never been flying in my direction. I waited at the side, still studying the game when abruptly I heard, “Jia Wei, run! Jia Wei!”

I did not know why I should run but I did so when the tiny ball flew past my shoulder. I ran to the direction where the ball fell. From behind, I heard someone shout at the batsmen “Run!” while Usman, who was now standing beside the wicket shouted at me, “Pass the ball to me, here, over here!”

The ball was in my hand now, but I did not know where to toss it. Initially, I wanted to throw it to where the wicket was, though it was very far from where I stood. Should I pass it to Usman? Before my brain could make a worthwhile decision and send the reflex order to my body, the ball was already tossed and it flew across the field and passed through the gap between Usman and the wicket. It happened within seconds and it was too late.

Lesson four: Cricket is an incredibly fast-paced game. Be very wise when making decisions.

“Straighten your hand…360 degrees, jump and throw it, good job!” I bowled it with vagueness with the given instructions. – Photo by Urooj Mughal

It was our turn to bat this time around and I was the first batsman. Despite how panicky as well as excited I was, I told myself “Try your best, it is very easy – hit the ball when you see it”. The cricket bat is so much bigger than a baseball bat that I did not think it would be harder than batting in baseball. What I expected was I should be able to hit three balls out of six, at least. Two minutes later, I realized it was not as simple as I thought. The ——– ball is so small. It might not be that hard to actually hit a ball hurling towards you, but the most challenging part (also the fun part) is to be able ‘to see’ the minuscule ball at night. So I stood there and watched the bowler toss the ball. Gosh, where did the ball go? I completely missed it! “Lucas, hit the ball, hit!” When I finally did see the ball, this time it was speeding towards my direction and was very close to where I stood. Five seconds later, I missed the ——– ball, again.

Lesson five: At night, it is harder to ‘see’ a cricket ball than to hit it.

Street cricket, Pakistani-style. – Photo by author

The next day, we went to the beach. Of course, how could we not play cricket there? So first we prepared some barbequed food and then played some cricket at a rented hut. It unquestionably is more entertaining when one is more familiar with the game. At least I knew what was going on this time around. I practiced more and my game was getting better. Cricket is the kind of ball game where you need a lot of practice before you can play well. Frankly speaking, morning is a better time for a beginner to practice cricket!

Lesson six: That’s not cricket!

I am learning the manner in which to bowl a cricket ball. – Photo by Urooj Mughal

That is not fair. The British soldiers had never introduced cricket to Malaysia and made it popular amongst the nations during their colonization. Otherwise, we would have known about this game, and maybe, we would play better than Pakistanis and Indians do. However, I noted one thing: cricket is not a game for the rainforests. Back in my motherland, Malaysia, it rains everyday. On the other hand, cricket is a sport played predominantly in the drier period of the year – it cannot be played in wet weather because humidity affects the bounce of the ball on the wicket, and so forth.

In Pakistan, there is something more to cricket than an ordinary ball game – it is an evidence of their civilization’s progress. Pakistanis have been playing cricket since the day the British landed on the soil of Indus and created their empire on this land. Decades later, the Pakistanis gained independence but never let cricket leave their generations.

Nowadays, when extremists squabble about the dire influence of westernization they never argue about the existence of the game called cricket – the sportsman spirit that the British left for the nation, because cricket is just too important to everyone in this country. Cricket is part of the development of Pakistan as a nation in the global sphere; the cross-cultural combination between the west and the Pakistani customs. A Pakistani cannot live without cricket, just like how a shot can only be lived through the meeting of leather and willow.

Jia Wei is an intern at Dawn.com

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.