Stroke of Many Thumbs

Heading to Lahore.  The last time I did that was over twenty-one years ago.  However before this Lahore bound plane arrives in the Pakistani cultural capital, there will be a stopover in Beijing and my family and I will all depart.  I loved every minute of my time in Pakistan the first time I went.  These days it would be a more difficult to justify a visit to Peshawar.

I’m noticing little things like the green and brown, rather camouflage-pattern design of the seating upholstery that may be from a famous old clothing pattern but instead looks dirty and militaristic.  The inflight magazine is frayed and appears to have felt the stroke of many thumbs before mine.  Most of the passengers appear to be Chinese.  Probably only twenty are people I was suspect are from Pakistan.

When we checked in there was a man in a white suit with a pork-pie hat whom I presumed to be Pakistani.  He was reasoning with his arm around the steward in what I presume was Urdu.  Then he switched into heavily accented Japanese, apparently arguing that he deserved something that he wasn’t getting.  It was one of those: glad I’m not sitting next to that guy, moments. 

The flight staff just came back and opened all the cabinets over our head.  “Did you see the man with the white suit on” he asked me?  Um yes, I suppose we all did.  “He was drunk.  We moved him.  His things are still here.”  They couldn’t seem to find them.  Now I’m pondering what it means that they can’t find carry on that belonged to a man who won’t be flying with us today.  Lovely era. 

Was a full week in Japan and I must say it feels that way.  Lovely food, copious drink, a stack of new business cards testifying to meeting after meeting after meeting and callouses on my hand from having offered up my credit card so many times.  I haven’t stayed in Japan that long in many, many years.  They are always usually micro-visits.  I could never normally justify staying the weekend, but this time, my family came to me so there I was.

My younger one and I got some last-chance sushi at the airport.  I don’t think she’d ever really gotten beyond salmon and egg on the sushi menu.  It was wonderful be able to steer her one way and then another to new tastes right there at the nigiri counter.  The Mrs. and the older one had noodles in mind and went to the place down the hall.

Neither of the Pakistan International Airlines stewardesses look particularly happy today to be showing us how to use the seat belts.  We started our flight with a prayer to Allah.  This ignites rationalizations from another era, when bus drivers in Colombia who were racing around mountain roads and crazy speeds, fingered cross swinging off the rearview.  “He too must be someone who is expecting to get home tonight.” One reckons.  I will now take a look at my vintage in flight magazine and Dawn newspaper, which was apparently founded by The Man, himself:  “Quaid I Yzam” the Pakistani figure of pressing ubiquity in-country:  Muhammad Ali Jinnah.


Monday , 05/01/17