Fly by night

Having loaded my suitcases ─ weighed and re-weighed at no more than a discreet 25 kilograms as per airline rules ─ into the car, it is time once again to bid a final goodbye to my Naani-Ma. I crouch down next to her takht, take her frail, bony hand into mine and speak clearly into her ear, “Naani-Ma, I have to go now. Pray that I land in good time and I will call you after reaching home.�

Naani listens to every word and then grips my hand, “Tum London kab pohnchain ge?� (When will you reach London?)

“London nahin, Naani, Manchester ja rahi hoon,� I reiterate. Naani has asked me this question at least six times today. “Yeh kaunsi jagah haye? Tum to Wilaayat jaaray thay na?� And once again, I take another two minutes to explain to my grandmother that Manchester is also part of Wilaayat, just like London.

It’s little use though; Naani is convinced that Wilaayat is synonymous with London. In fact, for her, London is all that lies within England ─ that strange far-off land whose goras used to rule upon us once upon a time and where people go empty handed to return with their hands full of gold.

It is even more difficult to convince her that if everything goes according to schedule, I should be reaching Manchester by evening today. You see, back in the pre-Partition days when Naani used to be a young lass, travelling to England was a feat not meant for the faint-hearted. London back then, was a fascinating, mysterious place that everyone had heard of but never seen.

And why wouldn’t it be? When Naani’s only brother was recruited in the English civil services back in the ‘20s, a group of 23-strong family members travelled some 740 kilometers from Hyderabad Deccan to the port of Bombay to bid him farewell for his treacherous sea voyage. Legend has it that it took him well over three weeks to reach Wilaayat ─ aka London ─ and a further two months for his first letter to reach back home, informing every body that he had, in fact, reached safe and sound.

As for myself, the only person seeing me off at the airport is my brother. A brief hug and promises to call later, I disappear with my luggage amidst the scores of people entering the departure lounges of that all-engulfing Jinnah Terminal.

A mere 11 hours later, as my plane touches down with a big swoosh and thunder upon the runways of Manchester Airport, George Will’s words ring loud and clear in my head: “the future has a way of arriving unannounced.� Indeed, who would have guessed that some day, it would be so easy and so swift to reach Wilaayat? And who would have believed that there are other more wondrous places within Wilaayat besides that paragon of wonderment, the city of London? Certainly not my Naani Ma.

As my fellow passengers begin to shuffle and disembark, I switch on my mobile phone and punch in that all-too-familiar 0092-21 code. My flight has landed on time; everyone at home will sleep at peace tonight.


(Published in Images, Dawn Newspaper, Issue 8 February 2009)