Diary Notes: Basant

Men are matadors, strings passing through fingers, blood on their fingers

women commenting on their prowess

Fathers teaching their sons

Women aces

Everybody's up in the air

if you don't fly spring won't come for you


When Lahore publicly, openly celebrates...

In the land of the indoor party the only outdoor act of permissiveness

Pure pleasure


When the upper class comes to the inner city


Kites flapping

Swooping

Pechay upar say, pechay nechay say

Bow Kaata!!

Drums


Snatches of conversation at rooftop parties: Is it secular? Well it has

nothing to do with religion, nor rationalism

Is it hindu, is it sikh, is it budh?

Or is it of the region




first party on basant was at some Americans, their guests were their

servants...


this young man flying a kite: leaning back, still, strong, long fingers

working (only if you imitate him would you appreciate the effort),

the only hinge in his body that was working was his elbow...


his girlfriend was one soft sexpot: hell I'd be softer than your razai

if I saw him enough times fly his kites...




went with a friend and her new beau to Waris road, on the way got lost in

Model town. Karachi boy cannot figure circular town plans.


god this beau is a khandar: beyond anguish, father a racketeer (sometime in

the evening he turned to say: "my father is a racketeer")..




midnite we went to a

publisher's basant party on Temple road. The publishing house is called

Gautam (yes, he once got into serious trouble with Military Intelligence

for the name). We walked from Waris road to Temple road. At one point the

lights went out, and somewhere close to Mazang, ghostly kites in the air,

someone

whispers in my ear, this

place is not what you desire it to be, it is not a city,

and nobody here wants it to be a city.