DAY 4 MONDAY 090707

LANDI KOTHAL-KHARKHANEY-PESHAWAR

0800hrs:
An extra-ordinarily peaceful night was followed by a hearty breakfast only for reality to emerge once more. I cannot curse myself enough for losing my phone. I would have to spend a few days in Peshawar waiting for a replacement and then return to Torkhem to start all over again. "After all, how would my ride be documented? A written diary, no matter how well written (and I am not that good a writer, at least not yet) is surely not suffice."
These frustrations plague my mind as I prepare to proceed towards Peshawar.
0900hrs:
The ‘Chief Khasadar’ explains that they will transport me along with my belongings to Peshawar. Accompanying us in the back of the open-top/off-roader are a couple from Iran who had been detained for lack of appropriate paperwork.
Driving along the dusty plains of the Khyber Agency, the mountains in the background remind me so much of Afghanistan and how remarkably similar every aspect of life is on both sides of the border. Language, customs, diet, art, attire, ammunition etc. While I’m pondering over the similarities, the Iranian gentleman asks me whether I have the same problem as him and his wife. "I shouldn’t think so, I have a Pakistani ID card and I was born in Pakistani-administered Kashmir," I clarified. "Are you coming from Afghanistan on this bicycle?", was his next question. I further explained the purpose of my travel, which had started from Torkhem only to be rudely interrupted in Landi Kothal. For the rest of the journey, I retreated into my own thoughts, occasionally interrupted by the odd rock or pothole uncouthly negotiated by the driver.
1030hrs:
Upon entering Kharkhaney and effectively exiting the Tribal Areas, the driver brings the jeep to a sudden halt. Out comes the ‘Chief Khasadar’ and directs me to alight along with my belongings. "You have now left the danger area, from here you are safe to ride all the way to Calcutta. Please do not enter the Tribal Areas again."
I did attempt to protest at his final remark but he appeared in no mood to listen. Before I could order my belongings in a fashion that would make it possible for me to ride my bike, swarms of local people descend upon me to begin their customary inquisition. That along with the heat was too much to bear and after gulping a glass of sugar cane from a vendor nearby, I leapt on my bike and made a dart for Peshawar.
1230hrs:
The sun is excruciating, though not half as much as Torkhem a couple of mornings ago. The relative smoothness of the road once entering Peshawar has an almost soothing effect. While riding along the main University Road, I decide to pop in to the University to see if I can grab a desperately desired intellectual though academic discussion on Indo-Pak relations. In passing, I also notice that Peshawar is markedly cleaner that Rawalpindi and Lahore.
1300hrs:
The registrar’s office at Peshawar University is kind enough to make a few phone calls to determine who would be the appropriate academic for me to meet. After helping myself to about four glasses of ice-cold water, I am directed towards the Centre for Regional Studies where I meet Professor Hayat.
About ten minutes into our engrossing conversation, a colleague of the professor beckons him to some impending engagement. "Could we resume at about 2:30 Mr.Tanveer?" Well, yes of course Professor," I courteously replied.
1430hrs:
I rush back to the Professor’s office after having caught a bite and some net. However, he is not in his office and his staff inform me that he has probably left for the day. I do remember him mentioning that he would be leaving for a conference in Turkey tomorrow. Perhaps he needed to spend his limited time in preparation. Well, it’s a pity we couldn’t continue our dialogue. It felt like having eat a few morsels of a well-prepared meal.
1600hrs:
Cruising into Peshawar city, it’s time to make contact with some friends who I met in 2004 during the Indo-Pak ‘Goodwill’ cricket series, which I was covering for a newspaper in the UK at the time. Little did I know then that this is where I would be in 2007! One of them (Shahab) was a local newspaper correspondent who I thought I would surprise by going directly to his office. I obtained the address from another friend who happened to be ‘out of town’.
1700hrs:
When Shahab comes out onto the street to greet me, he is well and truly shocked. In fact, he finds it difficult to formulate a sentence to ask me the 5W’s! (Journalistic jargon for who, what, why, when & how) The ‘who’ wasn’t that difficult of course.
After helping him out of his misery, he gives me a time for tomorrow to meet, when we can go over the details of my ‘Ride for Movement & Peace’ for the purposes of a news write-up. I respectfully decline his offer to come in for tea and decide to proceed to the cantt. (cantonment) area which I understand is adjacent to Saddar (Major shopping hub, not unlike other large Pakistani cities). I really want to concentrate on my work and finding a cheap and clean hotel is my next task.
1800hrs:
Riding back from Nishtarabad along the GT Rd. towards Saddar Cantt. a motorcycle in full throttle narrowly evades me while weaving and gliding through traffic. At this point I stop by the side to philosophise, "Losing my phone has turned to be a whole lot more tolerable than losing an arm or a leg."
2000hrs:
Finding that hotel has been hard work indeed. Climbing up steep and uneven stairways, sometimes three or four flights had to be negotiated with sixty kilos of luggage in tow, only to find that the room offered is utterly unbearable or the price is inappropriate. Eventually, out of sheer frustration I settle for the ‘Paradise’ Hotel’s dingy single room on the third floor at 120 rupees a night.