DAY 7 THURSDAY 120707

PESHAWAR

1000hrs:
"No, I don’t really feel like getting up. What is there to get up for?" I feel like curling up and forgetting my existence. However, the open exhausts of the rickshaws and the trumpet horns of the buses remind me of where I am. The ‘wheels of industry and commerce’ are in full swing. I feel as if the din is forcefully telling me to pick myself up, tackle those viruses, find out about my replacement Nokia N95, check my emails, phone my wife and hear the sound of my eleven month old daughter, get some dairy in my belly, write my diary and probably most crucial of all, fight those emotions which have reminded you every day since you landed in Pakistan that you have yet to re-unite your heart-wrecked grandmother with her beseeching siblings across the Line of Control in Kashmir.
1200hrs:
When I eventually manage to emerge out into the scorching sun, the newspaper stand to the left of the hotel draws my attention. There wasn’t any sign of me or my cycle ride in yesterday’s ‘AAJ’ paper, so it must surely be in today’s edition I thought. Sifting through a bit more carefully than yesterday didn’t make a difference. Could it be that Mr Riaz Khan (Peshawar Press Club President) was wrong on more than one count yesterday? He reckoned my ‘Ride for Movement & Peace’ would only induce coverage from local papers.
1300hrs:
While I’m checking my emails at the ‘Fawarah Chowk’ (fountain roundabout- except that there’s no fountain) net café, I decide to phone my family to check on the status of my replacement phone. They inform me that the phone was out of stock with the vendor and that they are still awaiting delivery. This was too much for me to bear, considering I requested the phone on Sunday and that it was now Thursday.
They had told me then, that they would have it by Tuesday, whereupon they would send it via somebody travelling on the next available flight to Islamabad. I know I’ve put a huge burden on them in these past couple of years and I suppose it makes sense not to aggravate what’s already over-burdened.
I decide that I must look for an alternative, knowing full well that I will most certainly dig a hole in my limited budget.
1400hrs:
I am entering one of those familiar moods that I’ve been accustomed to here in Pakistan. Where the urge of creative and penetrative thought clashes with the harsh practical realities of day to day life. The climate, environment, nature of people, the knowledge that virtually everyone else that you see is busy either trying to make ends meet or is hunting for that next big deal while you are merely existing, consuming, or thinking.
I realise that I have to snap out somehow, I always have done. What better way than to visit Khyber House where I can discuss the merits, possibilities and even dangers of returning to Torkhem and starting my ride all over again.
A rigorous security check takes place before I am allowed to enter. The re-appearance of the ‘Khasadar’ once inside, make me feel as if I have been transported back to the tribal areas.
The buildings inside have a colonial era look to them. In fact, as I pass under an arch connecting two buildings, I half-expect an English gentleman with a double-barrelled surname to trip past me. "Careful old boy, I would rather you watch where you’re going."
I do try and meet the Chief Khasadar here, maybe even find the very one who transported me to Karrkhaney on Monday. I’m informed by the reader (secretary) of the ‘Chief’ that he has left for a meeting in the city and the time of his return is a mystery. Sitting around and having a general chit-chat with some of the ‘Khasadar’ is reasonably useful I suggested to myself.
1500hrs:
An hour later, the ‘Chief’ was nowhere to be seen or found. "Very well, at least I tried. I hope there are no surprised faces when the foreign-attired man and his cycle re-appear on the Khyber horizon," I muttered partly to myself and for the benefit of those in close proximity.
1600hrs:
Apparently Gul Hadji Plaza on the GT Rd. is the place to sort out my virus problem. Well, having already tried a couple of ‘PC experts’ these past couple of days without much success, there isn’t much to lose in venturing out to this ‘computer wonderland’.
It’s an imposing building with five floors of computer, peripherals and software retailers. I am perplexed as well as spoilt for choice. Interestingly, one of the first shops that I go to is rather interested in my tour having studied the text on my T-shirt in minute detail. "This is a tall order sir, how do you know if the governments of India and Pakistan are sincere about peace?"
1900hrs:
No progress to report yet. I need to return to ‘my locality’ before it gets dark. Rumours of looting at gunpoint are rife and although my exposure to such risks is pretty even wherever I am in this region, paying heed to advice in such circumstances is more or less unavoidable.
2000hrs:
I do want to move back to Torkhem tomorrow except that I need to arrange for a video camera and preferably a cameraman on hire. I am led to understand that Nauthia is the very place for this type of service.
Conveniently, this area is a short walking distance from ‘Paradise’ (my hotel) and almost adjacent to the ‘Sunehri Masjid’ (A building quite pleasing to the eye, in sharp contrast to other architecture in the vicinity).
The negotiations that I had with a couple of cameramen were unnecessarily long-winded. They had reservations about filming in the tribal areas, highlighted the potential risk to their lives, asked about guarantees in terms of equipment and life and to put the proverbial ‘icing on the cake’ they were looking for 3,000 rupees a day!
Well, I did attempt to explain the ‘sanctity’ of my mission, that my resources were meagre and that I was relying on no-one but the Almighty to realise my ambition.
An attempt it remained.
2100hrs:
Perhaps, the only bit of good news that I’ve had for a while. The hotel manager has pity on me and gives me a double room with a ‘helicopter’ fan at the same rate viz.120 rupees.
Is this the stroke of good fortune that turns the tide?
I really do think that I couldn’t possibly endure anymore than I have done.