Barren beauty
http://www.dawn.com/weekly/dmag/dmag7.htm
By Danish Rashdi
Quetta, sparsely populated and apparently devoid of all the adornment of modernity, is a quiet and plain yet an interesting place. Life here trudges along hinging on the ages-old traditions and the calm stoicism of its people.
From an altitude of around 9000 metres, we descend into the dense morning haze, beneath which forms a splendid texture of mountains and terrains. Further down, piercing through the blanket of mist appear some of the most awesome peaks standing next to us. A flawless blue sky comes into view just above, as our Boeing 737 swerves to the left and begins a final approach to one of Pakistan’s off-beat airports.
This is Quetta. I expected this city to be nothing short of being ‘dull, uninteresting and barren’. This was exactly how the place had been painted in my mind by many a people who have visited it. I would contentedly believe that many subscribe to such description mainly out of their proclivity to juxtapose small cities with big boisterous ones like Karachi and Lahore. This is because their criteria for qualifying a city as worth visiting - or a city at all - are no more than the telling presence of glamorous shopping malls, western-style restaurants filled with talks of all kinds, ‘cool’ places for social hobnobbing, and the typical street din and incessant honking that drive their loneliness away. So Quetta is just another place in Pakistan - sparsely populated, not barren, and apparently devoid of all the adornment of modernity. Quiet and plain, yet interesting, life here trudges along hinging on the ages-old traditions and the calm stoicism of its people.
Within no time, we were out of the airport, packed in our vans and headed for the place we would be staying at. The city continued to unravel itself as we drove onwards, passing through markets, and through concentrations of people and places that depict the daily life of Quetta. Buildings and structures that came into view were anything but tall. This peculiarity was hardly for any other reason than the fact that the region is prone to intermittent and, at times, devastating earthquakes. The place that was to be our abode for the next four days was, therefore, just a one-storey sprawling hotel, but certainly one that I wouldn’t think twice comparing to the best in Pakistan.
After an hour’s stay inside, and having explored the possibilities of easy cyber communication with Karachi, I went out to discover whatever part of the city I could without loosing my bearings from the hotel. The winter was already approaching and the weather outside was just pleasant, though slightly dry and most of the time accompanied by some dust flowing inwards from the surrounding mountains.
Visiting a new place is exciting, and if you are blessed with good company, the journey is all the more intriguing, lively and cherished later as the fondest of memories. Official work occupying most of diurnal hours in our stay, it was affordable in the evenings to plan out short trips to whatever attractions Quetta presented to us. This also included the famous markets for which lists of demands had been heaped upon us from families and friends back in Karachi. The notion that things in Quetta are incredibly easy on the pocket and better in quality - but of course with no guarantee of their being sound after purchase, - was tempting and the very reason for our eagerness to visit them.
Markets certainly did not carry any charm for me, mainly because I had no premeditated idea as to what to buy; and because with the little budget I had, short trips, photography and, of course, tea seemed better options. But when you’re hanging out with a group big enough to veto against your choices, you have to tail along for a while. Of the two choices - Hanna Lake or bazaars - time had allowed us to have on the evening of our second day, the latter would be visited first, it was decided.
I had suspected we might not be able to make it to Hanna in daylight that evening, for the sun was sinking fast and the group were becoming more and more interested in the vast variety of items the market was unfolding to them. Considering that men too were as keen on shopping as women, I had hardly anyone to bank on; so Hanna had been totally overshadowed by almonds, pistachio, cashew nuts, clothes and the apparently Russian-style gadgetry that lay in piles in electronics shops.
Yes, you do get laptops for Rs3,000 in Quetta, forget about whatever conditions they were in! Seemingly laptops, these pieces epitomized a Russian act of vandalism in their unfinished finishing, and spawned doubts if they would actually operate. Amazingly, they did! Shopkeepers in those places make very good salesmen. Not only in their power to convince, which is evinced also in their little but remarkably confident attempts at English, but also in their knowledge of the hi-tech products they sell, does their adroit salesmanship come across superbly. But we too would not budge - never went for that hi-tech risk!
After two hours of surveying, the group, replete with the eating stuff they had bought, could now think other than the markets. With some dilly-dallying, and realizing it was already dark for Hanna, we left the choice to the three most hospitable natives dedicated to us for that evening. In all their truthfulness and innocence, these poor chaps thinking of presenting us the best, led us to what is considered to be one of the best resorts of the city: the Askari Park. This was huge, but full of man-made attractions that we find aplenty in big cities. Even though not too delighted, we entered in our quest to explore whatever we could come across in the limited time we had - other places next time.
A diluted version of Sinbad or Alladin Park in Karachi, the Askari Park was calm and quiet, and deserved greater numbers of people than were present at 8 that night. After meandering for a while, we soon discovered a cafeteria for tea, the yearning for which had been growing for ages. As temperatures plunged further, we found sanctuary in our jackets and sweaters. I was enjoying the best company I had ever had in a long time. Drifting from one topic to the other and at times anchoring in issues that ignited common interest, our conversations swung from person to person as time quietly passed by.
“How was the situation in Quetta during the American onslaught on Afghanistan?” I inquired one of the natives with us. Nothing really affected them, I concluded from the answer; or if anything did befall them, it was ephemeral. “Acts of violence were witnessed at many places after our government swore allegiance to the international coalition against terrorism,” said one. Most parts of the city were scenes of arson; government offices were targeted as the angry mobs ran amok the entire Quetta, he informed. “Life otherwise is quiet and peaceful here. Yes, personal enmities are avenged, but without affecting others,” he added. These people love their city and hate, like any sane person would, anything that disturbed its tranquillity.
The next - and last - afternoon, we wanted nothing short of Hanna, for by not visiting it the last time, our eagerness had only heightened. But then, the group had whittled down to three - perhaps an ideal number! In no time the sun would go down but we were already afoot in the serene Hanna, where a vast lake had dried up for want of water - heavens had shown no mercy in the recent past and all that was left here was a vast palm-shaped land, calloused by the unrelenting heat of the scorching sun. A brimming Hanna must once have been a favourite recreational place for people here; but now, it seemed a place long-forgotten by its admirers and left to the few we found in the beverage shops still open in the hope of visitors.
A fluctuating tune guided us to its origin, a shop where tea was certainly available, French fries came in as bonus, and coffee was our last-minute decision. I definitely enjoyed Hanna no matter what it looked like, but also dreaded the nostalgia that would haunt me in times that may come; for within this unique landscape was serenity embedded in such splendour that one could hardly escape.
At twilight, we returned. Now was the time when one actually saw the length and breadth of this city, revealed in the myriad glittering lights from one end to the other. At 11, the next morning, we were ensconced in our seats on board the Airbus A300. Within a few minutes, the aircraft rolled down the runway, climbed and circled, and in a few minutes the still undiscovered Quetta was receding into the distance.
