What injects sparks of life into dinner table discussions transforming them from the typically archetypal, lacklustre, almost-forced banter between disinterested children and weary parents over the contents of that month’s report card and the neighbour’s annoying banyan tree unashamedly spilling stray leaves into the unkempt backyard to passionate, exuberant arguments over who was responsible for the city-wide shut down the week before or whether it is appropriate for young adolescents who’ve spent over three-quarters of their short lives abroad to engage in politics or whether marching towards the coast in a collective effort to bring down ‘Pakistan’s Berlin-Wall’ was a fervent leap of unity amongst invariably disenfranchised masses or a hasty act of folly that generated short lived zeal that was soon swept away by the tide?
We’ve come a long way from the days my father speaks of, when nostalgia nudges his shoulder gently and he begins to recount tales of the days bygone, when the highlight of his day was a steaming cup of chai with his father in the backdrop of the setting sun and the gold-tinged sky. They had little to worry about, little to argue over, little to question and little to fight for.
Living and breathing within a lethal cocktail comprising of insurgency, terrorism, energy crises and steeply rising inflation, one would argue that the mind-set of the average Pakistani present day – the sweeper and the dhobi, the man behind the counter at the General Store round the corner and the receptionist who holds her carefully ironed dupatta against her nose as she braves rowdy passengers, smog filled air in the public bus every morning – has been poisoned by resentment, plagued by misery.
And when the end of the day approaches at dusk, when mishaps and fatalities are tabulated and analysed, files are clamped shut and monitors are switched off, men and women step out from sanctuaries into the dead of the night. The driver carefully weaves his employer’s car through bumper-to-bumper peak hour traffic; the *rickshaw-wala *is almost dozing off in his vehicle parked nearby; the truck driver is not too far off, with beads of sweat gathering on his forehead as his eyes dart rapidly from the cars ahead moving at snail’s pace and his steadily ticking watch. Fingers dart towards the knobs of car radios, televisions hum as they come to life, evening newspapers – hot off the press – creak and rustle as they’re thumbed by weary fingers.
We summon a barrage of woeful tidings towards us and calmly skim our way through the onslaught, bracing ourselves instinctively for what is to come. They fuel our discussions, they animate and breathe life into our conversations. But where do we go from there?
Re: Chai, Coffee aur Siyasat
We've this area "Jackson Heights" as you guyz must hv heard of it often.
So every night after 11sh there are desi cabbies stopping by. They hv dinner and they order tea which is really good, and then they talk about Pakistani politics really vocally. They just dont stop and it goes whole night long. They keep hopping around so there is always a desi atmosphere of a loud chitchat. :)
Re: Chai, Coffee aur Siyasat
I heard that Devon Street of Chicago has similar setup. Taxi drivers gather there and hotels open till late night. They definitely drink tea too… and discuss politics or social issues 
Re: Chai, Coffee aur Siyasat
Ofcourse devon is the JH version in Chicago.. last i visited there was a MQM unit office there as well so you can imagine 
Re: Chai, Coffee aur Siyasat
I heard… Mr Altaf used to drive cab over there. Before agencies called him and to form MQM in 80s…