I lived in Pindi with my khala as a kid. We lived on this road full of potholes that all the elders complained about but us kids loved them because they’d fill up with oil and rainwater and have little colorful rainbows in them. The challi wala used to come by a lot, “challi lay lo, challi lay lo!”
We would bug our nani and khala to give us 5 rupaya to go buy challian and would hop out the front door with khala in tow. Khala would holler “Khan!!!” from the gate so that he could stop his rehRi. They were all Khans to her. We’d run down the street, me, my perpetually jaundiced and sickly little sister (the abo hawa and paani didn’t suit her), and three of my cousins, waving our paanch rupaya note in the air. Khala would tell Khan to bring out challian, naram naram wali, for the bachay loag, on account that the hard ones would give us “loose motions”. Haha it never even fazed us when she talked about our bathroom habits to strangers or wiped our snot with her dupatta.
Miss all that so much. Childhood in Pakistan is the best. I want my kids to grow up there and get sick off off challian, watch the raddi kaghaz walay burn bonfires in the gali. Play squash on the driveway wall and dent the gate when playing cricket and bug their grandparents with the racket, have their own kiyariaN to kill flowers in year round, smash snails like we loved doing. Hone their sadism by sprinkling salt on worms, throw rocks on slugs clinging to the walls.Man we were messed up creatures.
Man, life over here is so boring. No place to ride a bike, no menacing bulldogs, no robberies, no sticky icky heat, yucky half pani half oily milk. Eid means nothing, 14th August means nothing. All the Pakistani kids growing up here are locked into their darbay like motay choozay, they don’t seem to do anything fun. All they care about is tv pe kya arahai hai, about their weight (what’s with the weight obsession these days?)
Oh yeah, and carry love affairs with the saath walay larkay, and scare each other by believing the bump in the middle of the park was a little murdered kid’s grave.
I wish I could go back in time, all us cousins and my sister sitting on a charpai with our servant Raza, the Pathan naswaar sniffing Rambo, lifting the charpai and we would all scream in fear and excitement that he would tip us over and we’d be hanging on by our fingers.
The best rollercoaster is free.
Haha I loved lighting fires in Pakistan. Here the friggin wood darba would burn down.
