All of you Elizabethan Slaves, you make me very angry by saying London is gooder than New York. You need to ask forgiveness from you respective Gods. This is totally unacceptable. Dear Najim, thank for the tips. Honestly, I couldn’t afford to eat at fancy places anyway, and fish-n-chips suites me just fine. But thanks. Dear Munza, you need some therapy. Dear Fraudia, San Diego sucks. Roman Yar, what can I say? I worship New York.
When I lived in London, I lived most of my time there on Portobello road, but I also lived in many other parts of London. I have lived in parts of London where no Pakistani has ever been. After returning from Beijing, where I spent 4 months of my third undergrad year of school, I had no place to stay in London. A friend of mine was going to New Zealand and he was willing to sublet his flat to me. It was Poplar in the East End of London. As I entered the flat I was horrified by what I saw before me. The furniture in the room was floating across the livingroom floor in six inches of water. It was on the ground floor, with an access to little yard in the back, that was filled with all kinds of garbage, frying pans, used condoms, and needles. It was a Council flat. All I had to do was to keep up with the gas and electricity bill, and phone bill. It was not a bad arrangement. I made myself at home. My buddy wished me good luck, “you will need it” when he left. He told me about the young boys who make everyone’s life difficult to “catch one of the bastards and give him a lesson he wouldn’t forget” – it’s the only language they understand”. He left, and I entered which turned out to be the most memorable 6 months that I lived in London.
It wasn’t the hustle bustle of the central London, the faces of tourists, the Victorian architecture, and posh department stores that I was drawn to. I loved (despite the fact that I was not welcome in that part of London) staying in the sub-working class neighborhood, where unemployment was 145 percent, and everyone was on dole. I had my living room windows broken a few times, and my small TV stolen. I made a friend in the building, whom I occasionally met to watch TV with. She was cute!!
I ventured out and go into a pub, “What will it be?” asked the publican.
A glass of Coke, thanks.
I thought he was going to choke, shacking his head he said, “Lager or Bitter?” his arm ready to pull a pint. I settled for half a pint of lager. I very rarely drank beer, but I am familiar with the tastes of various European beers, and other good stuff. This is turning out to be a long story.
The guys in the Pub gave me all kind of looks, basically, what the fuck this Paki is doing in East London? I pretty much gave away after opening my mouth that I was not one of their ordinary Pakis, but a true Paki in every sense of the word, who still needed a lot more molding before he could be considered an English Paki. Anyhow, I started talking with a couple of lads there, and told them about my stay in Beijing. “Must be a pretty cool place, and lots of Chicks?” "Are there any jobs?" "Any dope?" No, to the contrary in fact, I said. I was restricted to staying in Beijing and was not allowed to leave the city boundaries, which pissed me off a lot. I had pleasure of spending a little time with the most beautiful Chinese girl, LuLu, a student at Beijing U, who kept writing to me for a couple of years after I left Beijing.
Back to East End, it was an experience for me. I have read so much about poor countries that have been caught in a perpetual cycle of wars and revolutions, bombings and pogroms, earthquakes and famines. East End looked no different than that to me. The graffiti on my outside wall read: “Mary Sucks Cock”…”Don’t Mug Me, Mug a Yuppie”….”Queer is Beautiful”…”Class War”. At night the battle raged between Heavy Metal and Garage music, the intrusion like the penetrating sound of the helicopter gunship hovering overhead.
This world was inhabited by people whose faces were so frightened and intimidated that little remained of their dignity, and self-respect was lost in sorrow, anxiety and a siege mentality. The old were trapped in their flats. Single women had the choice of venturing out at night or staying locked in. Local voluntary groups offered tenants advice about securing their homes and warned them to restrict their outings to safe areas and use safe transport.
I experienced some racism, which honestly didn’t bother me. I was having the time of my life exploring the neighborhood that most Londoners will never set foot in. They only saw the murders and drug fights on TV. It was the best and most educational part of my stay in London. And I do miss it.
Coming back to the comparison of NYC with London. I will tell you my experiences in NYC some other time and how I consider NYC to be the place that I want to call home. As it has been said, it depends what one wants in life. London is good, but it is too Royal for my taste, too monolithic culturally, and too confined and defined. NYC is not like that. Even though it looks like a concrete mountain, but it does have multi-cultural feel to it.