Islamabad is my kind of city.
It's unsettling to think any place other than lahore could sweep me off my feet. but this capital, i tell you, i could picture spending life here.
there's the slow haziness of the days. people under proper traffic regulation, giving you way, wearing their seltbelts, never touching that horn, being pleasant and pleasing. there's a familiarity in the streets and sidewalks you pass. the homely feel of the khaiybans, the crawling greens and patches of residential areas that seem to be put there by mistake. The charm of G6, my favorite sector, the rich red of its make-belief sidewalks and the earthiness of its down-scale homes.
the slopes and dips of ataturk avenue and the calm of a 1 am drive. you seem destined to run into acquaintances here though, what with just a handful of haunts. but you take you time through islamabad. the city lets you savor itself.
the boars, are both fascinating and frightening. i mean, some grow as big as tiny bullock, and praddle about freely during the night. stories of maulings flood your brain, as you stare, intrigued, by a creature that speeds on by like a motorcyle.
just the ability to stroll the city through the nights, walk its pavements and traipse its sidewalks, unafraid. to sit on its benches, able to look up at the wide expanse of the sky, and think of such things as Possibilities. to enter a coffeehouse and smell real roasting coffee beans. to just be and let be.
and to be here with friends that fit you like a glove. trying out the likes of ginseng teas and potato leak soups and unheard-of bands and tucked-away farmhouses.
the city is like a sunday afternoon in the spring. it eases by, it flows through.
you never have to play catch-up.
It's unsettling to think any place other than lahore could sweep me off my feet. but this capital, i tell you, i could picture spending life here.
there's the slow haziness of the days. people under proper traffic regulation, giving you way, wearing their seltbelts, never touching that horn, being pleasant and pleasing. there's a familiarity in the streets and sidewalks you pass. the homely feel of the khaiybans, the crawling greens and patches of residential areas that seem to be put there by mistake. The charm of G6, my favorite sector, the rich red of its make-belief sidewalks and the earthiness of its down-scale homes.
the slopes and dips of ataturk avenue and the calm of a 1 am drive. you seem destined to run into acquaintances here though, what with just a handful of haunts. but you take you time through islamabad. the city lets you savor itself.
the boars, are both fascinating and frightening. i mean, some grow as big as tiny bullock, and praddle about freely during the night. stories of maulings flood your brain, as you stare, intrigued, by a creature that speeds on by like a motorcyle.
just the ability to stroll the city through the nights, walk its pavements and traipse its sidewalks, unafraid. to sit on its benches, able to look up at the wide expanse of the sky, and think of such things as Possibilities. to enter a coffeehouse and smell real roasting coffee beans. to just be and let be.
and to be here with friends that fit you like a glove. trying out the likes of ginseng teas and potato leak soups and unheard-of bands and tucked-away farmhouses.
the city is like a sunday afternoon in the spring. it eases by, it flows through.
you never have to play catch-up.
5 comments:
Keep Writing :)
have you seen a jackal yet?
What a very lovely piece on a very lovely city. I don't know if you realised it but the para on boars freely roaming the streets at night was followed by the para on you freely roaming the streets at night :-O That actually happened to me, btw: I was walking to a friend's house at 10 pm and, upon hearing some really loud chomping, looked around to find that I was about ten yards away from three wild boars feasting next to a dumpster. Crossed the street and kept walking slowly without looking their way. Survived to tell the tale, as you can see. Anyway, good job and as Anon said: keep writing!
oh to be in Islamabad at the onset of winter - or spring. sigh.
seen plenty on my way to monal, asfand!
Post a Comment