Too Close for Comfort: Introduction
Karachi Scribbles II
Bakra Eid is
not my favorite. I have some snippets of memories associated with it that are
flashed at the back of mind every now and then, five-second holographs, tugged
into motion by some unaware association:
A still
image of bright red blood streaming into the drain outside our gate, just the
grey-tiled floor and the sliver of red (because I would keep my eyes trained to
the ground on slaughter days).
The large,
smooth spheres of cattle intestines that would line the backstreets of
Islamabad, I can see them at the edge of my vision, as my cousins and I walk
down to the market nearby. (That must have been at least 12 years ago, when the
walk to the market itself was the treat rather than the few rupees we’d spend
on sweets.)
I remember
the goat that stepped on my foot, sparking a lifetime grudge. I was wearing
open-toed slippers and was actually in a sweet mood, offering green stalks to
the heavy-hoofed creature and he just came too close for comfort. And the thing
is, I felt it was very deliberate. So I was hurt physically and
emotionally. I’ve never really warmed up to the animal as a species after that.
Then there
is an audio memory. It is the pained yell of a goat that sees its death flash
in the silver of the knife, glinting under the sun, accidentally exposed a second
too soon. I woke up to the sound one Eid day many years ago, and that ruined it
for me. I can still hear that scream every now and then, and it makes me lose
my appetite not just for meat but even cereal.
So, needless
to say, I prefer staying indoors on this Eid. I don’t like eating meat in
general but I swear it off completely on the three Eid days and the month
following it for good measure.
This Eid-ul-Azha we had the pleasure of having
a cattle market right next to us.
Ever since I
can remember, there has been an empty plot adjacent to our house. All the other
spaces have been filled up but this 500sq. yards of land remains. Sometimes it
serves as free parking space for the neighborhood but largely its left alone,
you know, seeing that it doesn’t really belong to any of the people living on
the street.
Till the
house on the other side of the plot was built. This blog post (and a few others
in the future) is dedicated to our neighbors in the House of Jerks.
Their house
took a couple of years to build and really, it’s nice looking from the outside.
Who lives there is a mystery because Fahad and I are both introverts so we don’t
really care. We don’t really see the inhabitants as much as the cars that drive
these inhabitants.
At any point
in time there are always at least two vehicles parked outside, taking
over half the road. (They are always being cleaned. As are the windows of the
house.) Is it nice to permanently take over the road, especially if your house
is right at the street corner? No, not really, but it’s okay, I guess, at any
rate it doesn’t bother us too much.
Then as
Bakra Eid rolled closer, a large canopy was put up, a rugged carpet rolled out
covering the entire land space between our house and the House of Jerks. A
few chairs and a small stage or two at both corners which was somewhat
confusing. Is this for cattle as the troughs indicate or for an event as the
chairs and stages suggest?
The animals
came slowly, almost magically because every time I came back home from work
there would be another massive cow – imported from Australia was the rumor –
chewing dry grass in the plot. Some five cows, a goat or two, a sheep, and a
camel, all came to populate a very bright cattle market lit up with strings of
white bulbs that swung in the Karachi night breeze. The three days of Eid saw
the end of the market, with the camel being left for last.
The third
day of Eid, we were getting into the car for a dinner party at a relative’s
when Fahad turned on the headlights. The misty ray of light fell on a bloody
carcass, more apt for the set of a horror movie than a nice neighborhood in
DHA. “Ew!” I shrieked, “turn it off!” He did and the image disappeared, but
then he turned it on again for that is somewhat amusing to a 28-year-old
husband, and there was the all too real blood and gore remains of the poor
camel.
The next day
a strange smell had invaded our home. My ammunition of candles and fruity
sprays proved futile.
“What is this smell!?”
It was the
camel’s head and hoofs, pleasantly tucked into our side of the plot,
right by our wall. Our kitchen window actually faces this plot and the
smell there was not exactly conducive to cooking.
The next day
it was even worse, for obvious reasons. This is Karachi and its hot – imagine
the dried blood and bones and fat and muscle rotting in the sun, crows pecking
away at the shredded leftovers and the disgusting scent of meat and death
hanging heavy in our entire house.
So we
finally complained, get this mess picked up. And kindly so, after two
and a half days of living next to a camel corpse, I came home from work one day
to find the plot empty save for a white powder scattered along the space,
hopefully an antiseptic of some sort.
Needless to
say, I’m not sending over any kheer to these neighbors.
(Note: House
of Jerks will be featured in at
least one more entry due to their incredible daftness and disregard for human
life)
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