1.22.2004
While the city's layers of pollution washed away in the heavy rain, we spent the morning looking out of the windows, longing to be outside ala the kids in "The Cat in the Hat". The Cat finally arrived in the form of one of my closest cousins and her crew. The decibel level increased proportionally and the marble floors did nothing to cushion the sound. Someone suggested we continue our lovely reunion somewhere else. Braving the now deluge of rain, we stopped by my shopaholic cousin's place where we were offered tea and a thick layer of frosting with a little bit of cookie underneath with which to rot our teeth.
We had a two-for-one birthday lunch at my aunt's house later that afternoon. Having lived in various countries around the world (and conveniently feeding my voracious appetite to travel by providing me with a place to stay), my aunt has picked up an eclectic array of recipes. The buffet-style feast she prepared for us this time came from Myanmar/Burma. The Ohn-no-kauk-swey, or Burmese Noodles in Coconut and Chicken Broth, was served along with several small dishes of garnishes from which one may pick and choose. I loaded mine up with cilantro, lime wedges, and fried noodles. De. Lish.
That evening, my sister and I had intended to spend the night with my cousin's in-laws in Rawalpindi. Tooling along Faisal Avenue (a.k.a. the "Islamabad Highway"), we neared Islamabad's entry intersection "Zero Point" when my sister announced that she didn't feel well. Apparently, she had caught my mother's 24-hour bug and despite the nap earlier, she felt queasy and tired. We debated turning around but could not seem to move fast enough. Although the SAARC convention had ended a few weeks prior, traffic in this area remained at a near stand-still this evening. My sister's groaning and warnings of nausea increased in urgency and frequency until they culminated in her rolling the window down and decorating the side of the car with bits of dahi baras, birthday cake, and assorted goodies. Silence descended over the car as we took turns patting her back, handing her tissues and water, and concentrating on an opening, any opening, in the traffic to allow us to make a movie-worthy, tires-squealing, 180-degree turn.
We finally made the turn, crawled along, and stopped at a light. One of the city's many little beggar children approached us, knocked on the door to get our attention, and began her spiel. The girl pressed her "sad hands" against the car and my sister gasped,
"Be careful! Be careful!"
Not understanding the English warnings, the girl plowed on. My sister tried to explain again in Urdu,
"Ulti hai!"
The light bulb popped over the girl's head, she looked down at the vomit-stained door, and a sneer of disgust to beat all sneers formed on her face. Oh, man. That look. I wish I had my camera. She backed away rapidly, sneer still in place, wiping her hands on her clothes as we drove off in a burst of shrieking and manic laughter. baj
@ 3:57 PM
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