Chand raat. A few years ago. True life events.
"Khurram bhai ayat-ul-kursi parh lain." I looked up from my mobile and noticed we're on the stretch of the road that goes from Jhang road to the airport. Pitch black, eerie silence. In the cars headlights you could see a stray dog or two, growling, angry. It was as if the road led to a qabristan.
A graveyard it is. I got off from my car and made my way to the departure lounge with my luggage on a trolley which made noises like those of a crying baby. The not so vigilant guard asked me to show me my ticket. I handed it to him and after behaving like he's gone through it in a flash he handed it back to me. Next my luggage got stuck in the small opening to the departure lounge they call a door. Can't they make like a bigger opening ? Damn !
As I placed my luggage on the weighing scale, it tipped above 30 kg. Just when the rude lady there was about to open her mouth, I handed in my ticket concealed in which was a 1000 Rupee ka note. "Yay kia hai ? " she asked sheepishly. " Quaid-e-Azam " I replied. She glanced left and right to see if nobody was looking, and the next thing I know was that I had my boarding pass in my hands.
On the way they have erected this scanner jiska sole purpose is to tease us hapless passengers. I was abruptly stopped there by this obese lady in her 70's who demanded I take off my watch. I obliged. She signaled me to place my mobile on a tray to which I respectfully obliged too. It was then that I could feel her piercing eyes on me. Moving them from the tip of my forehead to my feet. Her glance stopped just below my abdomen to my utter astonishment. My heart started pounding heavily inside my chest not knowing what she'll ask me to take off next. She pointed towards my metal belt. I heaved a sigh of relief and handed her my belt.
The moment I entered the waiting lounge, I was reminded of the aromas of my mother's kitchen. Smells of biryani, parathas and onion filled the air, and people were having a good time, feet folded on the sofas, talking as loud as they could. It looked more like Cheechawatnis railway station platform than Faisalabad International Airport. I made my way carefully through litter, crying babies on the floor, stuff that resembled baby poop, and hoardes of luggage. Finally I found a peaceful spot where there weren't any women or children.
Barely half an agonizing hour had passed that a familiar voice took to the air. Our flight to Karachi had been cancelled owing to some 'technical problem.' As soon as this was announced, the babies started crying louder. People thronged towards the airline officials shouting their hearts out. It was Chand raat for Christ's sake. My whole family was already in Karachi waiting for me to spend eid with them. But PIA had other plans.
I joined the chorus of screaming mothers, agitated father's and crying infants. The abuses hurled from both sides and the language used can only be written down in Asterix form. It was mayhem. I tried to explain to them that my bakray were already in Karachi and that I couldn't possibly spend the first day of eid here alone. I even begged them to lend me a bakra so I could also join in the holy sacrifice but they only looked at me with disgust as if I had asked for their daughters hand in marriage. Khair dejected, broken, and torn apart after this miserable ordeal, I made my way back to home.
