Mon Frere?

Before I begin, forgive me for any inadvertent formatting and presentation mistakes. I don’t use MovableType, and quite frankly WordPress is a hell of a lot easier when it comes to aligning images, doing text wraps, that sort of thing. In other words, my posts may look like a hot mess, but I promise you they will taste like seriously good chaat masala.

Frere-Hall.jpg Carrying on…

In my experience (limited though it may be), of all the cities in Pakistan, Karachi probably has the greatest number of intact buildings left over from the days of the British Raj (Lahore has prettier and larger ones, but not perhaps as many). Which is not to equate “intact” with “well-preserved”; in many cases, these building are little more than shells and facades, while others have faded into the background under the manic pressure of urban decay expansion (not unlike many aging aunties struggling with foundation and surma in a desperate effort to hold back the ravages of time). Naturally, the city government finds it a complete waste of time to actually try and maintain these buildings, with a handful of exceptions, preferring instead to focus on cramming as many slum areas into one space-time locus as the laws of physics will allow.

This is important to me, I like the pretty, and I like it a damnÂ’ lot. Continue reading

Pink haathis and the like

In retrospect, that last bottle of champagne on Saturday night was a bad idea, but finding an unopened, chilled bottle of Dom in Karachi is so damn’ difficult that I simply couldn’t pass up the offer.

I did however manage to pass right the hell out.

And now I’m still not sure why I have rope burns on my wrists, nor why my underwear seems to have mysteriously gone missing, and most importantly, why I’m trapped in a room without any minimalist furniture, wall-decorations other than a Mr. Kabaddi 2004 calendar, and a laptop perched on what seems to be a vertically placed dhol.

Ah yes. I wondered what the Mutineers were doing at that party over at the Sind Club, but oddly enough at the time, I was too busy shaking my groove thang with Anna and marvelling at her ability to inhale Black & Coke by the litre to really pay attention to the ropes and chains that Vinod was trying (with a fair amount of success, mind you) to hide behind his back. I suppose the words “You know, we’ve never had a gay Pakistani on SM yet” should have been a marginal clue as to the direction the evening was going to take, but at the time it just seemed like such an innocent, simple expression of fact.

And now I’m trapped in a sparsely under-decorated room with absolutely no Aveda products of any kind, and I don’t even know the mailing address for this place, otherwise I’d have re-decorated the entire bunker by now. Which is probably for the best now that I think about it.

On the plus side, I think I see the t-shirt Ex-Intern Neel was wearing lying on the floor, so there may yet be hope for this location. Continue reading