Chapter 2
Rawalpindi was nothing like Lahore. It neither had rivers flowing through it, nor did it have the culture and the vibrant people of Lahore. I think it got its name from a tribe of Sikhs that lived here hundreds of years ago. One beautiful thing about Rawalpindi was its proximity to the Himalayas. When I stood on my rooftop, I could see the purple-blue mountains. I loved the Monsoon season too. It rained the most in this city than any other during those months.
They decided to build the capital even closer to the mountains. It was to become the prettier twin sister of Pindi. They called it Islamabad--The abode of Islam. As with everything else in Pakistan, idealism was prevalent in its building. From our heroes in the movies, to our pop singers and politicians, everybody had to show their idealism and patriotism in anything they did. Idealism is good. It motivates you. It just makes you feel worse-off when you fail.
Murree Road was the jugular vein of Pindi. It began in the Cantt area, and went all the way up to hill resort of Murree. On its way to Murree, it offered a turn-off to Islamabad. Everyday, hundreds of federal government workers took public transportation from the Murree Road to their work. A lot of them could not afford housing in the captial city. Many just didn't want to leave their family houses.
If you took a bus from the Cantt area, the bus stopped at Marirh, then at Liaquat Park, then at Committee Chowk, and it continued on. If you made a left turn at the Committee Chowk, towards Raja Bazar, the first turn on your right hand side was Chittian Hattian.
Chittian Hattian. You could call it the Harlem of Pindi. Its name sounded funny even to the people who lived there. It never sat well with them. In punjabi, Chittian means white, and Hattian means shops. People say that there used to be white shops here a long time ago. There weren't anymore. Chittian Hattian was the name of that quarter-mile long stretch of the road. The road itself was wide enough to take two cars. At the end of the road, there were small streets, though. So narrow that you couldn't drive a car into them. You could only walk into those streets.
Our house was in one of those narrow streets. This is where I grew up. This is where my family had been living for a century. My grandfather used to tell me the story of our family. My great grandfather was born in a rich family in Sialkot. He was the only son from his father's third wife. At his birth, his step mothers tried to poison him. His mother fled with him to Pindi and settled here. I would often joked with my cousins about going back to Sialkot and getting our share of the wealth.
My grandfather, or 'Pahpa Ji', as we all used to call him was my best friend from my father's side. Pahpa is a very commmon title for Pindi'ites. Everybody is a Pahpa if you don't know his name. My Pahpa ji and I used to go to the movies. He would not do that with any other grand child. I was special. I was the only one who used to get two rupees from him ever. Everybody else was limited to half a rupee at the most.
Chittian Hattian had all the qualities of a downtownish area, except the modernity. Both sides of the road had shops. Grocery shops, blacksmiths, scrap-metal sellers, barbers, bekeries, laundries, and every other thing that you could need in your day to day life. Besides those shops, there would always be street hawkers and carts. Those carts changed from season to season. There was always life in Chittian Hattian. It was always loud with noises. You could always find a cab or a rickshaw.
They decided to build the capital even closer to the mountains. It was to become the prettier twin sister of Pindi. They called it Islamabad--The abode of Islam. As with everything else in Pakistan, idealism was prevalent in its building. From our heroes in the movies, to our pop singers and politicians, everybody had to show their idealism and patriotism in anything they did. Idealism is good. It motivates you. It just makes you feel worse-off when you fail.
Murree Road was the jugular vein of Pindi. It began in the Cantt area, and went all the way up to hill resort of Murree. On its way to Murree, it offered a turn-off to Islamabad. Everyday, hundreds of federal government workers took public transportation from the Murree Road to their work. A lot of them could not afford housing in the captial city. Many just didn't want to leave their family houses.
If you took a bus from the Cantt area, the bus stopped at Marirh, then at Liaquat Park, then at Committee Chowk, and it continued on. If you made a left turn at the Committee Chowk, towards Raja Bazar, the first turn on your right hand side was Chittian Hattian.
Chittian Hattian. You could call it the Harlem of Pindi. Its name sounded funny even to the people who lived there. It never sat well with them. In punjabi, Chittian means white, and Hattian means shops. People say that there used to be white shops here a long time ago. There weren't anymore. Chittian Hattian was the name of that quarter-mile long stretch of the road. The road itself was wide enough to take two cars. At the end of the road, there were small streets, though. So narrow that you couldn't drive a car into them. You could only walk into those streets.
Our house was in one of those narrow streets. This is where I grew up. This is where my family had been living for a century. My grandfather used to tell me the story of our family. My great grandfather was born in a rich family in Sialkot. He was the only son from his father's third wife. At his birth, his step mothers tried to poison him. His mother fled with him to Pindi and settled here. I would often joked with my cousins about going back to Sialkot and getting our share of the wealth.
My grandfather, or 'Pahpa Ji', as we all used to call him was my best friend from my father's side. Pahpa is a very commmon title for Pindi'ites. Everybody is a Pahpa if you don't know his name. My Pahpa ji and I used to go to the movies. He would not do that with any other grand child. I was special. I was the only one who used to get two rupees from him ever. Everybody else was limited to half a rupee at the most.
Chittian Hattian had all the qualities of a downtownish area, except the modernity. Both sides of the road had shops. Grocery shops, blacksmiths, scrap-metal sellers, barbers, bekeries, laundries, and every other thing that you could need in your day to day life. Besides those shops, there would always be street hawkers and carts. Those carts changed from season to season. There was always life in Chittian Hattian. It was always loud with noises. You could always find a cab or a rickshaw.
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