Anyone who has seen the movie “300” knows that the choreographed action was just as titillating as the dialogue itself. Specially the narrated monologue which held the appearance of being delivered by Delios, although we didn’t know that until the end of the movie. Here’s a quote from one of those electrifying moments, without going as far as to spoil the movie for someone who hasn’t seen it yet.
“It’s been more than thirty years since the wolf and the winter cold. And now, as then, it is not fear that grips him, only restlessness.”
No matter how tastefully you toot your own horn, it always sounds ridiculous. I have yet to master the art of doing so without blowing it. With that said, this is how I felt when I entered Pakistan, minus the duration and the climate. It had only been about two months and it was rather the beast and the brick oven warmth instead of the wolf and the winter cold. For those of you who have had similar experiences, you are well aware that is never the fear. It is always an anxiety. A disquieting antsiness propelling you to push forth and be done with the experience as soon as possible. Hence, the restlessness.
I had been wearing a woolen outerwear when boarding at JFK and I was forced to take it off the minute I stepped off the plane before even reaching the building established as an airport. The air-conditioning might as well had been off, despite all their convincing claims that it wasn’t. The passport control and baggage claim wasn’t tedious at all, I kept my positive outlook through all the line budging and service solicitation. I suppose the bag handlers have a right to implore, that’s how they are taught to make their living anyways. The problem started at about 11 minutes into my arrival when one of those good men tried to cut in front of me at the check-in security, and in the process, knocked one of my suitcases off of my cart! I had no choice but to address him in his native malediction of Punjabi and curse-words. I did not stop until his facial expression matched that of a man who understood the etiquette of a queuing area. The thought of apologizing did not occur to him, nor would it have made a difference.
Moving on. Stepping out of the airport, I saw a horde of bearded Moslems awaiting the arrival of an expatriate mullah which happened to be riding in the same plane as me. I call them Moslems and not Muslims because these are the fundamentalist bastards that the West refers to most of the time. I’m a Muslim. I’m the norm. They are the Moslem. The illiterate mob who thinks that Islam is about circumcising your cock and blaming everything on the west while wearing bright neon or earth toned turbans. Anyways, I’m not sure if it was my, for the lack of a better word, swag, that gave it away but they seemed to have a very clear idea that I was a man very fond of the Western society. No tattoos, no piercings, no crazy hairstyles and I still got served. The horde of 200 plus Moslems held hands in their effort to not let me take the shorter route out of the airport. When I reached upon an exit which was being blocked by two of their men men holding hands, I noticed that they gripped their hands tighter in an effort to convey that I, the westerner, will have to take the longer route and will not be allowed to pass through the airports regulated exits. So, to avoid being beaten to death by a brutal mob, I held my head up and walked right through the labyrinth of Moslemic brotherhood they had set up for me. The airport security opted to ignore the situation probably for similar reasons. The rose petals they planned on throwing to welcome the biggest dick smelled wonderful, although it hurt to imagine how many plants had to die for an asshole’s welcome.
The air outside the airport was heavy. Humidity must have been high. I begin to understand why, so often, Google describes the weather in Lahore as “smoke”. Breathing became difficult and I felt my lungs doing some serious overtime. It was alright though. It could have been worse. There was an incident that took place in the parking lot but it was very similar in nature to the previous two and I have not the energy, nor the motivation to jot it down.
So, despite my best efforts, half of my resolutions had to be discarded at the airport whereas most of them were broken before the 12 hour mark was reached. That’s pathetic to say the least. It wasn’t even my fault. It’s hard to stay positive when someone’s working on sucking it right out of you. Right?
Well, there was another quote in the movie “300” where King Leonidas’ wife Queen Gorgo declares in bed: “Your lips can finish what your fingers have started… “. I am going to take that out of context and say that anyone else interested enough to hear what else happened at the airport shall ask me to do so in person with my lips, for my fingers are now tired of typing out this wonderful little post. Ciao.