Karachi Chaos
I was not looking forward to Pakistan from the time I heard about it. I wasn’t 100% on the topic, I didn’t like the type of conference and most importantly it was bang in the middle of the SSC test. I was due to fly on Sunday evening around 6 so I spent the day at the match till around tea time. Vaughan was playing superbly in the first innings - crisp cover drives and flicks through midwicket. I was annoyed that the barmy army had taken over the HSBC stand - some tour group had booked out the whole 3rd tier - the best spot in the whole ground. Bloody cheek. Settled for the Lanka Bell stand (despite the incessant screaming of a kid “Ian Bell Lanka Bell, Cook go back to the kitchen”) but it wasn’t SL’s day at all - until of course I left the ground when, just like that, 4 wickets fall. Nice. Anyway I got to the airport to run into a massive queue at the check in for Karachi. Actually it wasn’t massive, it just refused to budge. After a while it became clear that something was wrong. I was asked to step up. “Sorry sir it looks like the flight is a bit overbooked - we’re trying our level best to get you a seat.” Now at this point i’m not too sure what to think; half a mind says this is the escape route i was subconsciously craving. The other half is worried about getting severely delayed. And then the bribery begins.
“Sir if you stay back we’ll give you a free flight to Karachi”
“You can’t be serious? I have no interest in going to Pakistan unless I have to”
“Sir you can go to North India instead”
“I’m in Delhi next week”
“It’s valid next year also”
“I’m back in Delhi mid Jan”
She smiles in defeat - I was being a bastard. I said that I would have taken her offer if I was going on holiday but bc it’s work I can’t. She eventually says that she can give me cash - and my eyes light up for a moment but things would be too complicated so I say i’ll hang on. In the meantime an Indian lady was throwing an absolute bitch fit - she was letting the counter girls have it - despite them having nothing to do with the overbooking policy of the airline. Eventually I got a seat, with an upgrade to boot, but most of the others were left behind - I have no idea what happened to them. After settling in I was again told that my seat is incorrect and am promptly demoted to cattle class. UL - got to love them. For my luck the flight was taking home a huge contingent of Pakistanis who were in Colombo for some Lion’s conference. And they were loud, boisterous and full of energy. I was next to one of the loudest who was also blessed with a more than healthy laugh - which, unfortunately, he wasn’t shy to exhibit. Despite the banshee I was able to sleep for about an hour out of the 5 and a half hour trek via Mumbai. Not fun. We arrived in Karachi around midnight, and within half an hour I had sorted out the immigration stuff and picked up my suitcase. My connecting flight to Islamabad was at 7am, and I didn’t want to book a hotel bc it would be pointless getting one for 3 hours between 1am and 4am. I figured I’d kill time in the airport - I had Carl Muller (reuniting with the Jam Fruit Tree after many years) to keep me company. And what fine company he makes. So I rock up to the domestic terminal, sleepy all over again and looking forward to kicking back before heading off to the capital.
The chap at the gate examines my ticket - raises his eyebrow and says something in Urdu. “I’m sorry could you speak in English, I don’t speak Urdu” he nods understandingly and promptly continues in Urdu and then points at the clock. Turns out they don’t open the terminal till 2 hours before the flight. Ok, not part of the plan, but surely I can just sit inside? Apparently not. I ask him where I can wait and he points to a set of chairs outside in the cold. And it was cold. I looked at my watch - 12.45 - bugger. There were about 30 chairs and there were chaps sitting on about a third of them, well wrapped up in jackets, long kurthas and headscarves - like Afghans in winter I thought. There was a kiosk selling tea and snacks, a tv perched on some ledge blaring urdu music, just about drowning out the chatter. I was really tempted to have some tea to get through the cold - specially wearing a short sleeve shirt and an old well worn pair of trousers - but I was afraid tea would keep me awake, and I felt my best chance to get through this in any sort of comfort would be to sleep it out. After what I thought was about half an hour I looked at my watch - 12.55. This was turning into a very disagreeable situation. I wanted to get my mind off the time so I began to read - Totoboy Von Bloss falling into a grave after 6 too many tipples. I slowly relaxed and began to take in the surroundings a bit more - the various ppl; men, women and children - huddled together with their luggage, talking, drinking chai, smoking and glancing my way every now and then. It was 1.30 - a bit of progress. I fell asleep, laptop strung around my neck, suitcase between my legs - head in hands. I woke up about an hour later - amazed that I had slept through the bustle, but the cold had really got to me so I took my coat out of the suitcase and wore it - tough luck if it got dirty. A quick glance around and almost all the ppl were different to those I had seen an hour ago. Fellows with newly purchased items from some Middle Eastern duty free, a guy with a neatly wrapped guitar, a couple of families with what looked like all their possessions wrapped in big plastic covers and an old man with a walking stick who grinned at me through his two remaining teeth. The new ppl looked at me curiously - wondering what the devil this foreigner is doing sitting in the cold for hours and hours. I dozed off again - and despite regularly waking up, I slept till almost 4 a.m. I was thrilled. Within half an hour the light started flashing next to Islamabad - PK 300: proceed for check in. Hooray.
