[ Home ]
INITIATIVES ( By Daud Malik, email: daud.malik@usa.net )

With a few second pauses a screeching sound made Yasir sit up around seven in the morning. Still in sleep he lamented why has moved from Chandni Chowk to Sir Syed Chowk, a bustling locality of the ancient Rawalpindi city. Though it was time to get ready for the office, the sound of iron-cutting machine was deafening. Pauses only added to the agony.

“What we are going to go about this,” he asked his wife. “Nothing. They are here for ages. And after all they also have to earn livelihood,” his wife said. “And you seem to be forgetting the auto-workshops in Chandni Chowk, denting and painting our days away.” “But livelihood doesn’t mean you go on making people deaf. Such a shop in a residential area is illegal.” “You are getting late…go enjoy silence in the air-conditioned office. We will live with it,” his wife retorted back. “But I am concerned about everyone. About you, about our child. We have to move out of this locality,” he said, knowing he couldn’t. Shifting comes at a price, and he didn’t have the money for another change. His wife did not answer and went to the kitchen.

Coming out of the house, Yasir looked at the three shops, busy in iron-cutting and pounding iron with heavy hammers. No one was bothered about the noise they were producing. No one was bothered about the blocked sewerage. No one was bothered about popular Punjabi numbers at full throttle at the barber’s shop. No one was bothered about the Jamidar sweeping dust on one side of the road to the road, creating a halo of dust through which everyone has to pass. As he approached the Suzuki stand, horns blared with the Chowk getting blocked as everyone tried to be the first to cross the crossing. Serious-looking men caught in foolish but painful situation, but not ready to give way. Giving way was an insult. Somehow or other, as if by magic, the tangle at the crossing came off and for a moment of quietness ruled.

At Liaquat Chowk, more clogging, more horns, welcomed Yasir. Smoke from the nearby lines of hotels only increased an extremely hot day. Yasir waited for the Varan Tours bus, though restlessly, looking more for shade than the bus. Thinking about home problems, he was caught unawares by an old wagon giving out puffs of diesel smoke. Getting out of the black smoke, he looked ridiculous, trying fruitlessly to fan it out with his hands. Few smiles. Embarrassed, Yasir behaved as if it was his fault.

The Varan Tours bus did not arrive. Yasir got on to a wagon, already looking shabby, sweaty and tired. He got to the rear seat and had to jump over two rows, brushing his boots with clothes of other passengers. Some wriggled uneasily, others eyed him. The wagon spluttered off with cool air soothing ruffled attitudes. Quiet and somber, everyone forgot the hiking Yasir has to do to reach his seat. Packed with two young men hunched-backed along the conductor near the door, wagon whizzed past Committee Chowk, the busiest crossing of the city and all the passengers quietly prayed that they did not have to make a stop.
At Waris Khan, three passengers got off, and the two young men quickly occupied the space. Another young man in shocking yellow shalwar kameez boarded the vehicle. He sat with Yasir. First thing he did was to light a cigarette. Yasir eyed him. The young man felt it, but did not stop smoking.

Will you please stub it out, Yasir could not restrain himself. Oh! Yaar its my first today. I will get off at Chandni Chowk. Its so hotstub it out, an old passenger ordered the young man. Flustered, angry, he took two or three quick puffs and put it under his feet. Remembering he had to get money from his cousin, Yasir also got off at Chandni Chowk. He forgot the screeching sound of iron-cutting machine when the entered the street lined with auto-workshops. Smell of chemicals, and pounding of denting sagged his spirits. His wife was not wrong. It looked that every workshop was trying to outclass other in making more noise.

He remembered the infinite requests to the local authorities to remove these workshops from the residential. Some police raids and nothing else. And to add insult to injury, row of auto-workshops only lengthened over the years.Everyone accepted as part of their lives.

It took Yasir almost half-an-hour to start work at the office an advertising firm in Islamabad. He went through the days assignments and the newspapers. He came across the United Nations plan to celebrate Environment Day by narrating initiatives on making better environmental changes. Sighing, he thought about the early morning journey to the capital. Then he thought about the evening when even the Islamabads roads have a smoke cover. No need to remember Rawalpindis roads and markets in the evening.

Initiatives??? Well, well talking to wife about the screeching noise was an initiative or asking the young man to stub out the cigarette an initiative? When will you start working, my dear? his boss asked, bringing him out of the environmental reverie. Right now, Sir.