Posts Tagged ‘accident’


Zamzama Blvd

July 18, 2009

In a few hours, it’ll be exactly ten days since I returned back from one of the best vacations of my life…ok, I say that every year. The news that driver and potential undercover cop Naseeb Khan has gone to Bunair and wants to extend his vacation by another month (wondering if it’s the weather) hasn’t totally sunk in as yet. So I’m driving down Zamzama blvd trying to write some lyrics for a song in my head by the same name, sipping coffee in my new $3 stainless steel mug that my super smart shopper wife got me, I find myself talking to myself again, “Hey, this place ain’t that bad after  a…”. The next thing I had planned to do after finishing my line was to turn up the radio and sing “Free for Falling” at the top of my lungs (signed copy of the smash new hit single Zamzama blvd for the one who can guess the movie). My dialogue and totally original car scene was rudely interrupted by the following sounds, “Screeeeech! Crash! Thud!” If I was to describe the feeling, it was something like when someone slaps you hard at the back of your head when you’re doing something serene…like reading a book. Not so angered (company car), I get out putting on my WTF face (yes, its different from other WTF faces). I charge towards the car screaming out the same curse word I was taught by the guy who used to slap the back of my head in school…only to find that the owners of the brand new white civic are two 6 feet 2 inches Balochi guys  (both of them exactly the same height and shalwar kurta) who look more furious than I do. You better change the look on your face buddy, is what I say to myself, instead of them. He shakes my hand and says, “Assalamalikum”. I want to say, “Walaikum, kaisay hein iss dafa Eid ki Namaz kahan parhein gay” but instead, I politely say, “Yaar itnee taiz garee chalata hai koee?” When he did not reply for a few seconds, I realized that my question was pretty lame. Why am I asking him a question to start with? He finally replied, “Baat to aap sahee keh rahay hein”. Wajahat: 1. Big strong Balochi guy: 0. “I was going at 30 km/hour and you were at 70 probably, so it’s your fault. “Yes it is, he says”. “There’s something seriously wrong”, I say to myself, almost aloud. Isn’t this the country where people take out guns, swords, acid to throw on your face even if you give a guy a stare if he has brutally cut you off? “I’m sorry aap ka naam kya hai?” he asks of me. W..W..Wajahat, I reply back. Second guy closes in on me. “Run Simran Run!” Sorry, Forest! “I mean Run Forest Run!” were the words that reverberated in my head. Will I look like a complete pussy to the crowd (that has gathered around now) that after getting the big strong guys to admit that it was their mistake, I wish them a good day and…leave? No! The entertainment starved Karachiites deserved more. Probably wanted the little burger guy with the new Ray Bans to get the shit beaten out of him. “Wajahat Bhai”, he says. “Aap kya chahtay hein?” A new wife, another vacation, king chips, move back to America, the inner khopra part of a chilled bounty, peace in Swat and Palestine. Come to think of it, I really did want a lot of things. Focus Wajahat! These are not guys you wanna mess around with. Did I mention that their car windows were tinted solid black? I mean that says something about them, don’t it? Hey, they can’t do that…unless…they’re GOVERNMENT! “Hey, I want you to pay for the damage to to my car!” The burger’s got balls! “Ok”, he replies. “Follow me, I live on Mohafiz”. Aha! There it is. These bad guys are going to take me to a flat or an abandoned house on Mohafiz and tie me up in the basement, gagged with a red apple in my mouth. I will be left there for weeks without a clean toilet or broast chicken. “Follow me” he said. I figured that wasn’t a request. While driving, I save their car’s license plate number and write White Civic on my blackberry and forward it as an email to my coordinator at work. And they say these dozen angraziee movies I see every week are of no use. I follow the white Civic into a congested lane in Zamzama. “He lied. He’s not taking me to Mohafiz, he’s taking me to Sheikh Amir Hasan’s flat.  Maybe these guys were involved. I see their car being parked and I park mine, checking one last time if my email went through and get of my car. After waiting for 30 seconds, I walk towards their car to ask them if I can go sit back in mine if they want to finish listening to the song on the radio.

Star plus soap zooms from all angles in including one from between my legs. My spider senses spoke to me, “You followed the wrong car dumbass!” “Brrrrrrinng, goes my phone.” It’s him! He asks me where I am and if it’s ok if he gets my car repaired instead of paying me cash. In a state of confusion (the guy in the wrong white Civic now giving me the WTF look), I say “sure”. “Ok I’ll wait for you at the Shell pump on Gizri”. I reach at the pump and see him waiting. Either this guy believes in excellent customer service or…he’s going to kidnap me and then kill me. I follow him into a small lane opposite the pump and he stops at one of the mechanics and signals me to come out. I abide.

“Yeh humaray bhai hein, Wajahat bhai” he says to the mechanic as if I am from out of town and he’s hooking me up with a pimp or a coke dealer. “In ki garee set kar dein aur kharcha mujhay bata daina”. I think I’m going to cry now. “Thank you sir…waisay mein eik baat kehna chahta hun”. “ji ji bolein” the mute guy finally speaks up. “Aap log buhat shareef log hein”. Prety lame again Wajahat. “I mean Pakistan mein to aisa naheen hota. Yahan to log bandookein aur talwar nikaal laitay hein chotee chotee baton pay. Aap nay to kamal hee kar diya”. He smiles and says, “koee naheen”. A man of few words I have to say. “Aap kaam kya kartay hein”, I ask him. “Kuch naheen”, he replies. I might be wrong but I got the feeling that he’s not really interested in befriending me. My phone rings again. It’s my coordinator. I give him the directions and he enters the lane in the next 5 seconds. Finally someone I’m taller than! I hug him for no reason and introduce him to the fine, cultured gentlemen and his mechanic and they go over the ‘mechanics’ . “Ok Wajahat bhai mujhay jana hai”, says the main man. “Sure, come over for a cup of coffee to the office sometime. I work for Geo”. I don’t know why I said that. Cause now, he will probably show up.  

I leave the mechanic’s shop, bedazzled and maybe just a wee bit disappointed. I am the kinda guy who likes movies with action and a not so happy ending. I like The Departed…this was Pretty Women…well kinda. 

It’s been 26 hours since the incident. And still no action. No phone calls. No weird guys showing up at work. Maybe they were genuinely nice people who had a sense of right and wrong. Maybe the last few ones left in this country. Or maybe it’s their motto to only pick on people their own size. God, I miss Naseeb Khan!