Eastern Vagabond

Essays on travel, cities, memory, and the unnoticed textures of the world.

Author: Muhammad Sarosh

  • Her Radiant Smile

    The sun had just set in leaving a pink hue to the sky. I was walking through a narrow, gloomy street zig-zagging through a slummy neighborhood of Rawalpindi and loving the absolute stillness and quiet that falls there with the twilight. It was then that I came across that little girl standing beside the ice-cream man’s cycle with her arms stretched out towards him with a crumpled ten rupee note in her clenched little fist – her voice shivering with excitement. “Uncle, ice-cream!” A subtle smile crept across my face. She was no doubt the loveliest thing in the dullness all around.

    And just then i realized that things never change…just people do. The dimly lit narrow street, the ice-cream man and his colorful cycle, the melodious tune that flows around, limited pocket money and the sparkling eager eyes, each and everything had been there for ever. It was just me who decided to grow up. The melodrama of life has been playing since eternity. Characters come, play their part and then get new roles as someone more fitting takes theirs. I stopped by and waited for the episode to end. Happily.

    Unfortunately, the ice-cream man told her to go back as she did not have enough money. Her radiant smile faded into the gloomy street as she quietly turned back. Something sank in my rib-cage.  But then it hit me. It hit me that fate might be giving me a chance to change the destinies. Now I could just pretend I saw nothing, scratch my belly and move on or I could be the change; create a new character that might as well live forever as did the character of the ice-cream man on his colorful cycle and the little girl with her limited pocket-money and sparkling eager eyes. So I cautiously stepped in, paid for the little girl and waited for her to return. The play seemed to have paused for a moment as if i, by stepping into a role i wasn’t assigned to play, had offended the writer. It felt all wrong. But just then, the miracle happened. She turned on her heels almost robotically, came back running, grabbed her ice-cream, smiled at me and the world smiled along…

    And from then on, this world was a beautiful place at least for the children who would just stand by the colorful cycle and someone would appear almost out of nowhere and pay for their ice-creams.

  • Winterwards…

    Few days back on a morning run, as I picked up the pace and gasped out a long breath, a cloud of smoke spread out in front of me making strange patterns.

    “So, we have finally reached the precipice of the festive season.” I thought to myself.

    Very soon, staying up till late night with a novel and a mug of steaming coffee will start holding a special charm. The season of long, frigid nights and lazy, misty mornings when snuggling in the irresistibly warm blanket becomes the only response to a screaming alarm clock. There are late night walks and smoky breaths and contemplation over strange things, you never got time to think about or you yourself chose to stay indifferent though you were not! The season will wind up in mere twelve weeks and soon all that’s left will be… just memories.

    Happy Winter!

  • The Childhood’s December

    Yes, I remember

    that childhood’s December.

    When in shivering setting evenings,

    sunshine would crawl down the back-yard wall.

    The aroma of burning coal,

    and on my rashed cheeks

    the frozen tear-drops making lines.

    Seeing the freezing fog of clouds

    Mother would call us standing in the door

    and we would all rush to our homes,

    carrying those dirty marbles.

    I’d look at the night sky

    and secretly pray for the snowfall,

    and in the early morning

    pick up the starry flakes of falling snow in the yard,

    gazing the snow-pouring sky

    and imagining to be flying with those flakes.

    Then you came…and the childhood’s December passed.

    Then for hours under that crawling cold sunshine,

    in those shivering setting evenings,

    i kept decorating myself

    with silvery snow tumbling from the sky

    to catch your single glimpse,

    and on that white sheet of Earth

    all my foot-marks

    came to your door.

    Then that December passed too.

    And look…i am still standing at the same corner of the street.

    Shivering setting evening is there too

    but golden sunlight doesn’t slither down.

    Time seems to have stopped.

    The snow flakes in my hair,

    though pouring silver

    can’t make them wet.

    What a strange snowy evening this is

    whose frost can’t freeze my tears.

    The smoke of that burning coal

    tickles eyes,

    but has lost its aroma.

    And look, the door of my home stands open but

    Mother’s call is lost somewhere.

    Why are all the roads to your house

    so desolate?

    How different this snowy evening is from my childhood’s december!

    Hashim Nadeem

    (Hashim Nadeem’s “Bachpan ka December” translated by me)

  • A Walk Down The Memory Lane

    The hot summer of Islamabad has become pleasant with a recent downpour, also the harbinger of the onset of a much-longed-for monsoon. Being alone in the hostel, far away from home and attending a not-so-important-but-still-a-good-excuse-to-stay-away-when-things-are-not-that-good-at-home workshop, in an extremely hot weather backed up by frequent power-outs is as uncool as it sounds. Anyway, with the recent change in weather the nights have become much more charming and broad black and well lit roads of NUST more inviting for a light stroll after the dinner. When you have spent a day doing absolutely nothing just willing to curl up into a ball and roll away into far-off meadows, you can’t just miss this opportunity to have a time-out from your seemingly meaningless life.

    When I started with it, I did not have the least idea that this apparently aimless stroll will turn into a walk down the memory lane – one of the many things in my life i have always longed for but thought i didn’t have time for. Mud-scented breeze, long smooth black road, yellow street lights and the darkness all around cast a spell on me and memories came rushing…And by the time i came back, i had lived my life all over again. I wondered why keeping aside my pen and books for a while had been so difficult for me for so long, making me miss out on some tremendously fascinating things around me and within.

    Funny enough, my desire to get some peace was destroyed by two chatter-boxes, we normally refer to as ladies, following me down the road. Thinking it to be utterly useless to expect them to respect my wish, I hastened away till I found myself in the quiet once again. On my way, I came to the highest point in NUST from where entire Islamabad and Pindi looks like a scene from some Van-Gogh painting. The rusty, creaky suzukis, noisy smoldering buses, yellow taxis which have turned gray due to the grime and smoke, on a far-off highway seemed like playful fire-flies flying after each other as if playing pakram pakrai. In short, the world seemed much more beautiful than the one I and most of us are familiar with.

    Now look, engineering  or medical is hard and the fact that you are studying this at NUST makes it even harder – I understand. Sometimes you don’t get the marks you think you deserved; sometimes you miss the deadline of an important assignment or a project; sometimes your friends don’t understand you or you don’t understand yourself; sometimes you wake up in the morning with absolutely nothing to look forward to, to crawl out of your bed – no matter how tough it seems; no matter how big a failure you think you are, just give yourself a chance before starting to hate yourself – yes, try a walk down the memory lane. And i bet you will realize so many wonderful things about yourself which you have long forgotten in the daily grind.You will learn to let go of some things clinging onto whom has only been a nightmare for you for so long and help you see the highway of your life as if from the highest point in NUST – all playful fire-flies… 🙂