God Damnit!

Walking into a restaurant is no less harrowing here in Lahore than walking into a courtroom would be. People just stop. They stop whatever they were doing, conversations get paused, and bites are abandoned in mid air. Often the mouth remains ajar in anticipation of the morsel it’s been denied.

And their eyes bulge, some narrow, depending on whatever expression the particular diner has learned to associate with scrutinizing glares. It doesn’t matter what gender best describes you, you may as well be a naked blonde even if you actually are a burly obese 8 year old boy dressed in mismatched Bermuda shorts and a superman t-shirt.

I suppose it’s flattering, to some extent. What with all one has to do is breach a threshold to commandeer the rapt attention of every face in the house.

Attention and scrutiny. Witness a few upturned noses as your choice of contrasting black with khaki bombs with a horde of fat old women wearing too much make up and not enough clothes to mercifully cover the bulging gobs of meat suffocating their triceps. Or the middle aged bearded fellow in the green turban who will scowl immediately at you just so you are discouraged form ogling the sister or daughter or wife he has sitting with him while his expression immediately turns from over bearing protection to over powering lechery as he eyes your considerably yummier date.

I guess its human nature to be curious. But civilized people have learned to craft their mannerisms so that the curiosity is abated without being discourteous or out right offensive. I hate to use America of all places here as basis for comparison, because, well it’s being run by a monkey. But the people there, in respectable places at least, have the simple decency to not stare and ogle, but look up, nod, pass a welcoming smile and get back to their business within the span of 2 seconds. While here, your every move is followed all the way to your table. And only once everyone around has memorized the sway of your date’s hips beneath her trousers and determined your weight, height, social standing, expected life span, zodiac sign, father’s name, mother’s role in your life… essentially a whole lot more than there really is to you on that particular night when you just want to have a quiet, introspective night out with some one you think you can connect with. But no. Unless these dining vultures see some blushing they do not relent. I suspect, even blushing does nothing to appease their insatiable inquisitiveness and they continue to judge you until they have managed to convince their pompous egos that they are in fact better than you. That they chose a better color combination, better shoes, better perfume, better life… They ravage you with their gazes until they find themselves convinced that even this new entry to the throng of average humanity that has already been adjudged as lesser efforts by the Almighty poses no threat to their own illusions of greatness. They cannot be content simply in the company of whoever they are with, or enjoy the quality of the food which somehow manages to be exceptional no matter where I go out to eat in Lahore, and considerably declines the farther you move out of the venerable city’s borders.

At first, fresh of the boat from my foreign sojourn, I found myself intimidated by this serious breach of etiquette on the part of my fellow human beings. But gradually I began to realize that my family and friends were no more affected by it than they were by the murderous mosquitoes that seemed ravenous for every last ounce of my blood. They took it in stride. Heck they didn’t even seem to notice. I however found myself unable to dismiss the inquisition the relentless stares implied. So I decided to fight fire with fire. As soon as I would step through the door, I would widen my eyes and shoot back equally upsetting looks. I studied their pattern, it is frighteningly uniform across the board, irrespective of who renders these looks, all follow a similar prototype. First the focus on your face, then slowly the pupils dip downwards along the length of your body, taking in every inch of fabric you managed to clothe yourself in. Then back up, as if to confirm their disapproval. And then they just affix to whatever anomaly they find must disturbing about you and chase your path to your table. Since I am but one man, at visual war with a hall full of people, I had to move from enemy to enemy, staring them down until they would avert their gaze or get lost in the progression from group to group.

But today, at Gymkhana, the blatant hypocrisy of people became brutally clear to me, rendering my plan of action disadtrous. When a senile old uncle with fake, painted hair found himself so disturbed at my staring back at him that he actually got up from the table and shouted at me.

“Tumhain sharam nae atee?” He yelled

Taken aback, I almost believed he was chastising a waiter somewhere around where I stared back at him from, but alas there was no one but me and the lady I was escorting to dinner. My preemptive strike stare turned to a look of puzzled shock as he huffed and puffed his way over to us.

“Are you talking to me, Sir?” I asked as politely as I could, totally baffled by this turn of events.

“ziada angrezi mat jharo, beghairat insaan, larkioon ko tartay ho? Jeena haram kar diya hai is mulk mien tum jaisay lafangoon nay!” Spit flew from his mouth which thankfully missed my face and landed on some poor souls plate of baked fish.

Aghast, I dared to pass an eye over to the old man’s table to see exactly what helpless damsels he was accusing me off raping with my eyes and saw none but two discomfortingly older women seated there in shiny bright clothes.

“Nae uncle aap ko ghalat fehmi hue hai, who tow meri ami kee umar kee hain, I was.. mien tow sirf khali table dhoond raha tha.” I managed to say dredging up all the charm I could muster in the barrage of confused blabber and spit missiles being hurled at me.

“Bakwaas!” He bellowed. “Apni bhehan baition ko ghar say nikaalna azab kar diya hai tum jaisay larkoon nay”

Behn, fine! Daughters, no way!! They both looked well beyond their prime, and bore evidence of homeliness even during their prime, I wondered even if 20 odd years younger, they would have been the kind of women that would make me abandon my general good manners for a more detailed second look. No, I concluded, not a chance. But to him I said:

“Dekhain jee,, mien mazrat khua hoon, mera katan aap ko disturb karnay ka irada nahin tha, besides these ladies are no where near the kind of women who need fear being ogled by discerning young men, aap kham kha ghusay ho rahay hain please have a seat and enjoy your meal.” I’m sure there was a hint of impatience this time around because its one thing to be wrongfully accused, and another thing to be condemned as well.

“Wat you think? I know no Eenglish? You think I stupid?” I had distinct memories of Inzimam back in the 96 world cup accepting a man of the match award. “You look dirty at my wooman. I Taak to manayger, you go or I go. No bill no food. No baadtameez boies ghooring my woman.” As much trouble as I had trying to decipher this new take on English, I couldn’t for the love of god, control the laughter bubbling in my stomach.

As a smile began to form on my lips, thankfully my eloquent assailant stormed off to find the ‘manayger’. Quickly I turned to my companion and was horrified to see the accusation in her eyes aimed squarely at me. Before I could even launch into an explanation, she turned red. For the first time ever I saw a blush form. Sadly, it wasn’t the blush that leads to a good nigh kiss; instead it was one that leads to a broken date. Borne of humiliation rather than coyness, the red of her cheeks spelt doom for our night out.

For the first time I took a surveying glance around the room and found not a single eye affixed on me, instead I saw people murmuring and giggling but always looking away, being embarrassed on my behalf.

Before the old man could return with the manager, I found myself walking out the door of the restaurant. Although I was determined to stay the course just to prove my innocence, but it would have been in extremely poor tastes not to follow my fuming date on her trot to the outside. .

As my struggle to apologize to her for a crime I hadn’t committed and redeem the night fizzled, I began to realize that she really wasn’t worth the effort anyway. For all its worth, I would expect whoever I was out with to be on my side. So I relented and finally dropped her off unfed and humiliated. Any feeling of remorse however was absent, which I suppose added to her anger and frustration, women just like being apologized to for some reason. While I find it very hard to do so, even if I should.

In any event, the night ended with my grabbing a burger at a customer less drive up joint, having to contend merely with the stares of the numerous beggars hanging around.

And as I surrender myself to a fitful sleep tonight, I find myself bemused more than anything else. Bemused and weary. Trying to figure out a new strategy to be employed for the battle with the staring diners. The popular tactic of ignorance seems to hold merit after all, even if it means essentially succumbing to the system instead of trying to change it. So be it, I suppose. Not my place to fix the world anyway.

But I comfort myself with reveries of electrifyingly brutal punishments being cast upon all the ogling patrons of Lahore eateries, and find a satisfied smile spread across my lips as I see an old, fake haired man being whipped to smithereens with fiery canes.