Hospitality and security have been the bywords in the ongoing “Dil Jeeto Series”, and I got a taste of both during the first day of my visit to Pakistan.
It was the hospitality of the locals to the visitors I experienced first.
Clueless to what awaited me in Lahore I entered Pakistan with a quick wave and a nod through at the immigration at the Allama Iqbal Airport.
Despite prior arrangements and a host of problems to be sorted out, I ventured out with trepidation toward the gates that would officially mark my first visit to Pakistan.
Just at the gates I turned back, and a kindly PIA attendant seeing my indecision, stepped up and said: “Sirji, can I be of any help,” in a nasal Punjabi twang.
And before I could stutter out a reply, he went on “I know you are here for cricket.
” Yes, I replied telling him that I was not sure whether somebody had come to receive me.
“You can use the office phone, call him,” he said.
I rang up my contact who assured me that he had sent his colleague to meet me.
Reassured I stepped out.
I scanned the crowd of eager faces while slowly moving on. As my heart sank thinking that the person had not arrived, an elderly man came out and asked, “Are you Ram?”
From then it was smooth sailing.
He had already been instructed to my needs and in quick sequence booked my ticket to Multan, took me to the PCB headquarters for my pass, only to find that my pass had already left for Multan without me and would be waiting for me there.
He then took me to the Online news agencies bureau chief Sohail Shereyar, who was my point man in Lahore.
He then got me connected and hooked my Laptop up with the Net.
With just hours for me to take the bus to Multan, we went to Laxmi Chowk in the night, where the hustle and bustle was unique.
This is the road where the eateries thrive.
From restaurants to the roadside vendor, all vied for custom.
And was it busy.
Family members dashed to counters to either order or for their takeaways, bringing memories of the Bombay bylanes where a near repeat fare can be witnessed.
Chilly was in the air as the unique aroma of this chowk wafted toward me.
The puris, chholes and the variety of meat dishes sparked a steady stream of buyers.
But it was the unique spellings that took the cake.
A street vendor had chalked up an ambitious menu, with a painted board “Vend Aloo”. After hazarding a guess I found out that fare was none other than Vindaloo, lending a unique color to the place.
Colorful are the autorickshaws too, and I took one to the Daewoo Express bus stand.
It was high-octane drive literally.
The freewheeling driver was in a veritable race with the others.
The loquacious Ashfaque took the three-wheeler, which had a high perch with a cylinder of gas below, at high speeds through the roads of Lahore to the depot.
In between his actions of being my guide and directing a hurtling vehicle with fervor, I just hung on to my laptop and dear life.
And it was a veritable nightmare getting out in a hurry when the vehicle came to rest.
After taking my ticket from the counter I got the real look into the security that is being imposed.
As the people began getting into the bus for Multan, heavily armed securitymen frisked us, checked our baggage and told us to get in.
When I thought that was all, I was mistaken.
Before the bus pulled out, another videotaped all passengers one by one, and I managed to say cheese when the lens turned on me.
It was all a replica of a flight, only this time we rolled to our destination instead of flying.
A hostess welcomed us, ran the road plan by us and then told our ETA.
Then fed us a snack as the Daewoo Express came to a stop outside Lahore.
The same security drill, minus the frisking, was conducted with our securitymen Muhammad Ilyas giving us all the cold eye before slowly walking to the back of the bus where his seat was.
Even the Fasten Your Seatbelt Sign flashed bore us, in the form of a large hoarding as we moved out, reminding me of the small sign that blinks and warns us in the plane.
The bus driver Akram paced the bus to a fine run as he brought us to the Sahiwal stop exactly on time — 3. 30.
As we stretched our legs, the stillness of the night was broken by the rhythmic tattoo on the track as two trains whizzed by.
We got back onto the bus and once gain I was left looking at the steady stream of headlights on the opposite lanes alternate with a stretch of darkness. This was proving better than counting sheep or the program on super sheep and other wacky feats of strength and endurance beamed on the small TV overhead to the sleeping passengers.
I just nodded off to be woken up on arrival in Multan.
Time 6. 05 on the dot.
There was another dose of security and another round of hospitality as strangers nodded and smiled, welcoming me.
Now with the Tests beginning in earnest and the “Dils” having been won, both the teams will be concentrating on one word in the series — “Jeeto” — while I continue to enjoy the hospitality.
