Last summer Brad stayed in his friend Farhad's "guest house," a concept unclear to me then, but very clear now. Farhad's working on his house now, and the guest house is filled with construction material, so we can't stay there, but Brad said, "Siraj said we can stay at his place." Brad had mentioned his friend Siraj before, and I always enjoy meeting Brad's friends. The picture in my mind was of a guest house like those we'd visited in Booni, and Brad knew that would be my expectation. He set me up. It turns out Siraj's “place” is a 4-star hotel. Brad must have enjoyed the look on my face when that finally dawned on me as we drove into the parking lot and were met by a uniformed attendant.
After the rock strewn drive from Booni we had reached Chitral town, driven past the airport, then up a winding road, getting occasional glimpses of the city below as we went higher. And then, after one more turn, we arrived at this magnificent hotel overlooking the city. One night at this hotel costs the same as three weeks in Booni, and while it's easy to compare prices, there's no way to compare the experiences. What a treat to have beautiful surroundings, delicious food, and efficient, attentive staff, not to mention clean sheets, hot running water, a western toilet, and an absence of mice, among other things. From the balcony of our room we could look down at the city below, look ahead into the valley, and look up to the mountains for as far as we could see.
We had dinner that night and breakfast the next morning with Siraj, as his guests. Brad has given tips and tandem flights to local paraglider pilots, and he's also been touting Pakistan as a desirable place to visit and fly. I think Siraj, who used to fly but doesn't now, appreciates Brad's efforts to promote the sport and the country, and our stay was a result of that appreciation.
As superb as the trappings were, even more memorable for me was meeting and talking with Siraj and his father. Siraj is a very interesting man and a gracious host, and it was a great pleasure to meet and talk with him. But his father is remarkable.
Siraj's father, whose title actually is Prince Khushwaqt Ulmulk, is 95. He was the governor of Mastuj when Chitral was a kingdom under his father, Sir Shuja Ulmulk, the last Mehtar (ruler) of this region. His hearing and eyesight have faded, but his mind is sharp, and it's a joy to be in his presence.
He has a positive outlook and an almost constant smile. He's up to date on current events, and he remembers the past clearly. He spoke easily of the present and the past. "The British," he said, "tried to stop us from doing two things: having so many children and killing each other." He laughed when he said it.He told about the first car in the district, an Austin his father had sent from Peshawar. The car had to be disassembled, carried in parts over a pass, and reassembled in Chitral. At our breakfast conversation he was asked if the car was brought over after a particular bridge had been built. "No," he answered without hesitation, "It came the year before, in 1928." That means, that at age 95, he remembers a sequence of events that occurred nearly 80 years ago, when he was a teenager. What an incredible mind to go along with his positive spirit.
Explaining his father's sharp mind and positive spirit, Siraj said that for 45 years his father kept a diary, noting events of the day, people he talked with and things discussed. Each morning started with a positive quote, maybe from the Bible, Buddhist writings, or wherever else he chose, and throughout the day he tried to focus on the quote and put it into practice. Limited eyesight ended his daily diary, but it hasn't diminished his mind and spirit.
Siraj said that when asked what the most important thing is for living a long and happy life, his father says it's "forgiving, always forgiving." Then he explains that you can't practice peace or being peaceful if you hold onto resentment. Wow. What truth. I look forward to talking more with him on my return in June.
After breakfast Siraj, Brad, and Siraj's driver, took me to the airport. As we said goodbye Siraj said, "Thank you for being a guest in our hotel." We laughed because he was quoting from my story the night before of what Shahida had said to us in Booni.
After over 5 weeks in Pakistan it was time for me to leave. It had been a great time. Brad and I had been together for most of every day, and it had gone great. There were lots of time when things went very well, and sometimes we specifically acknowledged it ("This is so cool!" or "Damn, this is great" of something like that) and sometimes we didn't say anything. There had been other times when things were not ideal (like getting dragged on launch, or missing a bus, or something), but even at some of those times I had looked Brad in the eye and said, "Brad, I love the journey!" and had meant it. Damn, I'm lucky!
We said goodbye, hugged, and I went through security. My journal entry says our goodbye was "wonderful/emotional, Very Present, Peaceful, Joyous!" Yep, that's right.
After security was the waiting room. The Chitral airport is small, and so was the waiting room. A couple women had gone through security just before me, but they weren't there. It turns out there's a separate waiting room for women, just one of those thinks you don't think about till you experience it.
Anyway, it was nice to just sit, relax, and ponder some of the memories of the last weeks. My thoughts were broken when a man who'd been sitting nearby came up to me and said, "Are you Brad's father?" I nodded. "I just talked to him on the phone," he said. Brad met Gohar in May and offered him a tandem flight. Gohar was interested, but hesitant. When his wife expressed her concern he decided not to fly, but he and Brad had kept in touch. Brad saw Gohar go through security and phoned him. We chatted, then parted when we boarded the plane.
My scheduled flight was directly to Islamabad, where Fasal, the guy who took me from the bus to the plane before, would meet me and take me to the bus for my trip to Lahore. Brad had also given me some magazines to give to Fasal. The direct Chitral-Islamabad flight was canceled, however, and replaced with one that was Chitral-Peshawar-Islamabad. That was no problem for me. We landed in Peshawar and were walking across the tarmac to the terminal when Gohar came walking back to me holding out his cell phone. "It's for you," he said. It's funny to think of it, my first time in Peshawar, a city not even on my itinerary, and here's a guy with a call for me.
Of course it was Brad. He couldn't reach Fasal, so he gave me a number for Jabbar, another paragliding friend. He'd meet me, get the magazines, and take me to the bus station. It all worked out fine. Jabbar's a recently retired army doctor, and in the car I him about Brad's high flights and asked him about oxygen. He was knowledgeable and unwavering. My journal says, "He thinks a person flying at those altitudes should have oxygen available. TELL BRAD!"
2 comments:
Gr8 job my bro !!!!!!!!!!!
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