‘There is fog all around. Mom, shouldn’t I skip school
today?’ Murtaza stretched the sleeves of his sweater to rub the window.
‘Not at all! Turn on the heater and get ready in five
minutes,’ her mother approached the window after him.
‘This weather is not supposed to sit at home. I really adore
foggy December of Lahore, when the whole city wrapped in white mist like a
fairy land. People wrapped in warm shawls and coats appeared as ghosts from white smoke all around.Things are out of sight when
they are just a hand distance. A
mysterious murkiness shadowed all colors in ashen. A cup of coffee at any foggy
shade at evening and memories of past is a best combination to feel gratification
this miasma at Lahore,’ she tried to peep her garden which seemed overwhelm in
white blanket.
‘You know we bunk our lectures and squeezed in already
tightly packed noisy canteen of our girls college in this weather. This was the
only cozy place among wide airy rooms of Govt. College. Warm watery soup
following the frozen ice-lolly or slush, mustaches after taking a sip of hot
coffee…, oh how much we enjoyed every moment of this romantic weather?’
'And I tell you, your father left his bike at any corner and disappeared in the diminished foot paths of Jinnah garden when he was in medical college. He loved to roam alone in foggy gardens and to sing;
'And I tell you, your father left his bike at any corner and disappeared in the diminished foot paths of Jinnah garden when he was in medical college. He loved to roam alone in foggy gardens and to sing;
‘Bheega bheega sa
December hai,
bheegi bheegi si
tanhai hai
In kitabon may ji nhi
lagta, mujh ko …..
‘Be decent, your kids are grown up and you act like
teens. This poetry only works for those who enjoy fog from the large window of house
and don’t have to flee on road as driver. Do you have an idea how many accidents
occur in this weather? Fetch breakfast
hurry. We’ve to leave early,’ his father caught her mother at spot and
delivered a somber lecture in morning.
‘My romance is already flown with wind at your breaking
news,’ she murmured to herself.
‘What?’
‘Nothing, when your mother is arriving?’ she moved to
kitchen.
‘Bhai jan will pick her up by evening, I’ll be busy at
clinic,’ he mentioned his brother who lived next door.
‘Murtaza you call
Hassan to come on the gate. Act like a young boy and beat the weather,’ he at looked
at Murtaza who was shivering in front of heater.
‘I’m worried for mom, who is coming from Faisalabad on
bus. May she shun this fog and reach safe n sound,’ Hassan’s father broke the
news of coming of his mother very circumspectly.
‘Oh, dadu (grandmother) is coming,’ Hassan and Zeemal
tried to act excited in front of their mother. Their dadu was really a fusion
of modern and traditional styles.
The visibility was 0 meters on road then. The street
lights were on then. Murtaza’s father was
continuously rubbing the wind screen of his car. It was looking as he was
driving just on estimates as nothing was visible just the white sheet all
around. The road was busy with traffic in
spite of blindfold driving.
‘Open the window and checked how far the U-turn is?’
suddenly he asked Murtaza.
‘Oh, it’s too chilly outside. I think it’s almost there,’
a strong gust of cold air punch on his face. Hassan and Zeemal also got chilled
at back seat.
‘Don’t think. Tell me exact. I’m totally sightless,’ his
father stopped him from closing the window.
They covered a 15 minutes distance in almost 35 minutes
and gave cold reception to their school in hope that most teachers would be
absent but sorry to say all were there to wind them up. ‘My mom didn’t tell
what she did in school during fog?’
‘Off course, enjoy peanuts and oranges,’ Hassan cracked
one peanut with big sound of ‘soooon…’ from his nose.
By the break they got slips of winter vacations.
‘Just a one week holiday that’s why I hate this school,’
Hassan reacted on the announcement of vacations.
‘The sun is luckier than us. Look its 12 pm and it is
absent yet. It’s too boring, what about a badminton match at ground,’ Murtaza
looked at his class mates.
‘We’re ready to have fun,’
‘I’m going to Malamjaba in these holidays to enjoy skiing
over there. Thanks god Pakistan has some place to really enjoy in winters,’ it
was Shireen who couldn’t forget showing off.
‘To enjoy skiing,’ Murtaza sneered at her.
‘It’s evening, your father hasn’t come back yet after
picking your grandmother,’ Hassan’s mother third time checked outside window.
‘It’s normal in fog days. Why are you worried? Hassan
calmly replied.
‘Mom has invited you all at Bar B Q,’ Murtaza crossed the
common garden of both houses; hardly peeping in dense white sheet covered all
atmosphere.
‘It was horrible but adventurous journey. No one knew we
were riding on road on in any field. There is a river or hill ahead. Actually I
reached here by floating sightless on white smoke in air,’ there dadu reached
about 7 pm and got annoyed on bar B Q invitation.
‘She also called me early from clinic as it’s the first
and last day of fog. The predictions are to continue this weather for at least
10 days ahead,’ Murtaza’s father met her mother and grumbled on her wife.
They all were enjoying Bar B Q at terrace when Murtaza
observed a pile of wood at one side. The full moon appeared powerless to breach
the ashen blanket to show its blow in fog. Murtaza picked the woods and arranged
them to show a born fire.
‘Thanks my son. Only you understand me,’ his mother got
excited.
‘You know in University…,’
‘Javeria!’ his father bunged her again.
‘Ok….,’ she started to mop all mess from terrace quietly.
Just then Zeemal brought guitar. This song is dedicated to my romantic foggy Lahore.
 |
| rhyme of fog and winter |
‘Then what about vanish in fog and a cup of coffee at
fortress stadium?’ after a pause Murtaza’s father looked at Javeria, rubbed his
hands and got up.
‘Then you drop us at ground. We may join the football
match there in fog lights,’ Hassan excitedly told his plan.
‘And I’m going to drive,’ Murtaza’s mother got excited.
‘No…,’ they all screamed together.