The wheel turns

Being something of a curmudgeon when it comes to things like Christmas and New Year’s celebrations, I was all set to be Uncle Grumpy as usual, but ‘twas not to be. For the first time in many years, my scattered family were in the same country, on the same continent and at the same time. Having spent the last two Christmases completely alone having given the domestic staff days off, I had to reboot the Christmas Spirit, dig out the tree and the decorations and the twinkly lights, think about buying gifts and generally get myself in gear for a festive fling.

To the astonishment of everybody, myself included, it all went remarkably well. Nobody fought over anything, the power was on for most of the day as was the gas, and we did not have to cook on a sticks-fire in the garden as anticipated. I bought the Missus one of those gizmos that go on the dash of the car and hook up to a satellite and tell you where in the world you are. There was further astonishment when we discovered that it worked. Our youngest got her first tablet PC and was instantly glued to the Candy Crush Saga, our oldest got the clothes she wanted and I got a set of teeny-tiny tools to use when I am building scale models. We ate lots of chocolate, watched too many cartoon films and all retired to bed quietly satisfied and probably suffering a collective cholesterol overdose.

Everybody dispersed to weddings and visiting half-forgotten relatives, leaving me in peace for a couple of days. There was nothing in the diary for New Year’s partying and I was expecting to spend the year’s turn quietly at home with a book and a film or two. Things did not quite turn out that way.

A call on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve opened the door to an evening unlike any I have had for many a year and a snapshot of the very best of Pakistan. The images are still flicking through my head as this is typed.

There was a small gathering at the home of a couple of close friends. There was a bonfire and snacks and happy chatter and there was dancing, dancing like I have not seen for a very long time. The villagers whose homes abut the house we were foregathered at began a slow elegant circular dance to the tune of bagpipes and drum. Long shadows were cast as the scene was lit by car headlamps. The dance gradually got faster and faster, sticks were banged together rhythmically, the men — and women — dipped and swooped in perfect unison. My hosts assured me that this was all unrehearsed, though it was clear that the dancers were not doing this for the first time in their lives.

Fireworks went off, the walls danced along with the figures as the shadows were printed on them, firelight made faces bright on one side and inky black on the other. Hundred-rupee notes were brushed on the heads of the dancers who eventually called a halt and settled into a huddle to listen to more music and watch how the other half of the party danced — which was with considerably less elegance, it has to be said.

The year turned to thunderous bangers and popping balloons and hugs and friendly wishes. To my amazement, several of the older village women came and shook my hand and hugged as well. They had never set eyes on me before in their lives, but included me with a warmth and generosity of spirit that was both genuine and spontaneous. They sat for photographs, their faces lined in ways that spoke of a hard life, but they smiled gappy smiles and then it was time to go.

Travelling home through patchy mist that made driving… interesting, I reflected on my time in Pakistan, the highs and lows. There have been plenty of both. New Year Night 2014 was a high. Young and old, rich and poor, came together in a celebration as old as mankind. The year has turned, the days will lengthen and a jewel just got added to the memory bank.

Published in The Express Tribune, January 2^nd, 2014.

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