Blog entry written mostly from the side of the road on April 3, 2015.
This is as close as I'll ever get to real-time motorcycle diaries. As the road rushes beneath my feet and wind hits my face while cruising around town with Da Bang (my beloved motorbike), oxygen blasts through my lungs and thoughts race through my mind. I decided to try something new and pull over to a safe spot on the side of the road anytime there was anything worth documenting for a blog entry. I pulled over at least a dozen times in writing this blog.
Reflections on Courage
Lahore's cobweb of roads and motorways are at last imprinting pathways into my memory. What seemed to be an intimidating sprawling metropolis of under-lit roads and impatient drivers now feels like a tranquil sea of vehicles and drivers making their way through the world. I pull over across the road from the Data Durbar Complex, one of the oldest Muslim shrines in South Asia. Its enchanting architecture and immense crowds have an inexplicable allure for me each time I pass by, but I have always chosen to ride on. Not this time.
Data Durbar is a Sufi shrine, a monument dedicated to what is known to be the mystical or psycho-spiritual dimension of Islam. I park Da Bang at a lot separated from the shrine by a road with a non-stop torrent of pedestrian-ignorant traffic. How hypocritical is it that I feel so vulnerable to the flow of traffic when traversing it with my feet, yet I feel so invincible when on a motorcycle with a tank of combustible fuel straddled between my legs.
When in Rome, do as the locals do. I pace across the road with someone who looks like he actually knew what he was doing before arriving at an old market street jammed with curious metal vats of food and trinket shops along the walls of the shrine.
Heavily armed guards stand watch on top of watchtowers and behind barricades of concrete. I remind myself that the guns are there to protect me, not knowing until later researching this shrine that a suicide attack in 2010 killed 50 and wounded another 200 because the Taliban amounts Sufi practices to grave worshiping.
Metal barriers. Barbed wire tracing the tops of walls. Four rounds of extensive full body padding and metal detection checks. The last guard asks where I am from. China, my alibi of choice in this part of the world. He comes in and gives me a huge hug, a warm smile, and welcomes me to the shrine. There are times I absolutely love Chinese foreign direct investment.
The inside of the shrine is a completely different world from the one outside of it. Bright white walls deafen the sound of the madness of the streets, creating a serene feeling of peace and calm. Tall white minarets pierce ambitiously upwards, grasping confidently into the brightly lit Lahore night sky. Painted green domes hold meaning in a religion I have yet to understand, but they do look gorgeous.
Circles of friends join each other in prayers, social updates and laughter. Teenagers sneak in selfies where photos are otherwise prohibited. Their more respectable counterparts silently face the front of the shrine, offering prayers to their God and seeking the deepest reaches of their spiritual practice.
The shrine's walls are full of people teeming with curiosity about a foreigner in their midst. Is he Afghani? Who is he? Friend, do you know the history of the place? Why would you come here if you don't? Well, I'm glad you decided to come and visit.
I stand in compete awe of the peaceful tranquility and the magnificence of the shrine's ambitious architecture. This wasn't the Pakistan I had learned to fear as I grew up in my society.
I reflect on the notion of courage. When I was assigned to a field placement in Pakistan, I took a leap of faith to believe that there must be something in the country beyond what the media portrayed it to be. However, I don't feel I was being courageous when I signed on the dotted line. Nor when I hopped on the motorbike. Nor when I hopped off the motorbike and cross an unforgiving stream of traffic. Nor when I decided to visit the shrine despite obvious security risks.
I felt real courage when I accepted that I could be wrong. I had to look deep within and accept that my perceptions of the country were wrong, and that a man with a beard and a gun could possibly be a friend, not an extremist. When I did so, and stared my own ugly prejudice of the world straight in the face, I felt scared yet brave at seeing that which I did not want to see within myself. Courage is to accept the possibility that there is a whole paradigm out there beyond what I know, accept and believe.
The question I keep hearing from others is why aren't there more counter-narratives which go against the norm? My question I am now asking myself is where can we find the courage use these counter-narratives to look within and change our beliefs of the world?
Enough philosophy... motorcycle fun time!
As I frantically jot down my thoughts into words before they become fleeting whispers in my mind, a sedan starts backing into me. Locals come rushing over, banging furiously on the sedan's trunk to stop the driver from scratching up Da Bang. I thank them for their help and ride on.
I discover that the real treat of the evening is cruising the tight alleyways of Lahore's walled city. Much of the wall has been dismantled, its bricks re-purposed to provide shelter for the local residents. However, the walled city has retained its charm and is truly like stepping into a blast from the past.
Even at 11pm, the old city is teeming with life. Narrow lanes are characteristically jam packed with shops, restaurants, donkeys, vehicles and people. Billiards tables are squeezed brilliantly in the tightest confines as teens idle away their Friday evening over a game of 8 ball. The gradient of the walled city left me careening through some lanes downhill while flooring it against steep uphill curves in others. Each and every intersection spells adventure. The left turn here looks interesting. Now the right turn is more lively, I wonder where that music is coming from. Some lanes are well lit and busy while others hauntingly beautiful as my HID lights paint streaks of shadow across the dark and ancient urban landscape.
I blaze through the walled city, evading people and vehicles in what amounts to skiing through a moving forest. My dexterity and spatial awareness, at the very brink of their limitations, are the only thing stopping unsuspecting pedestrians from receiving a light tap on the elbow from the side mirrors of Da Bang. It is the ultimate urban adventure.
I emerge from the other end of the walled city as though I just surfaced from an incredible scuba dive. My adrenaline dies down and I am left with a feeling of familiarity in this fascinating city of over 10 million people.
I made it home after midnight. Poor Iqbal, our office caretaker, locked the gate and I had to wake him up to let me in. The man deserves an award for being so happy to see me every time I ask him for something, even if I'm waking him up in the middle of the night.
This is as close as I'll ever get to real-time motorcycle diaries. As the road rushes beneath my feet and wind hits my face while cruising around town with Da Bang (my beloved motorbike), oxygen blasts through my lungs and thoughts race through my mind. I decided to try something new and pull over to a safe spot on the side of the road anytime there was anything worth documenting for a blog entry. I pulled over at least a dozen times in writing this blog.
Reflections on Courage
Lahore's cobweb of roads and motorways are at last imprinting pathways into my memory. What seemed to be an intimidating sprawling metropolis of under-lit roads and impatient drivers now feels like a tranquil sea of vehicles and drivers making their way through the world. I pull over across the road from the Data Durbar Complex, one of the oldest Muslim shrines in South Asia. Its enchanting architecture and immense crowds have an inexplicable allure for me each time I pass by, but I have always chosen to ride on. Not this time.
Data Durbar is a Sufi shrine, a monument dedicated to what is known to be the mystical or psycho-spiritual dimension of Islam. I park Da Bang at a lot separated from the shrine by a road with a non-stop torrent of pedestrian-ignorant traffic. How hypocritical is it that I feel so vulnerable to the flow of traffic when traversing it with my feet, yet I feel so invincible when on a motorcycle with a tank of combustible fuel straddled between my legs.
When in Rome, do as the locals do. I pace across the road with someone who looks like he actually knew what he was doing before arriving at an old market street jammed with curious metal vats of food and trinket shops along the walls of the shrine.
Heavily armed guards stand watch on top of watchtowers and behind barricades of concrete. I remind myself that the guns are there to protect me, not knowing until later researching this shrine that a suicide attack in 2010 killed 50 and wounded another 200 because the Taliban amounts Sufi practices to grave worshiping.
Metal barriers. Barbed wire tracing the tops of walls. Four rounds of extensive full body padding and metal detection checks. The last guard asks where I am from. China, my alibi of choice in this part of the world. He comes in and gives me a huge hug, a warm smile, and welcomes me to the shrine. There are times I absolutely love Chinese foreign direct investment.
The inside of the shrine is a completely different world from the one outside of it. Bright white walls deafen the sound of the madness of the streets, creating a serene feeling of peace and calm. Tall white minarets pierce ambitiously upwards, grasping confidently into the brightly lit Lahore night sky. Painted green domes hold meaning in a religion I have yet to understand, but they do look gorgeous.
Circles of friends join each other in prayers, social updates and laughter. Teenagers sneak in selfies where photos are otherwise prohibited. Their more respectable counterparts silently face the front of the shrine, offering prayers to their God and seeking the deepest reaches of their spiritual practice.
The shrine's walls are full of people teeming with curiosity about a foreigner in their midst. Is he Afghani? Who is he? Friend, do you know the history of the place? Why would you come here if you don't? Well, I'm glad you decided to come and visit.
I stand in compete awe of the peaceful tranquility and the magnificence of the shrine's ambitious architecture. This wasn't the Pakistan I had learned to fear as I grew up in my society.
I reflect on the notion of courage. When I was assigned to a field placement in Pakistan, I took a leap of faith to believe that there must be something in the country beyond what the media portrayed it to be. However, I don't feel I was being courageous when I signed on the dotted line. Nor when I hopped on the motorbike. Nor when I hopped off the motorbike and cross an unforgiving stream of traffic. Nor when I decided to visit the shrine despite obvious security risks.
I felt real courage when I accepted that I could be wrong. I had to look deep within and accept that my perceptions of the country were wrong, and that a man with a beard and a gun could possibly be a friend, not an extremist. When I did so, and stared my own ugly prejudice of the world straight in the face, I felt scared yet brave at seeing that which I did not want to see within myself. Courage is to accept the possibility that there is a whole paradigm out there beyond what I know, accept and believe.
The question I keep hearing from others is why aren't there more counter-narratives which go against the norm? My question I am now asking myself is where can we find the courage use these counter-narratives to look within and change our beliefs of the world?
Enough philosophy... motorcycle fun time!
As I frantically jot down my thoughts into words before they become fleeting whispers in my mind, a sedan starts backing into me. Locals come rushing over, banging furiously on the sedan's trunk to stop the driver from scratching up Da Bang. I thank them for their help and ride on.
I discover that the real treat of the evening is cruising the tight alleyways of Lahore's walled city. Much of the wall has been dismantled, its bricks re-purposed to provide shelter for the local residents. However, the walled city has retained its charm and is truly like stepping into a blast from the past.
Even at 11pm, the old city is teeming with life. Narrow lanes are characteristically jam packed with shops, restaurants, donkeys, vehicles and people. Billiards tables are squeezed brilliantly in the tightest confines as teens idle away their Friday evening over a game of 8 ball. The gradient of the walled city left me careening through some lanes downhill while flooring it against steep uphill curves in others. Each and every intersection spells adventure. The left turn here looks interesting. Now the right turn is more lively, I wonder where that music is coming from. Some lanes are well lit and busy while others hauntingly beautiful as my HID lights paint streaks of shadow across the dark and ancient urban landscape.
I blaze through the walled city, evading people and vehicles in what amounts to skiing through a moving forest. My dexterity and spatial awareness, at the very brink of their limitations, are the only thing stopping unsuspecting pedestrians from receiving a light tap on the elbow from the side mirrors of Da Bang. It is the ultimate urban adventure.
I emerge from the other end of the walled city as though I just surfaced from an incredible scuba dive. My adrenaline dies down and I am left with a feeling of familiarity in this fascinating city of over 10 million people.
I made it home after midnight. Poor Iqbal, our office caretaker, locked the gate and I had to wake him up to let me in. The man deserves an award for being so happy to see me every time I ask him for something, even if I'm waking him up in the middle of the night.
Even with electricity shortages, Lahore still makes a spectacular effort to look gorgeous at night
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