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photography Trains, darbars
and Lays "My wife and children are waiting for
me" By Enam Hasan Paris serves a great deal to tourists, lovers and artists from across the world. It is a vibrant city with a culture of perfumes, wines, fashion, monuments, arrogance and romance. But what surrounds this city of love and light is the existence of poor illegal migrants.
Bird show Hop of a Barking Deer, darts of Kalij Pheasants and flirt of a Whistler's Warbler… Bird shooting in Dara Janglan is quite an experience By Saad Qaisrani My friend Nausherwan and I decided to try our luck once
again at shooting bird pictures in Islamabad. So, we arranged for another
adventure in the hills. Dara Janglan trail has been our preferred spot since long, however the birdlife witnessed there has mostly been constant with sightings of rarities nearly never been made. We decided to try our luck at a different spot this time. The choices were narrowed down till we finally settled for the Faisal Mosque ravine for our endeavour into the hills in the pursuit of birds. That nature did not want us there; we would come to know of later on. Being the only persons in the hills could become dreary, so for that morning I asked two cousins of mine, Shahid Qaisrani and Shahbaz Qaisrani, to give us the pleasure of their company. To my good fortune they obliged and so we found the four of us heading into the hills early in the morning. Our stop was the Faisal Mosque, where we parked the
vehicle and ventured into the wilderness. That we were all new to this place
had its effects; half an hour into the hills and we turned back, finding not
a living soul in the dense jungle astride the ravine. A precious early
morning hour was thus wasted due to a faulty decision. The always-reliable track of Dara janglan was only a 15 minutes ride away and so we headed straight for it, without wasting any more time. If we wanted to get bird photographs, we had better hurry as time is a critical factor in finding them. Once at the parking spot, we were in for a surprise. Although we were late by all standards, there were no cars parked, meaning that trekkers had not disturbed the birds this morning. This was the first sign that the morning might be quite an eventful one. I have always heard people say that the early bird catches
the worm, but I have never had an experience of putting it to test. That this
idiom is not complete dawned on me on this morning, when out of the blue,
right at the start of the track we stumbled upon a lone Barking Deer. None of
us was prepared for such a rarity to show up, and so the joyously dancing
creature hopped right in front of our eyes from the open into the surrounding
jungle. By the time I could get the camera to work, it was too late and the
deer was all but gone. From here I realized, to catch a worm, you must not
only be an early bird but you also have to be ready for it! Could we have had a better start to the photography trip, I say yes we could. But could we want anything more from this trail, I suppose not. This deer was the first game animal larger than a hare that my two cousins and I had ever seen in our lives. For a nature lover, it was like the ultimate sighting. With such an auspicious start to the trek, our hopes suddenly shot up. However late we were, if not late for a deer, we weren't late for any of the birds either. As we moved on, we kept encountering the common Himalayan Bulbuls, Rusty-cheeked Scimitar Babblers and Black-chinned Babblers. We however were on the lookout for the more circumspect Kalij Pheasants, which were our first choice for shooting pictures. In a short while two females were sighted in the middle of the track, basking in the early morning sunshine. We managed to separate both, forcing one to make an attempted crossing of the track. The female emerged in such a way that no photograph could be had. After a short dart, the female disappeared for good in the surrounding forest. The forest astride this track is so dense that any attempt to take photographs of Kalij Pheasants in the woods is bound to fail. The only option left is to patiently wait for these fellows to cross the track, during which, for a short while, the birds are fully exposed. Things began to change for the better, when we came across a visibly hungry (or angry?) Rusty-cheeked Scimitar Babbler sternly picking at the ground. Now this is the only way one can get close enough to this fellow to get a picture, when it is busy elsewhere. If it's observing you from the forest canopy, it would never allow a picture, but while its busy searching for food (or insects to batter) you can have as many pictures as you like. And so we took a couple of pictures that bettered all our previous attempts. Kalij Pheasants in the meanwhile kept showing up inside the forest. We couldn't take pictures, but I got to introduce my cousins to this splendid creature, something they had never seen before. For them, as well as for Nausherwan, and me it was fun just looking at the 'Jangli Murghis' flee in all directions. Soon a Red-billed Leiothrix showed up, foraging in the middle canopy of the forest, at a height perfect for us to take its photographs. In no time a few shots of this little fellow were also bagged. Close to the water point, which is our last stop for bird photography, we caught sight of a little Whistler's Warbler. After the Barking Deer, this was the zenith of the day, for Whistler's Warblers have been recorded from Pakistan less than a dozen times before. To our good luck, the tiny fellow was quite tame and allowed close approaches. Luckily we shot a couple of pictures of one of the hardest birds to find in Pakistan. On our way back we came across a family party of Kalij Pheasants once more. A few pictures were taken, but because of the adverse sunlight conditions on the way back, we couldn't get the perfect one once again. The bird shooting finally ended with a few pictures of a lone White-throated Fantail, another bird with a restricted occurrence in Pakistan. Near the parking lot we encountered young college lads heading into the trail for what I presume would be a hike in the hills. Nice place it was to be for the lads, but I wonder if any of them too would get to see and be able to cherish the hop of a Barking Deer, the darts of Kalij Pheasants and the flirt of a Whistler's Warbler. The last piece by the writer (dated Jan 3, 2010) underwent volte face mutations; somehow 'shots taken' became 'shots fired' and the writer and his friend Nausherwan were transformed from casual bird photographers into gun-totting bird hunters. What happened? It was probably a perfect case of misinterpreting the writing. The error is regretted -- Editor
On a memorable school trip to Bahawalpur, boys get awestruck by the city's grandeur By Raja Mohammad Sultan Mahmood "I can help organise a trip to Bahawalpur for the
boys", the principal Aitchison College spoke to me and the head of
Biology Department, Dr. Huma Izhar. We both immediately agreed to the
principal's cordial offer. Madam Izhar and I finalised the details with the principal. Luckily, the principal of Sadiq Public School (SPS) was gracious enough to facilitate us with accommodation and food. The departure day came. In high spirits, we left the school for the railway station. A few of us were travelling on a Pakistani train for the first time. We all wanted to use air as our means of transport. Our principal however was adamant that we take the train -- not due to financial reasons, but because the train journey would be a relatively different experience for us all. Our contingent of 24 boys and four staff members found the quality of the train to be surprisingly good -- comfortable chairs, ideal temperature and clean environment. On arrival at the Bahawalpur Railway Station, two teachers from Sadiq Public School welcomed us and led us to their school bus. Ten more minutes, and we arrived at Sadiq Public School. There, four prefects and the school principal welcomed us warmly and led us to their amphitheatre for tea, after which we were shown to our room. The designated room was big with 13 beds, and walls painted green. So far so good; then we took the 'bathroom tour'. We realised we were in for some bathroom torture -- Asiatic toilets! Oh no! The first to use the services was a friend. In about five minutes I got a message on my cell from him, calling me to the bathroom quickly. There, he said, "I'm stuck inside the bathroom". I fell into fits of laughter. But there was more to the incident: "My shoe has fallen into the flush. It's not even my shoe," he cried. After 10 minutes of pure entertainment, he finally appeared from the bathroom, barefoot. The next day after breakfast, we all assembled at their amphitheatre ready to depart for Darawar Fort -- which at first sight looked so dramatic, beautiful and elegant. The entrance door was huge with spikes on the top. Another friend and I decided to climb to the top of the fort and found the view from there to be absolutely breathtaking. But to our dismay we found the fort to be neglected and withering away. Later in the day we visited the graves of the Prophet's companions, which most of us did not find to be true. It's hard to believe that four companions of the Prophet are buried in the Cholistan desert. After some debate on the authenticity of the graves, we dropped off at the 'Royal Graveyard' where the family of the Nawabs of Bahawalpur is buried. There we were very lucky to meet Prince Talal who gave us a guided tour of the graveyard and invited us to visit the Sadiq Gar Palace, where the Nawab once lived. It was a beautiful place, though not preserved. The Prince gave us a 45-minute tour of the huge palace telling us stories of his grandfather, the Nawab. Each story was more fascinating than the previous one. This tour was undoubtly the most entertaining part of the trip. After dinner we had an interactive session with the students of SPS. I thought they were so disciplined. The next day we visited two palaces presently occupied by the army before our departure for Lahore. First we visited the 'Darbar Mahal', a grandiose palace based on subcontinental architecture. 'Noor Mahal' was next on the itinerary. No less than the 'Darbar Mahal, I thought the design of the palace was similar to the mosque in Aitchison College. The most interesting part of this palace was that no cement was used in its construction; rather a mix of rice and lentils was used instead. After waiting for two hours at the railway station; enjoying hot tea and Lays, we finally loaded ourselves onto our train. The return journey was a bit tiring and long as most of us were down with fever or cold and the thick fog reduced the visibility level too. Our head of transport was at the railway station at 6 in the morning to pick us up and take us to school where the principal was present to welcome us back. It felt good to be back home and believe me, the first thing we all did, was, race to the bathroom.
"My wife and children are waiting for me" What surrounds Paris, the city of love and light, is the existence of poor illegal migrants By Enam Hasan Paris serves a great deal to tourists, lovers and artists from across the world. It is a vibrant city with a culture of perfumes, wines, fashion, monuments, arrogance and romance. But what surrounds this city of love and light is the existence of poor illegal migrants. The starkest presence that hits your eyes is the group of
South Asians lying right outside Gare du Nord. The group made its way to the
continent for a better socio-economic future -- only visualised in
fairytales. They are not proud salesmen or dishwashers. Instead, they are beggars and barely live a life less privileged than our home-grown beggars. Sometimes, they don't even have an accommodation or a tram ticket to travel. The roadsides and pathways of this cultured city serve them well in the cold. A wagon driver from Rawalpindi and now an illegal migrant, Muhammad Bashir, says, "They can neither get us jobs nor send us back. The law enforcing authorities mean business here -- and that's the reason why we can't get jobs without legal papers. We don't have our passports, because the agents in Pakistan took them from us when we landed in Paris. Now we depend on the daily meals we get from a nearby church charity." Bashir has been living on the towpath for the past four years. He sneaked into Europe about seven years ago via Iran to Turkey to Greece. Since then, he claims, "I'm unemployed." Because Bashir has forgotten his native language, he communicates in sign language which he has designed for his convenience and begging for a living. He greeted me with affection, offered me a puff, and asked me to sit by him. Fond of current affairs and political analyses, he enjoys reading Hamid Mir's columns. While exchanging views on the state of affairs in Pakistan, he unrolled a month-old Urdu newspaper and read out an article for me. A fine reader, indeed! But he couldn't speak Urdu for a conversation. He was not mute. Instead he spoke a few words of English. For instance when he told me about his journey (from Pindi to Paris) he would get up, take a position and enact a particular situation rather than talking about his experiences. He said, he was psychologically disturbed, needed a few hundred euros to get his passport issued, to fly back home -- "My wife and children are waiting for me." There were others like Bashir all around the sinuous landscape of Paris. A large number, mostly young, turned out to be vendors roaming around Eiffel Tower and de Louvre. Some of them are of African and Indian origin, which managed to transport them to Paris by paying thousands of dollars. On my dream journey to this carnival city, I was accompanied by a dear friend Fabian Pianka -- an upper-middle class German by birth and a French by heart. His eye for beauty and horror is as uniquely keen as that of any Parisian's. He spent five years of his youth in Paris, so to him, this city is the paragon of human intelligence and achievements. He views all things French as invincible and inescapable for all romantics to date. It was interesting though how easily his romantic spirit was able to escape the glaring non-romance of poverty in France. "You would find French poor toiling on the streets. The state wants to take care of them, but they arrogantly refuse." he said, pointing at a beggar sleeping on a grill grounded on the sideways. "It emits steam and keeps them warm in cold weather," Fabian said.
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