Two days after the Akikah, we were ready to throw my motherinlaw her Hajj party. One of the five pillars of Islam is to make pilgrimage to the holy city of Mecca. She had completed her Hajj in November 2009. We decided that since the majority of her family was here in Pakistan, we should invite the masses to a dinner in her honour.
Her party was held at a upscale restaurant called Salt and Pepper, The Village. Apparently when Princess Diana had visited Lahore, she dined at this very restaurant. I videotaped pictures of her visit in the lobby while we waited for the family to arrive. The restaurant was buffet-styled and many modern families were already feasting on the delicacies. Before we entered, a gunman spot checked the men in our group while I got a picture taken with the doorman. He was dressed in a traditional 'village' outfit. He passed me his dunda (stick) and insisted I hold it in the picture. The gunmen put down his rife and offered to take the picture. I looked over in horror as his gun lay in the open, on the curb of the entrance, allowing anyone, at anytime, to pick it up while he took our picture. People talk about security in Lahore. What security? It's all for show.
As the gunmen struggled with the shutter button on the camera, I imagined him having the same problem finding the trigger on his gun, if confronted with a real-life ambush on our party. A dream sequence suddenly flashed into my head, of me, a supposedly naive girl from Canada, encountering armed bandits in front of the restaurant, instinctively picking up the gun and firing at everything that moved. My husband nudged me violently. I suddenly realized, in my heat-induced trance, that the 'shot' had been taken and our doorman was waiting for his money.
We waited a full two hours for our guests to completely arrive. As the hosts, we refused to eat until all guests arrived. Everytime a family member walked by with a plate of hot food, my tummy grumbled. No one gains weight in Pakistan, I reasoned. It was all organic food. Its that processed crap we eat in Canada that packs on the pounds. Ok, I justified my meals. If I was going to be slaughtered that night, it would be better on a full stomach. Yes, you think I joke about my existence but everyday I mentally prepared myself for the worse - albeit with a positive spin. Whatever came my way, I would handle it. I never told anyone what I was thinking so it was that internal court scene all over again.
The Dubai cousin approached me during dinner and said there was a diamond shop across the street from the restaurant, owned by his friend. The main market boasted many high end shops and the street was an up and coming strip that was like Boardwalk on a Monopoly game. I looked at him incredulously. "You want me to go out at 9pm, cross the street with you where no one obeys traffic laws, leave behind my family, with my purse full of gift money to buy some diamonds?"
He shrugged, not understanding my sarcasm. "He give good deal. What people didn't like diamonds?" he said with his broken English. I looked down at my gulaab jamen (dough balls in syrup) and back at him. "I'd rather eat these balls than be lying at my own funeral with diamonds around my neck." Trust me, the Urdu version of this sentence sounded more classy.
Remember, it was 9pm at night but he laughed, put on his sunglasses and stared at my dessert. I knew he thought I was joking while he stood next to me for a few seconds, wondering if I was ever going to leave the restaurant with him.
Mmmmm, the Gulaab jamen never tasted so good...the jury was definately out for this one!
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