Mirrors and Smoke

Whirlwind day yesterday, and home only briefly. Shopping in the morning. Turns out 'XL' in Pakistan doesn't fit what I'd like to think is a normal-sized American male. But Karen picked up lots of quilting textiles, and Emily bought herself, uh, suggested I buy herself, shoes and scarves …

The Wagah border closing ceremony with India for the afternoon - YouTube it (YouTube is banned here, by the way). An image has to suffice for now, but I don't think stills do it justice. It's part nationalistic rally, part NFL game. Indians and Pakistanis engage with their 'mirrors'  in elaborate, part-colonial, part-traditional uniforms, stamp, goose-step, shake fists, shake hands, lower flags and slam gates, while patriotic songs whip up people in stadium seating on oth sides. Hell, I was ready to march on Delhi with a spear by the end of the pre-gaming, as local amateurs in football-like jerseys bearing pro-Pakistan slogans danced in the street, waving flags and beating drums, and urging us to chant slogans.

Great psy-ops, in other words.

Evening was dinner on yet another rooftop deck, courtesy of Khalid's partner Salman, a year behind us at Harvard (and Quincy House, but a good chap nonetheless). He's a man of refined tastes - i.e., he brought Cohibas - and we sat overlooking, on one side, the grand old Mughal mosque adjacent to the old fort, and on the other, the traditional red-light district of the old city; our server was a transvestite, and the food was an elegant take on Pakistani standards. And we talked Pakistani politics, or rather, I listened. Home, finally, around midnight, and up at 6:15 - we're heading today to the salt mines, which is not nearly as Soviet as it sounds.

At least, I hope.