From the buxom young singer, to the gate-keeper at the Lahore zoo, old-age seems to be in the eyes of the beholder
PRESENTLY I am in a severe state of depression and melancholy and I exactly know the root cause of it.
It’s not the Wana Operation, nor the smile of Condoleezza Rice, prose, poetry or my bathroom’s permanently leaking taps. Rather, it’s a recent visit to the Lahore Zoo. It has got nothing to do with the animals residing peacefully there, as a matter of fact the elephant Suzi, the African gray parrot and the magnificent Royal Bengal tiger gave me a rousing reception, so much so that the huge chimpanzee definitely gave me a broad smile of recognition and offered me a half eaten banana in the bargain.
So what caused me to go in to a state of depression and melancholy. Simple, it is the entry ticket to the zoo, which my children very dutifully bought for me.
I know I am being slightly abstract but what can I do, I have gone abstract since the procurement of that fateful ticket; perhaps I should elaborate a little and go back to last month when suddenly I felt that for the very first time in my life I was being treated with respect and reverence. It was a pleasant surprise indeed and I thought that finally my genius has been recognized by the masses and in consequence I was being accredited with respect. For instance, during my morning walk in the nearby park, the joggers will slowdown and give me the right of way. If a literary function is being held in some hotel and I enter in the hall, immediately the people sitting in the front row will get-up and offer me a seat. So much so that when at times I politely tried to refuse their kind offer, they almost pushed me into the vacant seat.
While standing in a long queue to pay my utility bills, the bank clerk will come out of his cabin to facilitate me. It was all very embarrassing but to tell you the truth I was overjoyed to be treated as a celebrity for once; after all it was not their fault, my great contribution towards the Pakistani literature and television had forced them to honour me in this way.
During one of those days, I happened to visit the Lahore television station, A, for a recording and lo and behold, surprises waited for me there as well. As I was walking down the corridor, a well-known actor approached me, shook my hands and ... well, he kept on shaking it! He just wouldn’t let go.
He then bowed and reverently kissed my hands profusely, saying, “Sirjee, we have learned a lot from you, you are our senior and thank God you are still around.”
“Well I am around and why shouldn’t I be around?” I was slightly puzzled by the “Thank God” thing.
He ignored my query and said, “Sirjee, please remember me in your prayers.”
“Unfortunately I don’t pray that regularly, but exactly in which prayer?”
Once again he ignored my question and leaned towards me, “Please give me a pat on my shoulder for blessing.” I patted but failed to understand the implication of blessing.
There was a short break in the recording and I was puffing away in a “No Smoking” area when a buxom young singer rushed towards me, puffing and pouting and in consequence her contours also puffed.
“Sirjee, I was recording a ghazal in Studio B, when Ustadjee told me that Tarar Sahib is here and I rushed out to meet you. It is not every day that we have the good fortune of having a: Didar of a senior artist like you.”
I was overwhelmed with emotions. Here was this relatively new pretty singer who was dying to Didar, me whereas in normal life a lot of people could not have her Didar because she is a very expensive commodity.
“Well I am grateful Bibi, what can I do for you?”
She immediately bowed her head and with her outstretched hands grabbed both of my knees, “Sir I need your blessings.”
Now this knees grabbing business shook me a little but I applied my self-control and freed my knees with a jerk.
“Sure, but how do I go about it Bibi?”
The bashful Bibi came dangerously close to me and bowed her head, “Sirji, please piyar me a little on the head and I will be blessed.”
I performed the needful and with a sombre voice said, “May Allah bless you with the sur of Ustad Barkat Ali Khan and the melody of Noor Jehan; go your way and conquer the hearts of masses.”
The Bibi almost cried and while thanking me profusely produced a Rs10 note from her dainty purse and presented it to me saying, “Sirji a little Nazrana from your humble junior.”
Before I could protest she puffed away. Now this was the limit. People asking for my blessings and presenting offerings in cash? But in my heart of hearts I was rather flattered and decided then and there that if ever a financial situation arose and I could not make both ends meet by my writings, I will immediately become a Pir of sorts.
Perhaps you are fed up of me by now, I am elaborating too much, beating about the bush so to speak. But dear reader, bear with me for a little while more because great tragedies need a little bit of elaborating and dramatization before the climax, in this case the tragedy which ensued from buying a zoo ticket.
Some years back my daughter, Annie, all of a sudden demanded that we should visit the local zoo as was done very frequently in the days when she was Little Annie. Actually she wanted to relive her childhood days. Although it was an innocent enough desire, but somehow or the other the visit did not materialized due to my engagements and laziness. Then she got married and left for the distant shores. Last month she came back for a visit after a period of two years and upon her arrival she presented a list of demands.
“Abbu first of all I would love to gobble a few gol gappas and dahi bhallas, no more chicken please, serve me the vegetables, bhindis, shuljums, ghia toris, tindas and above all karelas with onions.
“For breakfast, first of all Lohari ki nihari and then hulwa puri from Royal Park along with lassi and — take me to the zoo after this.”
So after completing this menu in one week, we headed for the zoo along with my younger son Sumair. Both the kids were very excited about it and exchanged their childhood memories when they were no bigger than the monkeys of the zoo and would gaze for hours at their counterparts.
Upon reaching the zoo, Sumair went to obtain the entrance ticket while I parked the car. Upon entering the zoo gates our tickets were examined by the keeper but I had a vague feeling that the keeper holding one particular ticket looked at me with dubious eyes. He would glance at the ticket and then again observe my face and then finally allowed us to go in.
“Why was this keeper-thing looking at me so dubiously, as if I was a criminal of some sort?” I asked Sumair.
“Perhaps he is your fan!”
“Fans don’t look at you like that and how can a zoo keeper be a fan of mine, he has better choices,” I laughed.
It was indeed a treat to be with the animals after such along time. The only difference was that in those days I managed the kids, and now the kids were managing me, “Be careful dad, the steps are steep. Don’t go near the cage Abbaji, the lion is not in a good mood and he does not watch television and cannot be a fan of yours” etc;
Upon our return, as soon as we entered our home the kids burst out laughing, Sumair was waving a zoo ticket and was grinning cheek-to-cheek, “Abbaji do you know why that keeper was looking at you so closely?”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted to make sure that you deserved that ticket. The normal entry fee to the zoo is Rs10 per person, but for the senior citizens there is a concessional ticket for Rs2 only so Abba, we have saved Rs8 today because you are a senior citizen now.” “Just to save Rs8 you bought a senior citizen’s concessional ticket for me?” I controlled my rage.
“And why not, you are a senior citizen Abbaji and deserve this concession.” “But you spent Rs20 for the bananas to feed the monkeys and gave another Rs20 to Suzy the she-elephant just because she saluted you with her raised trunk and you could not spent a mere Rs8 to buy me a normal zoo ticket?”
The kids could not see my point and looked at me as if I had gone bananas. I protested to my wife and she also instead of sympathizing, started laughing.
“I will suggest it to the kids that they should buy you a seasonal ticket and then you can visit the zoo daily; naturally the special senior citizen seasonal ticket.”
So that is the root cause of my depression and moroseness, just by obtaining a concessional zoo ticket my senior citizenship has been confirmed officially and I had been avoiding it for so long, never boarding a flight when the first announcement invited the families and senior citizens to board the aircraft first.
Now I realize why the morning joggers gave way, why people offered me seats and why everybody was after my blessings because they felt that I wont be around for long.
The respect and the Pir status, which I was commanding recently, was not due to my contributions towards literature and arts, but entirely due to my old age and now my kids had turned against me.
So my sincere advice to the fellow senior citizens is — never ever go to the zoo with your kids.
From the buxom young singer, to the gate-keeper at the Lahore zoo, old-age seems to be in the eyes of the beholder 
