|
|
|
April 22, 2004
It’s a family affair
Although there are at least one hundred official “family parks” in Karachi, our neighbourhood also decided to name its park the same. There is obviously something special about this name, as if it were a lucky charm. I have a feeling that they are named as such to discourage young boys from lurking about without their families in tow. However, is it all about family at this particular park? I think not.
I should confess that I do not walk for the usual reasons. My therapist (yes, I have one) suggested that I take up a healthy physical activity to vent some energy. She did not approve of the other ways I suggested of venting energy, so I have started walking. I walk in the evening when the family park is alive. I am not disallowed alone anymore, since I am 31 (and have recently begun to look it). “It is not my fault that I don’t have a family,” I plan to say in case I am refused entry some day.
The park is a very popular place in the neighborhood. Many come here to walk, talk or sometimes even just watch. Some of us do like to watch. The most noticeable, and audible crowd comprises of overweight housewives who have various non-issues to discuss. “A good woman would never do that. Have you noticed how she looks at men?” This, with multiple variations, is the most common talking point.
My own thoughts, in sheer comparison, begin to seem like intellectual gems when pitted against this brainless chatter. Perhaps, these women stay home alone all day, cooking, cleaning and being poisoned by the predatory Star Plus TV channel. I try to make myself understand, and sometimes imagine how I would react in these circumstances if I were a woman. This reminds me that my therapist told me not to keep thinking of myself as a woman. She thinks it is an unhealthy way of thinking.
It is safe to assume that the fastest and most consistent walkers are the diabetics and the heart patients. They seem to have a clear purpose in life, which is why I sometimes envy them. They also have seemingly sharpened competitive instincts. They should know better than to compete with me. I only let them win because they are usually elderly folk. My therapist says I am passive aggressive, and may feel an animosity against these walkers. I do not agree.
The family park owes its vitality to the adolescent boys who religiously haunt this venue. They come here daily, usually not alone. Their intentions are transparent to me, because I was once that young too. I was, of course, never this immature. Sports and girls — these two factors in any order, with any connection in between, attract young boys.
They can be seen running on the track wildly, their eyes wandering everywhere. They are not entirely at fault and cannot be blamed, because some girls in the park really do know how to dress for sports. (It is best to concentrate on lighter thoughts, my therapist keeps reminding me. She also mentioned that she thinks I should marry soon). Anyway, the boys are young and so are the girls. I prefer to let their parents think about their issues. Meanwhile, I just keep walking.
It would be unfair not to mention the new-age, young executives who grace the park with their high-profile presence. These well-dressed men think they can have everything in the world. They are worth watching from the moment they step out of their new cars with their beautiful wives (ahem, just mentioning them to make a point).
They exercise with mechanical persistence, as if performing some robotic ritual. But the ridiculous part is that they, and their wives, have perfect physiques. I am not jealous, I just resent the fact that they take up precious walking space even when clearly they do not need to exercise. It is times like these when deep breathing fails to relax me. I do not bother mentioning these ‘young executives’ to my therapist. She will only prescribe more breathing exercises.
After the initial enthusiasm for therapeutic exercise waned, I had to push myself to continue my walks. That was until I met the girl who walks anti-clockwise. She has a charming way of swinging her arms while walking. Since love blossoms in the unlikeliest of places and the family park is not that unlikely a place, my daily exercise has turned into a labour of love. Perhaps the name family park is not that absurd after all. With its numerous walkers and ‘watchers’ and talkers, it does resemble a family, even if it is a very disparate one.
|
|
|
|
