19 hours on the Pak Business Express

Click-clacking through Karachi

Outer-reaches sprawling wide full of

Kids playing gully cricket

By the train tracks

And only a few stop to wave as the

Pak Business Express

Glides past at square leg, for

Gully cricket is a

Serious business.

_

For the first hour

Then the second and

Into the third

The world outside the window

Remains Karachi

The city

Sprawls on and

Ever on

Until it seems we might never leave

This city sprawling all the way

To Lahore

Perhaps this is all the world is

One sprawling city

Full of kids playing gully cricket.

_

Inside the six-person cabin

Endless cups of tea

Styrofoam aftertaste and two sugars

And Mr Islam (delightful man)

Beaming his wide smile

Delighted in his role as

(Self-appointed) Official Interpreter

For the gora in the cabin

Delighted to practice his

Precise and almost perfect

English

Delighted to laugh over every

Carefully, precisely translated comment.

_

Finally, five or six hours

Into the journey

(At last Karachi disappeared from the window

Several hours before)

During a quiet lull between cups of tea

Mr Islam (with note of quiet concern)

Asks carefully, precisely

Why I am here alone

On the Pak Business Express

And not travelling

With the rest of the team

This whole time he has mistaken me

For an Australian cricketer

And has been quietly concerned

On my behalf

That something went badly wrong

For me

In Karachi and I must laugh

The whole cabin laughs, 
Mr Islam loudest of all

Delighted to laugh

At his own expense and relieved

Nothing bad had

Happened to me.

_

Eight hours and

The Pak Business Express has been

Swallowed by the night

We stop in some

Nameless town I am too lazy

To look up the name for

And a couple fill the last two spots

In the cabin

The wife’s eyes glare disapproving

At the cabin perhaps it is my imagination

But I imagine the glare is reserved

Mostly for me

She says not a word

The husband seems oddly apologetic

Perhaps he told her he had reserved

A private cabin

Only for themselves.

_

Chicken biryani and another

Styrofoam cup of tea

From the dining cart

Then attempt to sleep

Stretched out as much as I can

On the top bunk berth

Of the cabin.

_

Sometime in the

Small hours

I wake

Rattling over a bridge

Over nothing but sand

Empty of hope like every

Dry season and

Somewhere in the

Black distance beyond

The far riverbank

A fire burns

In the darkness

I drift back to sleep

But my dreams

Bring no meaning.

_

Sunlight creeps through the

Window and bunks

Are tucked away the cabin

Converted again

To six seats

With only three people

Sadly Mr Islam has left us

Sometime during the night

Along with two others

But the cups of tea

Keep coming.

_

It is hour fifteen and

I am pretty tea-ed out

To be honest

But I cannot forget

The advice of the concierge

Of the Dolphin Hotel

Some years before

In Slemani.

_

Coming to and fro

From the hotel

I would pass a group of men

Sitting in the lounge

Passing the time with

Endless cups of tea

They would offer me cup

Every time I passed

And every time I passed
 I would accept

After the concierge told me

(On day one)

“Roderick, you MUST drink the tea,

You MUST drink the tea, Roderick.”

_

Repeated advice as he was

Concerned

I might not realise the importance

Of accepting tea

And hospitality.

_

Cultural cross-pollination

And common customs of

Tea and hospitality

Between Kurdistan and Pakistan

I’m not sure exist

But

Better to be polite,

To be sure.

_

Nineteen hours

We creak into Lahore

Joints aching

But glad

To arrive and ahead of me

There is

Mutton karahi and chicken boti

And qawwali music and

Conversations in the chai chairs

And television interviews and

Test cricket glory at

Old Gaddafi Stadium

With Amna and Ahmad and Timmy

But that

Is another story

For another time

For now the Pak Business Express

Is already

Creaking rattling click-clacking

Back to Karachi.