Black and Blue

To my horror I find that I'm becoming a white man....

I should have realised that something was wrong by the cessation of the traffic outside. But too late, as usual. It was if the world had stopped and that this little local crisis had the power to re-enact that rarest of things: a time when English people actually stop doing things and start talking to eachother about something other than the weather. The flood- caused by something as unremarkable as the usually gentle Roding-had started.

By the time I got to the garage I could hear it thundering down the slight incline, menacingly, as if it were a slab of lead or ice. Not to be outdone by the river's maliciousness, the clouds darkened over. Inside, the water was black and up to my ankles and the musky smell of the furniture that was brought from Pakistan now mixed with that of dank wood. The rats had already scurried off with their customary good sense, as if they could sense the impending doom of this sinking ship.

It was too late to phone Bogdon -the Polish Robin Williams look-alike-and it would take too long to explain to him that we needed the services of "the Russian" (the huge Ukranian, a force of nature in his own right, who could be commanded, like a djinn, to move just about any object on earth). And I knew then that the attempt to save things was futile. With this realisation came a sense of relief. There was a perfect stillness. A cool northern breeze pushed up against my back and over the water, causing a flurry of silver ripples against the carpets and my Zen bed, the Zen bed, Zen bed.

Blessed is the man who hears the thunder
And does not think:
"it's the end of the world".

But it was hard not to think of the departure from Pakistan a year back and lost friends, a parting of ways which was at least the ending of a world. I will never forget a dusty and gloomy room in the dilapidated back streets of Lahore where I was shown a 19th century Caucasian carpet.
"But I cannot afford this [it was 30 lakhs -around 40,000 pounds] " I said to the owner. At which point he pulled up a chair, told his son to make some tea and said Khalid, let us look at it just for the beauty of it. The old ways of the east die hard...

Reluctantly our mam came down-nothing, and surely not something as inconsequetial as a flood, could tear her away from her book of poetry. She was particularly fond of reciting the lines: we asked for four days of life; two were spent in waiting, two in regret. She surveyed the damage from a distance, like a grand Ventian Doge, and said: "I hope you've saved the onions and tomatoes, I need those for tonight's dinner".

When the waters receded I could just about see from the corner of my eye that most of the albums had been destroyed. From childhood we had been taught-though taught is not the right word-that there were great benefits in 'not looking' at the world. I now knew what this meant.
Marvin and Otis, B.B. and Sam and Dave; and the reggae cassettes as well: Marley, Steel Pulse, and Toots. Miraculously, Streisand and Manilow survived. I should have read this as a sign.

A few months later I had to download some of my favourite tunes to an ipod (if you don't know what that is, it's like a walkman; if you don't know what a walkman is it's a bit like a cassette player...eventually , we'll get to human memory!) The choices were, to my great surprise, white groups from the 70's and 80's . Not Arvo Part of Bach's fugues, which might have denoted a modicum of respectability, but pop and rock for Christ's sake!

How bizarre. I had grown accustomed to thinking of myself as half jewish (my grandfather was also known as 'the old Jew'-largely because, as far as I can make out, of his fine waistcoats and dandy hats-and I had always imagined that there was more than a hint of Buddhism in the lazy, pluralistic traditions of the Kashmiris, but this was going a bit too far. Of course, language and the grey clouds had already long ago entered our blood, gently shaping our thoughts like the contours of a river-bank.

But , politically at least, there was a radical refusal of system that was always muslim (shia?) To always take the weaker side, as if to redress the balance, was to be in a permanent state of opposition. But now this! Admittedly, it wasn't as serious as supporting the English cricket team but....

There is nothing left to do; it seems as if time istself is pushing us in this direction. I have to download some Louis, quick, before it's too late....

Cold empty bed...springs hurt my head
Feels like ole ned...wished I was dead
What did I do...to be so black and blue

Even the mouse...ran from my house
They laugh at you...and all that you do
What did I do...to be so black and blue

Im white...inside...but, that dont help my case
Thats life...cant hide...what is in my face

How would it end...aint got a friend
My only sin...is in my skin
What did I do...to be so black and blue