Back when we lived in Lahore, life used to be very different than it is now.
The neighbourhood we lived in was very old (Lahore’s origins can be traced back somewhere between 1st and 7th centuries A.D.) and it was contested.
That meant that the original landowners had moved away long ago, leaving the plots behind, and other enterprising inhabitants had moved in and built houses on the “empty” plots of land.
Once the houses were built, essentially making the new inhabitants squatters, the arguing began.
In many cases, the descendants of the original land owner had moved away, or even abroad, and weren’t that keen on fighting about this one plot of land in a crappy neighbourhood.
In many other cases, the records of ownership were so old, they were really unclear.
And in a country where corruption and faking official documents is de rigeur, is it any wonder that one plot of land could end up with several deeds?
Before moving to Lahore I never ever thought I’d be able to say, “Yes, I’ve bribed officials”, but that’s another story.
So, the streets were narrow and twisty and full of trash.
Still the owner used to let the geese out in the morning, they’d wander the streets, doing what geese do, and return back home in the evening to be let back in the gate.
They were the local menace.
Anyone who came too close got quickly chased off.
Everyone in our poor neighbourhood, which was still short of a real slum because we had running water and electricity (even if everyone syphoned power off the single converter in the neighbourhood that frequently broke down and left us with hours-long blackouts), knew those geese.
And knew to give them a wide berth.
If you saw them walking ahead of you in the street, you had to slow down to match their pace.
The geese did not take kindly to tailgaters.
Even the rickshaws were afraid to pass the geese, because if you know anything about geese, you know that they can be vicious when they don’t like you.
You’d often hear rickshaw drivers arguing with their passengers.
If a rickshaw ever did get brave enough to pass the geese, they’d be left in a flurry and anyone left behind had to give them an extra twenty paces or face the wrath of the irritated, offended geese.
And in Pakistan, most people wear loose clothing called a shalwar kameez, and the women add a dupatta, that covers their shoulders and head when needed.
And boy did those geese love to chase the tails of that loose clothing.
They knew where to strike.
They were like winged assassins.
Men, women, children, everyone ran screaming from those birds that used to strut the streets with their heads held high, in an ambling walk that signified they had all fucking day and owned the whole fucking neighbourhood.
Even our several resident street dog packs stayed away from the geese, letting the pass by their chosen lairs unmolested, so long as they didn’t try to enter.
Even so, as much as everyone cursed those geese, they were a staple of the neighbourhood.
And if anyone from outside the neighbourhood ever so much as said an unkind word about those geese, there were plenty of people telling them to shut up and leave the geese alone.
I suppose they became a kind of mascot, annoying and inconvenient as they were.
People tried to talk to the owner, but I think he was right in letting them out on the street to be a total menace.
Because what was the alternative?
Have his gaggle stuck in a small backyard all day?
At least this way, they would get lots of exercise as they went down to the (very dirty) river every day and came back the scenic route.
Life in Lahore was far from perfect, and I handled much of it with little grace, but it was memorable.
And maybe I’ve romanticised aspects of it over the years, but so long as I know that’s what I’ve done (and remember that there is a more raw truth underneath it all) I don’t see the harm in it.
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