We went to the somewhat-ancestral village today, up on the Potohar Plateau. Too long a drive for a 1-day trip, but my companions don’t like staying the night there.
Along the way it poured with rain on the motorway while passing through the Salt Range, and there was lightning. At the farm itself, it was cool and rainy and breezy, and all in all completely not what one would expect on the first of June. Everything was greener than it usually is in the summer, and even the vicious burrs of that region were tamed and I only had to pick a few out from my shoes this afternoon.
The person who manages the farm, once involved in dodgy business during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, shook his head and muttered about climate change. In Pakistan no one believes that the climate is not changing. It only takes a couple of country-drowning floods, a bunch of melting glaciers, a new lake formed in a once-inhabited valley, and of course sitting in Punjab in mid-afternoon in June, feeling a little chill, to be unable to deny that things are not as predictable as they once were.
i went for a few walks by myself, discovered various livestock and lots of fruit trees, of which the plum had near-ripe fruit.
I think it’s a huge shame we don’t keep ducks to eat in Pakistan, or at least not in mainstream cuisine. I think tawa duck would be very nice.
The weather was pleasant and I wasn’t sent off to see the women (ie watch TV with them) as has happened once or twice in the past, so I daydreamed a bit about moving to the village and setting up house here. The structure there is two bedrooms with a little veranda – the farm’s caretaker lives in a house behind, which is also where the kitchen is. I suppose I’d add on a small kitchenette for my own cooking, maybe a couple of rooms upstairs. Lay out some paths with a roller through the orchards, to keep the burrs at bay. Some vegetable beds here, an internet connection courtesy of the farm manager’s son (who has set up his own satellite connection), some solar panels for reliable electricity and hot water.
The daydreams became progressively more colourful. Get a four-wheel drive (not automatic) and have the caretaker’s son, a truck driver, ferry me around when possible. Hire a young woman from the village as the farm manager’s successor. Find out about local herbs and edible plants. Visit all the ruined sites dotted around this area, along the route of Alexander and all the other invaders of India. All the daydreams of someone who was visiting on an unusually cool, rainy day in June.