I find it curious about the amazingly different people that you come across once you step out of the confines of your home.
It was the spring of 2006, my wife & I were in Kuala Lumpur on a holiday. After enjoying the rides in Genting Highlands and visiting the awesome Petronas Twin Tower, it was time to do some shopping. In a small nook of KL is Chinatown – a place famous for trinkets, imitation-ware and bargain shopping.
We browsed through some roadside vendors dealing with watches, goggles, memorabilia, etc. Then we saw few racks of T-shirts displayed outside of a clothes shop. We approached the salesman to inquire about the price range and he addressed our queries. My wife & I were appraising the shirts, and discussing amongst ourselves in Hindi as to whether to buy it. Suddenly, the salesman responded to us in Hindi (we thought it was Hindi) and extolled the bargain we were getting.
We were surprised and curious as all the Indian expats we had met were from South India and didn’t know Hindi. He said that he was a Pakistani. [For the uninitiated, Urdu sounds and means similar to Hindi.] Our small-talk went as follows:
Us: Why did you leave Pakistan?
Him: I shot a few guys and had to get out of there. Luckily I got here in Malaysia.
Us: (worried) What happened to the people you shot?
Him: What happens when you shoot someone?
Us: (scared) You mean they died?
Him: Yeah, got out of there quickly. But I don’t like it here. The oriental masters work you out day and night.
His confession froze my blood. My wife’s eyes met mine and there was only one mutual thought in them: Get outta here! We muttered our excuses and literally ran out of Chinatown. Once we had reached the safety of our hotel, we were glad our home-bound flight was just a few hours away.
Is there a Moral to this story? – you may ask.
Some stories have morals and others have none. Just as some people have morals and others have none.