Culture Shock Part 2

Once on the short 3-hour flight from Abu Dhabi to Lahore, the third world madness really set in. What I had experienced as a very nice airline with clean modern planes and a clean modern crew took a turn for the worst on this leg of the journey.  Gone were the "can I get you anything’s, the clean blankets and pillows, and the miniature accessory bags I had indulged in on the previous leg of the journey.  I was now sitting in a run down airplane from the Reagan era (first term).  The crew was even more run down and obnoxious than the plane they were working.  

I made my way to the back of the airplane where a young scrawny Pakistani man was sitting in my seat. 

"That’s my seat."

He quickly moved over to let me in the row and sat back down next to me.  Though he looked relatively clean cut and was wearing a mismatched suit instead of a shalwar kurta, he badly needed deodorant.  I could see him staring at me from the corner of my eye.  

"You Pakistani?"

"Yes and No" I said.  "I'm from America," which for the first time in 8 years I actually felt proud to say.

"Oh, you go visit family in Pakistan?"

"Yes, my parents live there.  I'm going to see them."  I started digging through my bag to pull out my book, my safety net against talkers on airplanes.  

"So you're husband at home in America?"

"No, I'm not married."  The marital status of a woman seems to be everybody's business in this culture.  No one thinks of it as private information.  And once it is known, it's like you have a broken leg and everyone tries to help you with everything, since you are obviously handicapped, being single at age 31.

"So you're parents live in Pakistan.... you live alone?"  He was clearly astonished that I, the handicapped American girl, have been abandoned by my parents and by men.  "Why you not married?"

By this point I wanted to punch the scrawny little bastard.  Who the hell was he to ask me questions about my life? I decided to give him a verbal bash to the face, just for fun.

"No, I'm not married. I have no intention of getting married.  It's a useless institution."

Just then the airline steward asked to see my boarding card for the third time.  Apparently they were having trouble acknowledging my existence as a passenger, or perhaps, as an unaccompanied single 31 year old woman.

I looked over at my scrawny neighbor, he was just staring straight ahead, looking really confused.  I think he was trying to see if he heard me right, after all, English is his second language and he may have mistranslated what he heard.  I opened my book and started to read, content that I had shut him up for at least a few minutes.

The plane was filling up and a tall white guy walked down the aisle.  He was looking for a seat, apparently the plane was overbooked and someone was already sitting in his seat.  I prayed that he would take the final seat in our row so I would at least have someone with similar social etiquette to talk to.  And when he approached and sat down, I felt at ease again.  I was suddenly quite aware of how racist I am against the males of my own ethnicity.  

About 20 minutes into the flight, they started serving drinks.  The cart was about 6 rows away, and Mr. Scrawny began asking me what I would like to drink.  I said I didn't know and turned my head. When she was two rows closer, he asked me again.  I said I guess I’ll just have to see what they have.  He was apparently trying to order for me because I was unmarried and therefore in need of any male assistance I could find.  

I leaned over to the white guy and struck up a conversation, about his origins and his opinion of Obama winning the election-- the topic of conversation anywhere I happened to stop on my way to Pakistan.  Mr. Scrawny looked really offended that I would rather talk to the gora than to him.

When I exchanged numbers with the white guy, Mr. Scrawny looked downright hurt, I think he actually let out a sarcastic laugh... HE wanted to be the only male to assist me in all my needs. 

Harry, the German, was visiting Lahore to work on a multicultural art project.  Artists from all over the world were flying in to Lahore to put together an exhibition.  I had no idea Lahore had any art culture whatsoever, or any culture other than Islamist.  I was amazed and excited to see my narrow view of this country expand.  We promised to meet up over an illegal drink and check out some artwork. I was ready to be beguiled by a Lahore I had never seen.

Unfortunately, the meeting never occurred but the expansion of my views did.