I have always wanted to visit the Gora Qabristan (Christian Cemetery) in Peshawar but somehow my commitments always prevented me from going there. Today while having lunch at The Coffee Pot (consisting of Mixed Salad, lemonade and ice cream) and while reading “The story of Malakand Field Force” by Winston Chruchill I decided to make the much awaited pilgrimage. Lo and behold, with the bill paid and the waiter tipped (with some alacrity) I hopped in my car. Today was a good day, the temperature was around 36 Centigrade.
Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with The Maple House, nor is this post about marketing their stuff. I visited this eatery and decided to write about it on my blog.
The city of Peshawar never ceases to amaze me. With so many things happening around from bomb blasts, to killings and political wranglings, you suddenly get news of a new eatery springing up in the middle of University Town, Chinar Road to be exact. I just wonder how business is thriving? Well I guess the people are tired and they need a break, from it all. So, we were talking about The Maple House, shall we?
Sandwiched in between Warda Lawn and a vacant floor Espresso Lounge has opened an outlet in the restive city of Peshawar. The place is ideal for shoppers, those looking for a quick cappuccino or loners like me who love to think in isolation 🙂 It is on the main University Road, near Arbab Road in one of the new (still empty) Plazas.
Henry Martini was a single shot breech loaded rifle used by the British during late 1800’s. It was a good weapon in those times. The under-leaver located at the pistol grip would open the breech for loading a single round. The caliber is a whopping .577 inches! I am sure it must have made a big bang when fired. Over a period of time various versions were produced. The smaller one made to be carried by horsemen was called a musket.
There is one long road that passes through the city of Peshawar. It starts from from Nowshera (even beyond it and ends at the famous Torkham border). Since centuries it is a trade route unlike any. The road is dotted with markets and bazars on either side. Goods that come from Afghanistan (smuggled) make their way to Torkham and beyond. There they are stored in huge godowns all along the road leading from Torkham to where the Jamrud limits end and the city of Peshawar limits start. Goods (smuggled) are then sent down country by various means.
FATA (Federally Administered Tribal Areas) is FATA because the people of these lands chose it to be FATA. For those of you who find this comment laughable, well you can’t really fathom it till you have been there, or you belong to this place. I belong to a place which is very near FATA. So in a way I understand the local psyche.
Nay they didn’t die invain, they made the ultimate sacrifice for their motherland. I was there, I saw them fight, I saw them move, I saw them crawl, I saw them smile, I saw them cry. I saw them all, for I was there. I smiled with them, I wept with them and I joked with them for I was there amongst them. I was, in a way one of them. They came from far and wide, they came tall, they were dashing for they looked the enemy in the eye. They over came fear, they followed orders, they swept the enemy, they were men of courage. Some were tall , some were short, some stocky, some lean, but all imbued with the same spirit, all had the resolve, all were firm. They spoke different languages, they looked different, but their hearts were one. They understood each other. Not one, gave up or gave in. They made the enemy run. They fought without food or water, but they fought with hope. They were sons of brave men, their mothers are proud of them, and their wives, and their sons, and their daughters and we are proud of them.
They are the soldiers of Pakistan.
Dedicated to the men of Pak Army and Frontier Corps who are fighting anti-state elements in Tirah.