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Line of Control

He was a fair neighbor – except for his knotted buffalo right there in the middle of the street. A buffalo that used to remind me of an American negro in the burning hot summer, and that somehow looked like covering itself with a Burqa like sack, as if freshly delivered by someone in Kabul – in frosty winters.

I never had a single objection on his buffalo based ‘foreign policy’. Who cares? I wasn’t a bull anyways!

The dispute arose when he – my neighbor – outsourced the protection of his beloved buffalo to a low heighted dog. The dog, although had a miniature appearance, possessed a tremendous ability to bark dreadfully. He barked as if a naughty teenager is using a monstrous truck honk in his little CD-70 bike.

For me, I shared the same sentiments as Putras Bukhari when it comes to dogs, except that Putras was a renown humorist whereas I, in contrast, was a common regular man.

I am not a person who gets offended easily, not even with my wife no matter how late enter back home. This dog, however, was different. I met him for the first time at early midnight on my way back home after watching a physically impulsive movie in an ill-known ‘Zinco Cinema, Gujranwala’. The street used to be dead dark, since even before the dark ages, i.e. before my birth. I had given this place twenty-four precious years of my early life, and hence I was well versed with each and every bit around – so much that I was confident about the whereabouts including operational diameter of the buffalo. Confident enough, I approached the buffalo and checked her existence by one foot, lifting other – off course hers, not mine – to jump over. And there it goes.

WHOOF!

A whoof, a howling whoof. Or rather an exploding bomb right under my foot. I felt like an American marine who just stepped over a landmine and who couldn’t even realize right before his death what just happened.

The dog barked and as a consequence, I fell over the buffalo. She – I believe – were listening to this Himesh Reshamya’s tune for the first time as well and may be that’s why she woke up confused rolling over my chest.

And down there, he – the dog – was acting like typical Indian Media: Continuously barking!

I tried my level best to get hold of her Burqa, but you’re well aware that burqa is one failed thing when it comes to resist any instinctual activity. This time I was all over the dog along with that Abaya. The dog was under the sack in the beginning, and in a split second, he was under me. Acting like a decent neighbor, I simply slipped away that Abhinandan. The sack however cornered him – again like typical Indian media.

The dog was now in there – in the sack.

Let me be honest: For a moment I thought of a devilish idea to throw him away closed in that sack – though I had to drop the idea for I was one hell of a good neighbor after all, say like Pakistan!

For next many years I kept on bursting into laughter whenever the dog barked in dark nights. Only one thing popped into my head in situations as such: “Someone has just crossed L.O.C.”

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