My dream date with the Princess of Hope

It was an invite. Yay! I was so excited that my dream to flirt with the Princess of Hope and that too free of cost was finally going to become a reality as I had been invited by an office colleague of mine to join their departmental picnic for a trip to National Park Hingol. If this sounds too English, the local is Chalo Chalo Kund Malir Chalo.

Time to catch the bus! It’s 1am and we know that our final destination is at a distance of over 4 hours from office. The terrain is bumpy, adventurous and a bit risky too given the fact that there are no street lights on the route. But everyone is in high spirits because everyone knows, “the journey of a 250 kilometer begins with the 1st gear.” According to Pakistani mythology descending from the coastal highways of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, wheel and proverbs both can be reinvented, so yeah!

As the bus moved, started moving the bodies too. Shake it boys to the most profound lyrics of fire brigade mangwa day tu, angaaro per hain armaan… Understandably so, I must tell you. After all, I wasn’t the only one to be fantasying about the Princess of Hope. How was I supposed to get likes on my Instagram? Sorry I actually use Facebook. I just recalled, I don’t use Instagram.

It was estimated as a journey of around four hours, completed through the scenic loop of the Makran Coastal Highway illuminated by stars and the headlights of the bus making it so safe and secure that I no more complain of the nonexistence of the street lights. My country is way ahead of Germany when it comes to utilizing natural light and saving energy.

We reached at the break of dawn and were told by our guide that we would be hiking to see the much anticipated sunrise. And surprisingly, the sun did rise! What a sight it was. However, I would have been more amused had it not been the same billions of years old sun that had risen and that too from its usual east. It wasn’t new so I didn’t click a picture.

Finally, it was time that we got off to romance the Princess of Hope. According to my phone, it took me over 3,500 steps to get anywhere close to this young, tall and beautiful lady rising above a cliff with its arms closed unlike Rose from the Titanic, yet able to withstand the strong blow of winds. Yes, she was young, tall and beautiful all at the same time. She was just over a few centuries old, measuring a few hundred feet in height weighing over thousands of tons and a figure so sexy you would only drool over. Fortunately, I am straight otherwise I would have committed a suicide out of complex over her hotness clocking over 27 degrees in Celsius.

You wondering if I kissed her? Naughty, you! No, seriously I don’t have the guts to do such an act in front of tens of people. So instead I started yelling out loud, PaaroPaaro only to be amused by my own voice that echoed through the mountains (hope Khalid Hussaini wouldn’t sue me for the plagiarism). I continued doing it until my friend told me what if she responds back to you with Devaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Suddenly it had started to feel -27 degrees in Celsius. The chills you know. I am only heroic with words unlike the most of the cool guys that you see on Facebook you know! But next time when I go there I will call out Angelina Jolie. She will respond, I bet. She’s desperately single these days!

It had already been 11am by the time we reached the shore. In the scorching light of the sun all I could see was crabs, snails and some dead jelly moon fish giving clear signs that the civilized people from the nearest cities were quite frequent visitors there. And they were cool too. I found this out only after seeing empty beer cans and plastic bottles on the beach. Yeah, there were seagulls too and they were so uncivilized they only preyed to eat. How ridiculous! But the beach was beautiful like the one that I had seen in photos on Google. This time I was not going to miss any chance to have my bareback clicked for a sizzling profile pic that was surely going to land me hell lot of friend requests from the blondes across Florida to the hottest desi in Faisalabad. Did I just discriminate? Ok, add from the blond in Miami to the 64-year-old smartest man in Mianwali too.

By 2pm we had had our lunch and were on our way back to see the mud wall as told by our guide which was yet again a surprise as it actually was some form of larva, sorry lava (auto-correct sucks!) coming out of a presumably active, like our government, volcano. The best part was that it wasn’t warm at all despite the fact that the temperature was well in 30s and the sight was at a distance of a few hundred yards both length and height wise. My friend and I didn’t even sweat a drop and were still able to have a few snaps which have already gone viral as I write so I am not going to waste my time posting them again here with the blog. To ditch the rest of the colleagues was totally worthwhile as we sipped on orange juice while sitting in the comfort of an air-conditioned bus. Yes, we truly know the utility of technology! Again, it’s a Pakistani thing only.

Now comes the most depressing part of the journey; leaving the place we had been so attached to for the last 12 hours or so. It was a nostalgic moment. Suddenly our fond memories with the princess and more importantly the mud had started to flash back as I opened the Speedometer app and my friend maps on our stupidly smart phones to dissipate the feelings and wait for the internet to restore. After all, we had to google as well about the history of Princess of Hope. You thought this all was satire? Hell, no! You can follow me on Orkut!

You might also like More from author

Leave A Reply

Your email address will not be published.