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The boy scouts were given buses to travel from Rawalpindi to Murreee and they were told to wear their heavy woolen clothes. Murree would be very cold, much colder than Pindi, the shorthand used by most locals for the unkempt dusty town. Murree was on a higher altitude and it was winter. The hill town was snow covered and the wind that blew from the north was blustery and bitingly cold. Sometimes, there was blizzard which made walking impossible. The narrow roads, of Murree, covered in snow and ice, became slippery, which was made worse by steep ascent and descending the lower gradient. They were advised to carry a stick to help them keep balance while walking up there.
   The description of Murree in winter did not frighten, not to speak of discouraging the boy scouts. None of them had seen snow before and it sounded all so exciting that instead of apprehension they felt thrilled. The name Murree was not familiar to most of them as it was not in their geography book, nor they had heard about it in conversation of elders who sometimes mentioned Darjeeling, a hill station in the foothills of Himalayas, with which people from undivided Bengal were more familiar. He had already read a book ‘Shite Upekkhita’ (Neglected in winter), a travel account of Darjeeling written by Ranjan. It drew a bleak picture of the popular hill station, deserted in winter and presenting a desolate and forlorn look. The grim and inhospitable atmosphere was rendered more haggard by the news about the brutal assassination of Mahatma Gandhi. It was the tragic sense of loss of a great man, an exemplar of a self-less leader that overwhelmed the reader and made the account of Darjeeling by Ranjan into an elegy. Murree would be seen by them without any preceding shocking event as none had taken place on the eve of their departure for the snow-covered heights. Hopefully, there would be no untoward incident during or after the visit to mar the experience that they anticipated so sweetly. The name Murree, rhyming with merry, seemed incapable of producing pathos, even melancholy. They could welcome the harsh winter wind by inviting it to blow because it could not be more unkind than man’s ingratitude to man, as Shakespeare had written and which they had already read. Undaunted by dire warnings, they boy scouts boarded the buses and started for their uphill journey, wallowing in exuberance.
   Their scout teacher checked each of them, counting the number and layers of clothes they had on them. Though few of the other boy scouts had taken overcoats and were quite confident with woolen jumpers, their teacher made it mandatory to wear their overcoats on top of sweaters, full sleeve pullovers and of course, shirts. It was as if the platoon commander was making last minute inspection of the battle-worthiness of the foot soldiers before a military assault. He himself looked like a walking bundle of woolen clothes, huffing and puffing as he negotiated the narrow passage between rows of seats in the bus. Boy scouts of other schools looked at him quizzically and giggled. While most of the boy scouts carried a narrow but sturdy cane, their teacher had collected a bamboo pole for the walk in the slippery slope of Murree. The bamboo looked lethal and threatening, a feature attenuated only by his skeletal figure lost under the thick layers of clothes.
   The bus rolled on in the early morning quiet of Pindi town. There were not many people out on the road. Shop fronts were still shuttered. Dogs slept, curling in half circle. A few tonga trundled along the empty road, sending tremors. Trucks roared by, sending dust and dirt, with their wipers busy, keeping the windshield clean of frost. The old residential buildings had barely begun to stir. Servants swept the house fronts and gardeners tended the seasonal flower beds. Crows flew overhead, cawing raucously. Poor women, covering faces, collected water from streetside municipal water hydrants. Horses, with spindly legs and emaciated bodies, chewed green grass, with their owners hovering nearby. Further on from the city centre, Murree road became dustier and mists clung to the road side trees. Mud huts stood cheek-by jowl with old brick-buildings in disparate cluster, unlike in the city centre where old buildings jostled with each other in unending blocs. As in the city centre, here, too, dilapidated walls were covered in cinema posters and handwritten advertisements in urdu.
   As the buses left Pindi behind, the landscape on both sides of road became bucolic with mud huts squatting on arable land. Winter vegetables grown in patches were refulgent under the rising sun. Men and women went about their chores without feeling distracted by the rows of bus carrying the boy scouts. Children tottered along the narrow village path with books clutched under arms and glancing curiously at the speeding buses. Healthy looking cows stood still or lay on the ground with heads raised, chewing the cud. The horizon appeared in fragments through broken passages of thick mist. As the buses moved through empty space, cold gripped tighter, slowly but steadily. The buses soon started the ascent to Murree. The road became narrower and serpentine. Very soon they were above the ground level, as if flying over it. They could see the outline of Pindi and the surrounding villages with brown fields and smidgens of green vegetable patches. Canal irrigation had not come to Pindi yet and Warsak Dam was years away.
   Murree hill comprised ridges with evergreen forest. Pine trees stood on road side going up the and down the hill. The foothills were bare and tawny. It was not a rocky hill that they were climbing though outcropping of rocks protruded at places. The first signs of snow were on top of the pine trees where it had landed and remained snugly stuck. On the ground, there was no snow perhaps because the temperature was not cold enough to keep it intact for long. At lower attitude the snow on tree tops appeared to be melting instead of becoming frozen. The white sheen on pine top glistened in sunlight, reflecting brightly as if they were broken shards of mirror. It was the first time that he saw pine tree and he instantly fell in love with it. The tree had a lovely artful shape, its branches and foliage rising like a pyramid. The branches spread out horizontally with fine leaves and black conical shaped seeds. The tree was evergreen and could be seen on hillsides and foothills evenly spaced out. Their tops and branches caught falling snow flakes with their fine mesh of thin leaves spread out like net. Scattered snow on pine leaves was the very picture of serene beauty. The contrast of pure white and dark green was not stark and was tempered by a green haze. Under bright sunshine the colours seemed to be engaged in a give and take, becoming mellow.
   They reached a spot where old wooden houses stood in rows on both sides of the road. It was the main bazaar, they were told. There was snow on the road and on roadsides but it was reduced to slush and looked dirty. Footsteps of people, who walked every now and then, had made soft snow squashy, like liquid mud. The roofs and gables of the wooden houses caught snow as it fell and it rested there in its pristine white. The roofs were slanting, to allow heavy snow to slide down. From the gabled roofs snow hung like thin stalactite, creating a crystalline awning. The houses were two-storeyed, the ground storeys were used as shops selling various items. As usual tea stalls were the busiest, attracting throngs of people. Steam billowed above and scattered around from boiling kettles. Inside the shops tea was served from kettles that looked like Samovar. They got down from bus and sauntered along the road that gently rose in higher slope. There was no vehicle on the road except their buses parked on one side and people had the road all to themselves. The upper storey of the wooden houses were used as residential accommodation. From the open windows the inmates looked at the buses that had arrived and from where the boy scouts had got down. Their looks were mixed with curiosity and amusement. The boy scouts were using sticks to keep balance on the snow covered road. Very few of the locals had sticks and they looked at the boy scouts with grinning face as if half in amusement and half in commiseration. Suddenly, snow began to fall. At first it fell in straight line vertically, in small bits like flakes of cotton. It fell on roof tops and became lost in the snowcover that had already gathered. When snow fell on the road, it remained white and visible for a second or two and then melted, becoming part of the squashy slush. Snow, pure and white above ground, became so ugly soon after it touched the muddy road. He looked up enjoying the beauty of falling snow. Then it started to swirl, like a ballerina moving in quick steps, right, left, front and back, buffeted by wind. Snow drifted instead of falling straight. He stood agape, letting the experience of the spectacle to sink in. Then a sight drew his attention and his eyes were transfixed on a window in a two storey-house. A girl wrapped in a bright red shawl was knitting something using both hands and looked absent mindedly down below. By her looks and form, she was young and svelte. The red shawl stood out in bold relief against the white of the snow that was falling continuously. She looked fully absorbed in what she was doing and yet had time to look outside, a look that was as enigmatic and alluring as that of Monalisa. It was a picture perfect pose and it would become the enduring image of Murree to him, the girl in red in the snowfall.
   They climbed up Cart Road from the bus stand and reached a square nearby that was not cluttered with shops and looked relatively less crowded and noisy. It was called Mall and was popular with visitors for strolling and shopping in a less frenetic atmosphere. It looked more genteel and staid. There was an unmistakable touch of colonial days in its exclusivity and elegance. As in Darjeeling, visitors did not have much to do in Murree except strolling and the Mall was the place for that. But there was no view of any mountain, as in Darjeeling. From the top of Murree one could see the ridges going on all sides down to the foothills and the surrounding villages cradled by small hillocks with their gallis (passes), giving names to local villages like Khairagali, Changiagali, Kuzagali and others. Murree bore traces of its colonial origin with bungalows and rose gardens and a small quaint looking church. The post office near Mall also dated back to the British rule as most post offices do. But post office in Murree was different, as all in hill stations were, helping to keep in touch with the rough and tumble world in the plains. The British developed hill stations like Darjeeling, Simla and Murree to get away from heat and dust in summer but it was not a retreat to be completely cut off from the rest of their empire. The post and telegraph were their messengers and these worked unobtrusively, but relentlessly.
   They had their lunch in the colonial era hotel named ‘Cecil hotel’ which was almost empty. Like Darjeeling, as described by Ranjan, Murree too, was neglected in winter and there were few visitors. As they had their lunch, a strong blustering wind blew from the north bringing more cold and making their teacher more vigilant to ensure that his students were adequately protected. It was pathetic as well as hilarious to see him later, climbing the hilly road, burdened under his many-layered clothes and stomping the ground with the solid bamboo pole. That, too, would remain etched in his memory.
   A hill station, like Murree, is a place of changing colours because it is high above the ground. Attention becomes fleeting and transient in such a place. But certain memories linger forever even here. Like, the girl in red, seen at the window of a house in the bazaar, knitting and looking thoughtfully below.

The devastatingly destructive capacity of nuclear weapons which was manifested in the United States’ dropping of two atomic bombs on the Japanese city of Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6 and 9 (1945) respectively, has left a morbid fear in the minds of men. Since then a great many campaigns have been launched demanding the abolition of nuclear weapons from our world. However, the call for the total elimination of nuclear weapons has never been as loud as it has been on the event of the just-concluded 60th anniversary of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombing.
   The demand for the abolition of nuclear weapons started right after its first use 60 years ago. Amongst an illustrious array of proponents, was 20th century’s greatest scientist and thinker Albert Einstein, who himself had encouraged the United States and United Kingdom to develop it in the early 1930s when Hitler was becoming increasingly menacing prior to the WWII. It appears that the destructive power of the atom bomb had had stunned even Einstein, the major brain behind its creation. Fearing that these weapons might one day destroy the entire human race, Einstein and Bertrand Russell collaborated to write a manifesto on July 9, 1955 (just days before Einstein’s death) whose theme was to abolish nuclear weapons or avoid wars or those will eliminate us, the human race. The resolution of the manifesto, which was signed by nine other mostly Nobel laureates, read:
   ‘In view of the fact that in any future world war nuclear weapons will certainly be employed, and that such weapons threaten the continued existence of mankind, we urge the governments of the world to realise, and to acknowledge publicly, that their purpose cannot be furthered by a world war, and we urge them, consequently, to find peaceful means for the settlement of all matters of dispute between them.’
   Other than the USA and Russia, UK (1952), France (1960), China (1964) and India (1974) became nuclear nations. Pakistan also developed nuclear weapons (1998) whilst Israel is known to have such weapons too. Yet, the worry about the danger of nuclear weapon has never been greater since the so-called rogue and vicarious states, such as Libya, Iraq, Iran and North Korea, etc., have actively sought to develop nuclear weapons or have obtained them already. The recent turbulent events on the world stage, particularly the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the worldwide scourge of Islamic terrorism have naturally given the pacifists strong reasons to make a forceful demand for the abolition of these dangerous weapons. The devastating power of nuclear weapons is capable of eliminating the human race from the face of the earth.
   With the spread of these weapons in the so-called rogue states (Iran, North Korea etc.) and the fear of falling these weapons at the hands of the terrorist groups, like bin Laden’s al-Qaeda through black-market trading (which became a real fear after revelation of Pakistani scientist AQ Khan’s selling of nuclear weapon materials to Libya, Iran and North Korea), the fear of the nuclear weapons have become greater than ever before.
   The latest call demanding elimination of nuclear weapons has been spearheaded by the mayors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as the world observed the 60th anniversary of the bombing of those cities by the US. A worldwide community of humanists, which includes eminent scientists, philosophers and social thinkers, have joined this call. However, it is evident that these calls would only fall on deaf ear. No single human being on earth would like to see the world getting destroyed for any reason and the existence of worldwide stockpiles of nuclear weapons is the only danger that can exterminate the living beings including human race many times. Yet there is this clear apathy towards getting rid of these dangerous weapons. But why? Are those people or states that are holding the nuclear weapons want the destruction of our world? We must also investigate how wise it is for the world to get rid of these weapons.
   Dr. Pervez Hoodbhoy, Pakistani nuclear physicist and a passionate anti-US campaigner vis-à-vis nuclear weapons, whilst blasting the United States on its stubborn stance of keeping the nuclear weapons, as deterrence against other nuclear powers, wrote: ‘But there is a downside to this. And the long-term consequences will not be to the advantage of the US because the nuclear monopoly is breaking down. The making of atomic weapons – especially crude ones – has become vastly simpler than it was at the time of the Manhattan Project. Basic information is freely available in technical libraries throughout the world and simply surfing the internet can bring to anyone a staggering amount of detail. Advanced textbooks and monographs contain details that can enable reasonably competent scientists and engineers to come up with ‘quick and dirty’ designs for nuclear explosives…’
   No doubt, the famous Pakistani scientist and a prominent secularist have painted a valid downside of the United States’ losing nuclear monopoly although he has forgotten that the US lost that monopoly in 1949 when USSR developed nuclear weapons and many more times subsequently as other nations became nuclear powers. However, his note of ominous warning has painted another downside which, for quite a valid reason, would stop the current nuclear powers from getting rid of these dangerous weapons, which they call deterrence against future nuclear aggression. And that downside is the ease of developing nuclear weapons, which Prof. Hoodbhoy has precisely described. The question would easily arise: If developing these weapons have become so easy and can be achieved in a hidden underground lab without the world noticing, how Prof. Hoodbhoy or anyone else would guarantee that another nation would not develop such weapons without the world knowing?
   The classic example is Iran’s effort to develop nuclear capability in a secret underground lab which they had hidden for 18 years, despite signing the Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty (NPT). However, fortunately for the world community, an Iranian dissident to Tehran’s Mullah Regime disclosed information about Iran’s hidden nuclear laboratory and a Pandora’s Box was opened up. Next time, there may not be an insider to inform the world about such secret facilities. The same is true for North Korea, who despite intense international scrutiny and signing a deal against developing nuclear weapons, had continued to pursue nuclear weapons in secret facilities and is now known to have obtained nuclear weapons already.
   (More tomorrow)

Dear Reader, research conducted by this paper’s research department which consists of a senior editor, a sub, a features journalist, two nannies, also the night duty watchman and his four-year-old daughter, has thrown up some great honours. This column, which was previously ranked as the second least read column of the paper (in front of only the obituaries, which don’t carry photographs), has now made a majestic tumultuous upward surge to its new position of third least read column in the paper. But let me not blow my own trumpet too long, lest someone capture the act on MMS, which would once again affect the rankings. Let’s instead dive into the week that was.
   The week began with a visit to the J.W. Marriott. And this time I didn’t visit the hotel for my usual reason, which is to pee. But since you brought up the subject, let me add that at most hotel urinals, sensible ‘urines’ (persons who indulge in the act of urinating), compulsorily wear raincoats, while committing the act. This is because toilet bowl sensors that start the flush water flowing are as unpredictable as a married man’s sex life.
   They almost always start early and the end result is that when you exit the toilet you’re often mistaken for Mandakini enacting the famous scene from Ram Teri Ganga Maili. However, this time I was at the Marriott as the chief assisting judge to film star Fardeen Khan.
   Fardeen and I get along famously. To be perfectly honest, he’s the only film star who actually talks to me. In fact, we’ve shared some of the most stimulating dialogues in Bollywood history. At the Marriott we had one such example.
   Cyrus: Fardeen, what’s up? Love your 1,600cc motorbike that’s outside. What say I take it for a spin...
   Fardeen: No.
   Left alone we could chat for hours. But at the Marriott there was serious work to be done. I had to short list five girls out of which Fardeen would choose his winner and eventually take the lucky girl for dinner. The dinner would be Chinese food, French wine and Dutch mode of payment. A truly global date.
   Now choosing five girls out of 200 is not a task for the fainthearted. It needs zenlike concentration, Osholike powers of observation and the cool calm, calculating mind of the confident predator. But since no film producer was available, I had to rise (ahem) to the occasion. Luckily, I was prepared for the job. Five years of doing nothing at college, and 10 years of doing even less at MTV have given me great powers. These include the ability to stare for long hours without running. The ability to shake my legs furiously without once banging the knees together, and the zenlike ability to look at girl after girl, one after another, and drink in only her good qualities. For e.g. a spectacular eyebrow in one, a beautifully shaped kneecap in a second, an inimitable hunch in a third. Within minutes I gave Fardeen his five finalists, and as always like the consummate professional I am, I calmly walked off into the urinal.
   The next day I was called to be a judge again (not bad for a boy who didn’t complete his LLB). The place was the NM College’s grand festival Umang. Unfortunately, no one told me what I would be judging. Now like all people I too have phobias, my three big ones are: a) Stuck in a lift with a right wing fundamentalist. b) Stuck in a lift with a video jockey. c) Stuck in a lift. But my truly biggest fear, the thing that makes me cringe with terror, the thing that scares me more than even marrying again, is rap music. Some fear rats, I really fear rap. I was to judge not one or two but 27 rapping Indian youngsters. My heart immediately longed for the lift. The nightmare just got worse and worse. The black man’s angst was translated into Punjabi rap, Gujarati rap, Sindhi rap, it was enough to turn any self respecting black rapper white and white rapper whiter. By the time the blitz ended, I had reached the end of fear. I was in grave danger of wetting myself in public.
   And then the silver lining peeped out from under the cloud. The J.W. Marriott is only a few minutes away.
   This article first appeared in The Asian Age