The Mughal's Magician (On Hold)

Airport

     "Momin! You do not need so many solar powered gadgets! The power doesn't go out that much in Lahore. You'll be able to charge everything you need whenever the power comes back," Warda Cheema explained to her eldest son. 

     "And what's with the micro bike? We're not going to Tokyo. We're going to Lahore," Mohsin Cheema asked his son as well. 

     "Okay first, I'm not getting caught in any situation without my stuff. Anything could happen at any minute, so I'll be ready. Last time we were here, the former prime minister was assassinated. Do you guys even remember how long the markets were closed? My solar cells, gadgets, and emergency food can take care of us for a while. Second, when in doubt, micro bike it out. Common sense, parental units," Momin responded to his parents. 

     "Parental units," Mohsin murmured and shook his head before continuing, "can't you say mom and dad like everyone else?" 

     "He's twenty-six, a doomsday prepper, and still lives at home with you guys. How can he call you anything BUT parental units?" Maria, Momin's younger sister, asked.

     "No one asked you anything, dweeb. Out of my way, I have to face the Lahori heat head on if I want to survive this trip," Momin growled before heading down the walkway. 

     The Cheema's had just arrived at Allama Iqbal International Airport after a nearly 14 hour flight from New York. Their plan was to spend three weeks in Lahore to attend a family friend's wedding and see the sights in this ancient city. Momin wasn't sure why he was being dragged along, even though he had nearly snagged a job at a "preppers" magazine back home. He had suspicions that it was because his parents wanted him to find a nice Pakistani girl to marry and the best gateway drug to marriage is attending a friend's marriage. 

     Momin sighed and pulled on his hat. He didn't mind visiting the historic areas of cities, but he really, really hated weddings. There was always that one lady who would make a cheesy remark before saying, 

     "You're next." 

      As if he was heading towards a death sentence or something. Perhaps that was what marriage was, a death sentence. You were stripped away from all of the decisions you could make for your own life and now had to envision decisions for "us." What was the guarantee that a person could like another person for LIFE? Ugh. This is what happens when you keep subjecting a population to Bollywood movies, Momin thought as he marched down towards the immigration desks. He could see that the airport had the bare essentials and found himself fascinated with the perpetual lack of order when it came to the lines. There were men lined up in the women's lines, there were Pakistani passport holders in the "foreign passport" line. He enjoyed chaos, but could tell that the rest for his family wasn't so keen when it came to this setting.

     "There are guys in the ladies line," Maria murmured in disbelief. 

     "This is Pakistan, my sweet. There is no order. You go with the flow. Now, go and join any line," Mohsin smiled before patting his daughter on the back. 

     "This is what hell has to be like," Maria murmured and stood in line behind her brother.

     "You need to ease up, sis. Take things in stride," Momin murmured while flailing his arms like a stork. 

     "This, coming from Mr. Paranoia? You think the world could end at any second and have a home base in your backpack. How are YOU giving me advice to take things in stride?" Maria asked with a scoff.

     "I'm prepared. Plus, remember we're Muslims? The end of the world could literally come tomorrow. We all know qiyamah is a controlled demolition. Blowing of the horn? Everyone knows that's a detonation charge," Momin said while shaking his head.

     "Why are you so freaking weird, Momin?" Maria growled and tapped her foot in irritation.

     "Maria, he is your older brother. We don't use that kind of language with our elders," Warda scolded her daughter.

     Momin grinned at his sister, who in turn threw him a look of loathing. He was always kind to his sister, but they did have sibling spats, just like other normal siblings.  He knew that he came across as "weird" to outsiders, but he had reasons for being ever ready. he remembered his previous trip to Pakistan and how the former prime minister, Benazir Bhutto, had been assassinated. People began to riot, burning tires in the intersections of major roadways, and markets were closed indefinitely. He remembered how tough that week was and had vowed never to be caught unprepared for major world events again. If that made him "weird," he was okay with that. He was apprehensive about his trip. Something always happened when they visited Pakistan. He felt as if this trip would be hold some life-altering surprise as well. 

He was very, very right.