The park behind the Runny Mead in Clifton is a Mecca for joggers. The die-hards and routine spirits venture with their foot-machines every day relentlessly, sweating out to sweeten the rhythm of their heart beats. I was indoctrinated into this culture about four years ago and reluctantly, fighting-off the God-given desire to be lazy, I caught the spirit. It was down hill from there on. I found more than just a health culture around the track. When you see someone every day, month in, month out, it is not possible not to imbibe them. For the past four years, I was bumping into a tall handsome man, fair skinned, dark moustache, well-combed and placed hair, routinely running instead of slow walking. He would always go clock-wise while I would do anti-clockwise. So, we will both run into each other twice in each circuit. The difference in our jogging speed will determine our meeting point; it kept changing as he would speed up. At each encounter we will exchange glances, a wink or a raised thumb. I did not know who this guy was but it felt good to see a bright, confident and dedicated face every day. After years of knowing him through body gestures, I ran into him at a dinner party at Hafeezes. Immediately, though, as if we were drawn by a mutual attraction, we introduced ourselves. There was no need for courtesies; we had known each other for years. Dawar Shoib was banker in his late thirties and looked after the Clifton branch of a major bank. Just like I had expected, he was high on life and a pleasure to meet. We talked about many things but mostly health matters and I was truly amazed when he told me that for the last eight years he hasn't missed a day running. We parted promising to meet in the park the next day. From that day on, we both knew the identity behind the body gestures and now at every encounter in the circuit we will also exchange quips and smart remarks. A few days later, I got a call from Hafeez saying that Dawar has been shot in his home. Dawar was dead. I was dumbfounded. Something broke inside me. His bright face flashed in front me with blood all over. "Oh God!," was all that I could utter.

Two weeks later, I returned to the park. I felt a strange lunge in my legs as I entered the park. Everything was there, the trees, the track, the people; nothing had changed, except it all looked gloomy. I shook my head off and began my circuit and then it hit me; after two rounds I did not find Dawar to wink or raise his thumb up. He wasn't there. A part of the park was missing. I felt like crying. It just wasn't possible to continue and I sat down. After a few minutes I got up and began running; subconsciously, unintentionally, I was going a different direction--clockwise. I did not want to run into Dawar.

[10 March 1995 The Daily Dawn]