Living in Kashmir 1979-80: A Year of People, Places and Memories
Are you OK?
We landed back in Karachi after our Kenyan adventures, stepping into a terminal that hummed with the energy of hundreds of returning pilgrims. The Hajj had clearly been a great undertaking, everywhere we looked, large striped bags sat plump and worn from their journey, bearing the scuff marks of travel. Cartons were stacked here and there, some containing small fridges and any variety of other things.
It was a reminder that the pilgrimage to Mecca was not only a journey of the soul but also a practical opportunity to acquire goods unavailable back home. Perhaps these items were simply too dear at home and the opportunity to acquire goods at a reasonable price could not be missed.
We joined the queue, or rather, one of the queues, along with what seemed like hundreds of others, all pressing forward with the patient determination of seasoned travellers.
Then came the question.
"Are you O.K.?"
"Yes, thank you," we replied cheerfully.
But the question came again, and again. From different faces, in different accents, with an air of gentle urgency we simply couldn't fathom. Why was everyone so concerned about our wellbeing? We were perfectly fine, if perhaps a little travel-worn.
It was only when one kind soul took pity on our bewilderment that the penny finally dropped.
An O.K. ticket, it turned out, had nothing whatsoever to do with one's state of health. It meant a confirmed seat and those who held one were entitled to go straight to the front of the queue. Everyone else was queuing on hope alone, fingers crossed for a spare seat on an already crowded flight.
Oh, we finally understood. A single phrase, two letters, carried an entirely different meaning in that time and place. We gathered our luggage and thankfully made our way to the front of the queue. Our flight was secured.
We were O.K.
I’m not surprised you were confused. That’s a new one to me too. Glad you were O.K.
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