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My heart may bleed, but it still bleeds GREEN!

2011-03-31T08:06:49Z

It’s over. Pakistan has lost the semi-final to India. The crazy euphoria of a nation of cricket-lovers has come to a standstill. The silence is deafening. The dejection on everyone’s face is simply disappointing. After all, a match between India and Pakistan somehow, always assumes proportions that make it more than ‘just a game’.

Yes, it is just a game. But not to Pakistanis, especially today. The nation, locally as well as internationally, has more than enough negative tags that go along with its name. We fight battles like poverty, bad and corrupt governance, inflation and above everything else, terrorism.

And so, the nation needed hope, success and something with which we could say to the world, ‘hey, we are no less. We are resilient. We are winners. We have what it takes’.

I am not a huge cricket buff. But I am a crazy Pakistan buff. With every breath, like the 180 million of us, I prayed that we win. I prayed that I see that cup come home. The excitement and zest on everyone’s faces was celebration in itself. The green flag – on T-shirts, on Facebook profile pictures, painted on faces, etched on our hearts. Songs of valour blaring everywhere. A holiday announced on March 30.

The men in green inevitably became our saviours of hope. We pinned ALL our hopes on them. Our patriotism reached mammoth proportions. We, for a bit, forgot all our disagreements and united in one jazba. One dream.

Everywhere, literally, all we could think or talk or breath about was this match. Libya’s woes and international crisis took a back seat, and the media was full of nothing else but this. The media hype gained crazy proportions. And this is not to blame the media, because the media feeds us what we want to be fed. The pressure on both teams mounted, as India’s media was not less obsessed with what was being called TGME (The Greatest Match Ever).

We had hopes and fears for our team, but we had more at stake than just the ICC Cricket World Cup 2011. We shuddered to even think of losing this match. We all knew that even with its brilliant performance against Australia and West Indies, Pakistan was an underdog team. But anything could happen. Unpredictability is not just an attribute of the Pakistani team, it is an attribute of the game itself. And so Shahid Afrdi, or Lala as we lovingly call him, and his boys became our most throbbing hope, as if winning this match would pull us out of all the bad that happens to us. For the Pakistanis living abroad, they yearned for the win to be able to tell their colleagues and friends at work that things were looking up for Pakistan.

All this is completely understandable. Totally acceptable. But what is not understandable or acceptable is how quickly our heroes become our villains. How quickly, once they lost, they become ‘losers’ from ‘champions’. Instantly, as the match progressed dismally for Pakistan, conspiracy theories started flowing out of minds with overactive imaginations. Match fixing. Bribery. Deals. Politics. Indo-Pak foreign policy. Water supply to Pakistan. The speculations were never ending, and with such certainty as if the under-handed deals had been dealt in front of those very eyes. Derogatory remarks and jokes in bad taste about the players started being exchanged.

Yes, this match had serious issues. Mistakes and several bad decisions were made. But the truth is that the Pakistani cricket team exceeded our expectations, reached the semi-finals and is the third best team in the world. We represented Pakistan wonderfully the world over. Captain Afridi’s encouraging pat on Sachin Tendulkar’s back spoke volumes – it was magnanimity at its best. It made me extremely proud to have someone like him represent the team. The humility of the team, and the sight Pakistan’s leading wicket-taker Wahab Riaz falling on to the ground in prostration for gratitude was a sight both humbling yet awe-inspiring.

The last thing Pakistan needs right now is negativity. On a positive note, an overwhelming number of people are acting sane, mature and most importantly, loyal to the team in spite of all of this. We lost the match. We are disappointed. We are hurt. A dream is shattered. But Pakistanis are too resilient a nation to be bogged down by this. Lala, my captain, you do not need to apologise. You and the team did a great job and we are proud of you. There will be other times when the match will be ours. This one was India’s. We will stand by you not just in good times, but in bad times too. We may be hurt, but we have not lost faith in our cricket team, and more importantly, in our nation. We will bounce back. We always do.

Farah Zahidi Moazzam is a freelance writer.

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

Young bureaucrats in the making

2011-03-31T07:52:23Z

Photo Courtesy: Creative Commons

“Have you read Syed Saadat’s piece?” asked a probationary officer with gusto.

“No I haven’t. Why?” I replied.

“It’s about us. They are talking about us – about our meager salaries”, replied the officer. The word spread in the Civil Services Academy and everybody was reading or sharing the piece.

Syed Saadat, a young bureaucrat, talked about corruption and how the civil servants are left with no other option if they want to support their families. The tone was sarcastic and bitter filled with cynicism – the article was something that not just the young officers in the academy could relate to, but so could the senior officers in the field. Then Syed Anwar Mehmood came out with his own plea about the salary structure of the civil servants. For the days to come in the academy, it seemed as if the poor salary structure was the only ill afflicting the once prestigious institution of the country.

The lush green grounds and the gnarled trees of the Civil Services Academy have seen many bureaucrats in the making since 1973 belonging to different occupational groups. The argument that the civil service has lost the ability to attract the brightest minds of the country does not hold true. One, the claim that the profession once hosted the brightest and the wisest is itself debatable. Second, although the prestige of civil service has declined over the years yet there are still examples of doctors and engineers, and other professionals, who forgo other opportunities and scholarships to join the service. There is a lady officer who was selected on a Rhodes Scholarship but chose to join the civil service this year. She certainly knew what she was getting into. Same goes for other officers who consciously made a decision to join the service.

I agree, salary is a very important issue concerning the civil servants, especially when they compare themselves with graduates of top universities working in the private sector. Here, I would also like to mention that the notion that graduates of LUMS and NUST, or other universities, getting paid high starting salaries (around 40,000-60,000) is largely exaggerated. This may be an exception with a very few graduates but it certainly is not the general practice these days. Low salary structure, even though an issue, certainly does not highlight the fundamental ills of the service.

By constantly talking about the declining prestige of the civil service, we are not talking about the real issues. The status and esteem of the institution was destined to evolve as it shifted, rather languidly from its colonial legacy. The real debate is not whether the service has the same esteem in the country or not, but it is whether it has succeeded in delivering on its main functions. And if it hasn’t, then is the poor salary structure holding the officers back from working diligently? Most of the corruption that takes place in the service results after this rationalisation where the system is blamed first and foremost for not taking ‘adequate care’ of them.

Let’s talk facts. The fact is many officers are in different occupational groups not because they opted for it or due to their aptitude, but because they scored lower than others in some subject and fell at a certain place on the merit list.

The fact is there is a serious crisis of capacity in the service as well. The gap between capacity of the service to discharge its duties and the enormity of issues is widening persistently. It has less to do with the declining ‘prestige’ of the civil service and more to do with the stagnant capacity of civil services and plethora of issues.

The civil service has failed to evolve with time and was thus unsuccessful in responding to increasing challenges. The recent reforms in a few areas, though steps in positive direction, may prove too little too late. Increase in salaries can always only be one small step in attracting more people to the service but it can never guarantee improvement in services. For that we will have to think on other lines.

Ali Baraan is a critic.

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

Boom boom, not doom doom

2011-03-29T11:58:59Z

Cricketers have had several nicknames (sometimes pet names) which are remembered long after they have departed. The first that comes to my mind is that of Fred Truman, who was a fast bowler of epic proportions. His speed could only be matched with his fiery temperament, which was why he was called Fiery Freddie Truman.

We had Merry Max (Maqsood Ahmad), who was born 30 years too early, for he was fond of hitting the ball mercilessly. ‘Hit out or get out’ was his motto and each time he came to the crease, things perked up. Even sleepy radio commentators woke up. He played Tests but he was meant for what was initially called, ‘instant cricket’. No prizes for guessing that the term was used for One Day cricket, somewhat disdainfully by the purists, who thought that only five- or six-day games were real cricket.

Merry Max (not Marry Max) was once out at the score of 99 (his highest) when playing against India in the 1954-55 series. A cricket fan, addicted to radio commentary, got his first and last heart attack. Subhash Gupte, who took five wickets in a deadly spell, including Merry Max’s prize wicket, said that if he had even the slightest inkling about the tragic turn of events, he would have postponed sending his Pakistani friend back to the pavilion, until he completed what would have been his only 100.

Few would remember that pop singer Nazia Hasan’s second (or was it third?) album was titled Boom Boom. But unluckily, its sales and popularity were no patch for her earlier one – Young Tarang.

We then heard of the dual word, ‘Boom Boom’ when Shahid Afridi punished the Indian bowlers with sixes after sixes in New Delhi. He had earlier created record for the fastest century in ODIs in Kenya in the second match that he played (in the first one, he didn’t get a chance to bat).

Afridi has surpassed Sanath Jayasuriya’s what seemed to be an inaccessible record of the highest number of sixes, a few months ago. Statisticians will tell you how many the two scored. All I know is that our flamboyant (read, unpredictable) batsman crossed the Sri Lankan’s record in fewer matches.

The wheel of fortune has completed one full circle. Afridi was selected to play for Pakistan because the leg spinner, Mushtaq Ahmed was unfit. Wasim Akram recalls that when he saw a well-built, fair-looking lad hitting Waqar Younis mercilessly above the ropes during practice, he decided to ball to the mercurial young man himself. I must confess I got the same treatment from him.

But now Afridi is much more invaluable as a bowler than as a batsman. His guile and his variety is amazing. While these lines are being written (on the eve of the semi-final) he has taken the highest number of wickets in the current edition of the World Cup, twenty-one being the current number. He has also proved to be a competent captain in the shorter forms of the game.

Years ago, while waiting for a flight from San Francisco airport, I ran into three Indian students, who asked me if I was an Indian, to which I said I was from their neighbouring country. “Oh! So you are from the land of Boom Boom Shahid Afridi?”

“Do you like to watch him bat?” I queried.

“Yes, we love to see him bat but not when he is playing against our boys,” was the reply.

Boom Boom was the nickname given to him by none other than Ravi Shastri, while he was commentating on an India-Pakistan ODI. What happens when Afridi doesn’t score? They love him so much that no one says, ‘Doom Doom’.

When I was writing a book on the charismatic cricketer for Liberty Books, Karachi, we racked our brains and finally thought the title of the book should be ‘Boom Boom Shahid Afridi‘. You know what? The book sold very well. There was a slight drop in the sales when he bit the ball but then when he started taking wicket after wicket, its sales have taken an upward swing once again. So, anything that has the tag of Boom Boom is unpredictable but never, I repeat never, dull.

Asif Noorani, a seasoned journalist, is the writer of three best-selling books including ‘Boom, Boom Shahid Afridi’.

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

A neglected coup de plume

2011-03-31T07:20:38Z

An average Pakistani bookworm will read or come across a treasure trove of intense and often realistic literature composed by fellow citizens. In those words of experience and observation, fictional or otherwise, they will agree with at least some of what the book says or tries to convey, for that matter. That feeling of being able to relate leaves a positive message for the reader who might think, ‘Oh, we share something in common.’ A bond is built; trust is generated between the reader and the writer. A sense of belonging takes form and that is exactly what a bookworm searches for among other feelings while reading. If you look closer, you will see Pakistani English literature gracefully detaching itself from the resonating tone of Indian English tradition; stuck in the past, lamenting colonisation, analysing prevalent corruption in the system and sometimes, describing a room over ten or eleven pages with burdensome details.

But during that saunter down aisles and aisles of prose and poetry, we tend to overlook one stark truth: where are the books for children? More importantly, why are there terribly few English books for the young ones? Of course we have Roald Dahl, Sweet Valley High, Harry Potter, Enid Blyton and a few dozen others (not to forget the cringe-worthy addition of Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight for the “youth”), but they all have one thing in common: they are not Pakistani. They cannot speak of the experience to be a young one in this country. They do not share the simple joys, sometimes sadness and now, the restlessness of being a Pakistani youth.

I attended several educational and literary conferences where popular figures stressed upon the need to encourage literacy and reading books in our country – but there was something missing. Children are often forgotten at such occasions; a lot is honked, little is done. But forgive me for my glumness: there are efforts being positively channeled into this direction as well. The Pakistan Children Writers Guild was formed for promoting literature for children of which Dr. Mujeeb Anwar Hamidi is the patron-in-chief along with Professor Saher Ansari, Jamil-u-Din Aali, Masood Barkati, Alhaj Shamim-u-Din, Naheed Nargis, Fatima Suriya Bajia, Altaf Qadri, Dr. Aslam Saeed and Agha Noor Mohamed Pathan part of the executive committee of the guild. In this regard, a small yet colourful ray of hope was given by Mahnaz Malik who published her first story book for kids title ‘Mo’s Star,’ a story about a penguin trying to reach the stars.

I recall my fourth grade student’s snarky yet true remark during a reading class: “You know, if they coloured these books and told better stories like my grandfather does, I would read them with a lot more interest. Promise.” I did not doubt her honesty a single bit simply because she was right. Our children want to read books they can relate to. As far as I know, no matter how glamourised and addictive Twilight gets, young Pakistani girls cannot relate to Bella for two good reasons: 1) There are no vampires in Pakistan thanks to the angry summers we get. 2) I don’t have a number 2.

On a serious note, there is a dearth of localised English literature for children in the land of pure and that needs to be addressed, especially due to the education emergency we are facing. Book clubs should be formed, reading circles should be encouraged, young graduates and high school students ought to take the time out for younger ones and share stories with them. It is truly a simple task with incredible rewards. But above all, writers need to emphasize on the significance of children’s books and make sure that they step forward with contributions for these young minds.

No doubt, the achievements garnered by our writers must be extolled wherever and whenever possible, but we need to shift our focus towards a younger yet significantly larger audience. This crowd is the most neglected and unheard in our country. The irony is that it comprises the majority of our nation and, from what you and I have been told since childhood according to the loud teacher with the horn-rimmed spectacles in class, the majority is authority. These boys and girls want books. Give them something to read and something they can relate to.

Mehreen Kasana is an American-Pakistani student and blogger who enjoys writing humorously about politics and cultures. MS Paint is her best friend.

*Illustrations by the author.

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

A touch of madness

2011-03-29T04:54:04Z

Have you heard of the Rothschilds?

They are like the Chuck Norris of conspiracy theories – every political event in this world is caused by their machinations to make more money.

Conspiracy theories such as these are big amongst our generation. It’s due to a combination of an overload of information, a culture that demands cynicism and an innate refusal to believe anything permanent.

Of course, there are scholars who tell us many things that lie in the realm of fact, not conspiracy.

They tell us that our generation was one that grew up when the nation was brain-washed and ransacked due to a tasty combination of imperialist designs and the commercialisation of piety. That we were programmed to be self-destructive, consequence-damning, lesser-imagined people who would go up in flames.

Which is interesting. However, this claim is not false – it is based on facts.

But sometimes I wonder, what was going on with me back then?

Well, when I was young, I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about glass-eyed generals, stinger launching gorillas, or strategically deep moral codes, or about the end of history, or the dawn of the righteous light.

But what I do remember thinking about was this band.

It is impossible really for me to explain what this band means in the famished word count I am currently restricted under.

But if I had to choose a song that means everything Junoon ever meant, then I’d choose this one:

Now try to go beyond my words and instead, try to feel what they mean.

(Honestly, you need to listen to the song before you read further.)

The whole song is this sheer force – an assault on your ears as the guitar, the vocals, the bass, the drums and the ubiquitous tabla take turns in beating you up like a bunch of wrestlers picking on the injured guy during the Royal Rumble. The manic nature of the lead, the shock of the news clips, the audacity of the lyrics.

Even the video, with its erratic frame rates and its shades of grey, is epic.

But then all of it – the sounds, the visuals, the words – need to be epic, need to be transformative. They need to transport you to a heightened state of ecstasy in order to confront the reality of that eternal refrain:

zehni ghulami sey, kaash hoon hum azaad.

(Oh if we could be freed, from the oppression of the mind)

This in a sense, uncovers a new fact in this whole sordid history of our generation.

The fact that despite the brainwashing of those times, our generation – at some level – knows that it is being assaulted by ideologies and that at its core, we are screaming for freedom from all of it.

We understand that the search for truth necessitates a journey into the heart of madness.

And we know that the result of this journey is either the sublime or the ridiculous.

On March 30, the maddest man we have ever loved will lead out a team of greyish-black characters, an assortment of erratic temperaments and phenomenal ability, of leaky gloves, fatal scoops, screaming yorkers, and two pointed fingers – everything that goes against the notions of rationality and logic.

Whichever way it will go, it will not be clinical.

It will not be about executed plans or practised strokes.

It will end in moments of madness, moments of daring and daftness, moments of eternity.

Don’t approach it as though waiting to exorcise the ghosts of Bangalore, Karachi, Dhaka, or Centurion and Johannesburg.

Do not go in asking for your ego to be massaged, or looking to either baste your intellectual vanity with paeans for peace, or to vent by calls for murder or annihilation. Do not go in seeking politics.

Go in knowing that you are going to travel to the edge of agony and ecstasy in one moment. That you are going to find the pit of your stomach giving away to an endless abyss of trepidation.

Go knowing that deep down, below all those refrains of your ego and its exhortations for sanity, the only way is madness.

This is Pakistan.

Taking on India.

On Indian soil.

In the world cup semi-final.

Embrace the madness.

Ahmer Naqvi is the Brian Lara of his generation – he’s a genius but his team usually loses. He blogs on his own property in Blogistan, and makes short films you can see here, and here.

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

The missing taxpayers

2011-03-31T07:16:05Z

They travel abroad regularly, live in palatial homes and drive luxury vehicles. They are 2.3-million strong – they are the affluent Pakistanis who are also distinguished because they do not pay any taxes. They don’t even have a tax number, which suggests that these 2.3 million affluent Pakistanis have never paid taxes in Pakistan.

This is about to change, if one were to believe Salman Siddiqui, Chairman of the Pakistan’s Federal Bureau of Revenue (FBR). The FBR has issued notices to the 700,000 wealthiest of the 2.3 million affluent Pakistanis to pony up withheld taxes. Mr. Siddiqui did not elaborate on the penalties for those who would continue to evade taxes.

Tax evasion in Pakistan leaves the State with no option but to borrow money from lenders, such as the IMF. Consider this: in a nation of 180 million, fewer than two million are registered tax payers. Furthermore, tax revenue accounts for roughly 10 per cent of Pakistan’s GDP, which is extremely low even for Pakistan. The average among western European states is around 30-plus per cent. In neighbouring India, tax revenue accounts for 18 per cent of the GDP, which makes me wonder whether Indians have a better sense of citizenship than Pakistanis.

In the words of the famous Canadian-born economist, John K. Galbraith, this leads to the classic case of “private opulence and public squalor” where the desire and demand for private goods is enhanced while spending on public utilities such as schools and parks decreases. In fact, Pakistan’s society and economy epitomises private opulence and public squalor where the fortunes of the rich and wealthy keep growing, while the State of Pakistan gets buried deeper in domestic and international debt.

The FBR has to squeeze hard these bloated tax-evading lemons. I would argue that even the sovereignty of Pakistan rests on the unpaid taxes of these 2.3 million affluent citizens. Consider the following numbers: if the very rich tax evaders are charged a nominal annual tax of $2,500, and the remaining 1.6 million not-so-wealthy evaders are charged $1,500 annually, this would generate an additional $4.2 billion in tax revenue.

Remember that the US is offering Pakistan annually $1.5 billion (in aid) through the Kerry Lugar Bill, in exchange for drone attacks on its own people. The $4.2 billion from the wealthiest tax-evaders could buy Pakistan its freedom from the United States.

And what of the tax penalty for avoiding taxes in the past? May I recommend a one-time penalty, $5,000 for the very rich and $2,500 for the second-tier rich, which would generate a one-time revenue of $7.5 billion. This is exactly the amount that the Kerry-Lugar Bill has promised for Pakistan over 5 years. Again the very rich, by paying their back taxes as one-time penalty, can off-set Pakistan’s dependence on American assistance.

The amounts I have suggested in taxes are not excessive by any account. It was only last month when we learnt that renowned Pakistani singer, Rahat Fateh Ali Khan was caught with undeclared $124,000 in cash at the New Delhi airport. Rahat Fateh Ali Khan reportedly has no tax history in Pakistan. Would people like him find a few thousand dollars in taxes, burdensome?

Asking the very rich in Pakistan (who make several trips abroad for which the airfare of a single trip alone is around $1,500) to dole out $2,500 (or $1,500) in taxes is certainly not excessive. If you consider the equity they hold in their palatial homes or the luxury vehicles they drive, the amount I have suggested in taxes would appear insignificant for the very rich.

I live in a middle-class neighbourhood in Toronto, Canada, where I pay over $5,500 in property tax alone. My total tax bill (income and other consumption taxes) is an order of magnitude higher than my property tax bill. In fact, in Canada income taxes are the largest single line item in a household’s budget, followed by shelter and transport costs.

Canadians pay taxes even when they disagree with how the government spends their tax dollars. Consider the current right-wing government of Prime Minister Stephen Harper that has followed a more fear-laden agenda and has shifted towards spending on building prisons and buying fighter jets from the United States. Most Canadians abhor such spending decisions because Canada has experienced a significant decline in violent crime rate over the past decade and hence, does not need new prisons. Furthermore, Canada does not face any security threats from other countries for which it may need new fighter jets. Building prisons and buying fighter jets seems a huge waste of tax-payers’ dollars. Yet, I and other Canadians do not even for a second think of withholding taxes on the pretext that our tax dollars may be wasted on futile projects.

The relationship between the State and the citizen is defined by the citizen’s willingness to pay taxes. Withholding taxes weakens the State. A weakened State has no alternative but to compromise. In Pakistan’s case, it is not the politicians alone who have pushed the State to beg from the IMF or the United States. Instead, it is the citizens of Pakistan who refuse to buy a stake in the country’s future by paying taxes, have forced the State to borrow from IMF and other lenders.

All Pakistanis, irrespective of their political or religious persuasions, hate their country’s dependence on handouts from the United States, the IMF, the World Bank and other similar institutions. The easiest and surest way to break free of this economic dependency is for Pakistanis to pay their taxes.

Murtaza Haider, Ph.D. is a professor of supply chain management at Ryerson University in Toronto. He can be reached at murtaza.haider@ryerson.ca

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

For the love of cricket

2011-03-28T09:33:43Z

My husband has two great passions in life and one of them is cricket. Ah cricket, I was a lover of the game until it looked me straight in the eye and unflinchingly challenged me to a duel, and in my naiveté, I took the challenge. I have since been beaten every time.

Come 1999 World Cup, I was in Miami and since we had no money, therefore, no expensive satellite hookups to watch the genteel game at home. Thus began our search for that special someone who would accommodate our cricketing needs ungrudgingly. A note here, game time in the US is almost always in the wee hours of the morning and inviting strangers into your home in darkness is never considered a good thing in any part of the world, let alone the US. Luckily, we found someone who happened to be an acquaintance of our halalmeat man. Desperate times, desperate measures, imagine what young immigrants have to endure in the name of love and cricket.

I found myself pre-dawn is a strange home, abandoned by my husband who was genuinely engrossed in the game and unaware of strange eyes everywhere. Until the evening before he was most perturbed bythe meat guy’s not so impertinent query: ‘will you be taking bhabi?’ Why was he so interested in the answer to that question? Maybe because he assumes all self-respecting Pakistani women love cricket.

Much to our misery Pakistan lost that match, but I gained some insight and wisdom, thanks to the lady of the house, into how to hold onto my marriage: ‘have children jaldi.’ Okay stranger, as you wish.

The game made us extend boundaries into the lives of people we would never have crossed paths with otherwise. Gracious, humble people who welcomed us into their home simply for the love of the game. They shared their family, food and joy, and willingly let us encroach into their intimate circle. I distinctly remember sitting on a chawki supporting my back with a gao takya, wondering if I would have opened my heart and entertained them into my tiny apartment had they been lacking the satellite hookup. I hope so.

Twelve years down the road, I find myself in a dissimilar situation and no dilemma, but the passion for the game remains the same. We have the advantage of watching the game at home on HD but my husband still prefers to watch it with a group of friends, which generally means a car drive in the wee hours of the morning which sometimes translates to non-HD viewing, but this time, not to a stranger’s house.

This time however, we hosted the quarter final between Pakistan and the West Indies. The first doorbell rang before 1:30am and by victory time, there was a band of brothers exchanging high-fives over parathas, fry andas, keema, aloo bhujia and karak chai. It was lovely to watch. Now the band of brothers plans to congregate on March 30. I will watch the match at home; I did pay heed to the strange lady’s advice, I need to watch my kids.

As Pakistan prepares to battle India in Mohali I can think of countless reasons why Pakistan needs to win the semi-finals, and one of them may just be that we are, in our minds, unprepared to lose. We, in Vegas, have already decided on a home for the ‘raatjaaga’ for the semi-finals, and I am trying to coax people into committing for the final, but apparently commitment is a jinx. Therefore, we will just have to wait for the last ball of the semi for our ‘Breakfast at Tiffany.’

There are ultimate optimists, like me, who have decided on hosting the victory celebrations, and many a pessimist who chant, ‘ho hi nahi sakta’, to which I say, ‘mark my words, this time we will sip from the Cup.’

I hosted a dinner party last night and the atmosphere was electric. All my friends were from the homeland, but one. As the black sheep entered hostile territory, all gave her a sheepish smile and goaded her. The sheep remained unperturbed, but hummed this popular Hindi song on several occasions, ‘aaaa dekhain zara, kis main kitna hai dum’. To which came, ‘boom boom, jab bhi miltay hain hum aur tum.’ It almost felt like a wedding. Who will take the bride? Your guess is as good as mine.

Afridi and his boys have worked a wonder, they have for the moment, brought us together. Admittedly the passion for the game has broken divides for years, but this time the elements are somewhat different. I feel like I am at a ‘sema’, the music is loud, the feeling tremendous, the circular dance motion euphoric – bring home the cup my boys. We will leave the light on for you!

Bisma Tirmizi is a writer based in Las Vegas

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

Waiting for the man

2011-03-27T06:12:52Z

Illustration by Faraz Aamer Khan/Dawn.com

An interview with a young revolutionary during a revolutionary demonstration in the revolutionary city of Islamabad …

So, young man, how is the revolution going?

Revolution not going, sir, it’s coming.

Are there more people expected at this demonstration?

There are enough. How many do we need?

Well, at the moment there are … 1,2,3,4 .. oh, I would say about 77 people maybe? But you’re right. After all, even Lenin thought only a handful of dedicated workers could bring revolution.

No, no, we have nothing to do with John Lennon!

I meant Vladimir Lenin, the famous Russian revolutionary.

Oh, no, no, we’re not into Russians.

So you’re into Pakistanis?

Yes, yes, I mean, no, no, I mean, Pakistani men …

Men?

No, no, not those kind of men, only men like our leader.

So you’re into men like your leader?

Yes …I mean, in a revolutionary sort of a way.

I see. So are you and your fellow revolutionaries agitating for a revolution or protesting against the release of Raymond Davis?

We are revolting.

Oh, I think you all seem decent enough, not revolting at all.

No, no, we are not decent. We are revolting! We are ready to shed our blood for our leader and revolution, but look what the police are doing to us.

Police is doing to you what police is supposed to do to young men ready to revolt and to shed blood.

Yes, but they are pushing us! This is brutality.

At least they’re not beating you.

What? They beat people up too?

Yes, very much so. Sometimes they torture people as well.

Really? Then how can they expect us to bring revolution?

But they don’t want you to bring a revolution

Why not? They all look so poor and sun-burned.

They are the police!

Then who will allow us to bring a revolution?

No one will. You have to fight and bleed for it.

Like Tupac?

No, like, let’s say, Che Guevara.

Our leader is like Guevara.

Err … your leader is more like a middle-aged Justin Timberlake.

I love Justin!

I can see that.

You can?

Yes. But I can’t see a Che Guevara in this demonstration.

Che is dead.

No kidding.

I tell you, he is. You should be more informed about things when you interview people like me.

I’ll try. So, anyone else from your family who’s come to this .. errm … mammoth gathering?

My whole family is here. But you won’t be able to see them. They do pardah.

Even the men?

No, no, only the women, of course.

Wonder what Che would’ve thought about that?

Che was a true Muslim.

He was a communist.

What’s that?

That’s what Che was.

A comma?

No, a full-stop.

What are you talking about? Che was a good, ghairatmand Muslim.

Is that what your leader has been telling you?

No, I read that somewhere. You see, I read a lot.

That’s good to know. Where did you read that Che was a Muslim?

In Mr. Zaid Hamid’s book.

He wrote that?

I haven’t reached that part yet.

So how can you say he wrote that?

Well, he should. Did you know he also wrote that Sikhs were actually Muslims?

Yes, I heard him say that. He’s quite a joker, isn’t he?

No, no, he’s a scholar. Imran Khan sahib, Zaid sahib, Hamid Gul uncle, and aunty Shireen Mazari will bring a revolution with us.

You forgot to mention Sansar Abbasi…

What?? Okay, him too.

… And Justin Timberlake.

But he’s American! We hate America!

But you love Justin, remember?

I am willing to stop listening to Justin for my country.

Now that, would be brave.

Thanks.

So, now that the police are not allowing you to bring a revolution, what do you plan to do?

We’re thinking of bribing them.

Bribe the police? But that would be a corrupt act. I thought you were dead against corruption?

No, we’re not dead. Only Che is dead.

No, what I meant to say was, that since …

I know what you meant to say.

And?

And we will help these poverty-stricken policemen by giving them money and this way they will not push us.

So you want to bring a revolution without the cops pushing, beating or arresting you?

They can’t arrest our women! They do pardah.

The cops don’t care. If they think the women are causing trouble, they’ll arrest them too.

Then how will we bring a revolution?

What about women who do not do the pardah?

But we are Pakistani.

Not all Pakistani women do the pardah.

They must be Christian or Hindu then.

No, not all Muslim women …

Are you Christian?

No. Why?

You don’t have a beard.

Well, neither do you, son and neither does your leader.

(Touches his face and wonders) Hmmm … that’s true. But we should have a beard, shouldn’t we?

No, not necessarily. It has nothing to do with religion.

It doesn’t?

No.

So there! That’s why our leader doesn’t have a beard …

But Che Guevara, the communist did and so do Sikhs, and …

Of course, Sikhs have beards. They’re all Muslim.

But, of course. How can I not know that? Shame on me. Anyway, I can see some of your comrades are having burgers down there and chilled colas.

Yes, we’re hungry and hot.

And not into Russians.

Only Russian Salad.

Ha ha.

Why are you laughing?

I thought you were being witty.

No, I’m a very serious.

With an accent.

Is that a problem?

No. Just a slight impediment for a revolutionary with an anti-American image.

Just because I’m not a comma, doesn’t mean my comrades and I can’t bring a revolution, y’know.

Oh, of course. So, tell me more about these commas who keep making fun of you?

They’re just jealous! We are blessed with a great leader, and have this amazing love and passion for our country.

So do they?

No they don’t!

Why do you say that?

I just know. These commas can’t be trusted. They don’t believe in God.

Yes, some commas don’t believe in question marks. But not all. Some commas are really semi-colons. By the way, Che was an atheist.

That’s a lie!

That’s a fact.

You’re just bugging me. Stop it or I’ll tell my mom.

Your mom’s here too?

No, she’s in Dubai.

In a pardah?

No, I mean, yes … sort of.

Hey, I’m not bugging you. I’m interviewing a great young revolutionary.

I’m feeling hot.

Wow.

No, I mean, it’s really hot today. But I shall brave the sun and the dust for a great cause.

And the cause is …?

A revolution!

Against?

Corruption … no, today it’s actually against Raymond Davis … or is it for Aafia Siddiqui? Hmmm … let me ask.

Maybe it’s against terrorism.

Can’t be. Because there is no terrorism in Pakistan.

Excuse me?

What you commas call terrorism, is just our Pakhtun brothers fighting for their honour against Americans!

That’s a load of lies.

That’s a load of fact.

Can you substantiate this with proof?

Why should I substitute this fact?

Substantiate, not substitute … never mind.

You are just against Muslim ummah and our fight to restore the khilafat.

The what?

The khilafat.

In this day and age?

Yes. We need a pious and brave khalifa.

And your leader will be that khalifa?

Why not?

So this demonstration is for the imposition of a khilafat against Western imperialist pigs?

That sounds good. Wait, let me write that down. Can you repeat what you just said?

Sure. I said, ‘thori si joh peeli hai, chori toh nahi ki, oh sheela, oh nazzo, mujhey tum sambhalo, kahein hum gir na parain!’

That’s a Hindu film song.

That is an Indian film song.

It’s about alcohol. What sort of a Muslim are you. Have you no ghairat?

Why, don’t you watch Indian films as well?

Well, yes, but I am now ready to sacrifice watching them too.

I’m impressed.

Thank you. Now if you would excuse me, I need to plan for a revolution.

But you still haven’t told me what the revolution is against or about?

Errm … err … let me ask (starts dialing number on his cell phone).

Whom are you calling?

My mom!

Nadeem F. Paracha is a cultural critic and senior columnist for Dawn Newspaper and Dawn.com.

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

Thank you, Dhaka!

2011-03-27T02:10:19Z

Outside it was -13C. The (hopefully) last snowstorm of the season was in progress. It was just another typical winter morning here in Toronto.

Inside it was a much more heated affair. Those who should be getting ready to greet the day were, instead, glued to their laptop computers thanks to the wonder of web streaming. All attention was focused on the quarter-final of the ICC Cricket World Cup being played in Dhaka, Bangladesh. The cheers going up in the house were deafening at times. The celebratory stomping on the floor was getting out of hand.

But sooner, rather than later, the job was complete. The Pakistan cricket team reached the required total of 113 runs against the West Indies without forfeiting a single wicket. Speaking with presenter Rameez Raja at the end of the match, the triumphant captain Shahid Afridi thanked the nation, especially those Pakistanis who flew in to watch their team play.

And to think that all this happened on March 23 – Pakistan Day. God is indeed great.

But one thing, one very important thing was missing. Some very important people got overlooked when it came to expressing gratitude. Namely the upwards of 23, 000 Bangladeshis who filled the Sher-e-Bangla National Stadium to capacity and cheered every triumph of the Pakistan team to the point where one could be forgiven for thinking that our side was playing on home ground.

Because all around them in the stands were youths who wore green jerseys and had their faces painted green and white. Passionately waving Pakistani flags of all sizes, they chanted “Bangladesh Zindabad, Pakistan Zindabad.” Some Pakistani fans did reportedly fly in to lend their support, but mostly the rapturous cheering for “Boom Boom” and his boys was homegrown.

It’s not too late. On behalf of Pakistanis everywhere a heartfelt thank-you goes out to the wonderful people of Dhaka and Bangladesh. The jubilation and excitement you expressed as each West Indian wicket fell echoed precisely our own sentiments. We could not be there in person, but your roars of joy represented our reactions perfectly. Sincerest thanks to you all from the very bottom of our hearts.

By rights our team captain should have done the honours by expressing his, his colleagues, and his nation’s gratitude to the host city. Considering the history of our two nations, it was no small thing to watch the people of Dhaka wave Pakistan flags as they did. And declare “Pakistan Zindabad” as they did time and time again.

Yes, it is true that time heals most wounds and cricket is (or should be) above politics, but the generous spirit of the Bangladeshi nation was nonetheless a tremendous sight to behold.

Afridi’s lapse in good manners is likely explained by the (very pleasant) surprise of inflicting such a crushing defeat on the West Indians. ‘Boom Boom’ is well-loved figure among Bangladeshis, and for his part the Pakistan skipper had already declared that playing in Bangladesh is like playing at home. He can be forgiven for getting swept away by the excitement of the moment.

Forgiven more readily perhaps than one of his worthy predecessors, Imran Khan. Never comfortable as a public speaker, Khan really bungled it in Melbourne, Australia when he delivered the victory speech after lifting the 1992 World Cup on behalf of his side.

That spectacularly self-centered “I, me and my” speech, in which Khan mentioned neither his teammates nor his country, and instead dwelt on the twilight of his career and his cancer hospital, continues to live in infamy.

One hopes that should the time come, Afridi will not make the same mistake. And as for this, his present oversight, he really should make an effort, no matter how belated, to thank the people of Dhaka for the way they supported his team.

Because where he and his teammates are headed next, the unwavering adoration of cheering masses is likely to be a distant memory at best.

Saima Shakil Hussain wishes she could be in Mohali on March 30.

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

A season of scams

2011-03-24T07:39:51Z

New Delhi has been unusually hot lately. WikiLeaks, that slow smelter of our world, ‘exposed’ what the Dilliwallas were nearly convinced about: that in its previous edition, the present United Progressive Alliance (UPA) government had stuffed free floaters of parliament with loads of cash so they would vote for it during a floor testing ritual in July 2008. The votes were necessary for the government to survive. The government was necessary for the nuclear deal to get by. It had been done in the past. There was an immoral norm which the UPA government followed. Allegedly.

In a season of scams – even without interest, the money lost in the 2G scam would have covered for over three years of India’s total education expenditure – why must this exposé be surprising? For the instructive response from the Indian prime minister: he found the allegations “speculative, unverified and unverifiable.” He went on to remind Parliament the result of general elections held after the test vote. The BJP lost 22, I am doing the math to make a point, the Left 35. But Congress? It gained 61 seats! Given his facility with numbers, the point the Prime Minister was making was this: what happened during the last parliament cannot be established. And even if it can be, it doesn’t matter. Because you, who suspect my government’s conduct, got drubbed at the polls. His all-weather deputy, Pranab Mukherjee, fared even better: “Each Lok Sabha is sovereign in its time,” he said. “What happened in the 14th Lok Sabha cannot be decided in the 15th Lok Sabha.”

Let us wait before we extend the logic of this argument.

These responses sum up a recent story of India’s parliamentary democracy. The Westminsterium grafted on Delhi in 1947 began scattering since the late-1980s. When the Age of Coalitions privileged government survival over parliamentary ethics, Indian democracy moved from being an ethical idea to an arithmetical puzzle. The sanguine could expect some harmony of interest to emerge from disagreeing allies. Coalitions ultimately reflected a deepening of democracy.

An irony has also deepened alongside. The grammar of Indian politics (let us put representative parliamentary democracy as its fundamental rule) has been reworked by individuals of interesting representative character. As in economics, the prime minister has made distinguished contribution to this political trend. Never a mass politician, never a politician really, he contested popular elections once and lost. For a representative parliamentary democracy, he appears a deeply unrepresentative leader. Yet, over the last two decades his vision has profoundly reoriented India in at least three arenas – economy, foreign affairs and lately education.

Parliamentary democracies work through dialogical persuasion. The new Indian variant appears to be advancing through dialectical contradictions. Imagine a Nehru, immense charismatic legitimacy on his side, patiently converting the inconsequential opposition to the government’s platform. The current prime minister, even in the face of cacophonic opposition, mostly prefers silence to dialogue. His occasional remarks indicate less an enthusiasm for norms of accountability and more an exercise in good riddance. Many wonder how such a deeply unrepresentative personality could lead the world’s largest and most complicated experiment in representative politics.

The answer lies in a remarkably deft tactic whereby his personal integrity has been substituted for representativeness. The emphasis on his unimpeachable personal integrity, reinforced periodically by the Indian media, has allowed him to levitate clean above the pitfalls of coalition politics. One the one hand, this has allowed his government to effect vast changes in the content of Indian politics. On the other, precisely these ambitious alterations have deepened the contradiction of representative democracy in India. An ‘apolitical’ prime minister, with technocratic work ethics, has transformed Indian politics in scope perhaps exceeding Nehru.

I have no reasons to doubt the prime minister’s personal sincerity either. More importantly, I do not think the contradiction facing Indian democracy is reducible to an individual. However, that contradiction cannot be understood without putting him at the centre (those familiar with Indian politics are free to read the pun).

That contradiction is this. The more the prime minister has sought to be apolitical, the more difficult he has found to moderate the impulses of corruption inherent in coalition politics. I suspect his personal integrity has, over time, become an impediment to discharging the obligations he must as a parliamentary leader. For long, he expressed his unwillingness to soil the self. Until the 2G scam broke out, he was loath to admit the compulsions of coalition politics. (In fact, the July 2008 crisis occurred precisely because he chose to stake the government rather than compromise with the Left, the major coalition partner.)

But the contradictions have caught up faster than either he or the government could anticipate. As long as the sordid stories of scams remained domestically confined, the situation appeared manageable. WikiLeaks changed that. The problem wasn’t that the prime minister’s response was substantially unconvincing. That it was. More instructive was that it betrayed an almost profound lack of understanding of representative politics and parliamentary democracy. By the logic of his own argument, the prime minister should not claim any credit for the achievements of UPA government during its first edition.

Such an idea of parliamentary sovereignty is obviously absurd. But does anyone see the bigger problem?

Atul Mishra teaches politics and international relations at Central University of Gujarat, Gandhinagar, India. Views expressed are personal.

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.