Bakra Inc.

Yes it is that time of the year again. When goats run amok and cows are hounded by cash strapped buyers. It has been a turbulent year for the people with shadowing inflation hot on their heels.This year the farmers have decided to join the caravan of businesses lining up to shake hands with credit companies such as Visa and MasterCard. True to tradition they gave American Express (Amex) the cold shoulder. Farmer Shaukat hailing from inner Punjab clarified his decision, “We have noticed Amex card holders are a non-existent entity in the bakra and beyri mundis of Pakistan. It was a no-brainer really.”

Fielding questions from the press Shaukat further commented “We have decided to reach out to low income households this year. Our 2007 models will now include hybrid versions that feed off of alternate food sources such as lentils, boiled water and saw dust. This range of livestock will cost half as much but yield twice the sacrificial quantity.”

“Clearly these days the middle class is also feeling the strain of economic hardship” queried one reporter. “Have you catered to their needs?”

Shaukat beamed “Oh jee bilkul, we are quite keen on keeping our biggest customer base satisfied. We will be offering leasing and financing programs on all models. Now everybody can afford our beefed up products for a mere fraction of the price. We are quite optimistic about projected sales in the last quarter. We expect demand to increase by 200% at least.”

“200% is quite a catch. Are you logistically ready to deal with such an increase?”

The paa jee from Punjab laughed heartily. “Oh jee don’t you worry, our pockets are ready, baki you know jaga toe dil mein honi chahiyae, kyon jee?” he chuckled. “I mean we must keep a positive outlook for the future”

“But do you really think that Pakistan’s households, their lawns, back yards and patios are aptly equipped to deal with large quantities of farm animals?” persisted the reporter.

“This quarter we foresee the beginning of a new age of economic prosperity for the Livestock Industry in Pakistan. What more could you ask for?” Shaukat shrugged.

“What about the trails of fertilizer these products will leave in their wake? Won’t such a population explosion saturate our surroundings with piles of urea and methane excesses in the atmosphere?”

“You worry too much” he said winking at the reporter.

Clearly flustered the reporter moved on to the next question “You said in your statement that you intend to import camels from the Middle East and some parts of Africa. Do you think there is a market in Pakistan for them?”

“That’s a good question. We are a responsible corporation and would never go forward without catering to all our market segments especially our upscale customers. Since cows and goats will be a trivial meat product this Eid, we wanted to maintain the status quo of the more affluent society. To meet that end we are partnering with BEEMAR (the largest livestock producer in the Middle East) to bring to Pakistan numerous camels. “

Confused the reporter interrupted “Camels? What is so special about them that your subsidiaries in Southern Pakistan can’t deal with?”

“These camels are a cut above our local variety of animals. They are not allowed to graze rather they are fed their livestock by their own servers. They have been massaged twice a day by the softest hands money can buy and every night they are lulled to sleep by flute players from the Mediterranean. For their grooming needs they are given mud baths and regular pedicures.”

“How can you expect to sell such extravagant units in Pakistan?”

“Well you will be surprised to hear that we are overbooked on this particular unit. It seems this model is proving quite popular with the upper gentry. In fact we have placed a few orders for the Government too!”

“God help us” bemoaned the reporter.

“Oh jee God is helping. Don’t you see.” giggled Shaukat. “Now I’m afraid all this thinking is making me hungry. Everybody please join me in doing justice to some exquisite mutton karahi my chef from Qatar has prepared especially for us all.”

Everybody shuffled out of the press room their heads spinning and their tongues wagging about the next big thing to happen to the Livestock Industry in Pakistan.

The Fast & The Furious

As a motorist in Pakistan you must have a diverse range of car maneuvering tricks up your sleeve. Otherwise you are rickshaw dust. Every morning when you step into the driver’s seat you must chant to yourself “I must earn my passage” many times over. Say it as if your life depended on it. Courtesy and good will are hollow gestures. Don’t let them bog you down as you try to make inroads through the morning rush hour.

When you exit your driveway remind yourself that you are the pilot of your plane, you blaze over mortals like the scourge of the heavens. The inhabitants of the roads are nothing but turbulence to your wings. Cut through them as you must. Don’t make eye contact with these beings that could not possibly fathom the urgency of your flight.

They are too busy trying their hand at a honking adaptation of Beethoven’s Fifth. To their credit the only thing they do manage to reproduce is a high pitched note that is akin to the resounding death knell on judgment day. This strengthened by one noisy chord after another. Bring down your fist on your own musical instrument and let it resonate through the ears of the debris in your way. Let it clear the musical landscape for your own debut.

Guide your plane’s nose through every possible orifice you can find in this wall of locusts. Every day they descend upon these paths and devour every inch of road they can find. It is this plague that is the cause of your tardy timesheet at work and all this traffic congestion. Spray them with the pesticide of your delinquent driving. If you are going to get through them you cannot be bashful about rubbing shoulders with such a swarm. Let your side mirrors brush with theirs and reminisce of your dodgy flirting at high school. A brush here, a few stolen glances there. You triumphantly pass one victim after another and wink at them to seal the encounter.

It is unbecoming of decency and down right rude for God’s lamb but that kind never survives out here. If you want to get ahead you must slide one foot in someone’s way and politely look away as if you are unaware of where your feet are taking you. Don’t be shy; you’ve done it before at the bank, post office and every other place you have found this ridiculous concept of queues. Take off your sheep skin and reveal your furry hide. Cutting through those long lines and annexing positions as if you were just returning to your spot. This is our creed, we believe in only one ‘right-of-way’--- our own. You should banish the rest to oblivion.

Slide through these slow moving cows. Bark at them like a cowboy rounding up his dim witted livestock. Disregard any glares and faint mutterings that you thought you heard from these farm animals. You must reach the head of this pack. Honk your horn and steer your vehicle through like the restless being you are.

Drive with an intent to pillage and plow through any traffic rule conceived or endowed upon you when you got your driver’s permit. Drive not to kill but to shock and frighten. Accelerate through vehicles like lightening through slow moving clouds. Nudge your brake pedal only when there is no other place to steer towards.

When you reach the traffic intersections take a breather and stop a while to gaze upon the mesmerizing hand gestures of the traffic wardens. The waves of traffic come to a halt and hold their position as if anticipating the passage of the Israelites through the Red Sea. These miracle wielding beings are the newest addition to the ever growing useless army of the long arm of the law. They are in their prime and not quite as bulky as the earlier models. There have been a few sightings of chubby versions managing traffic on the bigger roads. Give them some time they’ll fatten up nicely in a year or so.

You can also unearth these fine creatures at road blocks as well. They are quite handy when it comes to rearranging a person’s travel plan for them and convincing them to bugger off. They let you glare and drive away feeling like a hopeless laboratory rat in a sadistic science experiment. Give it up, they say, you’ll never find the cheese. Not when we keep changing the maze.

With some sweet talk and a trifle 300 rupee they can offer you an elevated moment or two as your vehicle is mechanically teleported six feet into mid air. But beware the turbulent journey back to the road, some paying customers have complained of landing right side up or scratched and dented (or both).

The decommissioned and semi-retired blue versions of these units have since been kept in a storage ware houses near town. They are dumped in dark containers in heaps and piles. The VIPs scoop them out of this huge box and throw them into police trucks whenever they travel to and from the airport or whenever they feel like socializing and making condolence trips to some obscure neighborhood.

It is a bit melancholic to see such money guzzling figures of authority being reduced to mere decorative items punctuating the road side every 500 meters. They were of much better entertainment value when they use to stop you by the road side and casually detain you to try and illicit money to bury the matter there and then. Such incidents use to make for heart warming dinner conversations. Ah yes, the days of pimping the traffic book seem to be all but forgotten at times.

Now these blue whales only migrate to traffic lanes twice a week. They are booted onto the road like pieces of air cargo dumped on the tarmac. They stand there like misplaced manikins, erupting to life whenever an approaching police siren wails. It seems their souls can only be resurrected when an entourage of VIPs blazes by.

Yet as the police trumpets proclaim the approach, time stands still and the world stops. Even the birds seize to chirp and fly about. Hold your breath and anticipate the passage of Zeus and his cohort of demi-gods. It is a sanctimonious and a vital part of your morning commute. Their willingness to take to the roads and ride amongst us is a lesson in humility. We as hospitable beings must stand waiting in honor for this blessed moment.

Office slaves aside, even the ailing souls in ambulances must cling to life in wait of these majesties to travel through. It is widely believed that the angels of death would never take a life in such a state. They would rather fall from grace than intrude on this epiphany. Fire brigades resign to the fate of their doomed victims, for who can stop the sun from shining, the clouds from moving and a fire from burning? Those chaps had it coming anyway. Some commuters turn back and call in sick at work. Others call their late co-workers to give them the good news.

It is such leadership that unites us in our chaos and allows us to stop and smell the car exhaust to better appreciate the quality of life we enjoy today.

Recognition :)

"Runway Woes" was published in the Sunday Edition of Dawn, in the Magazine section.
http://www.dawn.com/weekly/dmag/archive/070930/dmag25.htm

It is always a welcome sight to get a wider readership. I would like to thank everybody who encouraged me to keep writing. Your feedback is invaluable :)

Chins up!

Yes it wasn’t the best of outcomes being a Pakistani cricket fan. But you can’t deny the zest with which the team has been playing lately. Shoaib Malik and his men have certainly earned their respect from our nation.

Their commitment to the game of cricket cannot be questioned one bit. There are numerous positives to take home from this tournament, and there is still so much cricket going around that I doubt the result on Sunday will cast a shadow over future prospects for the team.

Geoff Lawson has certainly weighed in with his best foot forward. The result speaks volumes of how he has managed to effectively rally Pakistan’s talent and discipline it to focus on what is most important. Perhaps his skills as an optometrist have come into play here. It has been heart warming to actually see a former fast bowler take charge of this side. Traditionally Pakistan’s bowling attack has been the vanguard of our cricket team, until recently it had become somewhat ordinary. With the coaching reins now in Mr. Lawson’s hands we can hopefully see Pakistan’s former fast bowling attack glory restored.

Umar Gul bowled superbly in the final. His total tally of 10 wickets in the tournament is a welcome sign of things to come. The time in the gym has done him a world of good. The best part is however that the testosterone hasn’t overwhelmed him in anyway and in every single spell he managed to impress with wickets or enough containment. You have to admit that a lean fast bowler always gives the batsmen something to think about. Every time Gul ran in to bowl you only expected something good.

Pakistan’s performance in every single department of the game has been quite impressive. The 3 months preparation has paid off quite handsomely. I can’t recall us dropping a catch in any of the games, save that gimme from Jayasuria that our newest bowler Sohail Tanvir managed to let go of. But in that same breath let me also state for the record that 2 minutes later he dismissed the prolific batsmen with a quick delivery that surprised everybody. A perfect comeback. Sohail has been a great find and will be a welcome addition to Pakistan’s wicket taking bowling options.

Misbah-ul-Haq, should be the biggest hero for us at this point in time. Yes he was there at the end of both matches against India, which didn’t quite end the way we wanted them to, but people give him some slack! He has done superbly on his debut and effectively cemented his place in Pakistan’s middle order. At age 33 he certainly packs a great punch when it matters towards the end of an innings. He has demonstrated his maturity with the bat on every opportunity. It must not go unnoticed that when other batsmen were struggling it was Misbah that actually held one end of the wicket up and kept the score moving along. He has a great flair for hitting as well. It is seldom that Pakistan’s domestic cricket will produce such a made to order batsmen. We just hope that the selectors give him ample chance to further establish himself in other forms of the game.

We must salute Shoaib Malik’s captaincy. In every match when it mattered he has made the necessary changes and employed the most practical tactics to keep the match inclined in Pakistan’s favor. He has led from the front throughout and been the most prolific run scorer with a hefty 187 runs in 6 matches, barely nudging Misbah who can stand confidently with his 175 run tally. When it mattered Malik steadied his team with the bat and seen them through to the end.

Malik’s mature approach to his new role as Pakistan’s captain has brought a fresh wave of change in almost every player. He seems to be getting along with everybody quite well, and is doing the best he can with his options. Every player seems to be quite comfortable under his command. It seems Malik has a good approach in dealing with his players. Thankfully we find great promise in his abilities to lead Pakistan, a good captain has been a long time coming.

Now in less than a week we play host to South Africa. It will be interesting to see how our T20 heroes adapt to the traditional form of the game. It will also be a challenge as a spectator to accommodate the 5-day version of this game, or even the 50 over format which lasts an easy 6 hours. But as Ian Chappell stated at the start of the tournament that a good cricketer plays good cricket in all its forms. The next set of games will truly test the player’s resolve to be consistent as an improved and promising side. Hopefully there will be plenty of positives to write home about.

Runway Woes

Its 2:30 pm on a warm and humid Sunday afternoon. The budget airline from Abu Dhabi has just decided to bless our humble airfield in Islamabad. The flip chart Information window, a relic of some 3 decades ago, whirls round and round like some cheap slot machine. I sweat it out standing there praying for the big kitty, anything but ‘DELAYED’ I pleaded. The airline Gods must have tired of this silly game they played everyday at this small shack of an airport. Finally the yellow light turned to green and I blinked back the anguish in my eyes.

At last! The pilot had finally found us. Its hard to blame the flight crew when your city’s airport shares its airstrip with the national air force. Rumors abound that the navigator had simply refused to endorse any sort of landing of their 757 on this lonesome and somewhat run down looking piece of land. He must have thought that he had bungled and steered his team to some sorry excuse of a landing place 50 miles off course. This could explain the tardiness for most foreign carriers that decide to include Islamabad in their route. But for our sole national airline it has been a different story all together. It must be the sense of despair I suppose when they put their eyes on this place and their thoughts flash back to those misdemeanors they got away with in flight school. Karma is a ghost that doesn’t have an afterlife to look forward to and plenty of time to kill with such lives.

I turned around and negotiated my way through the crowd of onlookers. Taking a deep breath to inhale the bits of clean and odor free air I could capture in my lungs I quickly steered through a floor filled with an impatient audience. They were all here from the far corners of the city. Some huddled in circular groups, others pitted against the walls sitting crossed legged in a line as if they were labor workers waiting for a pick up truck to come haul them out to their next construction job. Taking the sheer amount of people in attendance you could easily pass this place off as the first stop in the number of places listed on the travel brochure for Destination Pakistan 2007---and hey! Why not? Its popular---Its got a healthy amount of human traffic---and you get exotic beings to look at three times a day. We have the biggest competitor of our time honored Lucky Irani Circus right here.

Jokes aside, if you really want to enjoy your trip to this zoo I would suggest huddling to the left or right flanks of the arrivals section. This way you get to see everything the doorway spits onto the floor and you can evade the BO monsters as well. Don’t stand right up front next to the support rails. You will only succeed in sandwiching yourself between that and an eager army of well wishers. Stand a few feet from the support rails if you don't fathom molestation. Do not overstep this demarcated line. You will have the local handler pounce on you immediately. Brandishing their walky-talky in your face they will point their static sounding gizmo with an intent to cast a vanishing spell on you and your friends. Such threats seldom work on the legions of enthusiastic fans that have made this holy pilgrimage to the capital’s sole airport. But why leave a bad taste in the mouth and have numerous hecklers ogle at you?

After some weaving in and out of the human traffic lanes I finally made it to my regular spot. I firmly planted my feet into the ground and silently proclaimed this 4 foot perimeter as mine.

The floor was empty. The bouncers had done a good job of keeping riffraff away today. Still there always seems to be some innocent first timer who clearly does not understand the unspoken laws that govern the sacred arrival walkway. I can understand the touchy nature of the handlers when it comes to unwanted materials on the ramp. The sweeper has just done his round for the hour and they want a nice sparkling piece of land over which the newest aliens would pass. We can’t have emotional mothers and wailing babies creating a nuisance.

The scenes of scuffles and cork squeezed people are a customary precursor to the eminent inauguration of the foreign fashion parade. Today’s runway models will comprise of potentially the best and the worst of world travelers. Such scenes would even outshine the best in the business. A few eager beavers decide to upstage this event with a confident looking stroll up to the main door way.

The handlers are wary of such regulars and clearly know how to dispel with such belligerence. They don’t care if you’re carrying flowers and candy. It’s a one way street. You can only come out of this door. Having said that I must admit there is a certain creed of workers clad in brown uniforms making their way in and out of this holy temple of an entrance quite regularly. Sometimes they are pushing trolleys two and fro, a small price for their cart Blanche access.

When the door keeper kicks the other half of the gate open you can dig in your heels in anticipation. Here they come.

First up you have the obvious foreigners. Its not the color of their skin, or their unique languages and fancy clothes that give them away. Its simply the naive expressions on their face, as they stroll down the walkway pushing their neat trolleys. Another trivial giveaway these days is their wire connected ears, accompanied by a slight two and fro motion of their necks followed by the occasional self-murmur of the lyrics of some song. Their eyes are wandering in the crowd, squinting to focus on signs and banners with their names on them. Their stay on the ramp will be short lived. In the time honored tradition of most air travelers, they do not dwell on airport floors for too long. Whether they manage to find their reception party or not, they shuffle along. Their faces epitomizing the picture perfect expression of enthusiasm and very quickly one of bewilderment as they realize that their passage leads to the huge mass of humans. They leave breathing a sigh of relief as the handlers wildly wave the zombie like strangers out of their path. This type of traveler is scarce in numbers and is always the first to disembark. First class comes with benefits—standard.

Next up you can lay your eyes on a varied version of your fellow countrymen. The only thing that can probably address the missing link in this breed of Homosapien from our own is probably a familiar skin and hair color. The clothes, the swagger of a walk and the bewildered look of desolation scream of despondency. This quite convincingly explains why most make their entrance always wearing a pair of sun glasses that mask the horror in their eyes, or they stroll in wearing their shades like crowns upon their heads exuding an aura of indifference as if they really didn’t belong in this country in the first place. They continue to take small baby steps slowly easing themselves back into the world of Pakistan. The cautious and calculated strides towards the exit tell a tale of a reluctant journey back to the land of the pure, until they are rescued from their agonizing march by relatives who greet them with the widest of smiles.

These are followed by a set of heirs known as the pretenders. They are clearly an adulterated version of the last lot. Inevitably when a creed is faced with the loss of it’s leadership there always come forth a certain contingent of people who don’t fit the charter. Yet as history reminds us time and time again, such folk still manage to climb atop a pedestal that is not theirs to claim. Such personalities merely wear the clothes, mimic the speech and audition as transformed beings that came into the world under a western sky. They plead amnesia when it comes to their roots and they will often be the worst dressed entity in this entire lot.

Their sense of style orphans them into a grey area that leaves them without an association or respect of any sort. Its akin to dumping a bucket load of foreign culture on someone and then saying that the environment has rubbed off on them the wrong way. A blind man can see what these poor souls just can’t seem to own up to. When you come across these victims nothing will speak more loudly than the fact that they have not found an identity to call their own, and the ones they were born with were long shed by them as if it were some distasteful piece of cloth. The kind that you end up buying during your late night-last minute Eid shopping, only to look at it in the light of day and bemoan how you got conned into thinking you had netted a bargain.

Before the curtain drops, the show is brought to a close by probably the more genuine of people and the sort that truly deserve a standing ovation. You can identify such people not by their attire, or sense of fashion. What gives them away is their train of trolleys passing on the ramp one after the other loaded with boxes of computers, folded quilts, roped up travel trunks and a sense of relief of breathing homely air once more. Their entrance is greeted by the majority of people in attendance as if they were some UN flood relief convoy. Their throngs of admirers immediately begin to disperse and head towards the nearest through way to hug and hold these souls. Some onlookers wave frantically as if it were hard to spot their manic gestures of joy in the pool of closely packed sardines. It is just as well that this lot be the last to get off, since the amount of luggage coupled with the bucket loads of emotion they express there and then on the walkway reeks of hallmark moments. I had the pleasure of witnessing an elderly lady abandoning her treasure trolley and lunging for every head she could lay her two hands on. Kissing them fondly and warding off the evil eye from her sons, daughters, grandchildren, cousins, second cousins, step sons, step daughters, their children, their neighbors and a few strangers as well.

This is when its starts to get crowded on the walkway and the remaining citizens of this bruised and battered country burst onto the ramp. The runway is quickly lost amongst this onslaught of tired travelers and their super sized shopping carts. This cues onlookers like me to start searching for my own guests and emulate the acts of affection I myself have just witnessed.

At the end of it all, the wait, the odors, the crowds and the amusing showcase of different sects of travellers a sense of belonging and reuniting with one’s own family is what it’s all about.