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A lot is being written and spoken about Pakistan these days. The media projects a gloom and doom scenario of a country on the brink of an abyss. But no one seems to be talking about the 160 million Pakistanis. I travelled to Pakistan twice during December last year and spent three weeks in Lahore, Rawalpindi and Islamabad returning three days before Benazir Bhutto's assassination. The experience of these two recent trips, as well as of earlier visits, was truly remarkable and provided a window into life in Pakistan.
Friends and colleagues expressed concern when they heard of my plans to visit Pakistan last year. There is an emergency in place (it was lifted during my stay there), is it safe for you to go?
In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Islamabad looked sleepy as always though dustier due to construction projects and the winter haze. One expected to see tanks, armoured cars and heavy police bandobast befitting a state of emergency and a beleaguered dictator. But there was none of that. Roads hummed with traffic, chaotic as always in Pindi and Lahore and smooth flowing in Islamabad over newly-constructed expressways. Markets bustled with shoppers in a buying frenzy before Eid. Some roads such as Constitution Avenue in Islamabad near the Pakistan Secretariat were closed and checkpoints manned by bored looking policemen.
On my surprise at the lack of reporting on how people went about their business despite the occasional blasts, my journalist friend Attaur Rehman cynically said, "When it bleeds it leads", referring to news headlines. While the locals place the bombs and protests and other crises in perspective as they go about their lives, we sitting far away cannot imagine much else going on than what we read or see.
In addition to an extensive circle of friends, my window into Pakistan included the Abbasi family, my generous hosts. The lady of the house is contesting a National Assembly seat from Nawaz Sharif's party. Tari apa, as she is known, is an incredible woman who effortlessly switches from being a loving mother bustling in the kitchen, to being a fiery orator in election rallies railing against Musharraf and a feisty fighter of police pickets. Animated discussions in the house and the constant coming and going of visitors provided a ringside view into the coming elections.
There was Tari apa's elder sister khala Najma, a former minister, apa's son and my friend Hassan, and her close friend and fellow political worker Seema, all smitten by the election bug. My cynical observation that elections would be rigged and the results preordained was met with hurt indignation by all of them.
In living rooms, restaurants, tea stalls and bus stands one could see the passion and involvement people had for the elections and the candidates. Hardly the sign of a nation that has given up hope.
In complete contrast was apa's 20-something daughter Marriyum, caught up as always in a frenzy of shopping and partying. Long evenings were spent by her and her gaggle of cousins and friends perfecting jhatkas set to Bollywood numbers ('mauja-hi-mauja' from Jab We Met was the raging favourite) in preparation for her cousin Gulloo's wedding. After all it was also the wedding season on both sides of the border. Profound discussions on the country's future were not for young people like Marriyum. All that mattered was to outdo the ladkiwalas in having better choreographed dances and to have her impossibly ornate gharara delivered in time for mehndi.
Watching her and Tari apa and the rest of the Abbasi family going about their lives the message was not one of indifference to the country's troubles but one of affirmation of life and hope amidst turmoil. Yes, the country is undergoing a crisis. But people are going about their daily lives, involved in politics and, yes, even marrying and partying. While columnists dissect events and pontificate over Pakistan's future it is the people who are affirming their resilience and that of their nation. Giving up on Pakistan would mean giving up on wonderful people like Tari apa.
The writer is with the Institute of South Asian Studies, Singapore.
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