Broad Ways

Continued from PartV

PROLOGUE
In the '50s and '60s, shipping and commerce worldwide was still controlled by a small handful ofentities, widely thought to be hiding behind their links to the Nazis and other defeated countries. With theemergence of "flags of convenience" and allegiance to new masters, it was back to business as usual.Seafarers were either from the flotsam and jetsam of the richer victorious countries, or drawn from the ranksof the "defeated" European countries. There were those, in addition, placed in senior positions tohelp crew the ships of the emerging nations.

Things changed around the '70s, when seafarers from India and Pakistan started breaking out of the shacklesimposed on their own confidence. Indo-Pak co-ordination and co-operation could be said to have been at itspeak in a variety of activities in the world then. Not just with BCCI. Especially in the Merchant Navy.

The Chinese and South Koreans had still not established any sort of presence over the oceans. The newlywealthy Arab and Persian Gulf countries, as well as other wealthy countries of that era such as Nigeria andNauru (to give just two examples), were buying ships by the dozen. South American rulers and theirrepresentatives were using money to control the sea-lanes worldwide. Ramping up on floating staff was socut-throat that some of us would walk around with appointment letters and airline tickets from one company toleverage a better deal from the next employer. And Gulf East, courtesy the Gokul Brothers, could continue toabsorb as many people from the sub-continent for their vast fleets, as the certification centres could churnout. 

Loyalty was for the birds, a generation short on hard currency and freedom was falling in love with dollarsand travel.

PNSC (Pakistan National Shipping Corporation) and SCI (Shipping Corporation of India) ships set thestandards in those days for the term "ship-shape", and there were more than a few "goodwillinspections" carried out aboard each other's new ships, berthed alongside at ports all over the world.Followed, of course, by very serious competition on food and hospitality. Hangovers lasting weekends were notuncommon as Indians and Pakistanis mingled in the back-lanes of Liverpool and Hamburg. Some of my bestfriends, in those days, were Pakistani seafarers. (Why they simply could not play teen-pattii orflash--or is it flush?-- well is an endearing mystery to this day, though.)

On the other hand, European fleets were dwindling at a very rapid rate, flags moving Eastwards, just asjobs move nowadays. US flagships were being shoved back in mothballs after the Vietnam debacle, as ageneration of tired young war "veterans" moved around largely unemployed, unwelcome in their owncountry. And the fastest as well as best ships were being built in Soviet Bloc shipyards for fractions of whatthey cost elsewhere. South Korea was still to follow Japan.

Somehow, all this has changed over the past two decades. Commerce is controlled by anonymous corporationsfronted by investment bankers bent like whirring gnomes in unmarked apartments located within silent buildingswith surreal addresses in small semi-independent islands and principalities where confidentiality is anotherword for legitimising for the extremely rich what is criminal for the rest of the world elsewhere. Africa is amess, so are many of the Pacific Islands, with both Nigeria and Nauru being basket cases inspite of theirnatural resources. Khartoum is not even on the map anymore. And as for the Arab/Persian gulf countries,barring Iran, can an Africa-like scenario be far behind?

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SENTIMENT
The River Nile was far cleaner and prettier as it flowed past Khartoum, the bright city of lights inThe Sudan, able to rival Paris and London. The murky and polluted Danube pouring itself into the Black Sea wasan example of all that could be wrong with socialism in Eastern Europe. The largest shipping fleets in theworld today belong to entities who were very close to the Nazis in the '40s, and one of them actually startedcorporate life by using ships registered in the Levant on gun-running expeditions from the Med to Africa, thelong way around, since the Suez was closed in the early '70s. I was briefly associated with one such ship, andit was true that weapons on board were sold, literally, port by port as it sailed around the Dark Continent.

The oldest co-operative movement in India, still existing, was started at Gosaba, Sunderbans, in 1903, bySir David Hamilton, senior partner with McKinnon and McKenzies. Railways, roads, power grid, airports, none ofthese symbols of National pride reach this amazingly pretty part of the world, the delta of the Ganges,Brahmaputra and Meghna. How the interplay between shipping and commerce keeps this economy afloat is bestexplained by the cost of a 2 hour ride in a luxury line boat from Basanthi to Gosaba - 7 rupees (14 cents).The country boat costs 3 rupees (6 cents). Live ducks in bags travel free, unless they quack, in which case alevy of 50 paise per beak applies, added to the bill.

If there is one sentiment I believe in, then that is this - India and Pakistan can, as separate countriesbut with motive forces together, rule the world.

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2000-2200, 17th April, 2004

For these two hours, I am able to put the complete Indo-Pak Hindu-Muslimpissing-competition observation-comparison thing behind me.

I am in a super-chilled air-conditioned auditorium full of people sitting everywhere, seeing and beingseen, who look and sound like they are from DefCol, New Delhi, talking English and Punjabi in accents I canrelate to. The content is not important, often not relevant, the syntax--and grammar--used with or withoutlisps defines class, style, cash as well as alleged intelligence. I am surrounded by people--young,middle-aged and old--who are obviously from The Correct Set.

A long on wind and short on humour speech by the otherwise erudite Director on cell-phone manners falls oninstrument clasped ears of people who simply do not seem to know how to set their phones on silent or vibratormodes.

The Phantom of the Opera is a play which probably needs no introduction, I can either tell you thestory here, or I can take time out to give credit where it is due. I choose the latter, you can surely buyfrom a wide range of CDs and DVDs. The dance steps, if you wish to, are great value for money in case you wishto amaze other people in nightclubs the world over.

But all the same . . . for almost two hours, we watch and listen to the agonisingly romantic unfolding oflove above and below the surface of the world. Set in the late 19th Century, the set designer Sarah Adeel'swork, and the backdrops placed by the Hunerkada Team--Zulfikar Bureny as groupleader--at the Islamabad ClubAuditorium are absolutely gorgeous--vividly exotic. I can still sense the colours used. The same group alsopresents the human sculptures, which come to life only when the Phantom is into the last verses of hispassionate love song. "Up there is all hell", belts out the Phantom from his lair, below. How true?

Hammad Azim as the Phantom is behind a mask throughout, but does he know how to deliver, dance and twirland put forth stage presence! The two female leads manage to complement each other, the bitchy Carlotta playedby Rushika Weerasooriya and the winsome opera singer Christine played by Ambreem Mirza. Of the page girls, theaudience-favourite was the wonderful drag queen cameo by Jalal Manzar Bashir. Ali Azfar Naqvi plays a pliantmanager while Salman Akhtar as the opera owner and husband to Carlotta, strikes the correct chords among themarried males present. But best of all, in my opinion, is Raja Zia-ul-Haq as Gerard the composer, probably theone role that inspires every human emotion from onstage and off.

Once again:- buy the CD or the DVD. [If somebody can get hold of the Islamabad version, music set by MarcusMorris, it would be great to get a proper review. Somebody from Lahore, perhaps?]

The advertisements in the little booklet they give before the play are indicative: Serena Hotels helps youexperience time; U-Fone pays via SMS; Bank Alfalah is a caring bank; Dolce Vita have a sleep system withimported German springs and a local model in a purple caftan; Nestle hi-calcium and low-fat milk gives youvitality, and repeats the message in Urdu with Swiss quality; Nestle once again gives you hi-calcium low fatyogurt as well as butter rozana; and, finally, Nestle Everyday instant something gives you energy. Next, FirstFidelity Leasing Modaraba gets you a new car in just 72 hours, Nirala Sweets are proudly upholding traditionssince 1948, Grapevine does something I can not really figure out but it may be an events/PR firm; Pepsi saysPepsi; Red Earth cosmetics show a lot of leg. The Director pauses as he rattles off the list of sponsors.

The mysterious GG  shows some sad throwback to the'60s kind of guys next to the Thuraya Satellite Mobile phone for 34k only, after which you are invited toTrust Commercial Bank Limited before you move on to WakGas, the largest and the only ISO 9002 LPG purveyors.Akhtar Ali and Asociates work in a distinguished way to do advisory and sales tax, and Dawn Bread pushes anoversize club sandwich into a little girl's mouth while Diet Coke promises you that you shall look good andfeel even better with one calorie. Mobilink will reshape communications, and, finally, on the rear cover, apnahai Total shows a young boy too young for tricycles hugging a gas station attendant. That, by the way, is whatthe "and our sponsors who we love a lot" speech was like, both before and after the show.

Then, in addition, both before and after the show, the Director thanked everybody in the audience he couldplace, and some he couldn't, or who were probably not there but would get feedback. Most of all, it did seemas though he was getting a boner for the Islamabad authorities, something about getting permission for thisplay and hoping for future permission for an amusement park or something like that. Perfectly valid. Thebutter, I mean, rozana applied on, thick.

Many people who left for a smoke or a bite during the interval were not let back in, and could be heardthumping on the doors, in vain. In the bargain, I got to find myself a seat, which was indeed welcome andcomfortable. Next to me, I spotted a distinctly South Indian gentleman and his wife in a sari with bindi.Coincidence once again, but I find myself sitting next to one of the two Indian journalists in Pakistan. Weget to whispering with each other, and I suddenly realise that the two rather out-of-place middle aged snoopssitting in the row in front of us are going berserk with their SMS messages.

After the play is over, I leave with the crowd and for some time indulge in the basic sport of peoplewatching. Then I get bored of that, so I walk across to the little lawns in front of the auditorium, which Idiscover is where the young canoodle. I make a hurried exit before I can be accused of being a lech, and headfor the main building. A venerable gentleman at the door, in the manner of all venerable gentlemen at thedoors of clubs in our part of the world, gently asks me if I have been entered. In the club register, hemeans, but dear Reader, I hope you get the deeper meaning...

Not wishing to have my cavities inspected, I go through the same old "I am from India, and my fatherwas from this part of the world, so may I look around these august premises" kind of speech. Venerablegentleman gets off his perch, and I am then taken through a guided tour of billiards room, cards rooms, diningrooms, bars serving non-alcoholic beverages, huge halls which could be meeting rooms with chairs set on theside, and am shown the swimming pool from a distance. I can not make out if it is occupied. To me, it feelslike any other upscale club in India, except for the fact that the staff seem to be fiercer in appearance.

I thank the venerable gentleman, who is obviously somebody really powerful within the club, and head backfor the parking lot, where I am to be met by LG, who is going to take me for a night drive towards and beyondPindi. We are going to try to answer the question, "where do the poor people of Pakistan sleep at night,if not on the pavements like in some parts of India?"

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Meanwhile, Raghuveer has been out for a night on the town with some young blades. His report may or may notfollow, it is the biggest mystery to me in life that children who can otherwise do well in studies and spendhours on the phone, can not seem to put down in words thoughts that their parents want them to. His very briefreport is that most of the guys and some of the girls he met were "just like us." There is, however,a great fascination with them for Indian film-starlets and an urge to travel or live abroad. Also, unless youare invited to house parties in Islamabad, your night life can be close to zilch.

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LG picks me up. This time he has brought a simple Toyota Corolla sedan, playing Nusrat Fateh Ali on thestereo. The guards at the Islamabad Club are, obviously, on his favourite charity list, so we get anothershort speech from the security chief. Bravery of soldiers from both countries is extolled and saluted.

LG and I discuss the opera as we start driving towards Rawalpindi by night. I ask LG if I can drive, heagrees, and for some time we float around Islamabad, before setting off for Rawalpindi. Then we head towardsthe Murree Road intersection. The change of driving styles is evident the moment we cross into 'Pindi. Ahead,suddenly, there is a police barrier, and it is too late to exchange seats.

Veeresh Malik heads the Asia operations of Infonox. This article is also published at TheChowk