Highlights of the July 2008 issue
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Between the Lines
Idrees Bakhtiar
Your depression, my depression and the depression of the people
of Pakistan is increasing every day, yet there are those who are happy at the
turn of events. The teeming millions of this God-forsaken country were happy at
the results of the February general elections. For five years they had been
ruled by a party which had neither any support nor the vision to rule.
Handpicked by the dictator and brought into government through machinations of
the manipulators, the party had exposed itself during its initial phase in
power. The people had been cheated and wanted to get rid of all those wrongs
done to them, and rejected these charlatans at the first opportunity.
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Media Watch
Zohra Yusuf
Speaking at the Karachi Press Club recently, Rehmat Shah
Afridi, the founder publisher of The Frontier Post, referred to several names
that he said were great sources of inspiration to him. Among them were I.A.
Rehman, Nisar Osmani and Aziz Siddiqui. Mr Siddiqui was the editor of The
Frontier Post in its heyday. It was always a source of wonder to many of us that
Pakistan’s most liberal newspaper of the 80s was published from ‘conservative’
Peshawar and financed by a young businessman with no background in journalism.
However, not surprisingly it got into deep trouble with the military regime of
General Ziaul Haq when it began to expose the corruption of the generals.
By Waseem Ahmed Shah, Maqbool Ahmed, Rubab Karrar
Hameeda,
a domestic worker languishing in prison on the charge of theft levelled by
her employer for whom she had worked for 17 years did not know what to do
about her condition. Then something happened without her having made even a
move for her release. She was out of jail, as were hundreds of other women
across Pakistan, when on July 8, 2006, General (retd) Pervez Musharraf
promulgated the Code of Criminal Procedure (Amendment) Ordinance, 2006. The
ordinance amended the Criminal Procedure Code so that bail became the right
of a woman accused of any crime except that involving terrorism, financial
corruption and murder or one punishable with death, life imprisonment or
imprisonment for 10 years..…
By Mansoor Ali Khan
Residents of Lyari continue to suffer as the gang wars show no signs of
abating
Given
the recent spate of clashes between Rahman Dakait’s and Ghaffar Zikri’s
gangs, it is clear to all and sundry that the much-purported Lyari Task
Force operation in May failed all its intents. Zikri, who came to the fore
following Arshad Pappu’s arrest in 2006 (see “With a Vengeance”), is
Dakait’s only contender for his complete dominion over Lyari and is
certainly giving the latter a hard time as the gang wars show little signs
of de-escalating. The six-kilometre-long Tannery Road, popularly known as
Lyari’s LoC, now serves as the de facto border demarcating Dakait and Zikri
held areas — entry and exit in either is risky business. In the midst of
this mayhem, the residents of Lyari continue to suffer manifold: many have
been forced to change their residences, their movements restricted while
education has taken a back seat as young people have misplaced priorities.
By Uzma Raja
Two
years ago, 18-year-old Safiya Kabir ran away from her family home in Luton,
England. A year earlier, she had been informed by her parents that they had
decided to marry her off to a relative living in Pakistan. Unwilling to go
through with the marriage, Kabir left home one morning while her family was
still asleep. She tried to contact them a week later, but her parents were
not interested in talking to her. Having disowned her since, they have also
forbidden her older brother and two younger sisters to talk to her, an order
that seems reasonable to Kabir’s older brother: “My sister has caused us all
trouble. Because of her disappearance my mum and dad are embarrassed to meet
relatives and friends.”
According to him, “mum and dad were not forcing her into anything. It wasn’t
as though they were beating her up and locking her in the attic.” The
obedient son thinks his parents “may have been right [about the marriage]”
and that his sister’s act was a result of her rebellious nature: “She wanted
her independence and saw this as her chance to get away.” Hence he even
“tried to persuade her to come back and get married to whomsoever our mum
and dad want” but to no avail. “I don’t think her running away was worth the
aggravation my parents are going through now.”
By Fareeha Rafique
The Khaadi entrepreneur feels the label had to go through a certain process of evolution – especially in design – before they felt ready to fly, “for it to compete with any international label anywhere else”. And it seems now that they’re ready.
Shamoon
Sultan is nothing if not unpretentious. Success is a comfy-fitting shirt
that sits easy on him. A refreshing change indeed, for our fashion industry
is rife with those who would have one believe that the road to
accomplishment is paved with airs and graces and a lot of hot air. But then,
does he believe that he belongs to the ‘fraternity’? Or does he think of
himself as a textile designer? “Whatever we do, we will always have an
essence of textiles,” he fields the question, not answering directly and not
classifying himself in any slot. Yet this isn’t entirely about diplomacy.
There’s more to it: it tells me in no uncertain terms that for him, Khaadi
is not referred to in singular. It isn’t about the individual behind the
label: it’s about the organisation and the people who contribute to it.
That, perhaps, explains the success behind the Khaadi phenomenon.
Rights of Admission Reserved
By Asad Hashim
The cineplex culture seems to be thriving but no
one knows for sure whether or not it will benefit the local film industry
Walk
into the Universe Cineplex at Seaview, Karachi, and you’d be forgiven for
feeling unwelcome. The single entrance is flanked on either side by a
security guard, whose job description includes keeping out ‘unruly’
elements. ‘Unruly’, in this case, usually means single men — one or more. He
lets me through, though. Apparently my jeans and polo neck shirt are enough
to convince him that I belong within. Then again, the Cineplex isn’t simply
relying on the security guards to keep the people out.
Watching a film at the cineplex in Karachi (or indeed the one in Islamabad
and the DHA Cinema in Lahore) is a luxury only a certain class can afford.
At 250 rupees for a ticket, the price is five times what one pays at
downtown theatres, such as Capri, Prince or Nishat in Karachi. For most
cinema-goers, the intent is clear.
“I am quite amazed by the fact that readers in Pakistan invariably ask how much of the book is true"
By Asad Hashim
Mohammed
Hanif took the scenic route in life and lingered here and there, detoured to
the left and the right before he took over as the head of the BBC Urdu
Service. Along the way he learnt how to fly aircrafts with the Pakistan Air
Force, interviewed models for fashion magazines in Karachi and spent time on
the streets of Pakistan as a hard-nosed reporter. Having spent the past 12
years with the BBC in London, Hanif has decided to move to Pakistan: a move
that has generated considerable interest, for his book has been released
recently. Novels by South Asian writers may not be all that unusual nowadays
but in Hanif’s case, the subject he has chosen is surely atypical: the
explosive plane crash which killed General Ziaul Haq on August 17, 1988.
Drifting between fact, fiction and rumour, A Case of Exploding Mangoes has
been released to critical acclaim both in Pakistan and abroad. Here, he
talks to the Herald about how the book is a frustrated journalist’s revenge,
whether Ali Shigri is his Yossarian and what drives him to write...