6
I was present at that ceremony, as an invited guest, and one of the very few who knew at least one of the three languages. The rest pretended they too know English, like the president who must have read the oath hundreds of time, still got all his pauses wrong. I was there because I am a very important person. Hint: My designation also happens to be the set of letters that appears on license plates of some Multan-registered vehicles.
Out of the 400 or so MNAs, I am in a select group that consists of families who inherit, maintain, expand, and pass on to the next generation, a thing called the vote bank. Like any other asset, the bigger the vote bank, the stronger your bargaining position with political parties and brigadiers in white shalwar kameez, whoever happens to be in-charge. When we contest elections it’s only to prove that our vote bank is not just intact, it’s growing.
To be honest I have never really wanted to be a legislator, or a politician, a man of people. I hate people, and politics and legislation. I studied philosophy and for a time, arts, in Lahore. I lived and breathed music, while I failed semester after semester. I was an amateur poet of deep passions and noble ambitions. I wanted to become a songwriter for INGOs. Instead, I became a full-time MNA when my father decided to retire. He’s been a member all his adult life and I now I have to carry the tradition until I can pass it on to my eldest son, or the way the world is going, perhaps to my daughter.
I took this job with very little enthusiasm. I found Islamabad boring and pretentious, fellow MNAs insufferable fools, and the Parliament building a hideous and oppressive place. This mood lasted as long as it took me to write my own job description. And literally, overnight everything changed. I now find Islamabad bursting with calm energy and kinetic stillness. I have discovered that some of my fellow legislators are brilliant at what they are not known for, and the Parliament House is absolutely the best place to do freelance consulting and lobbying business, and its cafeterias are cheaper than roadside dhabas.
The key phrase is: ‘writing your own job description’. I see these fresh new faces at the start of every parliament. Some are in awe, others are excited, and almost everyone is confused. Some get wiser but many stay in awe, excited and confused right till the end of their term. The only knowledge they take away from their experience is: the allowances MNAs can claim but don’t generally know about, the timing of Juma prayers, comparison in the quality of free food they get at five-star hotels, and the sacred privileges they enjoy. They go back as naïve about the work of an MNA as they come because they expected someone to tell them what to do. Those who come on party tickets do get told what to do. We independents have to read the environment and find our own philosophy towards working in Parliament.
I learnt mine from a Queen Latifah song for the movie, Chicago. This delightful number is an explanation of the ‘system of reciprocity’: ‘If you want my gravy; pepper my ragout; spice it up for Mama; she’ll get hot for you’. What I learnt quickly was not how to season a French stew but how much and what kind my gravy is. I am letting you in on a secret here: You just receive people in the cafeteria, have a chat over tea or milkshake, and they’ll take you on a spectacular journey of the gravy train, your gravy train. They’ll bring plans, projects, deals, endorsements, lobbying requests …
Having learnt the possibilities, you then have to choose some and discard others. There are these ambitious types who take risks, play big, try everything, but they eventually displease both their superiors and voters with their frenzied lust, and disappear in the famous dustbin of history. Like this MNA from Islamabad who was in such a hurry to make his billions that by the third year of his term; he was the newest property tycoon in Islamabad and had been charged in courts of law with almost all criminal offences listed in the law book, including slapping a teacher and escaping from police custody with the help of armed men.
I have my principles. And I have a style of my own. I never join an official or unofficial grouping within the National Assembly. When someone needs my vote they come to me with an offer. I always decide on merit; the highest bidder gets my vote. After hours I like to hang around in the cafeteria. There are always punters lurking around to sign up legislators for speaking assignments, foreign trips, honourary positions … And here I am sharing another secret with you: I have not only attended all the Parliamentary sessions and therefore done my duty honestly as an MNA, I’ve also been able to realise my dream of youth. The famous song that you see on television every day, ‘I am happy now’, is penned by me.
It was launched at the inauguration of a foreign-funded project that was to provide a village with 10 hand pumps and two bars of soap per household. See how the opening captures the spirit of potential societal transformation:
I am happy now, I am healthy now; I get clean water to drink and a bar; Of soap to wash my hands and plates; From the kind people of United States.
Long live Pakistan and its Parliament. Long live foreign donors and INGOs.
