THE start of the Wimbledon tennis tournament inevitably serves as a reminder of one of my favourite moments of the game when, outraged by a bad line call, the combative US player of yore, John McEnroe, shouted to the umpire: “You cannot be serious.”

With Wimbledon being totally coincidental to the current twists and turns in Pakistani politics, I found myself repeating McEnroe's famous line when Punjab chief minister Shahbaz Sharif declared his total foreign assets equalled a mere Rs30mn.

At the most favourable exchange rate, this wouldn't be more than £220,000 and would barely fetch a studio flat in central London. If my editor was a tad more generous, even a journalist such as me could harbour ambitions of buying such a property in that area. Shahbaz Sharif is a leading member of one of the wealthiest political-business families in the country. Journalists have often described the homes of the Sharifs in London's exclusive and prohibitively expensive Mayfair as grand.

In Avenfield House overlooking Hyde Park, bang on Park Lane, where Nawaz Sharif's son Hasan owns a splendid home, a two-bedroom flat is currently on sale for £900,000. And one would assume Shahbaz Sharif is higher up in the Sharif hierarchy than Hasan.

But who are we to question one half of the Punjab's lionised lion twins. When he shakes his index finger in the manner of a malfunctioning speedometer needle, we are told the ground beneath the Aiwan-i-Sadr also shakes.

For, Shahbaz's finger-wagging is always accompanied by a tongue-lashing of the president and a demand that the latter repatriate home all the “looted” national wealth. Yes, all — regardless of whether there is room in the meagre national coffers.

Be assured the last thought has been expressed with responsibility. I recall sometimes in the latter half of the '90s driving from my south London home to a sleepy Surrey village called Brook and on to the imposing Rockwood Estate.

It was spread over 300 acres with 15 bedrooms and seven bathrooms, a £120,000 Italian dining table, a large all-weather swimming pool, stables and other amenities you would expect from a multi-million pound property. That, too, in a part of the country where those who make a home are often hounded by the paparazzi as they are seen as rich and famous.

Speculation ended in 2004 about who owned this imposing country mansion after several years of allegations and counter-allegations, when lawyers acting for Asif Ali Zardari claimed he was the rightful owner, through offshore companies, of Rockwood.

This was to be the tip of the iceberg as later there was talk of a multimillion-dollar apartment in Manhattan's pricey Upper West Side; of wealth so enormous in Dubai that its halving by the property market crash would still leave one be with plenty. Wouldn't it?

One need only recall the gleaming new Bentley placed at the disposal of the Sharifs by their host in Dubai in May 2008 when the newly-formed coalition was teetering. The differences between the PPP and PML-N over the 'restoration' of the superior court judges forced Asif Zardari to host talks aimed at a patch-up.

That car alone could have bought out Shahbaz Sharif's entire foreign portfolio. That is, if you believe he is really worth only £220,000 abroad. Who'd blame you if you didn't?

Surely this isn't to suggest that politicians are the only breed with 'dodgy' assets abroad. Do you remember Admiral Mansurul Haq, one of the past naval chiefs, who was extradited from the US and then coughed up several million dollars with apparent ease as he 'plea-bargained' his way to freedom.

Not difficult, then, to imagine the extent of the wealth he acquired in office. It isn't clear why the admiral chose to go and live in the US. Others of his ilk, whether in white or khaki or blue-grey uniforms, do not want to leave the country on retirement — so strong is the bond they form with their government-awarded agricultural lands, their golf courses, their plush colonies, their mansions with pools, even their Japanese gardens.

But is this the whole story? Many of us columnists are so obsessed with politicians, generals and the contemporary 'great game(s)' we have no time or space for Gul Mohammad.

He was a chowkidar in Karachi and received 12 months' redundancy payment when his employer relocated abroad. Gul Mohammad returned to his native village in Dera Ghazi Khan to use his redundancy pay to set himself up as a greengrocer. He used some of his money to buy a wood cabin. The next day he wanted to go into the nearest town to stock up on his groceries and also agree on a regular supply.

But it wasn't to be. At four in the morning he was awakened by the neighbours as flood waters were fast approaching; he only got time to get away with the shirt on his back and a bundle of notes concealed in his waistband.

Gul Mohammed used the remaining cash to rent a small house on higher ground and, with no means of an income for months on end, to feed his and his brother's families. He told a recent visitor to his village he was so grateful for the cash he had as most of his neighbours had to survive on next to nothing. The government failed them even in their hour of dire need.

As Wimbledon tennis nears its climax I am reminded of the Romanian player Ile Nastase of the '70s whose dramatic reaction to the umpire's call for 'New balls please' made headlines across the world. When our civil and military leaders claim to have their fingers on the pulse of the nation, I am tempted to say they have some … well … gall.

The writer is a former editor of Dawn.

abbas.nasir@hotmail.com