AUGUST 12-18 2012
AUGUST 12-18 2012
Cover Story
20 One Fine October Morning Of coups, crises and the loss of innocence
Feature
38 Blacked Out During the dark days of Zia’s dictatorship, four daring activists kept the flame of protest burning
Comment
43 Another view on Aurangzeb Is Aurangzeb really to blame for the fall of the mighty Mughal Empire?
Humour
43
46 And Now A Word From Our Sponsors Impressed by the waterkit? Well, Munafiq enterprises PVT Unlimited has much much more in store for you!
46
Regulars 6 People & Parties: Out and about with Pakistan’s beautiful people 48 Reviews: The caped crusader’s curtain call 50 End Of The Line: Colourblind on August 14th
48
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Magazine Editor: Zarrar Khuhro, Senior Sub-Editors: Batool Zehra, Zainab Imam. Sub-Editors: Ameer Hamza and Dilaira Mondegarian. Creative Team: Amna Iqbal, Jamal Khurshid, Essa Malik, Maha Haider, Faizan Dawood, Samra Aamir, Sanober Ahmed. Publisher: Bilal A Lakhani. Executive Editor: Muhammad Ziauddin. Editor: Kamal Siddiqi. For feedback and submissions: magazine@tribune.com.pk Printed: uniprint@unigraph.com
PEOPLE & PARTIES
Shehrezad and Sabeen
Shaheen and Baber
Uzma, Somaya and Jiya
PHOTOS COURTESY TAKE II
Brands Just Pret launch their second store at Dolmen Mall Tariq Road, in Karachi
Sadia Imam and Khadija
Shehla and Farhana
6 AUGUST 12-18 2012
Sofia and Nabeela
Nazish Hussain
AUGUST 12-18 2012
PEOPLE & PARTIES
Nusrat
Amina
Zehra PHOTOS COURTESY TAKE II
Sana
Tehmina Khaled
Hira Lari
8 AUGUST 12-18 2012
Behroz Sabzwari and Khaled
Nazia Malik
AUGUST 12-18 2012
PEOPLE & PARTIES
Tapu Javeri
Anoushey Ashraf
PHOTOS COURTESY ASIM QURESHI
Dark Knight premieres at Atrium Cinemas in Karachi
Farhan Agha, Faysal Qureshi and his wife
Beena, Asim Qureshi and Nadeem Mandviwalla
10 AUGUST 12-18 2012
Mishi Khan
Nawab Siddiqui and Humayun Saeed
AUGUST 12-18 2012
PEOPLE & PARTIES
Zarine Abbas
Gul Zeb, Zunaira and Tooba Siddiqui
Maimoona, Anila and Naila
Najwa Imran with a guest
12 AUGUST 12-18 2012
PHOTOS COURTESY SAVVY PR & EVENTS
Collage celebrates the first anniversary of its store in Dubai
Janie Liang
Mahwish with a friend
Anna with Fatima Majid
AUGUST 12-18 2012
PEOPLE & PARTIES
Ayesha and Gohar
Fajar
Post launches their Radiation clothing label in Lahore
Sidra
Dua and Samra
Samra and Haider
14 AUGUST 12-18 2012
Noor Khan
Mania and Imran
Sara
PHOTOS COURTESY DESTINATION EVENTZ
Aqsa
AUGUST 12-18 2012
COVER STORY BY AHMAD FARUQUI
I had turned five earlier that year, living in the house where I was born. It was cavernous and located in the compound of a Power House, which was in turn located on the banks of the Phuleli Canal. The canal originated from the Indus River at the GM Barrage several miles away where we would often go for picnics. I was afraid to ask Dad what he did. So I asked Mom what he did. She said he was the
Resident Engineer for the Hyderabad Electricity Supply Undertaking. Those big words did
not mean much to me but I knew he had something to do with electricity, which kept the lights on and which shocked you if you touched a live wire.
Our house was a two-storey structure and we slept upstairs. In the mornings, we were
often awakened by the whistle of the engine as the train approached the bridge over the canal that ran past the house.
Then October arrived. One fine morning, I woke up thinking the train was whistling
by. But the normal rattling sound of hundreds of wheels going over the tracks was miss-
ing. Something else had disturbed the peace. But what was it? My sister motioned to-
wards me and I followed her towards the stairs. Something was the matter with Dad, she said. I felt my lips go numb.
She told me a phone call had come for Dad. It was from the guard. Dad had sounded
very agitated during the call and had yelled back something to the guard. Then he had rushed off downstairs in his pajamas to make sure his orders were being followed.
By the time we got to the stairs, Dad had disappeared. But one of his slippers was still
on the steps. It was so funny, imagining him running out with only one slipper on. Both of us broke out laughing until Mom called us back to our bedroom.
My sister beckoned me to the bedroom window. We looked down into the compound
and at the road that ran through it. At this time of day, it would be totally empty and
quiet. In the faint light of dawn, we saw that several cars were parked there. But they did not have wheels and their bodies were much higher from the ground and they were painted in dark colors. Their front lights were on but covered up with wires and leaves. They
looked ominous. Tall men all wearing the same clothes and carrying rifles were standing next to them.
Fear gripped me and I was concerned about Dad. My sister did not appear worried and
Mom was fine. So I assumed everything was fine.
Soon afterwards, Dad came back and told us to go back to bed. He said everything was
fine. By now, I had figured out when not to ask a question. I climbed on my bed and pretended to go back to sleep.
Later, Mom told me that the soldiers had come in to protect the Power House from the
bad guys. Who were they? No one was saying and I did not want to ask. She explained what had happened. The soldiers had arrived in a convoy and asked the guard to open the gate. Loyal to his boss, he had refused to take orders from them. He had called Dad to ask
for instructions and when Dad understood who was knocking at the gate, he ordered the guard to let them in. They were the guardians of our freedom. Then he rushed downstairs to greet the soldiers.
In the following decade, the memory of that day would be preserved as Revolution Day.
General Ayub Khan promised to put the country back on the rails. In four years, the general would become president and give the gift of Basic Democracy to his fellow citizens
saying they were not ready for full democracy and that he had to protect the people from themselves.
20
He would also assume the rank of field marshal. He looked so tall and handsome in
AUGUST 12-18 2012
21 AUGUST 12-18 2012
COVER STORY that British uniform, with the baton tucked in his side and all those brass medals gleaming on his
chest. His English was better than that of the Catholic priests in my school. What was there not to like in him?
We were in total awe. After all, he had said that he was going to keep us safe from the corrupt
politicians who had ruined the country ever since it had become independent of the vile British. And he would keep us safe from the horrible Indians who wanted to kill us simply because we were Muslims.
In a year or two, after that fine October morning, Dad was promoted. We moved out of the Power
House compound into a house in the Government Officers Residence Colony. But the new house,
C-3, was smaller and I did not like it. I really missed spending my afternoons looking at the water flowing in the Phuleli Canal. Once a body had come floating by, causing a huge stir. Once a year, a
religious ceremony would take place on the road bridge that was visible from our back wall. At the end, funeral objects would be lowered into the canal and go past our house. It was all so interesting, life by the Canal.
The day came when I was admitted to the St Bonaventure’s High School, far away from home
where I had been doing home school with Mom for a while now. The school had a big church with statues inside. We did not go inside for fear of becoming Christian.
Dad began to travel all over Sindh since his responsibilities extended to the operation of all the
power houses in southern Pakistan. We would help him pack and unpack his bags every few days.
Many resident engineers, now called executive engineers, reported to him and called him Sir. The company name changed to the Water and Power Development Authority.
One day Dad told us that a new power station had been built far away from our original house.
This one was bigger than the Power House where I had grown up and it was a thermal plant. I did not know what thermal meant but I did not like it.
President Ayub would be coming by for the opening ceremony and a small group of children
would sing the national anthem to greet him. I was going to be one of those children. That day came. I must have been eight years old. We sang the song and President Ayub, redder than any man I had seen, looked at us and smiled. It felt so warm, that look in his eyes.
The next year we moved to Sukkur. My sister and I were enrolled in St Mary’s High School which
was co-educational. She was two years ahead of me. In each classroom, boys and girls sat in dif-
ferent sections but there was plenty of eye-contact. Father Todd was the principal. He had been the vice principal at St Bonaventure’s High and coincidently had moved from Hyderabad to Sukkur with us. He liked me.
During recess, one day in late October, I was talking with a group of friends in the school yard.
Word arrived that the American president, John F Kennedy, had been shot dead. We were saddened
since the president’s wife had toured Karachi not too long ago and in the newspaper pictures of her
visit, she looked very friendly. On hearing the news of Kennedy’s death, one of the boys said something very bizarre: That Pakistan should send a plane and take over the US. Even if we wanted to
do it, it did not sound feasible to me, just with one plane. And it was a land so far away. But I kept quiet. He was a bigger kid.
Dad’s travels now encompassed the neighbouring province of Balochistan. We went to the gar-
rison town of Quetta with him once, near the Afghan border. That would be the most exciting train
ride of my life. The train went through several tunnels and at one point, when it encountered a steep slope, several engines had to push it through. Quetta was full of orchards and we toured them
with Mom while Dad worked. We feasted on figs and apricots and plums. The high altitude air was
fresh and crisp but dry. For the first time, I applied Vaseline on my lips. We also toured a coal mine by putting on helmets with lights and riding in small wagons.
Our house in Sukkur was located in the Barrage Colony, named after the eponymous structure
22
which lay just a mile away. Originally called the Lloyd Barrage and now called the Sukkur Barrage, it had taken nine years to build. The British viceroy had opened it in 1932. Several canals came out AUGUST 12-18 2012
of the barrage and irrigated the Indus River valley.
The British had built the world’s largest irrigation network in what was now Paki-
stan and laid down the vast network of trains that ran throughout the country. They
had given us the lovely game of cricket. But the child in me did not understand why we cursed them in the very language they had bequeathed to us.
Not too far away lay the ruins of the great Harappan Civilisation in a desolate spot
called Mohenjo-Daro (mound of the dead). We would go there often with visiting rela-
tives. There was not much to see since salinity in the soil had decimated the ruins. Only the foundations remained. But it was a good spot for picnicking. Along the way
we would drive through a town called Larkana in which a famous family called the Bhuttos lived.
Summers in Sukkur were very hot. We had no air conditioning and during the first
summer my entire body broke out in prickly heat. My classmates did not want to come near me. Mom covered me with some dark mud from Multan and I looked even worse. But the blisters went away.
At night, the servants would move our beds into the open patio and we would count
the stars of the Milky Way until Mom would unfurl the mosquito nets and we would
fall asleep. Late into the night you could hear the squeaking of the wagons as the
farmers returned home from the field. The design was just like what you would see in the museum in Mohenjo-Daro. It had survived unchanged from the Bronze Age.
Our house was across the street from the Tennis Club. We did not know how to play
tennis but we knew it was a British invention. Some white kids came by every evening to play. Initially, I mistook them for the British but Mom told me that they were
Americans. We would watch them play from across the road and wave to them. Once in a while, they would wave back and we would get a thrill. But we never talked. They were foreign and possibly dangerous.
Pakistani men dressed in shorts would play there as well. Sometimes an important
man would come there to have a drink or two. We never saw him play tennis. He was ZA Bhutto, the president’s right hand man, whose home we had seen in Larkana.
Bhutto would stay in the staid and elegant Circuit House, which was not too far
down the road from our house. We were told it was fashioned after an English manor.
We liked him. He was young, dashing and flamboyant in every sense of the term. We did not know then that he was a feudal lord who had no love for the peasants who
tilled the soil. Nor did we know that he had been applying pressure on government servants to hire so-and-so. My Dad got his share of notes from Bhutto.
Now it was time for the presidential elections. Ayub was being challenged by a very
old and thin woman who we were told was the sister of the Quaid. She resembled a witch. We wanted her to lose. I was a cub-scout and the scout master (who was also
our math teacher) told us one day that we would march to the railway station in uniform and line up along the main road to greet the president.
And so we did march. The station wore a festive look, decorated with festive ban-
ners carrying pictures of Ayub and Bhutto. All the tree trunks had been painted white up to five feet and looked like school children.
The train took forever to arrive and I almost passed out standing at attention in the
heat. Finally a black limousine swung out of the station with the star-and-crescent fluttering on the hood. Ayub had never looked so regal in civilian clothes. Seated next
to him was Bhutto, dubbed the ‘Lion of Sindh’ in the banners. We proudly saluted both of them in our scout uniforms.
Ayub won the elections. We were elated. But there was rioting in Karachi. His son (Continued on page 28)
AUGUST 12-18 2012
23
COVER STORY
had led a victory procession and it had turned violent.
In April 1965, my Dad and I were stuck in a traffic jam on the approaches to the Suk-
kur Barrage. An army convoy was ahead of us, barely crawling. I asked Dad why he was
not honking at them. He said you never honk at the army. The army trucks were loaded with troops and stood very high up from the ground. Even their engines sounded dif-
ferent. Some soldiers were on the ground, guiding the convoy. They looked incredibly smart and I wanted to be one of them.
Dad told me that troops we were seeing were probably under the command of Maj.-
Gen. Tikka Khan and that they were moving towards the border to engage with the Indians, who had been making mischief yet again. They were coming from Quetta which
he told me was a garrison town and where the British had established the Command and Staff College which he had pointed out to us when we were there. The short encounter at the Rann of Kutch was decisive and the Pakistani Army prevailed. We were elated.
Then Dad retired. We moved to Karachi, to live in a flat that he had built in 1958, the
year of that fine October morning. It was very small, part of a four-unit structure, and
had a tiny weed-infested garden. I did not like it. And it had a very complex number: IV/F/4/4.
But then Karachi was Pakistan’s biggest city and complexity was to be expected. Even
though we had been coming to that teeming metropolis every summer to stay with our
aunt and play with our cousins, who were not only the friendliest but also the most intelligent people I knew, it felt odd now to be living in that city.
On the 6th of September the news broke that war with India had broken out. Ayub
went on the radio and told us that India had attacked Lahore. Two decades later, we
would learn that commandoes of the Pakistani Army had intruded into Indian Kashmir
28 AUGUST 12-18 2012
a few weeks prior, provoking the Indians to counter-attack.
The war ended as abruptly as it had begun just 16 days later. We were told we had
won. We had conquered more Indian territory than they had, shot down more of
their planes, destroyed more of their tanks and killed more of their people. That
myth of victory was shattered when Ayub signed the Tashkent Declaration with India in the Soviet Union the following January and all territory was returned. Bhutto
broke from him and formed a political party, threatening to “let the cat out of the bag,” about how Ayub had sold out to the Indians in Tashkent.
Soon Dad had a new lawn put in (and I would ruin it later while practicing my
cricket bowling skills). He also had four lovely Gulmohar (Royal Poinciana) trees planted just outside the front entrance. When summer arrived, I would study in the living
room and watch the dappled shadows of the Gulmohar fall on the lawn. Dad subscribed
to TIME, LIFE and the Readers Digest so my view of America was heavily influenced by
their editorial policy. What used to be a store room had been converted into my study. It was lined with books by Mao, Lenin and Marx and decorated with pictures of these men. Dad was not pleased with my collection but was very tolerant with me, hoping that someday my obsession would burn out.
My Catholic school, St Patrick’s High, was far away from home but that was where
I went every weekday, first in a car pool and then in the Number 40 bus.
One school trip took us back to Hyderabad, where I had spent my childhood. For
some reason the public madhouse was on the itinerary. It fascinated us. In one square, a man had propped himself up on a stand and was giving a political speech. He was also asserting seriously that he was Liaquat Ali Khan, the first prime minister
of Pakistan who was assassinated in 1951 while giving a speech in Rawalpindi. In another area, a naked man was terrorising people with his aggressive talk.
On the way back, we stopped at the farm town of Hala, home to a famous Sufi
shrine. I had been there before but the boys from Karachi were awestruck. At dusk, we began the long drive home. We were now traversing through a heavily wooded
area and our luck ran out. In the darkness, the bus had broken down. There was no other traffic on the road.
It was scary and many of the kids began to cry. Help took hours to arrive. Finally,
the bus was repaired and we were taken to a local village and fed omelets and tea. We must have reached our school at daybreak. Our worried Dads were there to greet us.
I graduated from high school and was admitted to Adamjee Science College, one of
the best science colleges in the country. My plan was to attend the same engineering college that my brother had done and like every other man in the family, contribute to the engineering profession. But it was soon apparent that I was good in theory and lousy in the lab.
I thought the army would be a good career and began to imagine myself as a ma-
jor commanding a squadron of Patton tanks. But that was not to be. I was found to be medically unfit because of an insufficient chest expansion, flat feet and knockknees. So a decision was made for me to study economics, take the competitive exam for the civil service and become the first Faruqui in that profession.
In 1968, Ayub began to celebrate his Decade of Development. Riots broke out all
over the country. He was no longer popular. The following year, on one fine March morning, he resigned, saying he could not preside over the destruction of his country.
Yahya’s troops arrived on the streets of Karachi and knocked on our front door.
They asked us to remove the four Gulmohar trees that graced the roadway because they
29
encroached on the roadway. Dad complied and I cried. As they were being cut down,
AUGUST 12-18 2012
one could not but help notice that the trees were in full bloom, with their branches draped in flamboyant red.
The arrival of the troops the second time felt so different from
the first time. Maybe it felt different because I was 11 years older.
Or maybe it felt different because you can’t hoodwink the same people twice.
Or maybe it simply spelled the end of innocence.
We would learn later, when Ayub’s son would publish his mem-
oirs, that the then army chief General Yahya Khan, had deposed the higher ranking Field Marshal Ayub. Ironically, I would also
to Dad and he wrote back, saying that the best years of his life
general officers and thereby coup-proof himself. Just three years
grated from India soon after the Great Partition of 1947. They had
a Field Marshal in the first place so that he would out-rank all later, Yahya would send troops under the command of General
Tikka Khan into East Pakistan, to quell a rebellion that was get-
ting out of control. In nine months, in another war with India,
were spent in India. He and Mom, with my brother, had mileft the land of their childhood and their dreams in search of a Promised Land.
I had fully intended to return home, and did not know that
he would lose half the country, thereby bringing the army’s arch
I was destined to become an American citizen and to be called
fan. But his true colors had begun to show through the peasant
would appoint the suppliant General Zia to lead the army, not
rival Bhutto to power. Up until then, I had been a diehard Bhutto
clothes he would put on for the grand rallies which I would attend with such passion. He talked of socialism while living in the lap of luxury at 70 Clifton.
a foreigner when I would return “home”. In a few years, Bhutto
knowing that one day Zia would not only depose him but eventually hang him.
Decades later, Quetta, that remote garrison town near the Af-
And worse, for those of us who had turned socialist on his urg-
ghan border which we had toured as children with my sister and
become prime minister, to Harvard located in the heart of capi-
headquarters of the Taliban. Today it is a city of fear, where dis-
ing, he was going to send his daughter Benazir, who would later
talistic America, a country that had waged a war on the Vietnamese. A war that Bhutto himself had condemned more than once.
Mom and Dad, would emerge on the international scene as the appearances and targeted killings are the norm.
And Swat, nestled in the foothills of the pristine Karakoram
I wrote a letter to Bhutto in protest and he replied that he could
Mountains, where we had gone on our honeymoon in 1975,
tory of this country is written, it will be admitted by our people
ery vile thing known to man.
not help me because I was confused, and added: “When the his-
and by the world outside that no individual has done so much
would become the scene of beheadings and kidnappings and ev-
Or that Abbottabad, through which we had driven on the way
service to the cause of socialism in Pakistan as I have done.” He
to Swat, would give sanctuary to the world’s most wanted man,
not incompatible with his political convictions since his children
Americans against the Soviets in Afghanistan, and where on
concluded that his decision to educate his children in the US was were not in politics.
At 21, I moved to the US and embraced capitalism. It was a hot
September day in 1974 when I unpacked my bags in the graduate
dorm at The University of California at Davis. In the cafeteria, I
met an engineering student from India, by the name of Krish-
na. This was my first contact with an Indian. To my surprise, he smiled at me, loved to chat about cricket and enjoyed the same
30
What was there to hate in him? I wrote with great excitement
later read that it was Bhutto who had advised Ayub to become
foods. He had even grown up in the city (Benares) where Dad had studied for his undergraduate degree in engineering. AUGUST 12-18 2012
a guest from Yemen who had come originally to fight with the one warm night in May 2011 his life would come to an end at the hands of the Americans against whom he had carried out the most dastardly terrorist attack in recent memory.
FEATURE
blacked out
At a time when the very mention of Bhutto and the PPP could land one in jail, a group of protesters dared to beam their message of defiance directly into the living rooms of Zia’s Pakistan
BY SHER KHAN AND HASHIM BIN RASHID
38
Illustration by: Jamal Khurshid AUGUST 12-18 2012
June 13, 1982 wasn’t an ordinary day to begin with, and four young self-exiled Pakistani men were going to make sure it was remembered as an extraordinary one. This was a time when hockey ruled hearts in the country and
reigning world champions Pakistan were taking on the Netherlands in the Dutch city of Amstelveen. Pakistanis were glued to their TV sets, watching the action unfold live on their screens.
But in the stadium itself, along with throngs of frenzied fans, were a small group of Pakistanis who weren’t there to watch the
Greenshirts take on the Dutch. They were there to send a message to their brethren back home.
“Accelerate the struggle in Pakistan against the Ziaul Haq dic-
“For a few seconds, before PTV could react, viewers could see the protest at a time when even the name of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was banned on PTV,” says Sulehria
tatorship!” This was the slogan that suddenly flashed across the television screens of millions of viewers watching Pakistan Television (PTV) on the evening of June 13, 1982.
Just after halftime, the activists unfurled a 10x2 metre banner
were raided and so was my uncle’s office. It was just sheer luck
Zia and his repressive regime. The Dutch police and media, and
ing in Lahore and I knew that the police was after me on behalf of
inscribed with this message and began to chant slogans against more importantly, the media manipulators of PTV were caught
off guard as the protesters, quite literally, brought their message home.
In a panic, the PTV broadcasters pulled the plug, and for the
rest of the match only the commentary could be heard as the
screens remained blank. But it was too late. The message had
that the authorities couldn’t find me,” says Tariq. “I was in hidthe military authorities. This is when I knew that I had to leave the country.”
Now in self-exile in Holland, Tariq decided to dedicate his pen
to the cause. “In November 1980, we decided to start a monthly magazine called Jidd-o-jehed or The Struggle,” Tariq says.
This monthly magazine was one of the few that was dedicated
been delivered and their comrades back home knew that they
to covering the situation within Pakistan. “Coverage on Pakistan
The seeds of this unique protest had been planted two years
telephones were expensive. Jang newspaper was available only in
were not alone.
earlier, when a number of leftist Pakistani activists who had
fled Pakistan to escape Zia’s repression found themselves in Am-
sterdam in the cold November of 1980. Brainstorming ideas and
was very limited. There was no email or social networks, and
England and came to Holland a day after, so news was limited,” adds Tariq.
The magazine would also be instrumental in publishing revo-
strategies to oppose Zia while in exile, they came up with the
lutionary poets who had found themselves in exile, such as Faiz
Group which would keep the flame of protest alive, even in exile.
erto hidden talents of Khalid Javaid Jan.
concept for a progressive organisation they dubbed the Struggle
It was to this group, which now numbered over 70, that the
Ahmed Faiz and Habib Jalib, and also helped unearth the hith“There were many people who died in Pakistan that have now
four daring protesters belonged. They were Farooq Tariq, Tanvir
been forgotten,” recalls Jan, who even now bears the scars of
and Ayub Gorya. While they, along with the Struggle Group it-
test at Rawalpindi Medical College on April 4, 1980.
Gondal (now better known as Laal Khan), Muhammed Amjad self, now worked loosely under the umbrella of the PPP, the roads
when his legs were broken by a police baton during a student proIn the late 1970s, Jan had been the leader of a liberal-democrat-
that led them to the Amstelveen stadium were varied.
ic student group, The Eagles. Their slogan was simple: “Down
recently graduated from Punjab University in the late 1970s and
he found himself allied more closely with the Left.
Farooq Tariq, now a member of the Labour Party Pakistan, had
was known for his propensity for getting involved in anti-status
with the left and right, Eagles student might!” Later, however,
As tensions rose on campuses in Punjab after Bhutto was
quo movements. After graduation he started working for a left-
hanged, Jan and Gondal would lead increasingly vigorous pro-
dent covering the Mazdoor Tehreek and the workers movement.
were studying. Gondal had earlier been transferred from Mul-
wing weekly newspaper called Al-Fatah as its Punjab corresponIt was during this period that Zia deposed former prime minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and declared martial law.
“When I landed a scoop showing that senior leaders of PPP
were meeting Zia, my homes in Toba Tek Singh and Faisalabad
tests at their college, where General Zia’s own son and daughter
tan’s Nishtar Medical College to prevent him from mobilising students.
After Jan’s legs were broken by the police, Gondal and his
friends would visit him in hospital. There, Jan handed over to AUGUST 12-18 2012
39
FEATURE them a poem he had written as a teenager, the well-known Main
Begum Nusrat Bhutto was among the audience watching when we protested at the hockey match?” Tariq asks. “When we went to greet Begum Nusrat on her arrival in Paris in December 1982, she told us, ‘It (the protest) was one of the most pleasing moments of my life’.”
Baaghi Hoon.
The poem was published in The Struggle in December 1984.
The next month, on January 5, 1985, the poem was read out loud by Benazir Bhutto at a poetry recitation in Convoy Hall, London, in the presence of eminent poet Ahmed Faraz.
“I was practicing as a doctor and when I heard that Benazir had
read my nazm, I really could not believe it,” exclaims Jan. “I think
the poem connected with the sentiments of what the people were
feeling at that time, and these activities were used as a weapon against Zia.”
In a time where publications expressing dissent were few and
far between, Faiz and Faraz would also contribute to The Struggle magazine, which developed a cult status among the Pakistani diaspora. The magazine would be important on other levels as
well: smuggled into Pakistan, it also provided much needed moral support to pro-democracy activists, whose access to printing presses had been curtailed.
“I would read publications of The Struggle group. I was particu-
larly captivated by their pamphlet on partition. The publication
became the reason why I joined them in the ‘90s,” says Farooq Sulehria, a left-wing activist and columnist from Sargodha.
Sulehria was also one of the millions who saw the group’s pro-
test live on PTV and vividly recalls being inspired by their activism, courage and ingenuity.
“For a few seconds, before PTV could react, viewers could see
the protest at a time when even the name of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto
sive movements in Europe. “We campaigned on worker issues,
spired. But at the time I did not know that it was The Struggle
local left parties,” says Farooq. “Even the Peoples Party did not
was banned on PTV. I saw it. Many of us were enthused and inactivists who were behind it.”
Meanwhile, Tariq and his comrades continued with their ac-
tivism in exile. They would go on to organise a mass funeral for
against racism, immigrant issues and anti-nuclearisation with have as big an office as The Struggle group had,” he recalls proudly.
And as for the PPP itself, the hockey protest did not go unno-
Bhutto in front of the Pakistani embassy in Holland with nearly
ticed. “Do you know that Begum Nusrat Bhutto was among the
throw stones at the embassy’s windows and Farooq was briefly
Tariq asks. “When we went to greet Begum Nusrat on her arrival
500 participants. The charged environment also saw participants arrested by Dutch police.
“Our friends threw the stones but I got arrested. It became a bit
of a militant funeral in memory of Bhutto,” recalls Tariq. “I was released later. The Dutch government also supported democracy in Pakistan, and no one really liked Zia’s dictatorship,” he says.
Arrests, activism and attempts by Pakistani authorities to
get them arrested made them popular with leftist and progres-
40 AUGUST 12-18 2012
audience watching when we protested at the hockey match?” in Paris in December 1982, she told us, ‘It (the protest) was one of the most pleasing moments of my life.’.”T
COMMENT
another view on
aurangzeb Was the fall of the mighty Mughal Empire really due to Aurangzeb’s religious zeal? BY NADEEM WAGAN
Source: www.lasalle.edu
Historians do not often agree on much, least of all about South Asian history, but there seems to be an almost unanimous consensus that the downfall of the Mughal Empire should be blamed on Aurangzeb. Most historians who study the Mughal Empire have sought
to blame the sixth emperor entirely for its collapse, contrasting his religious conservatism with his great grandfather Akbar’s
eclectic tolerance that undoubtedly led to architectural innovations and cultural synthesis during the latter’s reign. Those who
admire the synergetic traditions that developed in Akbar’s court point to the stylistic fusion that took place in Fatehpur Sikri and
to how some talented Hindus played an important role in his administration.
One of the points that these historians appear to overlook is
that although most Mughals were consciously “secular”, at no point during their rule did they allot administrative posts in proportion to the actual population of Muslims and Hindus; Muslims were always over-represented. It is pertinent, then, that
although Aurangzeb identified closely with Islamic orthodoxy,
more Hindus were employed in his court than Akbar’s. Aurang-
zeb, like his predecessors, continued the practice of seeking alliances with Hindu rulers but he abandoned the practice of developing marital ties with them. This decision did come with a cost
and it is true that without the bonds of inter-marriage and with a tax base that was becoming less stable, the motivation for the Rajputs to fight Mughal battles began to wane.
Furthermore, in their support of the arts and music, the tastes
But even as Aurangzeb’s sectarian and messianic tendencies
of the early Mughals remained strongly biased towards the
that eventually triggered the downfall of the Mughal Empire,
non-Muslim influences were the Chinese traditions. Miniatures
may have been the immediate catalyst for some of the rebellions they should not be seen as the sole reasons for the empire’s dis-
integration. Challenges to Mughal rule had already begun right after Akbar’s military successes and historians, who write ad-
miringly and uncritically about Akbar’s “secularism” and eclectic tastes and draw too sharp a distinction between Akbar and Aurangzeb, miss many such crucial points.
Muslim traditions of Central Asia and Persia. The only foreign sponsored by Babar were entirely in the Samarqand/Bukhara
tradition while, during Akbar’s rule, Persian and Western imitations also became popular.
Interestingly it was only with Akbar’s son Jahangir, who was
born of a Rajput mother, that the Mughal arts lost their hotchpotch and uneven character and began to develop a distinctive
AUGUST 12-18 2012
43
COMMENT
Most historians who study the Mughal Empire have sought to blame the sixth emperor entirely for its collapse, contrasting his religious conservatism with his great grandfather Akbar’s eclectic tolerance Mughal emperor Akbar and more consistent style. Jehangir was considerably influenced
was that beyond Sindh, Punjab, Kashmir and the Yamuna and
inent positions in his court. With a remarkable eye for excellence
positive contribution to justify its continuity.
by Rajput tastes and rewarded skilled Hindu artisans with prom-
in design and execution in the arts and crafts, he encouraged tal-
Gangetic plains, Mughal rule had simply not made enough of a It is therefore somewhat ironic that some of the highest ad-
ent and promoted merit without discrimination. He also took an
miration for the Mughal Empire’s “unification” of India into a
in philosophy. Aurangzeb’s elder brother Dara Shikoh and father
vocates of economic and political decentralisation of modern
interest in local flora and fauna and, like Akbar, had an interest
Shah Jahan were inheritors of this taste for creative sophistication and ornamental exuberance.
Yet even as it became more influenced by indigenous Indian
cultures, Mughal court culture remained inaccessible to ordi-
highly centralised polity comes from people who are ardent adIndia. Another factor often ignored is that the “unification” of
India that Akbar had achieved was almost entirely through war and coercion.
But more importantly, the benefits of this centralisation did
nary citizens of the empire. With Shah Jahan, a refined delicacy
not flow throughout the empire. Some territories paid tribute
rarefied formalism, which prevented the Mughal tradition from
gions corresponding to present-day Gujarat, Chhattisgarh, Cho-
came to define courtly tastes, but there was also a trend towards imbibing popular and folk influences in the manner of the Rajput or Bundelkhand rulers.
Mughal courtly culture also remained somewhat apart from
the folk traditions of the Indian masses through the promotion
but received no tangible gains in exchange. In particular, the reta Nagpur and Vidarbha, eastern Madhya Pradesh, Jharkhand and much of North Bihar were starved of investment, and experienced stagnation or decline.
Furthermore, beyond the main trade routes that linked north-
of Persian as the language of culture, and Urdu as the language
ern India to the rest of the world, the Mughal state invested
and the cultural elite, Urdu, with its plethora of Persian and Ara-
frastructure to promote trade. Since the bulk of the Mughal
of administration. Although popular with urban intellectuals
bic words and non-Indian script could not gain mass acceptance and remained a language primarily of the elite. Outside the Hindi belt, this was an even bigger problem.
But it was not just a cultural aloofness or the dominance of
neither in agricultural expansion nor in manufacturing or inmanufacturing towns was located either along the Yamuna and Gangetic plains (or along the Indus), it is no coincidence that Mughal legitimacy survived primarily only in these regions of India.
Thus, considering the steady drain of wealth from areas fur-
the Muslim minority that made Mughal rule unpalatable. Even
ther away from Mughal capitals and urban centres, it was almost
rate of taxation on the peasantry was simply unsustainable. But
quickly. The plateau regions of Central India (and other outly-
more fundamental factors were in play. For instance, the high
44
Mughal emperor Aurangzeb
another important reason for the unravelling of Mughal power AUGUST 12-18 2012
inevitable that alienation from Mughal rule would set in very ing regions) simply had no stake in a unified Mughal empire and
that is why a broad and secular coalition of forces arose in defi-
a passing interest in the sciences. As a result, even though the
Unfortunately, such shortcomings of Mughal rule have largely
expansion of European trading settlements in India, no durable
ance of Mughal authority in such areas.
escaped the attention of serious historians in India. And those who have been critical have focused almost exclusively on the
communal angle (on the repression of Hindu religion and culture), ignoring socio-economic and political factors that may
have been equally, or far more, relevant. Communally focused
Mughal Empire under Aurangzeb had successfully fended off the foundation for the unity and scientific advancement of India had
been laid by the Mughals. Mughal rule had left India largely incapable of dealing with the challenge of European military and cultural ascendance.
For British historians, however, treating Mughal rule as the
critics of Mughal rule have often ignored how particular caste
high point of Indian civilisation has served a tactical purpose: by
and received tangible benefits in return. The Kayasthas in partic-
all great things in India have required external stimulus.
categories offered their services and allegiance to the Mughals, ular experienced upward mobility as they rose from being scribes
depicting it as such, they have tried to create an impression that Their interest in Mughal rule has also stemmed from the sub-
and junior record-keepers to holding important administrative
conscious desire to represent colonial rule in India as not too dif-
Mercantile caste categories also had a stake in the success of Mu-
as alien conquerors and created a vast empire gives apologists for
posts, and achieved a social rank comparable to court Brahmins.
ghal rule. Hindu money-lenders and shopkeepers did quite well
in the prosperous Mughal towns, and a majority of the top rev-
enue administrators under the Mughals (even during the reign
ferent from that of the Mughals. The fact that the Mughals came British colonial rule an excuse to ignore the uniquely devastating consequences of European colonisation.
That the Mughals increased the taxes on the peasantry, intro-
of Aurangzeb) were either Hindu Banias or Brahmins.
duced a language that was laden with foreign words and written
lamic rulers, and their regional and local authority was not chal-
apart from indigenous cultural trends, makes British rule appear
Bihar’s Maithil Brahmins had been promoted by earlier Is-
lenged by the Mughals. And while other regional Hindu rulers (such as the Mewar and Hill Rajputs, or the Bundelkhandis) of-
ten felt oppressed by Mughal rule, they nevertheless lived lives of
in a foreign script, and in certain respects remained aloof and more a continuation than a sharp departure from the Indian experience.
But in spite of such parallels, there are vital and important dis-
considerable comfort and leisure, and this restrained them from
tinctions that separate Mughal rule from British rule in India.
and mounting any se-
ment of the peasantry and the broad masses as extreme as it was
organising collectively
rious challenge to Mughal rule.
But perhaps the most
crippling deficiency of
Mughal rule was the failure of Mughal rulers
to devote even a frac-
during the period of British colonisation. It should also be noted that whereas Indian manufactures acquired a well-deserved reputation for outstanding quality, and were in great demand during the reigns of Jahangir and Shah Jahan, India became a dumping ground for European exports and manufacturing suffered a precipitous decline after the Battle of Plassey.
For all their flaws and alien instincts, the Mughals came to
tion of their treasuries
settle in India. Over time, they became steadily indigenised and
modern education. In
bellion of 1857. Local influences rubbed off on the Mughals to a
to anything resembling that respect, Aurangzeb
can be held to blame
that is why the last Mughals resisted the British during the remuch greater extent than on the British rulers.
But more importantly, even as the Mughals frittered away the
as he was especially
wealth they extracted from the peasantry, their legacy of fine
evance of modern sci-
not systematically transferred to another country (as was the
sceptical about the relence and technology. Whereas the European
Akbar meets Jesuits in the Ibadat Khana (House of Worship) in Fatehpur Sikri.
Firstly, at no point during the Mughal rule was the impoverish-
arts and architecture remained in India and India’s wealth was case with the British).
Thus, no matter how artfully British intellectuals have used
nations had begun to
their representations of Mughal rule to rationalise the immiser-
and
and destruction that took place simply has no parallels in Indian
invest in printed books public
universi-
ties, the Mughal rulers
demonstrated at best
ization of India during British rule, the colossal drain of wealth history. For that reason, Mughal rule cannot and should not be equated to European colonisation.
AUGUST 12-18 2012
45
REVIEW
the caped crusader’s curtain call BY NOMAN ANSARI
At its most intense, The Dark Knight Rises is blacker than black, with scenes so bleak and intense that you may have to remind yourself to keep breathing steadily. Thanks to the magnificent composition by Hans Zimmer, the bleakness is well accentuated by a haunting crescendo of rhythmically beating tribal drums that nearly overwhelm your senses. This is fitting, because the villain in The Dark Knight Rises, the malevolent Bane (Tom Hardy), is a real psychotic beast. This monster is introduced In a stunning James Bond style opening , involving a breathtaking plane stunt sequence. Here, we learn that Bane is a heartless terrorist who commands a crazed militia with an eerie level of loyalty. We also immediately note that Bane curiously breathes through a masked apparatus, which gives his voice an almost inaudible pitch, and adds to his mystique. While purists may find Bane’s revised origins and his more realistic physical proportions out of sync with the comic books, they should appreciate the real world feel he has been given in typical Christopher Nolan fashion. The Dark Knight Rises, the third instalment in Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, is set seven years after the tragic events of The Dark Knight (2008) where billionaire Bruce Wayne, as the masked vigilante superhero Batman, took the blame for the crimes committed by TwoFace/Harvey Dent in order to protect Gotham City. Now, still haunted by the murder of his parents and the woman he loved (and dogged by the police to boot) Wayne is shown to be a man with both a battered body and soul. This is fitting because this film is as much about Batman as it is about Bruce Wayne, and is a fine characterisation of a man who finally completes the emotional and spiritual journey which started in Batman Begins (2005). Christian Bale has continually given great performances in the last two Batman movies and I can safely say that he doesn’t disappoint. The father figures in the film are Bruce’s loyal butler Alfred (Michael Caine), and Commissioner James Gordon (Gary Oldman), who are played in fine performances as men with some heavy guilt to bear themselves. Some of the other performances are also top notch. Anne Hathaway is very feline in her unexaggerated movements as the sultry cat burglar Selina Kyle, who comic book fans will recognise as Batman’s on-again, off-again love interest, Catwoman. Interestingly enough, she is never referred to as ‘Catwoman’ in this movie. While her characterisation of the ‘unwilling rogue’ archetype isn’t particularly original, she steals most of her scenes with her engaging performance. The other strong character is John Blake (Joseph GordonLevitt), who plays an ever-evolving cop with enormous potential and heart. He has some really absorbing scenes with Bruce Wayne/Bat48 man that one will find more enriching on a repeat viewing. AUGUST 12-18 2012
The film’s plot sees the destruction of half of Gotham City and you know it’s serious when the Batman is forced to try and save the day in daylight. In typical Nolan fashion, there are plenty of surprising twists in The Dark Knight Rises, which to some may seem abrupt, but which are clearly foreshadowed throughout the movie. The Dark Knight Rises isn’t without fault however, with a few plot points that feel contrived or illogical. The most glaring one is how Bruce Wayne escapes a prison and travels between continents in an instant, without any resources to speak of. I surely would like to meet his travel agent. And while at nearly three hours long, the film is admirable for being highly cohesive in spite of the complex plot and the bloated cast, an unwelcome casualty are the citizens of the Gotham, who are not given much focus in the midst of the tragedies which befall their city. But while The Dark Knight Rises doesn’t quite rise to the narrative near perfection of its predecessor, it certainly soars above any Batman film in terms of action. The mixed martial arts fight sequences between Batman and Bane are superbly choreographed, and are unlike those of any other superhero film in terms of style or effect. Furthermore, the last thirty minutes of The Dark Knight Rises are an amazingly emotional ride, which brings the film, and the trilogy, to a conclusion that is highly satisfying, albeit uncharacteristically conventional. But that’s alright, because if there is one trilogy that deserves a touch of the conventional, it is Christopher Nolan’s Batman.
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Are you capable of drawing a straight line? Do you have a comic or doodle that you think will have us rolling on the floor with
50
laughter? If you’ve answered yes to all those questions then send in your creations to magazine@tribune.com.pk AUGUST 12-18 2012