AUGUST 14-20 2011
AUGUST 14-20 2011
Cover Story 22 Mixed and Matchless Zoroastrian dokhmas, Hindu mandirs and Catholic churches — in Karachi, all stand side by side 26 The Lensman and the Lashkar Where others see ‘the most dangerous country in the world’, Italian photojournalist Massimo Berruti finds empathy and brotherhood 30 Celebrating Freedom with a Flare Sometimes you see more clearly when you’re on the outside looking in
Features 36 Games we Play Usman Ahmed reminsces over the games he played in his childhood, untouched by Playstations or Wiis
46
Comment 42 Things we Say Nadir Hassan mocks our favourite political clichés
Portfolio
26
46 The Art of Flying Captivating aircraft soar in canvas skies, in the work of Pakistan’s aviation art prodigies
Positive Pakistanis 52 Turning the Tide For the flood-affected children living in relief camps, Yasmeen Nigar is a godsend
Regulars 6 People & Parties: Out and about with Pakistan’s beautiful people 56 Reviews: What’s new in films and books 64 Ten Things I Hate About: English
52
Magazine Editor: Zarrar Khuhro, Senior Sub-Editor: Batool Zehra, Sub-Editors: Hamna Zubair and Dilaira Mondegarian. Creative Team: Amna Iqbal, Jamal Khurshid, Essa Malik, Anam Haleem, Tariq W Alvi, S Asif Ali, Samad Siddiqui, Mohsin Alam, Sukayna Sadik. Publisher: Bilal A Lakhani. Executive Editor: Muhammad Ziauddin. Editor: Kamal Siddiqi. For feedback and submissions: magazine@tribune.com.pk 4
PEOPLE & PARTIES
Shaheen Saeed Anoshay Ashraf
Ayesha Umer
Mishi Khan with Eeshal
Guests
Angie Marshall and Kha
dija
6 AUGUST 14-20 2011
Atif Yahya
Tariq wat Gillani and Nazneen Munna Mushtaq with Sar
PHOTOS COURTESY MUNNA MUSHTAQ EVENT MANAGEMENT COMPANY
Atif Yahya launched Sadia Designer Collection lawn in Karachi
AUGUST 14-20 2011
PEOPLE & PARTIES
Nida Azwer launched her kids line in Karachi
Aleezah Lakhani and Nida Azwer
8
Mrs Junejo AUGUST 14-20 2011
Sana Shahzad
Arsheen Premjee and Seema Haji with daughter Anya
Pompei
Mikael and Sara Wassan
PHOTOS COURTESY LOTUS
Kamila with her daughters
Mehrbano Chinoy with daughter Soha
AUGUST 14-20 2011
PEOPLE & PARTIES
Tasneem Premjee, Danish Azwer and Maya
Sanober and Murtaza Bukhari
ma Wasay
and Sai Shela Patel
Hina Razak, Neha Razak, Mashal Haji, Zeenat Azwer and Sabina Razzak
Zavia Jam and Shela Jam
Izdeyar Setna
10 AUGUST 14-20 2011
Sana Dada with her daughters
Riffat Alliani
AUGUST 14-20 2011
PEOPLE & PARTIES
The House of Bonanza was launched in Lahore
Kamiyar Rokni
Natasha and Neha
Ammar Bilal
12
Ali Xeeshan AUGUST 14-20 2011
Shela Malik with her daughters
PHOTOS BY FAISAL FAROOQI
Misbah Momin
Kanwal with a friend
Alizeh Gabol
AUGUST 14-20 2011
PEOPLE & PARTIES
Naila Ishtiaq and Frieha
Amna
Ayna
Aasma with a frien
d Manaz Rana
Moummar Rana an
d
14
Akif Ilyas and Mohsin AUGUST 14-20 2011
Mahnoor
Farruq Mian and Iqbal
AUGUST 14-20 2011
PEOPLE & PARTIES
Atif Yahya launched Sadia Designer Collection lawn in Lahore
Ahsan and Fizza
Ayesha Umer
16
Kuki AUGUST 14-20 2011
Frieha and Naila Ishtiaq
Anoushey Ashraf
Atif Yahya
Saim
Carmela Conroy
PHOTOS BY FARHAN LASHARI
Natty
AUGUST 14-20 2011
AUGUST 14-20 2011
AUGUST 14-20 2011
AUGUST 14-20 2011
AUGUST 14-20 2011
Beauty, as the cliché goes, lies in the eyes of the beholder. Sadly, when most of us look at this much-maligned country of ours, we behold mostly brutality and banality. But guess what? There is beauty out there — and perhaps even a touch of brotherhood as well. So this August 14th, while we may feel we have very little to celebrate, let’s look through the eyes of three people who see us a little differently than we may see ourselves…
“Karachi is a mini-Pakistan.” You may roll your eyes at this, but that doesn’t make it any less true. This megacity is home to just about every caste, creed and ethnicity that makes up Pakistan. It also represents the very best, and the very worst of who we are. It can be a cruel city, one in which you can be killed for what language you speak or what you believe, or simply because you happen to carry a mobile phone. But it is also a city that has welcomed people from all corners of this country with the promise that they can come here to live and work and make something out of themselves. Sometimes it takes an outsider to see the brotherhood beneath all the bloodshed. BY ADAM VALEN LEVINSON
I wanted to peek through the locked gates, to look into the sanctuary and enter the house of the dead. I read the engraving by the walkway — UNEQUAL IN LIFE, ALL
LIE EQUAL IN DEATH — while birds flitted about the cornice. I wasn’t sure if I smelled something, faint, pungent, unrecognisable. But it was time to go. Sacred Zoroastrian Towers of Silence were not built to be ogled.
There are two such structures in central Karachi, dating back to over a hundred years ago. The
small Tower known as the “Ghadialy Dokhma,” along a ridge studded with green trees, was consecrated in 1847 and the bigger Tower, known as the “Anjuman Dokhma” was consecrated in 1875.
The Tower of Silence or dokhma is a perfectly white cylinder with a flat top but for a rounded lip that juts up above the entrance. Inside, bodies are laid out under the open roof to decompose by
the powers of nature.
Bones fall through a grate into a well below. “People don’t like to build houses here.” A Parsi
friend indicated the barren plot below the ridge. “The smell.”
Until 1999, there were vultures on the Indian subcontinent. But in the next ten years, as a result
22 12
of feeding on cattle treated with a particular chemical called diclofenac, they were nearly complete completeMAY 9-1514-20 AUGUST 2010 2011
ly annihilated. In India, some form of solar contraption is now
of the gothic church, in front of which rise the stately staircases
say they are mirrors that focus the sunlight, others whisper of
church is closed except for Sunday mass because of two recent at-
used to “evaporate the body,” as our guide said — some reports something more complex. No one is allowed inside the Towers of Silence but those trusted with its upkeep, so there’s no way of
of a white marble monument. We couldn’t go in, though — the tacks. “It is sad,” said Diego.
Rumours were that a synagogue would be near the Bhimpura
knowing what lies beyond those raised white walls. The birds, it
Old Town, but we never found it. Wikipedia says it may have
The term ‘Parsi’ is today used interchangeably with “Zoroas-
I remembered the plaque that stood at the foot of the newest
seems, are there just to look.
survived until the 1980s. Diversity, too, has its bounds.
trian”, though it traces its roots to the Fars or Pars Province in
Tower of Silence. Unequal in life. There is a kind of inequal-
continent in the seventh and eight centuries are referred to as
and withdrawn from the grasp of others. But there was more
south-west Iran but today only those who fled to the Indian subParsis. Numbering only in the low thousands, the Parsi com-
munity is nonetheless thriving and prominent, distinctly less affected by extremist attacks than other religious minorities in Pakistan.
In Karachi, Parsi, Hindu, Sikh, and Christian are all within
striking distance — er, short drives — of each other. Though its
inhabitants are almost entirely Muslim, Karachi’s demography
reflects the gravitation of myriad immigrant populations to this
ity stitched to the heart of this city, a hand extended to some, written on that marble slab, in black ink: NO SPECIAL PLACE
SLEEP SIDE BY SIDE, PARTNERS
ANYONE.
HERS,
ALL
GUISHABLE,
AND
EQUALS.
Sure, these words honoured the
idyll of death, but men in
We walked back onto the street,
a Jewish tourist and his
Karachi also stand side by side.
including the country’s own provinces, that existed long before
might have been — I had no idea.
house, the cook speaks Sindhi to the maid. Downstairs, the driv-
NO
INSEPARABLE AND INDISTIN-
Muslim host. We nodded to pe-
Pakistan — and it is by no means forgotten. In one corner of a
FOR
NO MINE, NO THINE, NO HIS,
Sindhi city by the sea, now one of the world’s top five most popu-
lous. This genealogy extends back through nations and empires,
letters accented with
loch, Sindhis, Hindus, Christians, either. a
destrians in passing, BaSikhs.
At least, they
Perhaps they don’t
er jokes with a guard in Pashto. An obstacle to Pakistani unity,
then — though by no means to its heart and spirit — is perhaps that too much is remembered.
The monumental mausoleum of Abdullah Shah Ghazi looks
out over Clifton beach from its hilltop on Khayaban-e-Firdousi
street. Crowned by two solid green flags, the exterior is entirely navy-blue tile and patterns of thick, white zigzags. In 2010, a
double suicide bombing claimed several lives. Still, all day and
night, past the defunct metal detector and cursory pat-downs, crowds leave their shoes below and climb to the shrine to pray
to the eighth century mystic saint, under whose aegis, many believe, tropical disasters have spared Karachi for more than a
millennium. My friend, a born and raised Karachiite, seemed nervous. “Don’t tell my dad we went here.”
One Hindu mandir, hides quietly down a small street near Jail
Roundabout, albeit marked with colorful paint and a white dome
peeking up over the mute blue walls. The gatekeeper wrenched
open the latch and followed us with watchful eyes as we shuffled in. We took off our shoes and walked past the glittery, foil swastikas on the walls into a small shrine, dim and crowded with the stems and smells of leftover offerings.
Twenty minutes away through the city’s infamous traffic are
the gates to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. A catholic man with a
dark, happy face guarded the entrance with a dog that looked delighted to nap with its head on its paws. The man’s name was Di-
13 23
ego Rodriguez and he welcomed us onto the impressive grounds AUGUST MAY14-20 9-15 2010 2011
COVER STORY
BY ROBIN FERNANDEZ
On the list of most overused Pakistani phrases, ‘Karachi say Khyber tak’ would be among the top ten. And it’s Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa that has really been the centre of attention ever since the War on Terror broke out. It’s been the port of call for many a foreign journalist, almost all of whom have painted this area as the most dangerous part of the ‘most dangerous country in the world’. It’s seen as a hotbed of fundamentalism, with murderous fanatics out to crush every way of life that doesn’t conform to their limited worldview. But is that all there is to see?
26 12 MAY 9-1514-20 AUGUST 2010 2011
Young Italian photojournalist Massimo Berruti sees something different. He is one of the
things. The images he has captured of these stories are deeply
a contrasting and empathic view of Pakistan — one that rarely
years in the country, but what they are suffering does not make
the Carmignac Gestion Prize of Photojournalism in May 2011 for
country has been in any way a happy hunting ground for him.
few who dare to turn stereotypes on their head and present
finds a place in the western media. Berutti, who was awarded
his work on the tribal lashkars who battled the Taliban in Swat
and other districts in Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa, found to his surprise that the members of these outfits were not the violent and ruthless people the West often makes them out to be.
“They, in fact, devote themselves to protecting their families
and people, risking their lives in a very generous commitment,”
evocative, showing the everyday valour of his subjects.
“I feel close to Pakistani people, having spent the past three
me happy at all,” he said, dispelling the impression that the However, he acknowledges that he is keen to share Pakistan’s stories with the world.
“I think Pakistan is often misunderstood [by the world], and
I feel this is as much a danger for its people as well as for those outside Pakistan.”
Berruti is impressed by “the spirit of brotherhood” in the coun-
Berruti points out.
try which he says helps people live through calamity after calam-
with these civilian militiamen. They showed the same spirit of
the rest of the world if the West just made an effort to understand
He should know, because he spent the better part of 50 days
generosity by making themselves available and giving him a lot of time despite their demanding duties.
ity. “There are a lot of things Pakistanis could remind and teach them better,” he says.
Of all the news events he has covered, Berruti says nothing has
One of them was Said Bacha, a 75-year-old tribal elder, who
been scarier — not even the threat of a Taliban attack on a tribal
ley. Bacha, who lives in Maban village near the border with Dir
fallen prey to this dramatic wave of violence and trying to cover
played a decisive role in ousting the Taliban from the Swat Valdistrict, is a marked man as far as the Taliban are concerned, but his stance against militancy remains unchanged.
Berruti believes that disinformation has been spread about
tribal lashkars — that its members are extremists themselves
and act like mercenaries — when this is simply untrue. “My goal with this work was, in fact, mainly to make the situation
of tribal people in Pakistan more widely known and understand-
lashkar — than the drive-by shootings in Karachi. “Karachi has
these events by getting as close as a photographer has to be, you
can find yourself in a number of very dangerous and scary situations,” he recalls.
Once, Berruti and his aide, Israr Ahmed, even had a close
brush with death — an experience that changed his outlook on life quite a bit.
For Berruti, last summer’s devastating flood in the country
able to a wide audience,” he says, explaining how he tackled this
was somehow inexplicable. “I perfectly remember that this huge
other photojournalists to spend time in the border areas between
expect to see before such a disaster. For some reason, the dams
year’s Carmignac Gestion programme which required him and Pakistan and Afghanistan.
It is part of a lashkar member’s destiny to “fight the Taliban
and protect their people at whatever cost.” From their point of view, he says, this is not a duty they can shirk or a job they can refuse, because they feel that “their lives are in the hands of God.”
The Italian lensman is clearly moved by the predicament of
lashkar members. He believes they have lived through extraordinary hardship in the wake of their struggle against the Taliban
insurgency. Their circumstances worsened following the flood
mass of water was not preceded by the massive storms one could were full at the beginning of the monsoon season,” he says. But even though he saw only a bit of the destruction, he is convinced
that it was extreme nevertheless. Too many places were inaccessible and impossible to reach. Water had cut roads and travelling
was extremely difficult. He is sure that had the authorities taken some measures beforehand, the severity of the disaster could have been lessened and the suffering of the people could have been eased. a
last year. Despite that, he says, the government didn’t give them enough support to recover. For many of them, the challenge of rebuilding their lives is now a bigger one than fighting militancy.
Over the past few years, Berrutti has covered some
of the bigger headline-grabbing events in Pakistan. From the super flood of 2010 to
the targeted killings in Karachi and from the
battle against militancy in Swat and elsewhere
to the movement for the restoration of the supe-
13 27
rior judiciary, Berruti has found himself in the thick of AUGUST MAY14-20 9-15 2010 2011
BY SABA KHALID
You always see things a little differently when you’re on the outside looking in. We’ve seen our country through the lens of two very different visitors, now let’s hop across an ocean and travel back in time a little over a month. Meet Saba Khalid, a Pakistani who found herself in the midst of America’s own independence day celebrations
As the the US’ Independence Day looms closer, the sales in New York City get bigger and better, there is an onslaught of tourists and true New Yorkers, forced to share their city in all this summer madness, get snarkier and snider. But come July Fourth, all
the madness melts down over the Hudson River in a brilliant fireworks celebration that leaves both tourists and locals awestruck.
We’re not talking about just any fireworks — these are the
most extravagant and expensive pyrotechnics to take place in all of the United States. The bill for this is footed by the world’s biggest departmental store, Macy’s.
This year, having been told at least five hundred times
by NBC, six hundred times by tour guides and a thousand times by various New Yorkers, that I just had to visit the
West side of Hudson River to see the 35th Annual Macy’s fireworks display, I decided to do just that.
With cabs and cars cordoned off from 20th street
to 55th street for the entire day by the city admin-
istration, I had no choice but to walk what seemed
like a million avenues and a thousand streets towards the river. I started off three hours early
to avoid the rush, but even before I got in view of the river, I knew it was much too late to get
the best place. People of all
nationalities — Indi-
30 12 MAY 9-1514-20 AUGUST 2010 2011
ans, Chinese, Italians, French, Mexicans, Pakistanis, Puerto
pendence day this way? Will there be a time when there won’t be
kets; it was as much my Fourth of July as theirs. The place was
home at this hour in Pakistan?
Ricans — crowded the streets with their picnic baskets and blan-
crawling with security personnel but they didn’t so much as stop
terrorists killing people in our cities? Will I ever feel safe walking Sadly, to all these questions, the answer is a pitiful yet re-
a tourist to check his bags or give a passerby a suspicious look.
sounding “No!” or, at least, a “Not yet.”
stepped on another’s toes to get a better view, or pushed a person
one else’s freedom but my own country’s. Here’s to hoping that
stan, I couldn’t imagine anything taking place back home with-
day in style. Here’s to hoping Pakistan will some day be truly
Standing among thousands of spectators, no one so much as
or two to get ahead. Having attended quite a few events in Pakiout having to pass through a million metal detectors, witness at least one fight and see a few gatecrashers make their way in.
But here’s to hoping that one day I won’t be celebrating some-
people from different nations will come to see us celebrate our free. a
As I surveyed the footpaths and street corners for the perfect
spot, a family of four smiled at me and made their little one
squeeze in so I could sit there and view the sunset over the river. rose pink to dirty purple and finally settle on midnight blue.
At exactly 9:20 pm, the show started with a bang. Imagine
more than 40,000 shells of every colour exploding at a rate exceeding 1,500 per minute and shooting higher than a thousand
feet in the air. Colours reflected off every building in Manhattan and shone over the clear blue river. The explosion of fireworks
was deafening, but they marked a celebration like no other. At
one point, the sky was so brightly lit that it seemed that night had become day.
Kids sitting on their fathers’ shoulders screamed in delight as
DESIGN: SHEHREZAD MAHER
We all watched the sky turn from bright yellow to ruby red, prim-
the sky was turned into a giant smiley face; I laughed as a fiery
outline of a cowboy appeared. There were cries of “Bravo” and
“Long Live America”, little snippets of “Amazing Grace” sung here and there, and sighs of pleasure from the French lady next to me.
The show must have lasted for less than thirty minutes, but all
the walking, waiting in the heat, and the three hour commute back to Jersey was worth it. Despite having the best time, I couldn’t help but feel guilty and a little resentful.
Will there be a time when I can go back home and enjoy my own inde-
13 31 AUGUST MAY14-20 9-15 2010 2011
FEATURE
The games we BY USMAN AHMED
Kho kho, pittu garam and gilli danda‌ these are the games we played and continue to play‌but where did they come from and what do they mean to us?
In the writings of Marcel Proust, Diabolo, a juggling game played with sticks and a spinning top, features extensively as a symbol of longing and remembrance. In the writings of Marcel Proust, Diabolo, a juggling game played with sticks and a spinning top, features ex-
tensively as a symbol of longing and remembrance. Like Proust,
everyone has their own sepia-tinted memories and indelible images of childhood amusements: misspent summers chasing
after one thing or another, the flurry and madness of the playground on the last day of school, balls flung into gardens belonging to neighbours more forbidding than any storybook villain or
the thrill and laughter of victory snatched in the final moments of sunset, before the darkness sets in.
The organically evolved games we learn from our parents,
friends and schoolteachers are the ones that resonate most pro-
foundly. The simpler and more universal they are, the better. Variations on games like tag, catch-me-if-you-can and hide-and-
seek are so ubiquitous that they have become a universal refer-
ence point of fun and happiness for children and adults the world over.
Then there are those amusements that depend only on a child’s
imagination. I remember how, during weddings in my childhood, my friends and I would pretend that the festivities were
36 AUGUST 14-20 2011
Kabaddi is mentioned in the great Hindu epic, the Mahabharata, and in Buddhist literature Buddha himself is referred to as playing kabaddi for recreation.
about to be disrupted by a band of pirates. At once, a tediously formal function would become a wondrous adventure. We would
ransack the kitchens, conduct covert operations beneath the din-
ing tables and send each other coded messages about the latest twists and turns in the never-ending saga. The whole charade was pure and unadulterated joy.
In Pakistan, Mughal, British, Sikh, Hindu, Persian and Mus-
lim influences have combined over the centuries to create a vibrant cultural heritage of games and pastimes. Kabbadi, for ex-
ample, is a game that has been played on the subcontinent since ancient Vedic times. It is mentioned in the great Hindu epic,
the Mahabharata, and in Buddhist literature Buddha himself is referred to as playing kabaddi for recreation. Similarly, the run-
chase game kho kho, which involves touching and chasing opponents, also has its origins in Vedic culture.
Originally developed in the western state of Maharashtra, it
used to be played on chariots and was known as Rathera. Nowadays, the chariots may have been dispensed with, but it remains
as highly charged and tactical as ever. In my childhood, kho kho
was a firm favourite with girls in the playground, and their ur-
gent cries of “Kho” every time a player was tagged, would be followed by squeals of glee.
A number of board games have also originated from the sub-
continent. Although rooted in ancient India, these games really
blossomed under the patronage of the Mughal emperors. The ancient Hindu game of pachisi — the forerunner for today’s perennial party time favourite, Ludo — was often played by the Em-
peror Akbar. Though nowadays Ludo is likely to be played by chil chil-
dren on a magnetic board, it is reported that Akbar used to play
the game on the colossal outdoor chessboard in Agra Fort with young slave girls used in place of the traditional coloured ivory pieces. The ancient game of chess or Shatranj, was also hugely popular in the Mughal courts.
My own introduction to the games of the subcontinent oc-
37 AUGUST 14-20 2011
curred in 1990 when, as an eight-year-old, I visited Pakistan with
my parents. I was badgered into playing pittu garam at a cousin’s ameen. The whole experience was a spectacular revelation. I was
enthralled by the ritual of scavenging for the flattest stones in order to create the pittu, the buzz of anticipation each time the
ball was thrown at the crudely assembled target and the clamour
that would ensue as stones whizzed in all directions and pandemonium reigned supreme. It was exhilarating, but what struck
me was that the importance of pittu garam lay not in victory and
defeat, but in the accuracy of the aim and the speed. The contemptible matter of keeping score was merely secondary.
When I returned to the land of my parents as an adult, it was
refreshing to see that, in an age of Playstations and Wiis, traditional games were as popular as ever. Yassu, panju, haar, kabootar, doli , for example, is a favourite of children all over the
country. The appeal of the game, like so many other classics, lies in its inventiveness and simplicity. Before each round, up to five
players are randomly assigned one of the five names that make up the title of the game. They then draw a random amount of fin-
gers, and the names are counted on each one. The player whose name comes up is considered safe and withdrawn from the con-
test. The last remaining contestant is considered the loser. And then there comes the twist. From being a mundane playground rhyming activity, yassu, panju becomes a thrilling contest of wit and speed which can be enjoyed by children of all ages. The
winning player is assigned the task of slapping the hands of the
loser. Each time the winner successfully hits the losing player he or she gets another go. Like pittu garam, the emphasis is not on amassing points but in displaying one’s skill and talent.
Gilli-danda, derived from the Italian game Lippa, provides the
defining image of a Pakistani childhood. There is a dust track near where I live, where children still gather after the Asr prayer to play gilli. The moment that the danda successfully strikes the gilli, it takes to the air like a frightened bird as though carried up
38 AUGUST 14-20 2011
by the cloud of dust that rises with it. In late summer evenings,
the spectacle is made all the more enchanting by the excited screams and shouts of the players. It is comforting to note, that
unlike in the West, there are still patches of ground throughout Pakistan which the authorities have to yet to reclaim from play-
Akbar used to play pachisi on the colossal outdoor chessboard in Agra Fort with young slave girls used in place of the traditional coloured ivory pieces.
ing children.
If there are two things children love, they are rhymes and hit-
ting others . . . which might explain why the quintessentially desi kokla chapaki is such a popular pastime in rural Punjab.
The nonsense rhyme, “kokla chapaki jumeraat aayi aye jera agge pichey wekhey ohdi shamat aayi aye” sung by the participants who sit in the circle is fun and joyful. It is at once very much
rooted in its locality yet appears to be a song for children of all na-
tions. More potent than the rhyme is the dupatta, the principal tool of the game, which at once symbolises culture and is used to
whip the player who fails to notice that it has been put behind his back.
On a recent trip to Gilgit, I discovered that children there have
invented their own variation on the region’s most popular sport
polo. Pulu, as the locals called it, follows most of the traditional rules of the equestrian game, except that it is played without
horses. Pulu sticks are made from branches of birch trees which are abundant in the region and the ball either consists of a roll
of socks or a bundle of string. The game can perhaps best be described as a cross between polo and hockey.
A young boy in the mountain village of Guppa near Naltar de-
scribed how pulu was the chief pastime of children in the sum-
mer. “During the summer, most families leave the cities and gather in their villages. Playing pulu with my cousins and the other children of the village is the highlight of our holidays.” The
playful sounds of children running around on the flattest tract of land they could find, with the Karakoram towering in the background, evoked a delightful image of celebration and joy.
In childhood, being a grown-up seems to be filled with an al-
luring mystique and wonder, yet when we attain adulthood, we look back, misty-eyed at the serendipity of youth. We may
no longer run around, jump and clamour when we are feeling down, sing silly songs to relieve our pressures, or pretend to be
warriors or astronauts when we want an escape from our own lives – but we do possess a treasure trove of games to pass onto our children to make their childhoods as joyous as our own. a
39 AUGUST 14-20 2011
COMMENT
42 AUGUST MAY 29-JUNE 14-20 42011 2011
43 AUGUST 14-20 MAY 29-JUNE 4 2011
PORTFOLIO From Da Vinci's sketches to the Wright brothers' maiden flight in
1903 down to the present day, the idea of taming the winds to soar through the skies has fascinated mankind.
Portraying the magnificence of an aircraft while at the same time
conveying an impression of high speed in the backdrop of a colourful landscape or skies is a visually mesmerising form of art. Ironically, this genre actually predates man’s first flight and, over the past several decades, aviation art has truly evolved.
the art of
flying BY HARIS MASOOD ZUBERI
"50 years of PAF"
46 AUGUST 14-20 2011
In South Asia and the Middle East, the most work in this field
has been done in Pakistan. However, since aviation is still relatively
limited, the most exciting artwork has inevitably focused on the Pakistan Air Force (PAF) and its many historic escapades. Recognis-
ing the potential of such visual treats, the PAF extends support to aviation artists. After all, the real art of flying lies in the natural
flair of drawing an aircraft in its splendour rather than the technical precision required to control it in the air.
Some of the best works from Pakistan’s self-taught aviation art
prodigies are presented here. a
©Syed Masood Akhter Hussaini. On the evening of 6 September
1965 No. 19 Squadron of PAF lead by Sqn Ldr Sajad Haider Sitara-
e-Jurat wreaked havoc on the IAF base of Pathankot, destroying 14 IAF aircraft. This historic
mission is depicted by Group
Capt Hussaini in vivid detail based upon accounts of the pilots who participated in the at-
tack. The painting has graced many books on the history of
Indo-Pak conflicts. Most recent-
ly the cover of Air Cdre (Retd) Sajad Haider's highly acclaimed
memoir Flight of the Falcon. This
painting hangs at the HQ Air Defence Command.
"Pathankot"
©Syed Masood Akhtar Hussaini. A painting which remains one of the most recognised
posters ever made in Pakistan. In 1997, marking the
© Sqn Ldr Rehan Siraj/PAF PAF finally succeeded in developing its own fighter aircraft in col-
laboration with China and the JF-17 'Thunder' joined the PAF fleet last year. This painting celebrates the milestone accomplishment
in Pakistani aviation and depicts a JF-17 taking off from a northern base with the Pakistan flag reflecting in the sky.
50th anniversary of Paki-
stan and the PAF, Group Capt Hussaini painted all the aircraft ever operated by the PAF from 1947 till 1997
against the backdrop of the Pakistan flag. The painting hangs at the National De-
fence University, Islamabad.
47
"Dream to reality" AUGUST 14-20 2011
PORTFOLIO
"Triple Attack" ŠSyed Masood Akhter Hussaini. On the first night of the 1965 Indo-Pak war, a valiant B-57 bomber pilot Squadron Leader Shabbir Alam Siddiqui and navigator Squadron Leader Aslam Qureshi flew into enemy airspace for the third time within a
span of 9 hours, creating a war-time record. After having successfully completed two bombing missions and returning home safely, the crew volunteered to fill in for
another pilot who backed out from his mission and took
off yet again at 0335 Hrs on the morning of 7 September 1965, never to return.
On their third mission the B-57 was lost and the fate of
the crew remained a mystery leaving them undecorated
for their exemplary valour despite their supreme sacrifice. Four decades later Sqn Ldr Alam Siddiqui's wife approached the Indian Air Force for details and closure.
What followed was a historic episode of camaraderie-
in-arms when the IAF informed her that her husband's aircraft was hit by anti-aircraft fire and crashed near IAF Base Jamnagar and invited her to visit the site for closure.
The painting visualises the last moments of the fate-
ful B-57 bomber from Masroor Base Karachi after it was
fatally damaged and was painted by Group Capt Hus-
saini as a tribute to these two unsung heroes of the PAF who sacrificed their lives on the very first day of war
leaving a legacy of dedication beyond the call of duty which remains a hallmark of the PAF.
48 AUGUST 14-20 2011
"Star Fighter" ŠSyed Masood Akhter Hussaini. Sqn Ldr Jamal A Khan, later Air
Chief Marshal and PAF Chief,
shoots down an IAF Canberra
bomber intruding into Paki-
stani air space at night during
the 1965 war. Displayed at PAF Academy Risalpur.
"Refugee Train"
ŠSyed Masood Akhter Hussaini. Soon after partition,as Muslims thronged to their new homeland of Pakistan in over-crowded trains, buses, on foot and by
bullock cart under fear of rioters, two Army Air Corps Aus-
ter AOP aircraft patrol over the refugee caravans to ensure their safety. It is displayed at the HQ Army Aviation Command.
49 AUGUST 14-20 2011
POSITIVE PAKISTANIS PEOPLE
turning the tide For flood-stricken children living in cramped relief camps, Yasmeen Nigar is a godsend. BY SAMIA SALEEM
Yasmeen Nigar is just like any other housewife in Pakistan: she wakes up her three children early in the morning, sends them to school, cooks meals, cleans the house and looks after her family. Yet this busy mother is also a compassionate social worker who has found time in her life to work for the education of the underprivileged. I wanted to see how she managed both her own and her ‘ad-
opted’ children, and what better way to do that than to accom-
pany her to her latest project? On the appointed day, Yasmeen
52
appeared in the simplest of clothes and started narrating her AUGUST 14-20 2011
story while driving me towards the flood relief camps on the Su-
per Highway in a Suzuki Bolan. Making her way to the back of
Karachi’s NED University along Abul Hasan Ispahani Road, she told me that she started her philanthropic work in 1981 when she established the Nasreen Education Society, a registered Trust in North Karachi.
There weren’t many schools in the vicinity, which was domi-
nated by Pashtun and Punjabi families. “Mine was the first house in the lane and I not only opened the school but also went
to those families, convincing them to send their daughters to school, assuring them that they would be safe with me,” she says.
Unfortunately, the violence that wracked the city in those days
meant that her assurances fell on deaf ears.
“Parents were afraid to send their children to school” says
Nigar. When her school itself was targeted and her husband attacked, she realised that she could no longer continue and closed
down the school in 1992. Her fledgling project may have closed, but the dream lived on.
Seven years later, she decided it was time to try again. In 1999
she began teaching women in Baloch Colony how to read and
“Mine was the first house in the lane and I not only opened the school but also went to those families, convincing them to send their daughters to school, assuring them that they would be safe with me.”
write Urdu. What she saw shocked her...not only would many
of these women take drugs and chew betel nut and gutka themselves, they also allowed their children to do the same. Determined to fight what she saw as destructive ignorance, she started looking for places to establish a school.
At that time, Gulistan-e-Jauhar was a growing locality with
few schools and that’s where she established her School of Britanicca, later expanding it to the matric level.
In 2005, she found Surjani Town, a newly established locality
with no schools. With her brother’s help, Nigar established a school on a 1,600 square yard plot, in a locality without access to
transport or water supplies. Children coming to the school were charged a monthly fee of Rs50; but many could not even afford that meagre sum. Thankfully, the gap was filled by donations.
By the time Nigar finished telling her story, we had reached
our destination: one of the many flood relief camps along the
53 AUGUST 14-20 2011
POSITIVE PEOPLE
Super Highway. It was another one of Karachi’s sunny days, the
heat unrelenting in its intensity. Easing her car into an opening, Nigar honked the Bolan’s horn.
As soon as she did, children in school uniforms scampered out
of camps from all directions. As they eagerly boarded the vehicle,
it was clear that going to school was not something they dreaded,
but in fact something they looked forward to. In a matter of min--
utes, 18 children had squeezed into the small van, while those left behind knew that Nigar would come back to fetch them. Bubbling with cheerful anticipation, they reached the school in Surjani Town.
Nigar instinctively realises that these children, victims of the
worst floods in Pakistan’s recent history, need a break from the gloomy environment of their camps. She understands that they
need to see the city, to learn and to grow, and most importantly, to get relief from the dark, confined life of an internally displaced person.
The students at the Britanica School — coming from such an
impoverished background that some cannot even afford the monthly fees of Rs50 — have wholeheartedly welcomed the
flood-affected children. They not only share their classrooms
with the newcomers, but each child brings an extra ‘roti’ for lunch to share with these guest students.
For the IDP children these school lessons and their playtime
with colour pencils, balls, skipping ropes and computers are plea-
sures that cannot be missed. They have so much to explore, learn
and take back. Majida, an intelligent 13-year-old girl, can now read and write Urdu and wants others in her community to learn from her so that they can progress in a city like Karachi, which
they now have to make their home; Aslam and his friends have
learnt to write their names on the computer on Microsoft Word; and Faiza loves the uniform she wears to school. They are learning a new way of life, and in their eyes can be seen a craving for
what the flood took away from their families — an identity — that Nigar strives to give them despite her own limited resources.
a
If you know of any people who have achieved something positive, either for themselves or for those around them, please mail us at magazine@ tribune.com.pk and help us share their story with the world.
54 AUGUST 14-20 2011
The students at Britanica School — coming from such an impoverished background that some cannot even afford the monthly fees of Rs50 — have wholeheartedly welcomed the flood-affected children.
REVIEW
film `
apple polishing BY AATIR SIDDIQUE
Five minutes into Bad Teacher, you begin to think that you have a solid comedy caper at hands. And why not? With Cameron Diaz shedding her girl-next-door image and portraying a crude yet charming middle school teacher, one is bound to raise hopes. Unfortunately for Bad Teacher, even Diaz’s charisma isn’t enough to carry the film to the next level. That does not mean that the film is bad — no, it most definitely isn’t. But it isn’t extraordinary either. The movie is about a sharp, usually inappropriate teacher Elizabeth (Diaz) who never shies away from getting what she wants. And what she wants now is Scott, a recently divorced teacher (Timberlake) who has just joined school. Throw in a jealous competitor, a gym instructor with the hots for Elizabeth, a timid 7th grader coping with quintessential girl problems and you have the plot for Bad Teacher. While there’s nothing groundbreaking in the story, what makes the film work in places is its cleverly chosen leading lady. While she may no longer be the immaculate Charlie’s Angel who used to be the highest paid actress of Hollywood, she still lights up the screen. Her recent films have been a mix of hits-and-misses but this time around she shines with a top notch performance, making the movie more enjoyable than its mediocre script deserves. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that she is easy on the eyes. The supporting cast does a fair job of carrying the film forward. The weakest of them all is without doubt Justin Timberlake. It would be unfair to call him the lead actor here, there is none. His character is weakly written and doesn’t really bring anything new to the table. Jason Segal on the other hand seems to be enjoying the small yet significant role of the gym teacher avidly pursuing Elizabeth while she treats him like dirt. It’s refreshing to see him step out of his Marshall avatar of “How I Met Your Mother”. Lucy Punch also delivers a decent performance as Elizabeth’s obsessive arch-rival. 56 Director Jake Kasdan, who has previously been associated with AUGUST 14-20 2011
dazzling diaz While she may no longer be the immaculate Charlie’s Angel who was the highest paid actress of Hollywood, she still lights up the screen forgettable work here and there, has spread the film with decent enough gags to make it entertaining overall. Still, one can’t help but wish that the movie was more than just a vehicle to exhibit Diaz’s effervescence and more attention had been paid to the plot. Bad Teacher is one of those films that you watch on a lazy weekend when you can’t think of anything better to do. Don’t go for this one if you aren’t a Diaz fan. Otherwise, just watch Harry Potter again!
book lady and the vamp BY MAHVESH MURAD
If there’s a best-seller series I openly admit to reading it’s Charlaine Harris’ Sookie Stackhouse novels, or the Southern Vampire novels as they were known before Alan Ball adapted them for HBO’s “True Blood” series. So what if they’re not very well written? So what if they’re cheesy? They’re just so much fun. Here is this intrepid young barmaid (Barmaid! As if she lived in Valhalla) who can read minds and is a magnet for trouble, especially of the supernatural kind. She’s outspoken, feisty and not very complicated. Vampires are out of the coffin, other ‘supes’ now abound and there’s always sex and violence around the corner. Best of all, Sookie lives in a tiny town in Louisiana that’s full of semi-literate, inbred swamp-trash whose shenanigans are always entertaining. How much better can it get? Not much, it seems. Harris started off the series well but sadly, she has been unable to maintain the momentum in her last few books. With the latest installment, Dead Reckoning, she has shown that she is not capable of writing a long-lasting bestseller series the way Janet Evanovich has written her Stephanie Plum novels. Dead Reckoning sees Sookie trying to come to terms with her fairy relatives and her strained ‘marriage’ to Eric Northman, the Area 5 vampire sheriff. Of course, she’s also got Tara’s baby shower to plan and tables to wait at Merlotte’s. If this sounds incredibly lame, it’s because it is. Even to someone who has enjoyed these books previously, Dead Reckoning feels stale. It’s repetitive with no zing and without the usual sex, gore and violence that kept the action ticking along in the earlier novels. The books have always had a great many things stewing together, but now instead of one steady narrative arc there is a mess of smaller sub-plots, which have no bearing on the story. These include, but are not restricted to: Sandra Pelt out of jail and wanting to ‘get’ Sookie, Eric being forced into a pact his maker chose for him years ago, Tara’s baby shower coming up, Pam’s lover being unwell and dying and yes, entire scenes dedicat-
anaemic Dead Reckoning shows that Harris is not capable of writing a long-lasting bestseller series ed to Sookie’s haircut. What is the point of all these smaller plots? Do they add to the larger one? They can’t, because it really doesn’t look like there is a larger plot at play at all. There should have been some resolution on a few of the series’ sub-plots in Dead Reckoning and while there is one that is finally laid to rest, Harris spends too long trying to make Sookie into a more complex character than the one fans know. Sookie has now become prone to sudden internal monologues in which she waxes philosophical about concepts like sin. Is Harris attempting to create a more politically correct and sensitive protagonist? Or, in the wake of “True Blood’s” success, is she attempting to write something closer to a screenplay? Either way, Dead Reckoning is inauthentic and forced. Moreover, entire conversations are repeated in this book — it’s unthinkable why this could be intentional. If the reader can remember conversations Sookie has had, shouldn’t she be able to? She is telepathic, not amnesiac. Dead Reckoning has no redeeming features and it is certain to reduce Harris’ fan following drastically. For those who are new to the series and interested in the “True Blood” source material it is probably best if they stop reading the books written after the TV show began because it is now clear that this really is a case of a writer being run over by the vehicle she herself created. 57 AUGUST 14-20 2011
REVIEW
book `
of mammon and militias BY ZARRAR KHUHRO
“We listen to a recording of Iqbal Bano singing Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s ‘Hum Dekhenge’ (We will Witness the Day) at the famous concert in Lahore at the height of the repression during the Ziaul Haq years. Fifty thousand people in the audience in that Pakistan begin a defiant chant: Inqilab Zindabad! Inqilab Zindabad! All these years later, that chant reverberates around this forest. Strange, the alliances that get made.” Alliances are exactly what Broken Republic is all about, notably the alliance between the Indian political and media establishment and the corporate interests that are pushing for the ‘development’ of the unspoiled wilderness that is home to so many native tribes. These are the same tribes that are then labeled ‘Maoists’ and ‘security threats’ when they stand up for their rights in the face of a powerful political-industrial complex. Comprising of three essays, Broken Republic is a journey. A journey that begins in the urban centres of India, in the capital of New Delhi, which had so recently been scrubbed clean for the commonwealth games — its underclass considered an eyesore for the visiting foreigners. The same underclass that Roy claims has been pushed into the cities as a result of urbanisation policies. From there we travel to the Maoist heartland itself, to the people Indian home minister P Chidambaram called ‘the single biggest internal security challenge’ faced by India. With her trademark scalpel-sharp wit and insight, Roy deconstructs the ‘Maoist menace’, exposing the doublespeak, lies and duplicity that hid behind that now-famous statement. We travel to Pakistan on the outskirts of the Dandakaranya forest, which marks the beginning of Maoists territories and where the police ‘shoot to kill’. Corrupt police, oppressed villagers and dedicated but outgunned guerillas are the cast that populate the second essay “Walking with the Comrades”. Of the three essays, this is the one that truly stands out, with the characters coming 58 to life on the pages. Notable among them is the ‘candid’ SP who AUGUST 14-20 2011
razor sharp Roy deconstructs the ‘Maoist menace’, exposing the doublespeak, lies and duplicity of policymakers provides one of the best quotes in the book, saying, “The problem with these tribals is that they don’t understand greed. Unless they become greedy there’s no hope for us.” The final essay, “Trickledown Revolution” is an argument for a system that can accept dissent and the right of people to live the way they choose and holds out the comforting thought that there can be hope even in the midst of violence and greed. In reading Arundhati Roy, one must realise that this is not journalism of the ‘some say, yet others disagree’ variety. Reading Roy is almost like watching a Michael Moore film, minus the showmanship and cute cutscenes. Before the lynch mobs come out in force, let me clarify: with both Roy and Moore, you know exactly where their loyalties lie. Not for them is the balanced statement or the objective analysis. In this battle of alliances and ideas we know exactly where Roy stands and we know, as does Roy herself, that her stance is proudly and unashamedly partisan. And we love her for it. a
THE HATER
10 things I hate about ...english
1 2 3 4 5
BY FAIZA RAHMAN
The inanity of having a hundred and one pronunciations for the same word. And the ‘more-educated-
than-thou’ clans’ insistence that only their version of the pronunciation is accurate. ‘Root’ and ‘raoot’ for ‘route’ anyone?
The endless conflict between British and American
spellings. During internship at a newspaper, my effortless ease with American spellings drew the wrath of my boss who insisted on British spellings.
The way hordes of confused Star World-watching teenagers feel the need to fake their accent, sometimes
slipping from fake-British to fake-American in the same sentence.
The need to widen your mouth to near offensive
lengths for lucid pronunciation. One of my instructors
at university stressed that Western languages require one to ‘open the mouth very widely’, for increased clar-
ity. Really, I am not surprised that the Black Death spread so quickly in Europe.
The slang. ‘Gotta’, ‘lotta’, ‘sorta’, ‘kinda’. Chal bay!
64 AUGUST 14-20 2011
6 7 8 9 10
The non-existence of differentiated pronouns. The
honey-sweet warmth of ‘aap’ can never be captured by
the brusqueness of ‘you’ — which can readily be used
to address anyone from your two-year-old niece to your mother’s decrepit aunt.
How words can mean different things but sound the same. Imagine uttering sentences like: “The scheme
was invalid for the invalid”, “The large number of in-
jections made her jaw number”, “The dove dove in the pond”.
Love is a many splendoured thing…except in English.
You can ‘love’ your beloved and at the same time ‘love’ fruit chat. Compare that with the enticing Urdu alternatives of ‘pyar’, ‘ishq’, ‘mohabbat’, ‘chahat’, ‘ulfat’, ‘dillagi’.
The insipidity of some kinds of English literature. Start with a finicky, orphan girl, thrown in a rich lord, an af-
fected aunt or two, a poor love-struck bloke — and there you go. That’s a Jane Austen/Charlotte Bronte masterpiece for you.
Can somebody please tell me, that if the plural of foot
is feet, then why is the plural of boot not ‘beet’? Simi-
larly, if the plural of mouse is mice, why is the plural of house not ‘hice’? a