Bhai, bhai na raha.....

There is nothing official about this Bhai – therefore he is more officious than the official Bhai-brigade and my personal favourite!!!!

In the near three years we have spent in our present house, Aslam Bhai has clocked over 20,000 hours keeping an eye on us in his unofficial capacity as Tommy (apologies to all Tommies, you know that I love you all more than most humans!).

This Bhai is a chowkidaar at a bakery-cum-kitchen which is being illegally run from the dirtiest address in a residential sector of Islamabad (Thank you Tiramisu!!) He was roped in by the official Bhai brigade and he takes this job very, very seriously!

The bakery-cum-kitchen also houses about a dozen baker boys, all of whom will be missed much when I am back, but Aslam Bhai is a cut above the rest because of his excessively uncultured ways and his passion and dedication to keep an unfriendly eye on his friendly neighbours from an "enemy" country.

  

Aslam Bhai seems to be getting better with his unfriendly acts by the day. This winter he acquired a new quilt which has "ARE YOU THINKING OF ME, DARLING?" written in bold and is always hung on the terrace wall facing our house.  

Being Indian in Pakistan....

It is not easy to ignore ordinary people's warmth in Pakistan and despite myself I have befriended plenty of locals -- cabbies, shopkeepers, little boys who play cricket in the neighbourhood and a little girl who races boys on her brother's bicycle

The talking point has almost always been our 11 cats and now a puppy, the newest addition to the family.

The little girl, who lives in our neighbour's servant quarter, shyly says "hello" to me when I go past her house. Her brother, who is just a year older, is sort of our official rescuer when our cats get stuck on a tree. 

 

Some time ago, the little girl asked me if she could accompany me to the market. I said "yes" and on our way we chatted about her bicycle, which she hardly ever gets to ride now because her brother returns home late.   

Since all our cats are rescues and, therefore, no fancy breeds, the older kids in the neighbourhood tell us to keep a "Persian" or a "Siamese". We let that pass because we have given up on people who think rescues are "junglies". Incidentally, all are cats are Pakistani rescues or "honorary Indians" as we jokingly call them. The cabbies, too, always stop to inquire about our pets' health.    

Our Indianness has never been an issue with anyone. 

So I was rather surprised when I walked into a shop in the neighbourhood market to buy cat food. The shopkeeper, a very friendly chap, passed me a tin of expired cat food. I told him that I could not feed my cats expired food and he should get rid of it. 

"These are Pakistani cats.....they can eat everything....they will not die," he joked for the hundredth time and reached for the cans that he stocks especially for me.

Suddenly I heard the "I" word from behind me. "Arrey yeh kahan kee hain pehley yeh to pata karo... (first find out where is she from)..." 

"Yeh Indian hai bhai INDIAN..." someone was saying very accusingly from behind.

I turned and saw a well-built man looking down at me. I had never seen him before, but obviously he knew who I was. Others at the shop also started scanning me. I looked at the shopkepeer and then at his boys, they were all avoiding eye contact. I paid my bill and exited.

The incident left a bad taste in my mouth. It haunted me for quite a while. I was mad at myself for not checkmating that man. I was also mad at the shopkeeper for not speaking up. 

I decided not go to his shop again. 

However, two days later, I was there again because he is the only one in the neighbourhood  who stocks cat food. The shopkeeper was around, but  he did not talk to me much. I, too, did not make an attempt to speak.

The day after I was at the shop again. I asked one of his boys to give me something. The shopkeeper was busy with another customer. I saw him signalling at me from a far corner. I ignored him.

Then he came near where I was standing and passed me the expired cat food can again. "Yeh hamari Pakistani billiyan hain....yeh nahin marti...inhain aap yeh expired food hi khilayeye (These are Pakistani cats..they will not die if you feed them expired food..." he guffawed. 

"Feed this to your dog too!"   

I laughed and retorted: "Doctor ke paas aap lejayenge (will you take the dog to the vet then?)" 

"Which doctor do you go to?" he asked, ignoring other customers. I told him. 

"I am going to feed these expired cans to OUR Pakistani cats....for FREE," he laughed some more.    

It was obvious that he was going the extra mile to make up for that day. "I am going to order more cat food for you tomorrow! Is that okay?" he asked. 

Long after I returned home, I was still smiling. 

Tapping our phones....

It is obviously not a good feeling to know that someone is listening to your phone conversations, yet I have had my fun moments in Pakistan where our phones are routinely tapped.

Friends and family have learnt to say “namaste” to “bhais” tapping phones and often hold imaginary conversations with them. “Bhai please go easy on her….,” a friend acknowledged Bhai’s presence recently.

Another friend has named "phone-Bhai" – Kabeer. 

“Is he good looking?” she joked one day. Since I said “yes”, she started talking to K-Bhai. “Kabeer, are you listening? Kabeer, I am willing to relocate. Kabeer, I am single and ready to mingle….” she guffawed. 

However, we are not the only ones having fun. Bhais have their moments too. Once when I called my sister from my husband’s mobile phone I heard a man’s voice. “Who are you?” I asked. “You tell me who you are…” K-Bhai was flirting. I passed the phone to my husband.

A friend heard her phone-Bhai laughing really hard because she was trying to gently remind her young daughter that their phone was tapped!

I'd be lying if I'd say that tapping doesn't affect my conversations. Sometimes my talk tends to be coded because it feels odd to spell out everything. “Are the payments done?” I keep checking with my sister. My sister, too, quickly retorts with a “yes” or a “no” and blurts the amount – both foolishly thinking that we have outsmarted Bhai who has never heard of LIC!   

Then there are times when I want people to take hints and codes to work --but no! My aunt loves breaking into a monologue about how unsafe Pakistan is and how she would like to have me back in India and I suddenly become hugely conscious of K-Bhai's presence. Or worse, her favourite query which makes me cringe --- how is your health NOW? She perhaps remembers my typhoid many years ago, but I would seriously love to know what Bhai makes of that.

Every so often I think that having heard all my friends’ and family’s collective problems K-Bhai should offer some solutions. Or at least tell us why a man with a Pashtu accent answers my husband’s number when I call or when my phone rings late into the night why is the display number mine!

It takes a while to get over K-Bhai, but I don't think I can ever check him out of my consciousness. Just one moment of regret though. I wish I hadn’t stopped myself from crying on my mother’s first death anniversary -- because I was so very conscious of K-Bhai! 

Pakistani yogini...

This is Aisha Chapra. A young Pakistani woman who is trying to bring peace in the life of woman prisoners in Karachi by teaching them yoga.

I have never met Aisha, only spoken to her on the phone and exchanged emails, but I am thoroughly impressed with her work.

It was Aisha’s idea to approach authorities to let her teach woman prisoners. Fortunately for her it was smooth sail and she is doing her bit to help them live. In the past two years, she has taught 30 to 40 prisoners in the age group of 20 to 40 and some prisoners’ children too.

It is optional for prisoners to join her class. She teaches these women for free, but their “warmth and genuine happiness recharges her battery”.

Chapra discovered yoga as she was trying to tide over a bad patch. She was, as she puts it, depressed, disoriented and directionless and it was yoga that gave her peace.

Her first class in prison wasn’t easy but her experience as a social worker helped her pull through. She had scores of women and children watching her, some ridiculing her and few participating.  However, as the days passed, she became friends with the prisoners by listening to their stories and even massaging their sore muscles. “Soon I was their friend, listening to their woes and counseling them,” she says.

Chapra's stint at the jail has been a great lesson in life. “I get as much from them as I give them. I admire them for being strong and having faith, despite their circumstances.”

For Chapra, the connection with these women is special. “It is this desire to access freedom from within, to liberate in a way that inspires, moves and lifts me outside of myself.  I know it is their strength, their incredible compassion that I feel at the end of the class.”

“Weeks and months have gone by and now these women and their children have become a part of my life. A part of the answer which I was so desperately searching for.  And every week they give me something to smile about, a new story to share, and a new lesson to learn, while giving me a consistent dose of inspiration,” Aisha posted on her blog.

But women will always be women and they can't stop nagging Aisha about this: how do get rid of the flab on the stomach!! 

Move them out Shahida Ahmed!!

 am sure Shahida Ahmed, the rich and famous owner of two topline restaurants -- Tiramisu and The Mango Tree -- would not want a bunch of uncouth baker boys as her next door neighbours. So why unleash them on us?

Welcome to Peacenik Inc….

Much like the dinner tables laden with the very predictable biryani-kebab fare, it is impossible not to bump into a Peacenik at Islamabad-dos.

In the past three years that I have been in Pakistan, I have seen them selling themselves to people-who-matter. I have seen them smiling their smiles before shoving their visiting cards (and in one instance photocopies of a newspaper clip with photo) and frothing peace lines. I have heard them recite beautiful couplets in Urdu (and sometimes in Hindi too) to prove their passion for peace.

Unfortunately, I have seen the same bunch – poets, writers, mediapersons, theatrepersons, lawyers, activists -- do a turnaround in a different setting. That hurts.

While I still see a ray of hope in old-school Peaceniks, usually retired famous-somebodies, I dread the young lot, mostly reigning media bombs who articulate all-things peace beautifully for effect; or worse the wannabes, ambitious little things trying to strike it big at Peacenik Inc – even if that means getting past the Bhai brigade.

Of late, several entries into Peacenik Inc have been via the virtual world (thank you Twitter!) – so there is no real need anymore to network for an invite.

For me, the real Peacenik is the old man who got us a box of walnuts from his village and quietly prayed for peace; or my little Pakistani Hindu friend, who naively believes that the ongoing Indo-Pak talks have a fairytale ending.

Our rescues and other stories….

The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated” – a quote by Mahatma Gandhi (though not attributed to him) adorns the walls of the two vets we often visit with our 12 rescue cats and 2 dogs.

Having known both the vets for over three years, I can safely conclude that the poster means little to them or their well-heeled clientele who feel love only for purebreds. The passion that the vets reserve for purebreds is missing when they examine mongrels – even though the fee charged for both is the same! Pursuing the agenda of breed-worshippers obviously suits them.

Sometime last year I was happy to learn about a Facebook page, floated by two Karachi-based women (henceforth referred to as M&M), for the welfare of animals. I joined the group and like some others posted pictures of our rescues hoping to get them adopted. We never got lucky with adoptions; still I was pleased that M&M were putting in their two cents to create awareness about animal welfare.

Having rescued 12 cats and a pup our hands and home were too full (and pockets quite empty) to entertain the idea of adopting yet another severely infected pup found by our neighbour’s guard last week. Also, with the adoption rate of our rescues being zero we often worry about their fate when we eventually bid Khuda Hafiz to Pakistan.

However, we could not bring ourselves to ignore the two-month old itching and bleeding pup. A trip to the vet confirmed that the pup, just like the one we had rescued two months ago and still under medication, needed long-term treatment. We were also told to keep ourselves and our other rescues away from the pup -- diagnosed with scabies and a severe fungal infection.

We had spent several thousand rupees on the treatment of our first pup (with approximately the same symptoms and more) in the past two months, so on a friend’s suggestion we decided to contact M&M for help.

We were pleased with their instant response. They wanted numbers of Islamabad vets (even though the numbers existed on their website) so that they could get the pup picked up from our home. We were elated.

Two days later, the pup with scabies and fungal infection was still with us. We decided to send M&M a reminder. Their reply brought tears to our eyes. M&M said they would take care of the boarding/vaccination/medication/food costs of the pup (howsoever long that takes), pay a visit to the pup and help him get adopted.

On the fourth day, we were still waiting for M&M to speak to the vet. By now we were already paying for the pup’s daily visits to the vet. We sent another reminder asking M&M to let us know their decision “asap”.

M&M’s reply, 24-hours later, was a shocker. “This is to let you know ASAP that we cannot afford the treatment of the pup…”; asking us to look for another “sponsor”; and with no apologies whatsoever.

The pup’s getting better and is the newest addition to our family. We are glad we could help him before he was shot dead by civic authorities on some neighbour’s complaint. As for M&M, they are busy preaching animal welfare to their “fans” on Facebook!

UPDATE
The pup after six weeks of treatment. We call him Rocco.

We've got hate mail!

We often get hate mail. We've been called "dogs" and "pigs" several times in the past year. When we blogged about the Taseer sisters being our new poster girls earlier this year we got anonymous messages asking us to leave Pakistan!

And now an ardent Shahida Ahmed fan has called us "Indian bastard" suggesting that we go back to our "poverty stricken fucking country" and blog about that.

Shahida Ahmed is a topline restaurant owner who runs a commercial kitchen from our next door house. In India, we Indians would not have allowed this to happen at an urban address.

Pakistani Woman Pilot

This is Rifat Haye. The Pakistani pilot who flew me from Islamabad to Lahore earlier this month.

It is always a pleasure to be flown by a woman. I have had the pleasure of being on an aircraft with an all-woman crew in India, but this was one woman I had to meet -- after all, she is one of the nine Pakistani pilots in service and perhaps the seniormost too.

After the very smooth landing I made my way to the cockpit hoping there would not be an overreaction because of my nationality.

Haye was a charmer. She spoke to me about her career spanning 20 years and also let me photograph her.

All Fiz , No Substance ? Talk Talk and Talk

The media always loves a sexy, feel-good story, especially when it comes to something as stodgy, dull and routine as India-Pakistan talks. But even I was bemused by the media’s take on Pakistan Foreign Minister Hina Rabbani Khar’s recent visit to India. I happened to be in New Delhi during her visit last month and witnessed first-hand the reportage of the trip to India by Pakistan’s youngest and first woman Foreign Minister.

There were the oohs and aahs about her stylish clothes, reams on her accessories (thanks to which I found out that the starting price of a Hermes Birkin bag of the sort favoured by Khar is $9,000) and much ado about her desire to open a “new era of bilateral cooperation”.

There was the breathless listing of brands and jewellery favoured by the 34-year-old Khar – including her Roberto Cavalli sunglasses and pearl necklaces. And then there were the headlines like Mumbai Mirror’s “Pak Bomb Lands in India”, which certainly wouldn’t have amused any self-respecting minister in town for talks on some very serious issues.

What the media, of course, glossed over was that little had changed despite a new face being ensconced in Pakistan’s Foreign Office. Within hours of landing in New Delhi, Khar met Kashmiri leaders like Ali Shah Geelani and Mirwaiz Umar Farooq to assure them of Pakistan’s political and moral support for their movement.

The talks between Khar and her Indian counterpart S M Krishna was followed by an anodyne statement listing all that had happened since the two countries resumed their peace talks in February after a hiatus of over two years. Except for a few small steps aimed at boosting travel and trade across the Line of Control in Jammu and Kashmir, the statement had nothing new to offer.Which didn’t exactly surprise me. What did surprise me, however, was the lack of meaningful analysis in the media about what role Khar could be expected to play in Pakistan’s Foreign Office and how much she could achieve, given the powerful army’s vice-like grip on foreign policy, especially on everything related to India and the US.

Some Pakistani analysts have even suggested that Khar was anointed as Foreign Minister simply because she would not go against the army’s line, unlike her predecessor Shah Mahmood Qureshi, who fell by the wayside because he refused to toe the General Headquarters’ line in efforts to resolve the Raymond Davis affair earlier this year.

Khar was thrust into electoral politics in 2003 simply because her father could not contest polls from his traditional constituency in the Punjab as he did not fulfil the mandatory condition of being a graduate. Formerly a part of military dictator Pervez Musharraf’s regime, Khar switched allegiance to the Pakistan People’s Party after the PML-Q did not give her a ticket for the 2008 polls.

Foreign Office insiders contend that it is Foreign Secretary Salman Bashir, who enjoys the confidence of the military, who is in the driving seat, and not Khar. All of which makes no difference to folks like a senior Indian journalist who gushed about how articulate Khar had been during her media interactions in India. Ah well.