As another holiday approaches

Islamabad diary
The clash of institutions, our longest-running soap opera, can take a break. As can North Waziristan and what Washington thinks about an army operation in those parts.
As the joyous festival of Eid approaches the more serious problem facing the concerned citizen is to figure out ways of getting hold of some reasonably decent holy water...essential if at all one is keen to alleviate the heaviness attendant upon any extended holiday in the Islamic Republic.
How many Eid holidays this time? Three, four, five? When we don’t have much of a work ethic as it is – leave that to Protestants and the like – a long stretch of holidays can be a bit of a strain, what the Bard meant when he said, “If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work...”
The first day of Eid can be fun, especially for the devout of soul who have been through the rigours of fasting, and are thus that much closer to the gates of paradise. But after the sermons on brotherhood (whose effects, sadly, don’t last very long) and the frantic hugging, the empty day stretches ahead. What on earth is one to do? Especially towards evening when the sun is close to setting and thoughts tend to turn gloomy about time lost and opportunities wasted...that sort of mushy thing.
“Tujhko maloom hai kyon umr ganwa di hum ne...” How do you translate this? Faiz’s words, Noor Jahan’s haunting voice – in this nazm it is truly haunting, and the words too – and only one thing remaining, that which seems to be our foremost problem. Other civilisations have searched for the Holy Grail. In our God-given Republic the eternal search is for holy water.
There lies the rub. You can get it but at a price and not in all places. Islamabad and Karachi are lucky. Lahore, on the other hand, has a serious Scottish problem. One has to make do with some of Mr Bhandara’s finest creations and while the single malt on offer is extremely good – although I wish my friend Isphanyar could look to the quality of the bottling – even that is not available to every aspiring citizen desirous of clearing the dust and grime from his throat.
The real divide in Pakistan was never between feudals and haris, much less Sunnis and Shias, or Deobandis and Barelvis, but between the English-speaking classes and all others. Only this divide explained the class configuration of Pakistani society. No more. The relentless advance of piety has wrought another distinction, perhaps more important than the old ones. Call this the Scottish distinction – between those with access to Scottish benediction and those deprived of this blessing.
Our Islamic journey is inspiring. We were Muslims before Pakistan was created. We became born-again Muslims with its creation. Then the Objectives Resolution made us into still better Muslims. Then we got rid of our minorities and felt more steadfast in our faith. Then on the stage of the republic came Gen Ziaul Haq who converted us to Islam all over again. Now the Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan, with no little help from Al-Qaeda, wants to take us to a higher stage of Islam.
In the 800 years of Muslim history in the sub-continent, no Muslim ruler, not even Aurangzeb, was as earnest about converting Hindus to Islam as Pakistan’s rulers have been about making better Muslims of the Muslims of Pakistan.
Forget social regeneration or scientific advance. Funny thing is that all this Islam has done little to solve the Republic’s drinking problem. Drinking was not a social problem before prohibition. People took things easy and because they knew where the next drink was coming from desperation was no part of the equation. Now the desperation on parade is a wonder to behold.
This is not all. Just as each man goes to the devil his own way, each man with a thirst problem manages it the best way he can: through Scottish benediction if lucky, Murree solace if that is what his pocket can afford and, if not these two routes to happiness, then fake stuff or plain moonshine.
Chakwal must be one of the centres of the bootleg and moonshine trade, so much fake stuff being produced here and yet the demand is so great, especially when such festivals as Eid loom, that the suppliers have a hard time keeping up. The local police recently conducted a raid and caught a large consignment of fake bottles. But it was all done in a very civilised manner, the premises raided but the local Al Capone, known as the Don, getting away.
There is no better way to chart the fall of the rupee than keeping an eye on the price of Scottish bootleg. When Herr Rehman Malik’s dispensation took charge of things in Islamabad, this after the 2008 elections, Scottish blessings could be had for Rs2600-2700. Now the same thing is trading at above Rs4000. Deluxe brands, and there are many fakes floating around, sell for anything between Rs8500-9000. And the PPP likes to think of itself as a secular party. Expensive secularism if Black Label, Pakistan’s unofficial national drink, puts you back by this amount.
Do we call this egalitarianism and social justice? Back in the 1970s the play-lands of secularism were more evenly spread out. For Rs50, and I am not making this up, you could have a quarter of local happiness, something to eat, and change left over for a trip to Lahore’s great culture-land, also known as Heera Mandi. La Dolce Vita – it used to be here, and would have survived if only we had somehow given the slip to that summer of salvation, which was the movement against Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. Now you have to be a safecracker, a television anchor or a Malik Riaz business partner to stake out any kind of a happiness claim.
Just as justice is not to be had in the Islamic Republic without expensive lawyers – you just touch a good lawyer and he’ll set you back by several lakhs – the play-lands of culture are not to be explored without deep pockets. If you don’t have the cash just forget it. As for the skin-trade the less said the better.
But the holidays are at hand and this is not a prospect to be taken lightly. Well provided for is to be well prepared or there will just be television to fall back on. Few horrors are more frightful than Pakistani television, any channel, on a patriotic anniversary or a religious holiday. Instead of universal brotherhood the heart fills with thoughts of murder.
No, something to lift drooping spirits and bring a smile to wan lips. And something to read, for without this one is undone. How many years ago I read The Count of Monte Cristo. I picked it up again last night and read until four in the morning. How I cried. If you have it, no better book for the Eid holidays. Or Les Miserables – another book which always makes me cry...uncontrollably at times. There is something with these French writers, the way they squeeze your heart.
Here’s something more. People my age would have watched, when young and green, Irma La Douce. I saw it when I was in Lawrence College. I thought it would drag and be dated when I watched it again two evenings ago. But what a picture. Jack Lemmon is good but Shirley Maclaine is superb and the bartender magnificent. For Eid fare nothing to beat this and it’s very easy to download.
Here’s another: Sean Connery accepting the AFI achievement award and Pierce Brosnan saluting him. The way Brosnan walks in and the way he speaks: if anyone wants to know the meaning of style this is it. Sean Connery, born poor, in his acceptance speech says that when he was five he got a lucky break. I held my breath and wondered what it would be. And he says he learned to read. Try beating this.
Email: winlust@yahoo.com