This Ramazan everyone is a beggar

Religion dominates airwaves all year round in Pakistan. If it is not programs of religious variety offering religious advice on food, matrimony and Halal banking, then someone would be offering Istekhara services to those who seek divine guidance. If it is not the theological debates, then it would be programs targeting women telling them how to be good Muslim wives and daughters, tv serials telling women how to be submissive and regressive in name of religion, morning show hosts censoriously telling young men and women not to venture into parks and indulge in un-Islamic acts of sitting on the benches. If this is how things go all year around, the religiosity of the TV content goes up considerably during Ramazan. 

The TV channels with more moolah put up huge sets, get hoards of people to come in, and cram in everything in those few hours: real life tragedies, sob stories, hyper religiosity, overt piety, a lot of charity, a bit of drama with a dash of emotions and tears, cooking shows, many give aways and gifts for the audience present in the studios and the audience glued to their TV sets in their homes, naats and religious sermons and last but not the least would be the transmission show hosts’ claims of grandiosity that they cook the best kebabs, give away most money to the needy on their show, get the best ratings and convert, or revert if you prefer that, people of other faiths to Islam – live on TV. It is reality TV with a hint of religion to make it palatable for most.

All that is fine because it is TV and at the end of the day, it’s a business and everyone wants to make some money. What gets my goat is that they are perpetuating a culture where people think asking others for money or begging is fine. In one example, a man who earns Rs8,000 per month came in and asked for half a million rupees to pay for his wife’s medical bills. One of his excuses was that he has four kids that he cannot afford to feed. The wife probably fell ill by bearing children after children when she was obviously physically weak and anemic. The host’s reaction was not only to sympathise with him but to urge his viewers to donate money to him. I, on the other hand, wanted the host to ask this man why he procreated four times when he knew he was earning just Rs. 8,000 a month. Was he expecting a miracle or did he think his financial conditions would change all of a sudden?

By offering him and the likes of him the money, aren’t TV channel being irresponsible and giving the message that it is ok to not plan your life or be responsible for your choices, we will guilt others with more money into giving it you. Lines like “Yeh bachi namaz parhtee hai, iskay ilaaj ke liye paisay dain” are also discriminatory. If a person is regular with his namaz, he or she deserves a greater chunk of the charity than the heathen who do not pray 5 times a day, no matter how grave their need is. Financial assistance is fine but it would be better if it comes with a bit counseling about family planning and life choices. 

Instead of urging people to give away for charity, why don’t we urge the audience to give decent wages to the people who work for them so they do not need to be supplanted with charity? If you really want to make a lasting more dignified difference, how about vowing to pay decent wages to everyone who works for you –at your workplace, at your home and around you – and getting others around you to do the same. 

Originally written for The Express Tribune, this is the longer version. 

Though this is a serious piece but if you want to be entertained by the sheer stupidity of my countrymen, please go to the ET website and read comments.

Tourism of another kind

Alain de Botton writes about the relationship between the anticipation of travel and its reality in his book 'The Art of Travel'. Before traveling to a place, most people think about the amazing places they would visit, the exotic food they would eat and interesting people they would meet. The reality could be different; they may not get to visit the places they planned, the food may be disappointing and the people, not very exciting. On the other hand, the reality could be everything they desired but it is always laced with the reality that is not anticipated, like braving long lines at the immigration counter at the airport, haggling with cab drivers in a language they don't know and their inability to do something as simple as reading a road sign and the subsequent frustration over it.

Before my vacations earlier this month, my level of anticipation was high. I planned a visit to a country that I have always wanted to see - Turkey. I read books about the country; travelogues, stories about the history of the land, influences of Roman and Greek mythology on Turkish architecture, and something as touching as the ode that Nobel laureate Orhan Pamuk wrote for his beloved city Istanbul. To say that I was high on anticipation would be putting it mildly. I was anticipating a visit to the Topkapi Palace which would transport me back to medieval times in Istanbul; I would spend afternoons on the beach in Izmir; I would be enthralled by the Sama ceremony of whirling dervishes in Konya; and I was so looking forward to drinking Turkish tea on a balcony one evening overlooking the Bosphorus. The reality was different. Topkapi was so overcrowded that I was literally jostled from one room to another; Izmir was struck out of the itinerary because of a shortage of funds; and the Sama ceremony turned out to be a lot less spiritual and more concert-like than I would have liked. I also ended up drinking Turkish tea not in a balcony overlooking the Bosphorus but in a police station in Istanbul.

Everyone who has ever been to Turkey has regaled me with tales of how Turkish people love Pakistanis and how it is the last place in the world where we are still respected/loved. I lost that illusion a few minutes after I entered Ataturk Airport. The Turkish embassy in Islamabad assured me that I will get a visa on arrival if I have a US, British or Schengen visa stamped on my passport, so the first thing I needed to do in Turkey was buy a visa. The sign told me that I will have to go to Immigration Counter No 2 to get my passport stamped (they have a separate counter for people from Pakistan, India, Iraq and South Africa). I looked for it but the trail of arrows kind of died in the middle of a long corridor, so I came back and asked the help desk. A man here told me that Counter 2 is closed so I need to go to the counter where everyone else is getting their visas. There was a crazy long line at that counter and when after 20 minutes I managed to speak to the visa officer, he told me to go find Counter 2 again. (This man was not authorized to give a visa to a Pakistani.) I asked several people but everyone spun a new tale about visas for Pakistanis. I saw a desi-looking family walking to the same long corridor where the trail of arrows ended and decided to follow them. It turned out that one had to keep going even when the trail of arrows ended to get to the desired counter. When I got there, I saw a few people gathered around a closed counter and some Turkish immigration officials on the other side chatting with each other. I went up to them and asked if the counter was closed. I was told that the counter was indeed closed. I then told them there must be some mistake because I was specifically sent to this counter to get my visa because I am traveling on a Pakistani passport. One of the immigration officials almost snapped my head off for not telling him earlier that I am Pakistani. I wanted to tell him that I was at the counter for only 30 seconds but refrained from pointing it out. I just wanted to leave the airport as soon as I could. I was then given a piece of paper and was sent to another counter to pay for the visa. I came back with the receipt and gave them the passport and then waited patiently for one of the immigration officials to deign to pick up my passport and stamp my visa and entry into their country. I waited, along with that desi-looking family - they were Indians from Delhi - for the officials to finish their tea. After what seemed like an eternity, one of them took pity on us and gave us our passports back, stamped. In the meantime, I cussed up a storm in Urdu/Hindi with the eldest daughter of the family from Delhi about the sterling work ethics of the Turkish Immigration officers at Counter 2.

Meeting a friend who was joining me all the way from Canada and getting a tram to our hotel in Sultanahmet went smoothly. Another friend joined us from Amsterdam later that night. We had dinner and made plans for a blitzkrieg tourism-filled weekend. We started the day with a visit to the Blue Mosque which is every bit as majestic as I anticipated it to be. The difference from the anticipation was the rush of people who wanted to get their pictures taken with every calligraphic inscription and every bulb in the numerous chandeliers.

If the Blue Mosque met my expectations, Ayasofia far exceeded them. So steeped in the history is the place and so different it is from everything I have seen until now that I couldn't help being mesmerized by it all. Where else would you get to see Quranic inscriptions side by side with mosaic paintings of the Virgin Mary and Archangel?

Where calligraphy of the word Allah coexist with a mosaic painting of Archangel: the main hall in Aya Sofia

Bascilla Cistern, a Bosphorus cruise and a day at Topkapi rounded up our weekend. After a long day in Topkapi, we came out and sat on one of the benches in the courtyard between Ayasofia and the Blue Mosque. My friend needed help in looking for a key in her bag so I put my bag under my left leg and the 60 seconds I spent in looking for a key in her backpack, someone came and stole my bag from under my leg! Yes, there I was, in Istanbul... with no money, no credit or debit card, no passport, no cell phone and no proof of identification, it was like I didn't exist any longer. After the initial panic, I went to the tourism police office where a gentleman who could speak English refused to believe me; he actually had the audacity to treat me as a criminal and asked me repeatedly if I am sure that I have not forgotten my bag somewhere and am now crying that it was stolen. The policeman was rude, misogynist and quite adept at blaming the victim - just like the policemen back home. After a big hassle, I got the address of a nearby police station where I could file an official report. The policemen at the station desk knew rudimentary English and told us to wait. While waiting he asked us where we were from and when we said we were from Pakistan, he sang Jeevay Pakistan and said he was doing it to cheer me up. I was looking at him in a state of shock. Never in my wildest imagination had I ever thought that one day, every penny I had on me would be stolen in a foreign land and I will have to hear an impromptu rendition of Jeevay Pakistan in a police station. Truth is certainly stranger than fiction.

Some of them very farigh Turkish policemen.

And, as if that was not enough, random policemen would come, talk to the guy at the desk, look at me, nod their heads, smile, laugh and then leave. Freaked out as I was, I just stood up and asked him why no one was filing a report on my behalf and why everyone was coming and looking at me like a circus animal. I was told that they were waiting for an official translator to sign off the report and that I looked like some Turkish singer who was apparently only popular with the policemen (nobody told me anywhere else in Turkey that I look like a certain pop singer) and that is why they all wanted to see me. One of the over-eager policeman even shook hands with me as if I was the local celebrity. So flabbergasted was I with this turn of events that I actually complied. This is something I would never have anticipated before I embarked upon my travels.

The next day was spent at the embassy getting a new passport made. They charged me 168 dollars - which is kind of ironic because I was robbed of every single penny and had to borrow money from friends for everything. I later learned that the embassies are supposed to help such victims and have a special fund with which they pay for your passport and stuff. I don’t know if it is true or not, butI was still grateful to the embassy staff for being courteous and making me a replacement passport the same day.

Apparently this chori chakari is so commonplace in Istanbul that the embassy folks were not in the least bit surprised when I went to get my passport made and regaled them with my sob story. The fellow there asked me – very calmly – if it happened at Taksim Square or Sultanahmet. When I told him that it happened at Sultanahmet, he wisely nodded his head and said that that’s where most of the passports of Pakistanis were snatched. They get around 5-6 stolen passport cases every week. The day I got my passport made, there were three other Pakistani guys who were mugged in the alleys next to Istaklal Street.

If you think it was not shocking enough, on my way back to Pakistan, I learned that I cannot get through the regular immigration counter. They have a separate immigration desk at Ata Turk Airport for people whose passports have either been stolen or lost! You need to show them a copy of your police report; your newly minted very expensive passport, they write the date of your entry on your boarding, stamps the exit on your passport and viola, you are free to go back home. A special desk for people with stolen/new passports! How bizarre is that?

The usual crime scene: the tram that travels from Taksim Square through the length of Istaklal Street

If anyone had told me before I embarked upon the journey that I will end up spending a day at the Pakistani Embassy in Istanbul and would be shaking hands with over-eager Turkish policemen who thought I was a celebrity lookalike, I would have laughed out at the ludicrousness of it all. 

Originally written for The Friday Times, this is the longer version. 

PS: Special shout out to Saima and Karan for bearing with a very gloomy and morose me in Turkey.

PPS: Sorry for not warning you earlier, this is a rather long rant. 

Bharti naari, a party girl and an aging Lothario do not make a good Cocktail

After my latest sojourn to the local cinema, I have come to the conclusion that I seriously need to move to a country where they show things besides ‘Abraham Lincoln: the Vampire Killer’, ‘Rowdy Rathore’ and something called ‘Cocktail’. 

For starters, why was the film called ‘Cocktail’? All indiscretions happened after shots, all conversation happened over a glass of red, Saif Ali Khan even competed to finish a beer bottle in one go, but NO cocktails, so why name it cocktail? It’s not like anyone was either serving or drinking them but I digress.

The film starts with Saif Ali Khan playing an Indian Lothario and wooing a flight attendant with lines so cheesy you would think you are not in a cinema but damp cheese ripening rooms. As if that was not cringe worthy enough, he continued to act like a stupid 22 year old and tried pick up lines – in Hindi – that were once used by Dev Anand in his jawani, on random gori women on the streets of London and his workplace. He tried to do the same to a certain Bharti Naari at Heathrow airport, who came all the way from India in gulabi jora, bangles and bindi to meet her husband. The husband turned out to be a scumbag who only married her for her money and wanted her to go back to India. She was a loser miskeen behen ji type with no parents and an aunt who couldn't care less about her and one wonders why anyone would marry her for money.

Somehow the Bharti naari ended up in a club’s (or was it a restaurant, I can’t recall as I must have dozed off in the super thanda air conditioned cinema hall) restroom where a party girl played by Deepika Padukone came to her rescue. To cut a long story short, Bharti naari became a free loader at the party girl’s house and in another scene the Lothario and Party girl decided to become lovers (they said they are just having fun) and he too moved in to party girl's house. 

A few other inanities, a crazy Punjabi mother and bumbling mama scenes later, party girl decided that she is done having fun and wants the whole works: Shadi, ghar aur bachay. While party girl has had a change of heart, the Bharti naari went on a vacation with these two, wore a short dress, had a few shots, danced a bit and wham, the Lothario falls in love with her. Even though the party girl had been doing pretty much all of it all along, the Lothario remained unaffected. But the minutes Bharti naari showed her long limbs, the dude was a goner. Even though the girl was a Bharti naari who was still married to the money hungry scumbag, she had no qualms about kissing her BFF’s boy friend – the same BFF who sheltered her, was also sponsoring her lifestyle (and perhaps her vacations). What about the bharti naari code that a wife must stick to her husband after saat pheray even if he happens to be an arse and a greedy one at that? What happened to the girl code that says that 'thou shalt not look at your bestie's boy friend with lovey dovey eyes?'

When the party girl finds out, she flips and the Bharti naari goes out. The minute the bharti naari is out of this aging lothario’s life, she goes back to her old dowdy self and behenji clothes. I mean who wears floral printed corduroy cropped jackets FFS!

The scenes where the party girl begs the Lothario to marry her border on torture. Here is a friendly, free spirited, well off party girl begging a guy with too much Botox, to take her and is willing to morph into his mother’s clone for him to accept her. To make it even more puke inducing, she mouths dialogues like “Party girl (forgot what the party girl was called in the film) bhi ek normal larki hai, usko bhi pati aur ghar ka sukh chahiye.”  With lines like this, feminism goes back to the century before last.

Lothario did not have one endearing quality apart from bouts of grocery shopping and still two seemingly intelligent, beautiful women who are both taller than the Lothario fall for him. The behen ji who called him pig for being a man whore fell for him just because he said she is beautiful! I mean how easy do the Bollywood walahs think girls are, esp those who are like ten feel tall and weigh 120 pounds?  

The premise of the film was that men fall for behen ji types even when they are man whores and have slept with half the women in two metros (Delhi and London). Lothario was a slut because he had not found true love, party girl was a slut because she has abandonment issues and Bhati naari was NOT a slut because she was insecure about her looks.

I ask Bollywood one simple question: Why can't sluts be sluts because they feel like it? Why do they have to have something deep going on? Why can’t the NOT sluts be Not sluts because they do not feel like sleeping around? Why do they have to be insecure about their looks and what not. Why can’t life be simpler and why does Saif Ali Khan use this much Botox? 

The party girl, the Lothario & Bharti naari in a not so Bharti naari-ish dress!

The frivolous and the inane

If someone was handing out awards to legislative assemblies for coming up with the most bizarre legislation and the most frivolous debates, chances are that the Punjab Assembly — the largest legislative house of the country — would win. The house has turned into such a joke of late that one wonders about the ability of most of its members to just be rational, let alone their ability to make laws.

Every other day, members of this supposedly august house are reported in the media about their involvement in verbal spats, at times, on the assembly floor, calling each other name that are so impolite that they often need to be taken off the records of assembly proceedings.  From trying to pass legislation against mobile phone packages to legislation encouraging polygamy and shout fests, from calling names to throwing shoes and chairs at people, members of Punjab assembly have indulged in just about everything – at times repeatedly so.

Instead of taking up issues that adversely affect the performance of the province – such as high number of children outside the schools, the recent young doctor’s strike, increasing unemployment in the province or increase in beggary – the members discuss matter that are irrelevant and can no way be passed as matters of government interest or political debate, legislation or attempts at legislation which is their raison d'être. Latest in the long line of inane debates is discussion over Sharmeen Obaid Chinoy’s promise to pay Rs 3 million to acid burn victim Rukhsana. Instead of discussing and strengthening laws on domestic violence, acid throwing and police reforms, they decided to go after the film maker who highlighted this issue through her work. It was quite ironic that the motion to ‘help this poor woman’ was moved by Shaikh Alauddin who is quite well known for his misogyny and has harassed his co workers in assembly on camera.

When the members of the assembly do work on issues of importance, they do not do so with the required diligence and care. According to a PILDAT report, it took the provincial assembly only 21 hours and 56 minutes to pass the annual budget for the fiscal year 2012-13 which was around Rs 782 billion. In comparison budget debate 2011-2012 consumed approximately 39 hours. Hence a decline of55% was witnessed this year in the actual time devoted for Budget debate. They pass multiple bills which had been returned to the assembly secretariat from the governor’s office with objections and reservations, without making any changes in the text or the context of the bills. The provincial law minister disregarded the governor’s reservations by saying that the “governor has hired a team of English-writers, who write the same type of objections on every bill.”

Perhaps, the Darwin Award for the most incredible legislation goes to Punjab Law Minister Rana Sanaullah Khan who moved a motion to remove the ostrich from the bird category and place it in the same category of animals as goats and sheep, in order to meet the increasing demand for meat in the province. One wonders why the poor birds had to be removed from their rightful place in the animal kingdom; if the reason was to encourage people to eat them, they could have done it without the hyperbole of legislation. After all we, as a nation, eat poultry like there is no tomorrow.

Going by the performance of this house, the election commission should be advised to start testing candidates on basic IQ tests before approving their nomination papers for the next elections. Who knows, the next assembly might want to declare elephants as fish.

Originally written for The Express Tribune

The absolute mindfuckery of Punjab Assembly

Earlier today, my faith is restored in the absolute mindfuckery of a premier legislative institution called Punjab Assembly. The Punjab law minister Rana Sanaullah decided to go all Charles Darwin on its electorate and presented a bill which declares that an ostrich is no longer a bird but an animal. More mind boggling is the fact that Punjab assembly decided to play God and passed the bill declaring all the ostriches in Punjab to be animals. Now that the ostriches have been declared animals, I am wondering how Rana Sanaullah will coax them into giving birth to tiny little baby ostriches instead of laying eggs like they used to when they were birds. If they continue to lay eggs, would the ostriches be breaking the law by acting like birds when they are declared animals by legislation? Would they be persecuted for breaking the law? Would that crime be punishable by law? Would Azad Adliya take a stand on upholding the law or would it bow down to animal rights activists? I am assuming ostriches in other provinces of the country will remain birds and would be allowed to act as birds which will probably generate some kind of identity crisis and inferiority complex among the ostriches living under the rule of Rana Sanaullah.

I have a feeling that Rana Sanaullah must have had some ostrich meat delicacy during his several trips abroad. He sensed that a market can be created for it so have decided to farm the animal in Pakistan. Tragedy was that as long as they remain the bird, ostriches were protected by the section- 14 of the Punjab Wildlife (Protection, Preservation, Conservation and Management) Act, 1974. Now that Rana Sb has amended the law – against the advisement of the governor and opposition members – to suit his business interests, the only thing that can save the Ostriches in Punjab from the slaughterhouses, is cross province migration.  

Maybe Rana Sanaullah just wants to ride one?

City of the future

Cities like Lahore or London have history — hundreds of thousands of people have built and shaped those cities over a period of centuries. The people add their lives, bit-by-bit, to the mosaic of the city making it what it is today — good or bad, spacious or cramped — but the city bears the mark of time.

Corniche, situated in the heart of the city 

Some cities do not grow organically; they are painted on a canvas, with planning, precision and a vision, with bold strokes. Hundreds of thousands of people contribute to building and shaping those cities too but they do it according to a map. Everything is shiny and new in these cities and nothing is shinier or newer than Abu Dhabi — in fact, if looked closely, half of its glory is still under construction.

I have visited UAE before but it has always been a 24-hour stopover on my way out and a 38-hour stopover on my way back to meet friends and family; this time around I went on a planned trip to Abu Dhabi and developed an appreciation for things new and glittery and it started even before I stepped foot on the land on their national airline Etihad.

One of the shiniest monuments of Abu Dhabi is the Sheikh Zayed mosque and represents the city to a T. It is flamboyant and flaunts its grandiosity like a badge of honour, complete with its gold-plated Swarovski crystal chandeliers, Christmas-like coloured Murano glass baubles hanging from the same chandeliers and world’s largest hand-knotted carpet, woven in Mashhad by 1200 women who worked for months and made it into nine different pieces for easier transportation.

It was interesting to see that our guide at the mosque was an Arab version of a character from a Dan Brown novel, bringing in ancient symbolism into everything — be it the  design of the marble floor on the entrance foyer or the carvings on the wall which he said was based on what supposedly is the Garden of Eden or the old style Arabic calligraphy with letters without dots (Kufic script), which is interesting because everything about the mosque screams modern, sparkly and new. It is a must visit if you really want to get a feel of the city that is Abu Dhabi. It is also fun to watch Korean men in Arabic dress and Ukrainian women in black Abaya taking pictures of themselves and their surroundings and having fun.

Another example of Abu Dhabi’s modern architecture and cosmopolitanism is Corniche, the stretch of beach that is home to most of the 5-star hotels and eco-friendly beaches and water sport facilities. The skyline is impressive and is lined with one beautiful high-rise after another. The view of the road at night with the lights from the road and the high-rise buildings glittering on the water is beautiful and quite endearing to a city girl like me. A leisurely dinner in one of the open air restaurants is a must during a visit to the capital city.

One of the places that I found most impressive is the under-construction city of Saadiyat. I went there to catch the ‘Cultures of the World’ exhibition, currently on loan from the British museum for the summer at Emirates Palace, a museum and a gallery. The exhibit was impressive and a great way for people who cannot travel to London to see the cultural marvels created throughout the history across the continents. The palace also houses a gallery featuring the past of the emirate and future of Saadiyat cultural city. It will have three museums, Zayed National Museum, the Guggenheim Abu Dhabi and world’s second Louvre museum, along with a performing arts centre and a maritime museum, part of which will be submerged in water. The museums will be opening in 2015, 2016 and 2017 and once they are all operational, these will be the biggest concentration of cultural institutions in such a small place. The model of Guggenheim looked like an architectural wonder of conical and cylindrical shapes — and I for one cannot wait to see it when built. I am definitely coming back, if only to see Guggenheim Abu Dhabi.

If Saadiyat is being developed into the culture capital of the country, Yas Island is designed as the entertainment destination of the region. For a small island off the coast of Abu Dhabi, It boasts activities as impressive Etihad Airways Formula 1 grand prix at Yas Marina circuit, Yas Links, which is one of the top ten new golf courses in the world and regular performances and concerts by all the major entertainers and artists of the world.

So many people I know hopped over to Abu Dhabi last month for the Madonna concert.

Only a short while back, Abu Dhabi was nothing more than a few villages around the random oasis inhabited by the nomadic Arab tribes, it is now one of the fastest growing cities in the world with a truly cosmopolitan mix of people living and working there, calling it home. One must marvel and admire their government and Abu Dhabi Tourism Authority (ADTA) for turning a desert with unfavourable climate into a tourist destination for rich and privileged with a PGA golf tournament in one of the plushest golf courses in the world, a desert rally, a gourmet food festival and an annual Formula 1 grand prix.

Granted they have petro dollars that they can spend, they also have a vision to make things happen. I only wish that we can emulate some of that spirit and make our cities beautiful and centres of culture, art and music — after all we have history on our side.

Originally written for The News on Sunday 

Photos by Ali Khurshid 

Braving bijli crisis with crap Bollywood

You know what is the worst thing ever! You check the schedule at your local cinema, you go there and you find out that the film you want to see will be screened three hours later. I mean why have a bloody website when you are not going to update it at least 24 hours before the screening. 

S and I have been wanting to catch a film but when we went to the cinema, we found out that the film we wanted to watch will be screened hours later and the only two films starting within next 45 minutes are Rowdy Rathore and Teri Meri Kahani, as S refused to watch Rowdy Rathore ( I did not probe her deep seated loathing for Akshay but I am sure she has good reason for that) the only other option was watching Teri Meri Kahani. S thought it would be better than Rowdy Rathore – how wrong she was! I actually wanted to come back and watch the latest episode of Masterchef (yes, I am obsessed like that) but then I realized that there won’t be any electricity at home for a couple of hours. I decided to endure two and half hours of misery that passes for a Bollywood film these days for a chilly air conditioned hall (yes, I have my priorities right – mental agony must be endured for bodily comfort – that’s what one has got to do when the mercury hits 46 degree Celsius) and I think it was a good decision. 

For starters, how in the God’s name can Shahid Kapoor be an A list actor? His teeth are more crooked than my neighbour’s paan eating 80 year old grandfather, what’s the point of making all that money if you cannot invest some of it on decent dental veneers! Would have been better if he had invested money in teeth instead of a chin implant, but I digress.

There are three alternate stories where Shahid Kapoor gets to romance Priyanka Chopra and they are all so lame that I was physically cringing every time he gets amorous. In the first one, Priyanka is a Bollywood actress in the 60s who fell for a struggling musician while bonding over kachay aam! I mean it is just 1960s not dark ages where women would fall for guys who will get them 5 slices of kachay aam! And she was a film actress FFS!

The other story is set in 2012 England where two students fall for each other over BBMs, MMS, tweets and facebook updates because the girl was a student at Nottingham and the guy was going to one in Stratford-upon-Avon. Wait! Does the town of Stratford-upon-Avon even has one? No, it does not, the nearest university is Warwick but Kunal Kohli – the idiot who wrote this crapfest – was too lazy to google university towns in England and chose Stratford-upon-Avon to use some cheesy lines about Shakespeare and romance and what not! I have a feeling that the Bard must be turning in his grave like crazy over this one.

The last story was set in 1910 Pakistan – or part of Punjab that now constitute Pakistan – and the place they mentioned was “Sargodha, Lahore.” Seriously Mr. Hot shot Bollywood writer, how long does it take to google either Sargodha or Lahore to find out that they are two different cities and were two different cities even back then. I wonder who will take more offence at this, the Lahoris or the Sargodhvis that they were bundled like this! The hero, a Muslim stud muffin who was sleeping with “alhar mutiyars” (village belles for lack of better translation) of all kinds – Sikh, Hindu and Muslim – fell in love with this girl and joins the protest against evil colonizers to impress her dad. He was jailed and under some really strange law, the village girls were allowed to hang out, make out and sing dance with the inmates in their finery. Sargodha had some really messed up permissive jail laws back then, I am sure the inmates in 2012 are turning green with envy for the fun the guys had back in 1910. Even though her dad was Sikh, the heroine was referred to as "Yeh Hindu Bewa Aurat" (yes, the stud muffin was the reformist who wanted to get nikah-ofied with the Hindu widow lady)

Oh and someone needs to tell all the Bollywood wallahs that being a Muslim does not turn Punjabis ghabroo jawans from Sargodha and Lahore into paan eating, poetry spewing young men from UP who throw adaabs at every random person, use sentences like 'Hazoor tabiyat tau nasaaz naheen', 'ama apkay kya kehnay', 'miyan purzay wurzay tau theek hain na' etc. I am sure India has enough Punjabis that they would know how they behave and Punajbi men speak the same way whether they are Muslim, Christian, Sikh or Hindu, Islam does not turn them into hardcore Lucknow bwoyz! 

Did I regret watching the film? Not really, I got to sit in an air conditioned room for two and half hours – something that has become a distant dream with hourly load shedding. Hai Allah Mian ji, bijli ki adam dastiyabi hum se kya kuch karwatee hai!

PS: This post has too many exclamation marks, yes, it was deliberate.  

Three meals in Abu Dhabi

Pakistanis love their food, we know it, we cook it, we eat it –we eat a lot of it, and we love to talk about it. However, most Pakistanis eat their own kind of food and do not want to experiment much with different cuisines. Despite being a paindu Pakistani, I love food in all forms and from all over the world – though I too draw a line and don’t eat things like frogs and alligators – in fact no travel experience is complete without trying local foods. Abu Dhabi was a little different because finding authentic Arabic places to eat was not too easy for a new person, but as an alternative, the city offered amazing international choices that can rival any cosmopolitan city of the world. 

I was lucky in a way that the hotel I stayed in – Traders Hotel – offered great variety in the breakfast menu. Though they served South Asian and continental breakfast in all its glory, I was looking for authentic Arabian breakfast and upon consultation with the restaurant manager, decided to go for Labneh which is yougurt like soft cheese balls covered with herbs and olive oil. I also had flat bread with Za’atar which is a dried blend of various herbs such as oregano, basil, thyme, sumac with sesame seeds and olive oil. For a person who normally starts her day with a bowl of muesli, the Arabian breakfast was an explosion of taste. Both the things tasted great, however, I would recommend Za’atar for a mid day meal rather than breakfast but then again, I am not really a morning person and enjoy my food better when I am fully awake. Labneh, on the other hand, was great way to kick start a busy day.

If you happen to be or live in Abu Dhabi, I recommend that you should try out the lunch buffet at Sofra Restaurant in Shangri-La Qaryat Al Beri. If a restaurant is packed for lunch on a weekday at 1.00 pm, it generally means that the food would be great. What I was not expecting was the sheer variety of food they had on offer; from a full mezze spread to a variety of salads to sushi for starters to Continental, Mediterranean and South Asian sections for the main course. The sweet dish section was so great that I decided to skip the main course and only had starters and two sweet dishes as I could not choose one. If a person with no particular fondness for sweet dishes went bat shit crazy in that restaurant, imagine what would happen to a person who actually has a sweet tooth! I predict food coma :).

The appetizers at Sofra

meetha heaven!

But the best food experience of my stay in Abu Dhabi was at the Tapas bar, Amodar in Park Rotana. The spread was amazing with everything from seaweed wrapped smoked salmon to deep fried calamari to poached prawns, to wafer thin strips of beef to batter fried anchovies, meatballs and amazing variety of cheese with thick chunks of doughy German bread. The service was great and our Spanish waiter not only explained the food to us but also shared a little bit of history of it and the background of the chef who designed the menu. Being a foodie and a food critic, Kiran asked a lot of questions about the food which brought out the two chefs from their kitchen. What happened next was magical. First they prepared an amazing entrée where they made balls of cucumber juice by putting them in calcium water and then serving them with oyster leaves, seaweed and salt water foam to give the dish its oysterish sea like feel; needless to say it was delicious and getting is made right in front of us was quite an experience. You can taste everything, from the cucumber ball to oyster leaves to seaweed separately in your mouth. With us gushing over their skill, the chefs decided to show off some more and made a sorbet for us with liquid nitrogen. They mixed an assortment of juices and drinks, added liquid nitrogen and whisked the mixture in the bowl with fog emanating from it and then served us those little sorbet balls on frozen dishes. It would not be putting it mildly if I say that it was one of my most cherished food experiences ever – anywhere in the world. Not only did we enjoy excellent food, we also learned a great deal about the cooking techniques. The way the chefs attended to us and made things for us made us feel like royalty. I personally felt like one of the judges in the masterchef kitchen. What a wonderful experience it was! I suggest that if you happen to be in Abu Dhabi, do drop by at the Tapas Bar in Park Rotana, I guarantee that you will not regret it. 

Varieties of salmon

Discussing food, loving food

 

making cucumber balls

Scooping them out of calcium water

 

Sorbet making with liquid nitrogen

The trip to Abu Dhabi was part of  LivEY experience.For those who want to try their luck traveling the world with Etihad Airways, they should check out the LivEY facebook page, who knows, you could be part of the next group to a new destination.

PS: Most of the photos are taken by Ali Khurshid

An unrealistic code for elections

Pick up any news item these days and there will be a connection with the Supreme Court in one way or the other. The spine recently developed by the Election Commission of Pakistan (ECP) also owes its existence to a Supreme Court directive, which resulted in a brand new code limiting the election expenses of a candidate to Rs1.5 million. Election candidates were banned from providing transport facilities to voters on election day and were prohibited from using other promotional tools. The sentiment is noble but the implementation of this code of conduct seems impossible for various reasons.

Given the state of inflation and the size of constituencies — particularly, for the National Assembly — the amount of Rs1.5 million is unrealistic. Well-heeled Pakistanis spend more on a valima; expecting candidates to woo around a hundred thousand voters per constituency on that budget would be a tad unreal. In addition, a lot of services during campaigns are provided without any monetary transaction. One supporter gets the banners printed while another provides tents for the jalsa and a third supporter does the catering for the aforementioned jalsa, free of cost. This makes the process of keeping the tabs very difficult.

The ECP also prohibits the political parties from hoisting party flags on public property or at any public place unless granted permission by the local government for a certain fee. Every city is already flooded with political flags of all colours and hues. The residents of Karachi will vouch that they have seen the political flags of all parties inundating their streets, making the street look like it is in a perpetual state of a campaign of some kind or other. The code of conduct is silent on how the ECP will get rid of the flags and whether is has the authority to order local governments to do so. Further, the removal of party flags is contingent upon local governments having the resources to remove them.

Wall chalking as part of an election campaign is also prohibited by the ECP along with the use of loudspeakers, barring election meetings. Again, controlling wall chalking would be a momentous task and the candidates can always say that their supporters and not their campaign teams are behind it.

Further, the ECP also forbids candidates to affix posters, hoardings or banners larger than the prescribed sizes for the campaign. Most urban centres and highways already sport larger than life hoardings of political leaders; the Sharif brothers in Rawalpindi, Lahore and Gujranwala, Asfandyar Wali in Charsadda and Peshawar, Altaf Hussain in Karachi and Hyderabad, Imran Khan in Lahore and Peshawar and the whole Bhutto clan almost everywhere in Pakistan. These hoardings do not ask voters to vote for any particular candidate during the election period. Hence, they are not related to any election campaign. Yet, they propagate the messages of various political parties and can affect the election process. The ECP’s code of conduct does not say anything about these advertisements.

The ECP also banned candidates from providing transport facilities to voters on election day, which, again, is essential for maintaining neutrality. However, it can adversely impact the percentage of voters, who will actually go out and vote. While limiting election expenses is a very commendable step for which ECP should be congratulated, it needs to make the code of conduct more realistic and must also come up with ways to implement it.

First published in The Express Tribune.