Shabdeg in Saudi

DECEMBER 2000 - April in Paris or Shabdeg in Saudi – it’s the same thing really. The heavy mandate skipped away lightly from the land where he declared he would shed his last drop of blood (note, the last, not the first), just as crows in Chaklala were starting to clear their vocal chords. In the end, the departure of Pakistan’s heaviest folly, the happy turnip, was just about as comical as his tenure. He did the only thing he was so good at. Take the loot and run.

Over a hundred suitcases and a bevy of servants accompanied the heavy mandate and his heavy entourage. Was Nihari served on the Saudi wide-bodied (how perfectly appropriate) jet or did his new benefactors decide that aviation safety came before everything else? Was the Saudi flight named SA 420 or was it one without a flight prefix? These are matters of no consequence really just as the raging debate over the morality of what the faujis did is really of no consequence. It is strange that the Chief Executive who does not take his hand picked cabinet into ‘confidence’ – whatever that blighted term has ever meant in Pakistan, then spends two hours explaining to one and all, what prompted him and his inner-inner cabinet to send Mian Mandate and party into happy exile. It is even stranger that having cleared his medal-encrusted chest of this painful burden, he then finds it necessary to take the nation into ‘confidence,’ who incidentally have had no part in this farce all along. What can be the quality of the ‘confidence’ which is shared a week after the Mian has fled the land with his pockets bulging with the loot that’s been garnered from this poverty-stricken country? The mind boggles at the high morality that infests every corner of Pakistan and which finds no shortage of prophets when it comes to preaching from the high pulpit while expediency, the only reality that’s permanent in Pakistan occupies the main stage as always. If those who come into power loot the land with both hands, well that is just a fact of life and nothing can be done about that. Accountability means the same thing as Honda Accord did a few years ago, so let’s not wail about that.

But enough of this. Life is too ridiculous to take seriously. The CE will make his peace with his people, narrate all the compelling reasons which made him take this wise decision – in the interest of the people you understand, and everyone will go home feeling cheated and betrayed, but then so what? It’s happened before and it will happen again. However, the CE’s press secretary and media advisers might request the more-loyal-than-the-king electronic network and all the other paid-for journalists, to stop vomiting tons of abuse on Mian and his band of thieves. This is typical of the asinine planning that passes for strategic statecraft and in the end does no one any good, least of all those who plan and approve it for their masters. The more we all abuse Mian Nawaz Sharif and by inference, the Saudis whose (benign?) pressure the army couldn’t withstand and eventually succumbed to, the more we defame the Saudis and the more we ridicule Islamabad for having been a party to this shady and shameful act. So to all those solemn-looking constipated men who stare morosely at the television cameras and speak endlessly against the former prime minister, stop because you are only running down those whose cheques you will be cashing for services rendered. The more villainous Mian looks the worse becomes the act of the faujis. It’s a simple equation really and you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to work it out. As for those who are the brains behind these great moves, ask for a brain transplant without further delay. Perhaps the good Maj.Gen Qureshi can fathom this rather intricate scenario and change tack before he completely erodes whatever little goodwill the army still has. Incidentally in Sindhi newspapers, they write that the man who brought back 90,000 prisoners of war back from India, who restored the army’s tarnished reputation and rehabilitated them with the disillusioned people of Pakistan, who brought the Islamic leaders for the first great summit and for whose life people like Arafat, Gaddafi, Assad and the Saudis pleaded, was sent to the gallows by the army high command, but when it came to an ironmonger and a petty thief, a full-blooded Punjabi to boot – not a Sindhi, not a Baluch and not a Pathan, a deal was struck in no time at all and all facilities were made available. I suppose the only thing missing at the airport was a 21-gun salute. Probably the Mian didn’t want it, in case the guns were aimed at his retreating backside!

But what happens now in Saudi? If his last picture before boarding the happy flight is any indication, he intends to have a jolly good time but how? Certainly not reading biographies of great men, because I doubt Mian Nawaz Sharif, for all his considerable wealth, owns a single book or indeed a fountain pen. No, books are out, unless he purchased a ready-made intellectually well-laced library. But books are not Mian’s best friends. His mentor, Gen. Zia ul Haq never went beyond Reader’s Digest and reading a page would surely cause Mian severe indigestion and wind. Well, what with all the servants he has carried in his entourage, a game of cricket can always be organized with Mian batting on even after getting out – his brand of the game you understand. Of course there is Aba Jee to contend with who undoubtedly is going to rap him on his pudgy knuckles for the goof up of 12th October and for having made a complete mess of a straightforward hit and run job. That’s going to be a bit rough because Mian Sahib will have difficulty remembering what happened when and whether they had Chirra Masaala that day or not. Quite rightly, the only way he could recall 12th October would be in relation to what they had already had or were planning to. I don’t think they had time that night for dinner unless they were being served even as they barked miscellaneous commands to airport controllers. There are various family members to sit and gossip with and the lady who was perpetually asleep during her ‘crusade’ may take up a few weeks narrating all her expeditions and various coalitions she was patching together. More time could be consumed, playing mind absorbing and intellectually stimulating games such as Ludo or Snakes & Ladders if you are into serious mind games. Certainly, the Sharifs would not be patronizing Scrabble or the likes of it, unless someone was to design one version for them containing names of dishes and culinary delights. Of course, there is always Monopoly, a game at which both the Sharifs and the Bhuttos are legendary players. Surely there are enough assets around the world for the Sharif clan to spend entire evenings playing for them. If Abbas Sharif wins the London flats, there is always the reassurance that the flats are still in the family. Pity about the Four Seasons though. It would have featured nicely on the board. Of course in Mian Sahib’s version of Monopoly, there will be no jail or such rude cards that read ‘Go to Jail’ or ‘Pay fine’.

Frankly, in the end, after having spent a delightful evening with Dada Idi Amin and his forty thousand wives, it would be odd were people walking by the Sharif Estate not observe a happy, pudgy and balding man, cooking his favourite Shabdeg to the lilting strains of old Indian film songs. The only worrying thing is, there are no Big Macs in Saudi.