VIP ‘Movement’

NOVEMBER 1999 - The sight of the Punjab Governor’s Merc mixing with the hoi polloi of the land and that too at a traffic light is a sight none of us has witnessed ever since this country came into existence. Most VIPs have sped through traffic lights red, green or yellow and traffic all around their hallowed path, was always closed hours before the cavalcade was due. Whistle-tooting policemen, angry-looking sergeants on large motor bikes and any amount of constabulary held the people firmly at bay for hours, while the VIPs made their indolent moves. Dictators or democrats the (mis)-rule has been applied without discrimination, the privilege claimed as a birthright.

Punjab has had many governors. Some have even had a formal education. Others have had large exposure to public life, traveled widely abroad and mixed with the best. Yet in matters such as cavalcades, they have all been victims of grandeur and pomp, quite at home behind tinted glasses as motorcycles, their sirens going full blast whisked them from one pointless ritual to another. After all why has it never crossed their collective minds that by dashing across red lights they were setting terrible examples of bad behaviour? Was there no one who could tell them the truth? Apparently not, though the law of averages would point in the other direction. I suppose once inside that splendid estate, all thoughts of being servants of the people ceased to matter. There must have been enough people constantly encouraging them to continue in the grand old tradition. How else can one explain the madness that descends on otherwise perfectly reasonable, intelligent and sensitive people? In Islamabad’s case I can even understand. The capital has more than its fair share of high quality dope growing wild, but Lahore, Karachi, Quetta and Peshawar? Beats me.

Two weeks before the heavy mandate fell, a friend traveling first class on a PIA flight from Islamabad to Karachi said that a minute before the doors were to close, there was an almighty commotion and walkie talkies barked into life. There was, ‘VIP movement’ as it is described in the land of the pure, as if such a movement was related to say bowel movement. However, the secret of this commotion was soon revealed as a VIP boarded the flight preceded by minions who filed in with his royal briefcase, assorted papers, a magazine and such other necessities of life. These were passed to the anxious hands of the cabin crew who scurried about their jobs with fierce dedication and due supplication. An attractive air stewardess materialized and divested the VIP of his jacket – she actually slid it off his royal shoulders as he stood upright and allowed her this privileged motion. After a while and I am sure much to their disappointment, the loyal slave brigade was persuaded to leave the aircraft and casting anxious looks at their royal sovereign, they departed grudgingly. During the flight, much cooing and mooing took place as delicacies were presented and solicitous enquiries were made if his Excellency was indeed comfortable. When the flight arrived at Karachi airport and seconds after the door swung open, another battalion of about two dozen scraping minions broke into first class and dozens of hands battled to possess the royal cabin baggage while others beckoned his royal highness to the inner recesses of the airport. Among the happy revelers were senior police officers and civil servants with perhaps a couple of bankers thrown in for good measure. While the rest of the plane-load was held at bay, his highness descended and was lost in a sea of heads with flailing arms pointing the direction royalty was expected to take. The procession departed and the revenue-paying dolts inside the aircraft were able to disembark. The departing VIP? Mujeeb-ur-Rehman. Claim to fame? Younger brother to the ultimate man.

This was not unusual nor was it confined to one person or family. More or less, this is how the rulers traveled and all those promises of being part of the sweaty awam, has always been just a cheap slogan. Given the choice, all those who have had the good luck (what else can you call it?) to have a stint here, have been rulers and rulers alone. Serving the people has been confined to the odd rally or two, the heavily-programmed visit to the destitute of the land – plenty of photo opportunities here, and the nauseating televised address to the nation where the likes of Naji the slogan mongerer wrote prose that you couldn’t possibly endure without throwing up. And he was not the only one. Every regime has had its Najis and Khalil Maliks and they have done well. Had a great time, made a lot of money, enjoyed freebies and traveled the world in style. All they had to do was write florid and puerile speeches, tell lies and praise every single thing the master did. Flattery pays in Pakistan. It always has. I am waiting anxiously for the first man who will paint a portrait of the Chief Executive. If he gets to present it to him as well and if he accepts it too, we are cooked.

Which brings me back to the Gov’s limo. It’s nice of him to stop at traffic lights. Hope the rest of the country will do the same. Mian Shahbaz Sharif has left us some pretty broad roads, well carpeted for the time being. He got a great deal of praise while these were being made, the praise emanating mostly from those who used these or lived in the vicinity, but no one was quite ready to tell Mian Sahib or the hundred advisors who floated in swarms with him, that the answer to traffic chaos is not wide roads, but at the end of the day, traffic management. However since management is a boring task and largely invisible and the fruits of which can so easily fall into the lap of the next lot, this line of thinking was strongly rejected. Now we have chaos at higher speeds and in triple the lanes than we had before. You can call it progress if you have a twisted mind. At sixty km an hour you can hit or get hit by a pedestrian, a cyclist, a scooterist, a motorist, a rickshaw, a stray buffalo or a wandering beggar. It’s just the luck of the draw. Everyone meanders in and out of lanes, at will. There are no rules and at higher speeds, the disasters are greater. Mian Shahbaz’s greatest hits, the roads, may still be his greatest folly but then who is going to tell him that. They say he isn’t even allowed newspapers.