Devil Soul
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Chinese Whispers
May 25, 2013 Rameeza Nizami
Much excitement, and not a little awe, preceded the arrival. The condition worsened with the news that a fleet of JF17s would be escorting the visitor, crossing over from neighbouring India, in Pakistani airspace. A reception almost designed to convey brushing invisible lint off a well-tailored shoulder, and tutting at the unfortunate conditions in which the suit may have been besmirched. The distinguished guest, once on the ground, was deafened by a 21-gun salute, as further evidence of the respect he commanded in his host country.
Ever gracious, the guest from a most orderly and disciplined country, betrayed no bemusement, landing in a nation which adopts shambolic disarray as the unofficial, official way of life. While always welcome, and effusively so, a few questions arose as to the timing of the visit; with a new government on the verge of taking office, but as yet rocking on its heels in the wings. The mildly disdainful explanation given by terribly busy and important people was "strategic agreements". A useful blind, used to paper over the potentially crippling embarrassment that may have been suffered, had the guest met with his recent fencing partners across the border, and not called in on the "iron brother", while in the neighbourhood.
A large lunch reception was held in the guests honour. And an even larger banquet was arranged in the evening. The President took a rare risk stepping out of the official fortress, and an even bigger risk dining at the Serena. In the banquet hall, the general atmosphere more suited to a mehndi than a formal occasion in honour of a guest so illustrious, was further marred by the appearance of our own prime minister at the podium.
The event began 15 minutes earlier than stated on the invitations. This was immediately explained by PM Khoso's delivery of his speech, printed in "Baby's First Book" format, read out one laboured syllable at a time. With envy, guests looked at the Chinese translator and wished for one for the local audience, also.
The Chief of Army Staff, the only man in the room with an ashtray, was unfortunately situated to the left of Mr Sheikh Rasheed, identifiable from those seated behind him, by his trademark coiffure. The company may have precipitated the need for nicotine sustenance, although that being the case, the Chief is quite pained by absolutely all company, his smoking habits would indicate.
With bovine disinterest, the attendees picked at apple smothered in mayonnaise, optimistically labelled "Waldorf salad". Stirred from the stupor by scattered applause celebrating the end of the speech, there was some speculation whether the skittish on his feet PM Khoso would make it back to his seat unassisted by his military secretary.
Premier Li was then subjected to the energetic ministrations of a musician on a snake charmers flute, played through the hall at deafening volume. The state banquet menu featured a course of egg fried rice and chicken in black bean sauce, the traditional cuisine of Gulberg II.
The pity of course, is that despite our obsequious welcome of the gentleman, Pakistan remains, at best, a lovable crook. A well-liked, but impossible friend, with no enemy as bad as itself. No matter how much assistance the Chinese promise, no matter how many hundreds of MoUs are signed, perhaps a fraction of have ever overcome the obstacle course designed by the Pakistani bureaucracy.
The frustration of the Chinese at Pakistan's general incompetence to just get things done, is not unknown, but has caused little concern to those in the frontlines of the reception committee in Islamabad. The success seems to lie in the signing of documents, not on achieving the goals detailed in them. While China continues to offer help, and Pakistan grabs at it with both hands, little if any actual progress is seen. And for that, we will have none but ourselves to blame, when the Chinese finally decide theyve had enough of the circus act and decide to give up on Pakistan ever getting itself together.
Chinese Whispers
May 25, 2013 Rameeza Nizami
Much excitement, and not a little awe, preceded the arrival. The condition worsened with the news that a fleet of JF17s would be escorting the visitor, crossing over from neighbouring India, in Pakistani airspace. A reception almost designed to convey brushing invisible lint off a well-tailored shoulder, and tutting at the unfortunate conditions in which the suit may have been besmirched. The distinguished guest, once on the ground, was deafened by a 21-gun salute, as further evidence of the respect he commanded in his host country.
Ever gracious, the guest from a most orderly and disciplined country, betrayed no bemusement, landing in a nation which adopts shambolic disarray as the unofficial, official way of life. While always welcome, and effusively so, a few questions arose as to the timing of the visit; with a new government on the verge of taking office, but as yet rocking on its heels in the wings. The mildly disdainful explanation given by terribly busy and important people was "strategic agreements". A useful blind, used to paper over the potentially crippling embarrassment that may have been suffered, had the guest met with his recent fencing partners across the border, and not called in on the "iron brother", while in the neighbourhood.
A large lunch reception was held in the guests honour. And an even larger banquet was arranged in the evening. The President took a rare risk stepping out of the official fortress, and an even bigger risk dining at the Serena. In the banquet hall, the general atmosphere more suited to a mehndi than a formal occasion in honour of a guest so illustrious, was further marred by the appearance of our own prime minister at the podium.
The event began 15 minutes earlier than stated on the invitations. This was immediately explained by PM Khoso's delivery of his speech, printed in "Baby's First Book" format, read out one laboured syllable at a time. With envy, guests looked at the Chinese translator and wished for one for the local audience, also.
The Chief of Army Staff, the only man in the room with an ashtray, was unfortunately situated to the left of Mr Sheikh Rasheed, identifiable from those seated behind him, by his trademark coiffure. The company may have precipitated the need for nicotine sustenance, although that being the case, the Chief is quite pained by absolutely all company, his smoking habits would indicate.
With bovine disinterest, the attendees picked at apple smothered in mayonnaise, optimistically labelled "Waldorf salad". Stirred from the stupor by scattered applause celebrating the end of the speech, there was some speculation whether the skittish on his feet PM Khoso would make it back to his seat unassisted by his military secretary.
Premier Li was then subjected to the energetic ministrations of a musician on a snake charmers flute, played through the hall at deafening volume. The state banquet menu featured a course of egg fried rice and chicken in black bean sauce, the traditional cuisine of Gulberg II.
The pity of course, is that despite our obsequious welcome of the gentleman, Pakistan remains, at best, a lovable crook. A well-liked, but impossible friend, with no enemy as bad as itself. No matter how much assistance the Chinese promise, no matter how many hundreds of MoUs are signed, perhaps a fraction of have ever overcome the obstacle course designed by the Pakistani bureaucracy.
The frustration of the Chinese at Pakistan's general incompetence to just get things done, is not unknown, but has caused little concern to those in the frontlines of the reception committee in Islamabad. The success seems to lie in the signing of documents, not on achieving the goals detailed in them. While China continues to offer help, and Pakistan grabs at it with both hands, little if any actual progress is seen. And for that, we will have none but ourselves to blame, when the Chinese finally decide theyve had enough of the circus act and decide to give up on Pakistan ever getting itself together.
Chinese Whispers
