Sunday Sentiments

by Karan Thapar

  Was he vain? Of course. Had he reason to be? Undoubtedly. But Jinnah also had a modern outlook, an open mind, a secular way of thinking and, most importantly, he practised it. Many of us who claim to be free thinkers live lives best hidden behind closed doors.

  Am I wrong in believing Jinnah seems better suited to lead the modern, materialist, economically liberal, ambitious and thrusting country we have today become than, say, Nehru or Vajpayee? Perhaps. But let me end with my friend M.J.Akbar’s question from his new book “The Shade of Swords”:

  “How did a non-practising, chain-smoking Muslim lawyer, who liked a drink, barely knew the basics of Islam, could speak no language other than English, preferred to dress in an immaculate suit, almost settled down in England, snubbed mullahs for dreaming of an Islamic state, abhorred Gandhi for his hymn-chanting politics, and dreamt of becoming an Indian Ataturk, single-handedly create Pakistan?”

  The answer could be troubling.

  6

  General Musharraf’s Tie and

  Shah Rukh’s Photograph

  Sometimes the most unlikely things can leave a lasting impression. You don’t expect them, you certainly can’t plan for them but when they occur they change everything. In a flash, all that has happened before alters and all that is to follow is conditioned. Last week, this happened on two consecutive days but in two separate countries and with two quite different people. One of them was General Musharraf. The other was Shah Rukh Khan.

  I was in Islamabad to interview Pakistan’s Chief Executive. As an Indian interviewer, my first objective was to get him to accept he is a military dictator and that his claim to be restoring democracy is codswallop. The other was to talk to him about how his actions or lack of them were the real problem in Indo-Pakistan relations.

  As you can imagine, it’s not the sort of task that will endear the interviewer to the interviewee and I must admit there was a certain apprehension in my heart. I wasn’t scared or worried but I felt that things might not go well. After all, you can’t sit in a man’s drawing room and call him a tanashah to his face and not annoy or at least upset him. When that inevitably happens, the air equally inexorably turns frosty.

  Well, I did my bit. I called the General a dictator, I told him that in Indian eyes, his sincerity and credibility were utterly suspect and I claimed to have discovered the contradictions that bedevil him. He is an army chief who has overthrown an elected Prime Minister in the name of democracy yet wants his protestations to be taken at face value even though he is not prepared to do very much to prove his credentials. As I put it to him, what could be more bizarre than that?

  The General simply smiled. In fact, it wasn’t long before I noticed he was unperturbed. Of course, he defended himself, always fluently often ably and even nodded in agreement with some of the comments I made. By taking my critique on the chin and showing no anger, he cleverly defused it.

  During the commercial break, instinctively feeling I needed to make small talk to keep a relationship going, I complimented the General on his tie. I had not expected any response leave aside the one I got.

  “Do you really like it?” He asked, a smile lighting up his face and his voice revealing the same innocent pleasure that you or I would feel if someone had admired our clothes.

  “Yes I do.” I said. “It’s very attractive.”

  Then the interview re-started. Part two was on Kashmir which means the disagreements were sharper and the potential for acrimony greater. Half an hour later, when we ended, the tie was the last thing on my mind. My thoughts were on making a polite but fast getaway.

  “I’d like you to have this.” General Musharraf suddenly said undoing his tie. “Please let me give it to you.”

  “Sir, sir, sir.” I stammered. “That was only an innocent remark. I wasn’t hinting or anything.”

  “I know.” He replied. “It’s my gesture of conciliation to you.”

  “Thank you.” I said still shaken. Then looking at the gold tie-pin and chain now dangling on his shirt, I added with a laugh, “I should have admired the gold chain. Maybe you would have given that to me as well.”

  The General roared.

  “Ha.” He said, “Aur agar aap ko jootie pasand aaie hoti to woh bhi mil jaati!”

  In a flash, the tension evaporated and the mood was full of bonhomie. The spontaneous gesture of gifting his tie had brought about a sea change. It wasn’t only I who felt it. My colleagues, who had come with me from India, were equally aware of the altered atmosphere and the fact that General Musharraf deserved credit for it. Their verdict said it all:

  “Banda sahi hei. Burra nahin. Dil ka saaf hei.”

  Back in Delhi the next day, but in altogether different circumstances, much the same thing happened with Shah Rukh Khan. We were chatting over a cup of tea before an interview. Such conversations are never easy. Neither side knows each other, both are self-conscious and there’s a tendency to try too hard. Silence would be better if one had the guts or wisdom for it.

  “The one thing I can’t stand is posing for photographers.” said Shah Rukh. “It makes me feel silly and look stupid. That’s why you never see pictures of me posing with actresses. I always refuse.”

  Shah Rukh had sensed that there were several photographers waiting, professionals, amateurs and of course, anxious fans. His unprompted statement was a clever form of advance warning.

  It had its effect and all around faces fell. I knew that there would be a high level of disappointment I would have to contend with but my hands were tied by Shah Rukh’s sentiments.

  So when the interview ended, the photographers were only permitted to click whilst I talked to him. That way he wouldn’t be posing and they would get a brief if limited opportunity to take their pictures. The problem was I was in the frame or at least difficult to exclude without spoiling it.

  “Sir.” said the BBC’s photographer, “just one by the wall beside the logo.”

  “You want me to pose?” Shah Rukh said, his voice betraying his mounting dread.

  “Ha Sir, ek yahan pe aur phir ek do wahan pe.”

  I expected an explosion but instead he got up like a lamb and complied. No doubt, he looked uncomfortable but he fulfilled every instruction from the man without demur. Everyone of them was a request to pose. Shah Rukh tried to look natural but it was painfully, self-consciously obvious he was hating every minute of it. Soon other photographers joined in and a regular photo session began.

  “Arre yaar kya kamal ka aadmi hei.” One of the photographers said once Shah Rukh had gone. “Aap vaise hi ghabra rahe the. Star aadmi hei. Meine camera kholi aur dekha kya pose diya.”

  Thank you, Shah Rukh for saving the day. And thank you, General Musharraf. Every time. I wear your tie, I shall fondly remember my visit to your home, Army House in Rawalpindi.

  7

  Hamid Karzai and the Things

  He Said Nine Years Ago

  I remember clearly my first meeting with Hamid Karzai. It had an incongruity which today seems a bit like farce. But it also reveals something of the open and accommodating character of the man. It left an indelible impression which even nine years later is still vivid.

  It happened in May 1992. The Mujahideen government, then under the interim leadership of Sibghatullah Mojadedi, had taken over a couple of months earlier. Hamid Karzai was the Deputy Foreign Minister. I had arrived in Kabul just the day before, after an absence of four or five years. The last time I visited, Najibullah was in power. The new rulers were unknown to me.

  It was a bright sunny morning as the crew and I walked up the sweeping stairs into the large entrance hall of the white marble foreign office. Outside, the crocuses were in full bloom. Further a field, the streets of Shari-e-Nau were busy with traffic. But inside, the building seemed empty. There wasn’t a person to be seen nor a sound that you could hear. After the noise and confusion of government offices in Delhi, this was both attractive and unsettling.

  We paused uncertain what to do next. There wa
s a small reception but it was unmanned. All the doors leading off the hall were shut.

  A grand staircase in front seemed to beckon. After a bit, we started climbing. It was the only thing to do.

  The first floor landing was similarly deserted and by now the building was starting to feel haunted. Kapil, our cameraman, wandered down one of the corridors knocking on doors. Ganesh and Nirmal went in the other direction. They found people in offices on both sides but no one who could help. The occupants were sipping green tea and did not wish to be disturbed. At best, they asked us to join them.

  Finally, it was on the second or may be the third floor that I bumped into a tall bald man in a grey shalwar kameez. He was striding down the corridor as we walked in the other direction. I approached him asking if he could tell me where the minister was.

  “He’s here.” He said.

  I don’t think I believed him. I repeated the question, slowly and deliberately in case he hadn’t heard me correctly the first time round.

  “Yes, Sir.” He began again and this time I realised he spoke impeccable english although with an unmistakable trace of an American accent. “I am the Foreign Minister. How can I help you?”

  He was smiling and his eyes suggested that he too could see the humour behind this strange encounter. I still don’t know why he did not question the fact that four unknown Indians were wandering aimlessly through his ministry. Perhaps he chose to overlook it or may be in the confusion that characterised Kabul, this was not so strange.

  “I want to interview you.” I said, quickly gathering my wits.

  “And who might you be?” He asked politely.

  I suddenly remembered I had not introduced myself. Then I realised I was standing in crushed jeans with a grubby money belt tied around my waist. I hardly looked like a journalist and certainly not the sort one would wish to be interviewed by.

  Fortunately, Karzai chose to overlook my appearance because without demur, he granted an interview for the next day. But as we were about to leave, he called us back and offered tea. We accepted with alacrity.

  He led the way to his office where he poured four cups and personally handed them out. Normally, the presence of a minister can be intimidating but not Hamid Karzai. At the time, he was probably 37 or 38 years old, informal, chatty and friendly. I can’t remember the details of our conversation but it ranged across many subjects. Karzai was variously witty, frank and thoughtful.

  When Kapil started speaking about the firing which lit up the night sky all around our hotel, Karzai laughed and said it probably reminded us of Diwali.

  “A real live one.” Kapil said.

  “And a dangerous one too.” Karzai added.“When the shooting is on, you should stay indoors. It’s not bravery to go out but folly.”

  It was a similar display of commonsense which stood out when we interviewed him the next day. The room where we set up our camera was bare. He sat beside the radiator. This time, he wore a navy blue tweed jacket over a similar coloured shalwar kameez. His sartorial style suggested an easy blend of Afghan tradition and sensible western clothing.

  Some of the things he said nine years ago make a lot of sense even today. I asked him how Afghanistan could overcome its ethnic divisions. Most politicians would have spoken at length to establish their thoughtfulness. Not Hamid Karzai.

  “We have to survive our divisions.” was his succinct reply.

  “You mean you don’t have a choice?”

  “Do we?”

  A little later I asked him how the government would interpret and implement the new hijab laws which decreed what women could do and how they should behave. Traditionally, Afghan women have been at the forefront of professions such as teaching, nursing and medicine. The Mujahideen government even inherited a fair number of women civil servants. Putting them behind the veil would be difficult and controversial. Once again, Karzai had sensible views.

  “Who will determine what is possible under the new hijab laws?” I asked.

  “Commonsense.” He replied smiling. There was no need to say more.

  Yet there were moments when the same refreshing candour meant Hamid Karzai did not hesitate to express views that might worry us in India. Because he took over as interim head of the new Afghan government yesterday, they are worth quoting in full.

  The context was set by Karzai’s belief that India let down the Afghan people by supporting the Soviet invasion of December 1979. That, of course, is an opinion most Afghans share. But Hamid Karzai went further.

  To begin with, he seemed to suggest that Afghanistan’s relations with India would be affected by the treatment of Indian Muslims.

  “Our relations with India will very much be affected, in a good way or bad way, depending on how the Muslim community in India are treated.”

  “At the moment, how do you think it’s treated?”

  “I have no comments now. But we hope that since there’s a very large Muslim community in India and since India itself is a very big and democratic country that the Muslims in India will be looked after in a very good way, and that their rights will be given to them.”

  Later in the same interview, Karzai appeared to support what he called the Kashmir struggle.

  “We support every movement that is just.”

  “So you could, if you thought the movement within Kashmir for independence or even accession to Pakistan is just, support that as well?”

  “We’re not trying to interfere with the internal affairs of countries but we will very much support all over the world any movement that we consider is just, that is just.”

  Finally, when I asked him how long it might take for Indo-Afghan relations to return to their traditional friendliness, he deliberately and carefully said it would depend on how things developed. He wasn’t holding out great hope but he wasn’t quashing it either :

  “Will it take time for relations to reach the previous high pitch?”

  “Naturally.”

  “How long do you think it will take?”

  “No speculations.”

  “Is it a matter of weeks or years?”

  “Well, the relations between countries can be a matter of weeks, they can be a matter of years. It depends on what develops.”

  Nine years have passed and much has happened in that period. Afghanistan has been through the Taliban experience and Karzai is back in Kabul this time as its new ruler. His agenda is to seek reconciliation and in the eyes of at least his interior, defence and foreign ministers, India is a friendly country. Their families live in Delhi. But how much have Hamid Karzai’s views changed since May 1992? One disquieting thought is that for the last six years he and his family have lived in Quetta and it’s possible that memories of — and gratitude to — Pakistan could colour his opinions.

  8

  Au Revoir Ashraf

  I was staring absent-mindedly out of the window when a colleague asked a question which sparked off a chain of thoughts. News of Ashraf Qazi’s recall had just been announced and although I had anticipated it, I was still a little shaken. Even when something is inevitable, you hope it won’t happen. This was certainly one such occasion.

  “Are you upset?” Ashok asked.

  I suppose the look on my face gave me away. But until he asked the question, I did not realise that this was the emotion inside me. I had not paused to consider how I felt. It seemed irrelevant to the larger events happening outside. But now that Ashok had drawn my attention to my feelings, I knew he was right.

  Ashraf was a friend I got to know five years ago. Before that, I only knew him as Abidah’s husband. In fact, on the one previous occasion that we met in Islamabad in 1989, he seemed stiff; an impression so wrong that its only purpose is to underline how little I knew him before 1997.

  Over the last five years, we became close friends. I found him warm, supportive, trusting and loyal. He was a bon viveur, the soul of dinner parties with a manner that put people instantly at ease. If ever a Pakistani knew how to take the stin
g out of a tense situation, it was Ashraf. But the nicest thing was that he combined two welcome but contradictory qualities:

  a sharp intelligence with a delightful appetite for good-natured gossip.

  Two years ago, he pushed to get me an interview with General Musharraf. By coincidence, we flew to Pakistan together. Ashraf was returning to visit his mother.

  “How did it go?” He asked the night it happened.

  “Okay.” I replied non-committally. I knew he would not like it but I did not know how to say that. I also knew that the response in India would be different but I did not want to say that either. Five days after the interview was broadcast, Ashraf returned. The next morning, he telephoned.

  “You know I thought you’d done me in.” He began but he was laughing. “My heart sank when I saw the interview. Then I read the Times of India and thank God for their silly criticism. I don’t agree with them but they may have saved my job!”

  Any other High Commissioner would have taken the matter far more seriously. It could have broken our friendship. Not Ashraf.We went on to become better and closer friends.

  A few months later, we spent a weekend together in Dehra Dun and Mussoorie. It was the Doon School’s Founder’s Day and I thought Ashraf ought to see our best school. We drove down together in his Mitsubishi. On the way back, he was determined to see Haridwar and Rishikesh. For a while, I lost him in the crowd at Lakshman Jhula but when I found him again, he was beaming with delight.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “You know that lovely tune we heard in the Mall in Mussoorie? I just bought it.”

  “What tune?” I hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about.