Mingling in Islamabad
I got into Islamabad mid-morning and slept through most of the day after watching a bit of the test match. I remembered the first time I was in Islamabad - pater had a conference so the family tagged along. We got into the City late in the night and went straight to sleep - the next morning when the hotel room curtains were opened the most spectacular mountains emerged from the mist. I also remember the food, tasty and exotic (lamb brain soup was not one of the things I dared to try as a 10 year old) and of course the cricketers. Zimbabwe was touring Pakistan at the time and both teams were staying at our hotel. I remember being in the same lift as Heath Streak and big Inzi. For our luck Ranjan Madugalle was the referee for that game and being pater’s classmate, he got us some tickets to the neighbouring Rawalpindi test match. I recall two things about the cricket - Stephen Peel (off spinner?) practicing in front of us and whacking a lofted drive that thudded into the seat below mine, and the news item the next day that read “Madugalle raps Inzi over wrist band” - I pictured Ranjan hitting Inzi’s wrist with a ruler the way school teachers did back home.
Back to the present - the presentation the next day was not one of my favourites. The audience was again full of NGO types who didn’t understand economics - I really need to start being more selective in the conferences I accept. Once that was over and done with there was an amusing administrative matter to be dealt with. The invitation letter had instructed me to bring along 4 passport size photos for registration purposes. Now most conference registration things require a signature and a phone number - but 4 photos? there was no way I was going to humour them. And then I’m told that the photos are for police registration. wtp? Apparently all citizens of SL, India, Bangladesh and Nepal must get registered with the cops if they visit Pakistan (or was it just Islamabad). I also found out that Indians get a visa only for the state that they visit, not for the entire country - so the Indian chaps had visas for Islamabad. There’s some pretty serious animosity and paranoia in this region.
Anyway, I couldn’t dodge the photo op so I was piled into a tiny van resembling half a loaf of bread and shuttled off with one of the admin guys to the nearest photo studio. We drove into town in the dark and stopped at a place called Apara market. It’s a large street market with shops arranged around a square. We walked into the studio and the admin guy, Shahbhaz, exclaims at the cost of passport photos. Nonetheless I’m taken upstairs. The studio looks like something from the 80s, huge cameras on tripods and elaborate backgrounds including what resembled a forest scene. I was shown a mirror and asked to do my hair - I laughed and shook my head, Shahbhaz shrugged and grinned back. “Your photo shoot” he said. A couple of clicks and we’re done - 15 mins we’re told. Shahbhaz had been unimpressed by my failure to bring the pictures, but now he relaxed since the matter was all but sorted out. We stepped into the makeshift kitchen next door and he asked me if I would like something to eat; “Chaat, burger, samoosa, soup?” It was cold so a soup sounded suspiciously like a plan. “Egg or plain?” I said i’ll have what he’s having and two egg soups were called for. Just then it occurred to me that eggs from a street vendor may not be a great idea - but if Shahbhaz was having it it can’t be all bad. We sat down and he helped himself to a large glass of water straight from a thoroughly sketchy looking jug that had been placed at the two foot tall table we sat at - maybe the eggs weren’t such a great idea. But the soup tasted great, thick and peppery - perfect in the cold.
We still had about 10 mins to go so we walked around the market a bit. They were selling everything from refrigerators and flat screen TVs to second hand shoes and toy guns. I loved the little food stalls with chaat (assorted nuts and similar looking things), roasted flesh, kebabs and more vats of soup. Despite it being close to closing time there were ppl scuttling around the place making last minute bargains, children crying that they were denied that fetching toy and girls with pretty eyes that followed their fast moving feet in a bid to hide away from a cruel world. Everyone was wrapped up, friends chatted over beedis in urdu, smoke wafted here and there and the smells of street food were everywhere. I loved the atmosphere. Shahbhaz said that the market was frequented by middle class ppl and govt. servants - I think the definition of middle class is very different to what we use over here. We got chatting and and he started talking about the political economy in Pakistan.
“Inflation over here is too high - nobody can afford to shop the way they used to”
“Really? about how high is inflation now?”
“Hmm..about 100% maybe”
“oh.”
It’s actually about 7.5% - but if expectations have anything to do with real inflation, they might be in for some trouble. A quick aside. I was in Delhi last week and had an opportunity to listen to Prof. Ajit Singh of Cambridge speaking on the global economy. During question time I asked him something that has puzzled me for a while - we live in an age of massive commodity price hikes - oil, food (wheat, milk, sugar) leading the way, unprecedented demand from the emerging economies of China and India, but yet global inflation has hardly murmured. His answer was pretty much what I expected but I wanted confirmation from an eminent voice. He replied in the context of India - saying that the business community and the public in general have confidence in the management of the economy (which he said was run by 3 ppl - Manmohan Singh, Chidambaram and Reddy (head of the RBI - I think) and therefore despite running high budget deficits, economic agents are confident that things will not go out of control. India’s inflation is around 4.5%. So expectations seem to have a hell of a lot more to do with modern global inflation than in the past. A lot of this possibly has to do with the independence of Central Banks. Which is why I feel the key to reducing inflation in SL is institutional reform at the Central Bank - as long as the governor is perceived to be politically malleable, economic agents will always expect inflation to be a problem - there needs to be credible independence of the Central Bank from the government - till that happens we’ll always suffer from high inflation - and chaps will blame it on things like oil prices and imported food prices - which is rubbish, really.
15 mins were up and we picked up my photos - not too shabby. I had a little stub as well for a souvenir. We dropped by Shahbhaz’s office on the way back and we ran into a colleague of his who, like every other Pakistani I’ve met, spoke to me in urdu - refusing to believe I was a foreigner. Eventually he gave in when I said I’m from Sri Lanka for the 4th time. “Ohh Sri Lanka! Are you Sinhalese or Tamil? Always fighting fighting fighting, yeah? There’s a war in the North and Eastern parts - and there’s a town called Jaffna there - lot of fighting, am I right?” I was impressed - yes he was right. He said that his English is weak and I said that my urdu is weak and he laughed again - hugely energetic despite it being 8 in the night. Shahbhaz grabs the man by his shoulders and punches him in a friendly manner, “He is a good guy you know - but he is a Pashtun” he announces and the Pashtun grins and goes into mock boxing mode, “Like Sinhalese and Tamils, we are also fighting here and there” More laughter - despite the inaccuracy of the statement - Sinhalese and Tamils aren’t fighting. Enough of that. The friendly Pashtun (I’ve forgotten his name) offers to give me a ride around Islamabad on his motorbike the next day but unfortunately my flight was leaving before that would be possible. I got back to the hotel - apologized to Shahbhaz and thanked him for his assistance. There was an evening of Ghazaals to supplement the dinner that night - both were excellent. The food was fantastic all along - great sindhi buriyani (the big bite stuff is pretty much on the mark in terms of authenticity - specially at the Rajagiriya branch - yum), lamb dishes and grilled chicken - wonderfully spiced and despite the fair share of ghee, extremely palatable.
I flew back the next day after enduring a couple of hours at the airport with easily the most annoying person I have ever had to deal with. This Nepalese brother refused to stop talking - even when I elaborately whipped out my book and began to read. He also insisted that we take a vehicle to the airport a whole hour before we were scheduled to leave in the hotel vehicle. What a muppet. The security guy took my passport and, surprise surprise, spoke in urdu. I said for the nth time that I’m from Sri Lanka and he says with a surprised grin, “No! really? Sri Lankan - Pakistani same, same, no?” I smiled and said “Same, same - but different.” He grinned even more and waved me off. There was thankfully no long Karachi transit this time - and I took my seat on the SLkan airlines flight back to SL, happy to hear voices from home and familiar phrases.
I was next to a fascinating chap who was flying to Malaysia - I’m sure he was a Mullah of sorts based on his attire and beard length. He introduced himself as “Mohammad Yousuf - not the cricketer” The first thing he asked me after my name was my “qualifications.” I was surprised - maybe he was trying to hire me. I gave my qualifications and asked him his in turn. He started counting fingers, “Masters in Islamic Studies, Masters in Urdu, Masters in Arabic and Masters in Islamic History” Followed up by a rich grin. I liked Mohammad Yousuf - but I drifted off to sleep sooner rather than later - dreaming of more buriyani. When I stepped off the plane at Katunayake and went to get my luggage I was thrilled to see 4 large vats, in which they traditionally cook buriyani, meandering along the conveyor belt. It looks like the boys at Big Bite maybe opening another branch - Inshallah.

