DAWN - Features; August 26, 2002

The ultimate trick!

The LFO has done two things. One, it has blown to pieces the sanctity and dignity of the highest
and most reverent elective office in the country by letting a uniformed government officer in
grade 22 to force his way into it. There is going to be no election for this office after a new
parliament comes into being following the October 10 polls. A paid servant of the government in

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uniform is going to be in the exalted office for the next five years not because the Constitution
allows him to do so but because of the fire-power he wields as the COAS. And for obvious
reasons the LFO does not even mention the infamous extra- constitutional referendum which is
supposed to have given General Pervez Musharraf a five-year term in the office of the President.
With the COAS occupying the office of the President the symbol of unity of the nation state,
created through a democratic struggle, has been seemingly reduced to the level of a garrison
country. But then all this is only a repeat with some modifications dictated by the changing
times of what we have seen Ayub Khan and Zia did to prolong their respective stranglehold on
the people of Pakistan.

Secondly, by allowing President Musharraf to keep his COAS cap even after October 10, 2002
the LFO has on the one hand expressed its total lack of confidence in the checks and balances
(58-2(b) and the NSC) so painstakingly crafted by NRB chief General Tanvir Naqvi and on the
other it has shown how much trust General Musharraf has in the man next in line to succeed
him as the COAS. If the LFO had any confidence in the check and balancing powers of 58-2(b)
and the NSC, it would not have found it necessary to reinforce the authority of the all powerful
President with the additional powers of the COAS. And by not trusting the next man in the line
with the COAS cap on due date or in fact denying all those who qualified or would qualify for the
top position in the six years since October 2001, the LFO in effect is saying that no matter what
kind of checks and balances you incorporate in the Constitution, you simply cannot trust a
Pakistani COAS if he is not already occupying the office of the President.

In effect the LFO ensures that even after October 10 elections and coming into being of a
Parliament with the mandate of the 140 million Pakistanis, the power to rule will not be
transferred from the Army to the civilian, notwithstanding the tall promises that President
Musharraf keeps on making that executive powers would be immediately passed on to the prime
minister on his election. The LFO has been issued in pursuance of the Proclamation of
Emergency of October 14, 1999 read with the PCO Order No.1 of 1999. So as long as this PCO
remains valid, the LFO cannot be challenged in the courts whose judges have taken oath of
allegiance to the person of General Pervez Musharraf. However, the validity of the PCO would
expire on October 12, 2002, if the relevant portion of the judgment in the case of Zafar Ali Shah
Vs. Pervez Musharraf, Chief Executive of Pakistan, is interpreted to rule as much. This particular
portion of the judgment says: “That having regard to all relevant factors involved in the case
including the one detailed in paragraphs 14 and 15 above (concerning time required for
preparation of electoral rolls) three years period is allowed to the Chief Executive with effect
from the date of the Army takeover i.e. 12 October, 1999 for achieving his declared objectives.”

So far so good. But, what is Musharraf required to do under this judgment before he comes to
the cut off date of October 12, 2002? Well he is only to “appoint a date, not later than 90 days
before the expiry of the aforesaid period of three years, for holding of a general election to the
National Assembly and the provincial assemblies and the Senate of Pakistan.” The judgment
does not bind him to transfer power to the elected Parliament immediately after it comes into
being. So, in effect on October 12, 2002, the PCO promulgated on October 14, 1999, would
expire but there is nothing in the judgment which obliges the Chief Executive to let the original
constitution come to life automatically, transfer power to the newly-elected Parliament and go
back home or to the barracks. Indeed, if this happened and the original Constitution got revived
on October 14, 2002 General Musharraf, the COAS, can neither continue to occupy the office of
the President nor can he contest for this office.

It is, therefore, safe to assume that after the elections are held and before the validity of the PCO
of October 14, 1999 expires on October 12, 2002, the military government would go to the
Supreme Court with its ‘political and economic achievements’ and request the apex court for the
extension in the life of the PCO for another five years in the name of ‘transition’. The term,
‘transition’, is now being increasingly used by the President himself. So, he is not holding
elections to transfer power but to help him prolong his rule in the name of transition. Such
elections he can hold any number for times without the fear of losing power. Those, who thought
he would not hold elections and postpone it at the last minute, had very wrongly assumed that
the coming elections were being held for transfer of power and since they never thought that
Musharraf had any intention of transferring power, they had kept on insisting that he would not
hold elections. But elections for a five-year ‘transition’ term, he can and he will hold.

So, those who are thinking that after the elections and when the new assemblies have come into
being, the PCO will be replaced automatically by the original Constitution and General
Musharraf will then need the help of the elected legislatures to continue in the office of the
President have perhaps completely missed this aspect of the legalistic trick that the original
Supreme Court judgment had already armed the military government with. But then both Ayub
and Zia brought the institution of the Army into disrepute by prolonging their rule beyond a
point. When a COAS rules, no matter under which democratic camouflage (Musharraf says that
all that he needs is a label of democracy otherwise his rule even without the mandate of the
people is more democratic than that of any elected Pakistani government of the past), the buck
would stop at his GHQ desk and not at the visibly ineffective PM’s office. So the GHQ would get
all the bricks while the politician in the PM’s office would manoeuvre to collect the stray
banquets coming the government’s way which in a Third World country happens too rarely in
any case. This is a recipe for disaster. Can we expect, at this hour of dire national crisis, the
judiciary to stand up for once and be counted on the side of Democracy rather than continue to
take refuge in the infamous and injudicious notion of Doctrine of Necessity!!— Onlooker

A piece of cloth yes, but...

Hatred is a complete diet. The people of India and Pakistan have been living on it ever since
their birth and can survive happily for another fifty years on this most staple of sub- continental
fares. The Company Bahadur used this nutritional formula for over two centuries to keep the
empire healthy and prosperous. The South Asian heirs of the Raj have used it with unfailing
success ever since they took charge. So we do not take kindly to people who talk of peace and
such other bookish things. Fed on less meaty meals peace activists like young Arundhati Roy
would have us starve on leaner shanti menus unlaced with atomic garnishing.

What was not easily digestible in her talk to some of her eager listeners at a five star gathering in
the Capital that caused quite a few stomach upsets was her attack on very basic and fundamental
things like nationalism. She said she couldn’t care less if she was not an Indian, or something to
that effect. And in her view flags were just pieces of cloth.

This kind of broad humanistic thinking is not so very uncommon as is generally thought.
Coming from a celebrity it did sound significant but what she made a point about was a very
common sense thing. One’s nationality, religion, one’s language and tribe, one’s family, one’s
parents, indeed one’s identity are all accidents of one’s birth. And this is something one doesn’t
need extraordinary intelligence to understand. Anyone with a bit of free mind in him or her who
may have at one time thought over things would have come to the same earthly, mundane
conclusion. Flags are pieces of cloth and one’s being an Indian or Pakistani, or American does
not make the slightest difference to the God of small things. It is such a pity.

But understandable if one understood the subtle difference between truth and reality. Roy has
no delusions in that respect. She has seen through the jugglery of nationalistic jingoism the
world has witnessed in the post-September 11 madness and nearer home in her denunciation of
the carnage in Gujarat and earlier of this region’s nuclearization. In the latter case she
juxtaposes the grandiose reality of our nuclear posture against the chastening truth of our moral,
mental and material impoverishment. It would be naive therefore for anyone to think Roy could
be unaware of the myriad ways nationalism manifests itself from sports grounds to battlefields.
Haven’t Latinos gone to war to settle soccer scores.

Islamic thought was probably the first to express concerns about the danger nationalism posed
to peaceful coexistence. All empire builders, past and present, confront it opposing their dreams
of establishing a one-world order. The mystique of its working is intangible. Despite having a
common language, religion and culture the Arabs remain divided into nation states. And yet the
two Bengals cannot unite on language alone for which, it is supposed, one of them seceded from
its co-religionist western wing. It is a pathological state with humans, a disease of the mind that
Ms Roy may complain against but cannot do a thing about. Mightier movements have failed.
One sees its most crude and childish manifestation in supposedly the most advanced societies of
the West. Americans arriving home from abroad clap in chorus as soon as the plane touches
down on the native runway, and you see retired pensioners relaxing under huge American flags
hoisted in their small porches. This show of overt patriotism does go well with their happy
stance in life but one would expect a little cynicism, or a little maturity in citizens of a country
that claims to be the leader of mankind. They are too thankful for their present lot, blessing and
clapping and patting themselves all the time. It is a little embarrassing even for onlookers. On
Fox TV the show is on round the clock.

Coming from India, a country that we do not mention by name in public for mysterious reasons
— natural bashfulness of new brides that they show in respect of their husbands or fear of
blasphemy laws — a celebrated young person like Roy with considerable influence among her
educated compatriots, should be regarded as a welcome augury in Pakistan. Not that she is a
better or greater writer because of her international honour than many writers of India and
Pakistan who write in Urdu or Hindi, but because she campaigns for peace, fights for human
rights, opposes tyranny and bigotry and hegemony and militarism that many of her superiors do
not have the moral courage to speak against, that she will be seen as a truly enlightened young
leader in our benighted lands. We also have many young people here who are eager to work
outside the evil circle of hatred, and some do dare in the available space, but unless there is
greater commerce of ideas, the voices of sanity will remain weak and ineffective.

The other day I was reading Neelam Bashir’s unassuming travelogue of her Nepal visit with a
writers’ delegation. The only foreigner that she could easily get along with and strike immediate
friendship was an Indian writer. Both cried in each other’s arms on parting in the hotel lounge.
Women can be honest and have no fear of showing genuine emotion. Sincerity does not
embarrass them. A daughter of Ahmad Bashir’s would have this candour in her genes. Roy must
have met many such young people during her brief sojourn here. It is to be hoped she will use
her celebrity status to create more space for goodwill and understanding in India, er, forgive me,
our neighbouring country.

The Arab Hotel, a landmark that was

MUHAMMAD SAEED, everyone at The Pakistan Times used to call him Maulvi Saeed, was the
magazine editor of the paper in the early sixties. He was always dressed in a sherwani and he
sported a Jinnah cap plus a closed-cropped beard. Once in office, he would take off his sherwani
and sling it across a hanger before sitting down to work.

For some time, I served as an apprentice under him and worked for the paper’s Sunday
magazine. In addition, Maulvi Saeed also used to bring out a Friday page called ‘The World of
Islam’. I worked both for the magazine and the Friday page. This was work which was to stand
me in good stead in later years.

After retirement, Maulvi Saeed wrote a book, Lahore, a Memoir. It was first published by
Vanguard Books, Lahore, in 1989. It has a chapter on Arab Hotel, a small, dingy tea place.
Situated across from the Islamia College on Railway Road, however, it was better known for its
kebabs and the literati who would gather there every evening and discuss matters of moment. As
a small boy, I was always fascinated by the hotel but, unfortunately, I remember very little of the
place except for its owner, Aboud. I reproduce today Maulvi Saeed’s impressions of the place.
That which follows is taken directly from Maulvi Sahib’s book, Lahore, a Memoir. He begins:

With the institution of baithaks (private sitting rooms) having fallen progressively in disuse,
Lahore had few meeting places where the city’s intellectuals and gossip-mongers could gather in
the evening. The Mall was too fashionable and too costly. The alternative was the Arab Hotel
which attracted journalists, writers, polemicists and city wits. Situated just opposite the Islamia
College gate, it remained for many years the meeting place of the intellectual elite.

It was a modest, untidy teahouse run by a clean-shaven Arab with an unclean apron wrapped
round his waist to protect his smudgy tunic from the bombardment of tiny, little fat-particles
flying from the sizzling kebabs as he turned them (over) with a pair of greasy forceps. The room
behind was filled with fumes, cigarette smoke and idle gossip ranging from the mystic impact of
Hallaj on Iqbal to the beguiling charms of the Zutshi sisters — and much more than that — a
good deal of pure, yet captivating silliness.

The kebab in the culinary world, is famous for its enticing odour. A Hindu scholar of Persian,
Mirza Qateel, who was big enough to cross swords with Ghalib on the intricacies of lexicography,
eventually became Muslim and used to say: “The fragrance of the kebab has turned me Muslim.”

The Arab owner of the ‘tavern’, Bhai Aboud, was a wonderful fellow. Not bothering much about
who paid what and when, he dutifully served kebabs and tea to everyone of the circle. He knew
how far each tether could be stretched and he thought it vulgar to measure it in public. One
could pass by his puttering grill unchallenged into the room. He was too preoccupied to be
worried about the rights of entry. Profound scholars and irreverent wits were equally welcome.
His contribution to the pleasure of the company was hot kebabs, a cup of fuming tea and a warm
smile. People came here singly as well as in twos and threes with the ease of birds flying back to
their roosts in the evening.

At one time, the concoction that was usually brewed in this hotel spilt over to the college, across
the road. A scathing satire was composed by a member of the circle against the editor of the
college magazine, The Crescent. After a brief currency within the circle, it eventually found a
place on the college notice-board, giving rise to an ugly college-hotel bruhaha in which
personalities far maturer than students were involved. Everybody was in a fit of anger till Prof
M.D. Taseer reportedly entered into the brawl as the assuager of frayed tempers and calmed the
agitated atmosphere.

The literary excellence of the satire betrayed the author. People knew that only Chirag Hasan
Hasrat’s pen could drip acid... The Maulana, with a Johnsonian tinge in his bearing, often
dominated the table. He is said to have moved to a flat nearby to brush up his Arabic. Nobody is
sure about the outcome of the conjunction of the two luminaries — Bhai Aboud and Hasrat. Bhai
Aboud, however, betrayed no signs of being in Hasrat’s company. His Urdu remained
unimpaired.

The hotel was a cosmopolitan institution. People of all religious and political persuasions, of
divergent age groups and intellectual levels met in a free and happy union. Even a tongawallah
in his working uniform with a whip in hand and the municipal badge pinned proudly to his
turban could, according to his lights, plunge straight into the discussion. He was heard with
equal attention. No ‘highbrowishness’ was used to bear him down with looks or words. Nobody
was asked to make room for anybody else, though it was a convention to vacate the seat for
regular or senior members.

Men of regular attendance included people who have left a permanent imprint on Urdu
literature and journalism. Abdul Majid Salik and Ghulam Rasul Mehr (the veteran journalists
and men of great learning), Akhtar Shirani a remarkable poet of romanticism, Maulana
Salahuddin — Editor Adabi Dunya — the latter moved to Nagina Bakery, Nila Gumbad, — Bari
Alig — whom I replaced on the Shahbaz, Allama Hussain Mir Kashmiri (a great Arabic scholar)
Sheikh Nazir Ahmad (an electrician), Faiz Ahmad Faiz — the celebrated poet and a Lenin-Prize
laureate, Khizar Tamimi — humorous poet (my group-mate in college), Ashiq Batalvi — the
author of Iqbal’s Last Two Years, Hafeez Jullundhri — a poet endowed with an extraordinarily
melodious voice, Abdul Majid Bhatti (a poet of Punjabi and Urdu) and Sahir Ludhianvi — a
Leftist. Also Abdullah Butt, Madan Gopal Mittal (journalist, an Urdu writer from Malerkotla),
Hamid Naseem (Radio man, commentator) Zahir Kashmiri (poet, writer), Shad Amritsari
(poet), Vaqar Ambalvi (a veteran journalist, poet), Davinder Sathyarthi (short-story writer),
Jilani Kamran (Jeem Kaaf), Malik Miraj Khalid (writer, politician) and youngsters like Masud
Bhatti... and Hafiz Javed (an extremely pleasant voice on Radio) Zamir Jafri (poet and
humorous writer). And many others who attained eminence in literary circles.

People came without inhibition. When a friend whispered into the ear of Gopal Mittal that
kebabs were minced and rolled beef, he smiled and said: ‘Is that so’? and pounced on the nearest
plate. This incident reminded me of my own office superintendent in Delhi, Balakrishnan of
Trichnopoly. Boasting of his ‘liberalism’ one day, he said: ‘I have no objection to egg
preparations, provided nobody discloses the ingredients’!

The hotel had an additional pull. It was within reach of all those employed on different
newspapers on salaries that were meagre and remained mostly undisbursed. So, they had to
roam about on foot to while away the time and the Arab Hotel was a convenient meeting point.
The farthest newspapers were the Ehsan outside Delhi Gate and the Civil and Military Gazette
on The Mall.....

Abdullah Butt had a fine sense of humour. In the Shaheed Ganj days, the area around the
disputed site up to Delhi Gate, including The Ehsan offices, was cordoned off by the military.
Hasrat tried to come out on the road without a curfew pass. A cane-wielding British soldier
greeted him. Next morning, when Hasrat came to office with a bandaged head, he found a little
packet for him on his table. He was surprised to find five almonds with a brief note from
Abdullah Butt advising him to take the almonds to remedy the ‘slip-brain’ he might have
developed owing to head injuries.

Hasrat made a mention of this queer gift in his column, adding that it was not an unprecedented
incident. Poet-laureate Zauq, of the mid-nineteenth century, had received a similar injury almost
under identical circumstances. He had received a similar gift from a friend.

During the League-Congress tussle, two flags fluttered side by side on Abdullah Butt’s house
adjacent to Islamia College. The League flag was hoisted by his elder brother Prof Abdul Haye
and the Congress flag by him. It was an amusing sight. Prof Haye was an Anjuman employee and
Abdullah a gentleman at large. None yielded to the other’s brand of patriotism.

Besides these luminaries, there was a band of less known but more carefree people. When, after
independence, Kashmir emerged as the most vexatious problem of the day, a property-dealer in
the company who was an inveterate litigant used to say: ‘Let me look after this issue. Primarily it
is a dispute over a piece of land and I know how to salvage land through litigation.’

Upstairs, was a calligraphist’s baithak (attic). Its guiding light was Pir Abdul Hamid, who
calligraphed the Holy Quran for the Taj Company. He was a man of plain, rough wisdom and
was consulted by all the leading literary figures of the day. He was puritanical, but not
insufferable. His baithak was open to all at all times. It was a common joke: ‘Two dwellings in
South Asia know no locks: Gandhiji’s ashram and Pirji’s baithak’. Bhai Aboud and his father
Abdullah Kuwaiti had special relations with the Pir. On an Eid day, when everybody from the
baithak was away on holiday and it was lying absolutely vacant, and as usual unguarded, some of
the inmates’ relatives came wandering with a pair of hounds. They lodged themselves
comfortably in the house, but without any prospect of food. Downstairs, Aboud sensed
somebody had arrived. He sent food not only for them but for their hounds as well. And when
the guests begged leave of him two days later, he declined to accept money from them. Only
when everybody had returned after a week did the old man inform the relevant inmate that
somebody had come in his absence. A brief entry under the sub-head, the neighbour, in the
logbook indicated what amount stood against his name on account of his guests.

Anyhow, the hotel deteriorated. By the 60s its fall seemed inexorable. Bhai Aboud, who in years
was running neck and neck with the century, lost his heart in the 60s to women and speculation
— a disastrous combination... The first diaspora of the Arab Hotel flock took place in the late
40s, the final in the 60s. With Aboud’s death a decade and a half later, the hotel joined the
vanished landmarks of Lahore...

***********

THIS is a story from the days when clubs were clubs and bars were bars and all of us took them
for granted. A club was there because there had to be a club and a bar was there because there
had to be a bar. And gentlemen were gentlemen and ladies were ladies. Lyla was not a woman.
She was a lady and the good old Major Durrani was not just another army officer; he was, above
all, a gentleman.

It so happened that Major Durrani was blessed with a wife upon whom nature had bestowed
countless layers of quite dispensable flesh. But, I dare say, obesity came naturally to her. Now
Major Durrani spent his married days like a true democrat. Some people say that the good major
had resigned himself to life with a partner who outweighed him as a super heavyweight would
outweigh a flyweight. But the major never once asked his lady wife to mind her waistline.

People who saw the couple together would often commiserate with him because the major
himself was extremely sparsely endowed. But he had built his own defences. His grand strategy
was to let the lady be to play tambola which is what she did nearly every evening. Even in sport,
you see, the lady abhorred physical exercise. She never could move a muscle or was perhaps
averse to avoidable exertion.

And so life went on every evening with tambola for the lady and the cup for the major. Major
Durrani had a friend in Major Muzzamil. One evening, Major Muzzamil ran into the couple and
let go:

“Hey, Durrani, you hit the bottle first thing in the morning and you go on and on. When will you
ever stop?”

Major Durrani scratched his head and then said, “With a wife like that, sir, one should be drunk
round the clock,” and ordered himself another double.

The major was a man right after my heart and I am sure God, in His infinite mercy, has forgiven
him all his trespasses — trespasses which only ensured peace in the house and peace at the club.

Football and drugs in Lyari

A philanthropist recently donated more than Rs 15,000 worth of equipment to football coaches,
Usman Baloch and Abdul Waheed. Both live in Kalakot, in Lyari, an area rife with drugs. A
friend recently went to Kalakot to see for herself the good work being done by these two men in
keeping the young people of the area away from drugs. Both men voluntarily teach to the boys,
most of whom have no school to go to or a job. This is indeed can be a challenge, the friend says,
because drug dealers sometimes involve even women and children.

Usman Baloch works for the city in the morning and in the afternoon he coaches some 40 boys.
Like many other young men who live in Lyari, football is his passion. He says he wants to train
the young boys in his area to become good players. But this is not easy. His club, like other
football clubs in Lyari, gets no government help. And playing football costs money. You need
footballs; one costs between Rs 300 to 400 and often needs to be replaced every few months.
Besides that, the players have to have their gear; they need to wear jerseys and shorts and these
can cost as much as Rs 2,500. And they need special playing shoes.

In one year, a club needs at least between Rs 15,000 and Rs 20,000, estimates Ghulam Abbas
Baloch, the Nazim of Union Council 5, Baghdadi, Lyari. He is also the chairman of the Sindh
Football Association and vice-president of the Pakistan Football Federation. He regrets the fact
that the government does little to encourage football and boxing in Lyari, sports that can change
the lives of teenagers and the young men who live there. Some time ago, he told the friend, the
government gave a paltry grant of Rs 1,700 to the 126 football clubs registered in Lyari, but now
even that has been stopped. The government does not gain financially from the football clubs
and so it does not want to spend any money on them, he reasons.

Lyari has five large playing grounds, almost like stadiums, but it costs Rs 5000 to use them just
for a single match. The result is that no team can afford them and because of that they have
fallen into disuse. Usman Baloch feels that the government should support football, as well as
boxing and cycling in Lyari, so that people who live there have something constructive to do in
terms of recreational opportunities.
In 1994, several welfare organizations working in several areas of Lyari like Saeedabad, Kalakot,
Singo Line and Gul Mohammad Line decided to join hands to take on the drug traffickers in
their area. This was a courageous step and led to the loss of three lives since the traffickers were
well-armed and didn’t hesitate to use their guns.

This was when the concerned residents of Lyari decided that the best way to keep their boys
away from drugs was to encourage them to play sports. This approach has succeeded to a great
extent now with the Baghdadi Nazim saying that Lyari is no longer the drug trafficking of
Karachi. But a lot more needs to be done.

An occasion to savour

Over two thousand Karachiites were lucky enough to hear Arundhati Roy speak last Sunday. A
colleague who went to the events thought it a bit sad that the other speakers didn’t get the same
kind of coverage or attention that Ms Roy did, especially since Shekhar Gupta had the audience
in splits of laughter — but then no one had Ms Roy’s presence.

Don’t be fooled, she says, into thinking that the activist and writer charmed the audience with
her wit, intellect or amazing public speaking skills. On the contrary, it was her humility that won
Karachiites over. The fact that she started her speech by apologizing for being so short — she was
barely visible at the podium — is testimony to the fact that her humility is what got her the
overwhelming standing ovation. By now everyone must have read which panelist said what,
since the papers gave the lecture series a great deal of coverage, and so it would be futile to go
into the lecture in Karachi itself.

A special mention, however, should be given to Shahryar Khan who highlighted the greatness of
Karachi much to the delight of its residents — anything that rouses a bit of city pride always
deserves kudos! Shekhar Gupta was, for lack of a better word, hilarious when he recounted his
anecdotes. He was especially funny when he said that Emirates Airlines was behind the tension
in the subcontinent since it stood to benefit the most from the ban on overflights. One almost
forgot that this is the same former editor whose views are fairly hawkish on subcontinent
relations.

Anyone who was present at the lecture is sure to admit to having had a grand old time, what with
it almost being the social event of the week. However, one can’t help but wonder why we’re so
bad at dealing with question-answer sessions because they end up being such downers,
something evident at this lecture too. Despite being told repeatedly (and aggressively) to get to
the question, people went on and on, offering their insights and what not, much to the
displeasure of the audience. One woman, who got on stage and questioned “the country’s
dignity” when she suggested we demand an apology from Britain for colonizing us, was met with
loud boos from the audience. Hopefully, Ms Roy will go back with memories warmer than that.
 Checkpost or traffic hazard?

Checkpoints placed along some of the city’s major thoroughfares are proving to be quite a major
source of inconvenience for motorists. A colleague who uses Sharea Faisal every day to go to
work says that the checkposts on this road — in front of the Crowne Plaza and Mehran hotels are
major pains and badly managed. While the idea of checking for stolen vehicles is commendable,
the method the policemen use can easily cause a major accident.

The colleague recounts: “Only yesterday me and my friend were going on his motorbike when we
came to a red traffic light near Jinnah Hospital. As the signal turned green, the traffic moved
forward in a big wave. But all of a sudden a policeman appeared from nowhere and jumped right
in the middle of the road, apparently trying to signal a car to stop.

The vehicle managed to drive past but not before my friend’s motorcycle bumped into another
car travelling next to us. We tried to tell the policeman that he should perhaps employ less
dangerous methods to make passing vehicles stop. But instead of even admitting that what he
did was wrong, the constable became rude.”

The colleague was understandably quite resentful of this and says that the police force certainly
needs to teach some of its employees a lesson in politeness and common sense.

Clearly, jumping in front of moving vehicles will some day cause a major accident so superior
authorities clearly need to do something about this.

In fact, the colleague said that a few weeks ago, when it drizzled heavily, this action by security
personnel manning these checkposts caused quite a few motorcyclists to slip — and we all know
how dangerous that can be.

Robbing weddings

Kashmir Road has many wedding halls. A friend who lives nearby says that anyone who arranges
to have a wedding at any of these halls should be very careful since several incidents of robbery
have been reported from here in the last few months.

The friend says that a wedding around two months ago, a significant proportion of the guests
reported that their cars parked outside had been broken into that the stereos were stolen.
However, this might be considered quite trivial to what happened this past week at a wedding in
Kharadar. Policemen - yes, wearing uniform — barged into a house at two in the morning. Busy
celebrating a wedding, the residents were held hostage by the policemen who began looting all
the guests of their cash and jewellery.

These people were lucky, though, because some quick-thinking neighbours realized what was
going on. They managed to get enough people together and then went into the house and began
beating up the policemen, most of whom ran away.

—By Karachian