Pakistan's women remain voiceless amid all the talk of war and terrorism: The latest report by the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan shows women are still suffering terribly under an archaic system

The population of Pakistan threatens to cross 190 million by July 2012, and women stand to make up roughly 47% of that number. The whole country is in a vulnerable situation, held hostage between its western allies waging war on its turf, and trigger-happy extremists who demand the foreign invaders leave them alone. But while they attempt a three-person tango, there are more pressing problems on the ground. According to the United Nations Development Programme, 22.6% of the population lives below the international poverty line, lation lives below the international poverty line, on less than $1.25 PPP per day. These may have been the conditions in Pakistan since before 2001, but there has been no chance of improvement since then.

Security of person, equality in dignity and a few other "inalienable" rights that the UN declared all humans should have irrespective of sex are for the privileged few in Pakistan; and even then, mostly for men. The Human Rights Commission of Pakistan recently published its annual report, State of Human Rights in 2011. Let's just take a quick look at how women fared in the country.

About 120,000 pregnant women were left without adequate nourishment and sanitary conditions after the devastating floods in 2010. About 8.2 million women are reportedly employed as unregistered domestic help, without the cover of even the flimsiest of labour laws. There were 943 women (93 minors) reportedly killed over family honour – often for wanting to marry someone of their own choice – with many of these crimes perpetrated by their brothers, fathers, husbands or relatives of their husbands.

There were 38 documented cases of acid attacks on women, 47 were set on fire and nine suffered disfiguring amputation as punishment. There were 396 rape and murders reported. None of these figures account for the thousands of women who were strangled into silence by the horrors that follow an admission, or whom the police were unwilling to help, brushing it off as "a family matter". Worse yet, also missing from the figures were the silent majority who were raised to accept the physical or psychological abuse, as part of the compromise women make to be the dutiful wives and daughters who glue society together.

It's the underprivileged, illiterate women struggling to make ends meet who are the brave ones; they step into a man's world every day, at risk of being sexually harassed on their daily travels, in overcrowded buses or at work. Anything that allows these women to provide for the many children they are forced to have, or to save to educate their little boys and girls, they will do. They work 12 hour days as undocumented domestic help, often working for Cinderella's stepmother; think less Disney and more Brothers Grimm. For rural women, it's the fields, where they can be trapped in bonded labour or work for a pittance and some produce.

A landmark domestic violence bill, introduced in 2009 to protect women and children, is facing serious opposition in its passage through parliament from those who argue that it promotes western values and has been backed by western funding. According to a former senator, passing this bill on a divided vote in parliament will potentially disrupt another delicate balance: reaching political consensus on the restoration of the Nato supply lines through Pakistan – another strike on non-participants by the war against terror.

Somewhat surprisingly for outsiders looking in, these struggling women belong to the same country where a woman was twice voted prime minister and currently the youngest member of the cabinet of Pakistan is the female foreign minister – a position roughly parallel to secretary of state for the US. The argument that religious extremes have oppressed Pakistani women isn't a neat preface to these hair-raising horrors.

Pakistan's relationship with its women is rooted in a patriarchal feudal system feeding the country since before it was born. It's an archaic system that has produced the men who run the country, negotiate domestic and foreign policy and penned sexist laws that made it easier for women to slide through the cracks. A lack of accessible education doesn't help either. It's not just one problem. It's living in a system that hasn't been built to accommodate the second sex. It's the buzz words surrounding Pakistan: war, terrorism, extremism, 9/11. They drown out the plight of the millions who truly need a voice.

Published in the Guardian, April 10, 2012

Funk the Dumb Stuff

By the day of the event many variations of the ‘I don’t give a flying funk’ concert were coined. “What the funk...”, “funk it”, “funk the night”. Ignoring the fact that the moniker was a bit of a misnomer, the musicians in the backing band showed that they had the funk in them! In fact, 'backing band' doesn't do justice to the likes of Louis J Pinto aka Gumby and Omran Shaffique. For some of the tracks, the vocalists were almost unnecessary; audience response was a testament to that.

A few weeks ago, 'Summer Jam' had showcased some of the same musicians and the feedback and turn out were fabulous. 'I don’t give a flying funk' somehow didn't pull the numbers. Tail end of the Karachi summer; too many reasons can be cooked up. The venue was not packed but there was an interactive audience. Too interactive, one could say, as certain gentle?men did not know when to shut up!

Before other moments can be glorified or can be said to have rewritten lyrical history (Annie are you...), it has to be said quickly, like pulling off a wax strip, RachelViccajididnotdojusticetohernumbers. Or to the attempted backing vocals or the attempted vocal hijackings. Also, if you want to provide backing vocals, learn the lyrics! At the risk of sounding presumptuous, it can be said that she has a promising voice but lacks the 'feel'. Perhaps in the recording studio, with different takes, and with post production elements, a vocalist can achieve tonal variations, warmth and even emotion. Perhaps. On stage, where an audience engages with the senses of both of hearing and seeing, expressions play a big role.

According to one of the vocalists present that night, emoting is 80% of a live performance! A certain level of unease was present with Rachel Viccaji: her body language and her vocals did not engage the audience as well as perhaps the guitarist to her right.

When speaking of abstracts like “feel”, it is hard to communicate the exact meaning. On the other hand, one could point to Omran and his mug could be next to the word “feel” in the music dictionary. More than comfortable in his own skin, on stage Omran plays without pretensions and as his expressions reflect, he has fun up there. And to debunk the myth that those who play with feel do without skill, his talent is self evident: his skill is not in enacting complicated cold riffs but in manipulating all that he knows into this art form that carries those listening with him into another stratosphere.

Sharing such chemistry is the lean powerhouse Gumby, who with a flick of a wrist can silence a crowd or get them on their feet, dancing. Often while listening to other drummers in the industry, one is inclined to say oh, we have many great drummers. Then Gumby enters the house and casts a pretty tall shadow on the fraternity. He went through songs like The Pretender by the Foo Fighters, Baby Love by the Supremes, Get up, Stand up by Marley and Rock and Roll played on by Bonham. Need one say more?

There was an understated presence on stage, as often bassists tend to have. Khalid made every one of these songs possible: funk has bass with a punch and a curve. Keeping the rhythm section tight with Gumby is no mean feat and Khalid stands solidly on his own. Front of stage, the bass was a bit subdued though the genre the night subscribed to would demand otherwise.

Sheldon and Tanseer Dar were vocalists who had also performed at “Summer Jam”. Soulful, with the right bit of grit and oodles of fun to listen to, Sheldon hit the right notes with songs like Stevie Wonders’ Superstition and Rock n Roll. To slather on the cheese, Sheldon had the groove! Dar on the other hand rewrote lyrical history. For time immemorial, Smooth Criminal will be sung “Annie are you wonky”. Enough said. Though, Tasneer Dar did a good job with The Pretender, not many people can achieve that vocal tone. Just, all those vocalists out there: no newspaper reading of lyrics, if people take time out to come watch you, make the effort to learn the words!

A welcome addition to the line up was Taimoor Salahuddin from Lahore. Singing on “Come Together”, Taimoor did not leave the audience wanting. A tough song that seems deceptively simple, “Come Together” has a confusing set of lyrics that are hard to emote to and even harder to retain (This was witnessed in the pre-concert cramming!). Yet, this Lahori did more than justice to The Beatles. If he gets his own music together, this singer/song writer will be something to look forward to.

Published in Images on Sunday, Dawn on 30th August 2009

Number Ek Soh Chawalees

This is my monologue about a two way street which, by tradition is supposed to combine somewhere down the line into one warm fuzzy blurry road. Well, in my case, the two way street has always led to two different places. One of those roads inevitably leads to me, single, frazzled and free.

Or another analogy that I felt rather fitting, keeping in mind one of my relationships, its like watching an HD screen with bold beautiful colours, great definition and a great surround sound, slowly become duller, the sound murkier and eventually all you are left with is white noise and really tired eyes and ears.

Oh and I do not know how it gets to that point! I do not even pretend to untangle that mess. It has become this great hard sticky furball that once began with a simple knot and a few strings attached.

From Jaani, I miss you already to Jaani, let’s cuddle and not talk to Jaani, we need to talk: who needs that transition? Alas. Most of us do. As far as I can tell, one in every two girls needs to, has to, dies to be in a relationship. And that ladies and gentleman is what sinks the ship of straight, successful, single womenkind.

I think it’s indoctrinated in us from childbirth. Or inoculated, right along rubella, measles and mumps: the man shot.

Every now and then we get the booster shots: boyfriend, boyfriend, crush, lust, boyfriend, fiancé, boyfriend, husband, boyfriend. No one ever thinks of boosting our immune system against the institution of chronic togetherness.

I don’t propagate celibacy or isolation: I just think that we should think more often. If men are accused of navigating life using a sex-radar, it is only fair if women acknowledge that they have similar radars: the potential-couple-detector.

What is the harm in wanting to be with someone, to want to not be alone? I am asked this question from those who are married, those about to dive into that pool or those who are simply looking for an occupant for their pink bubble. I always answer that there is no harm in wanting anything. It is the steps that we take to get what we want and that spiralling of desire into desperate need that is injurious to health. More carcinogenic than a pack everyday!

The lesson I have learnt from my limited experiences: appreciate the flora and fauna that only a single person can truly enjoy. Spend sometime smelling the roses, and not nurturing the pot! And then step towards another flower, smell that and so on. Get high on all the variety. Go through the gardens and the forests, appreciating but growing yourself as an individual. When you have absorbed what is out there, and spent enough time nurturing yourself, then you might have a fair chance at an equitable relationship that can be sustained.

I have three different sets of friends. Other than three who are married, everyone else is single. And everyone finds it very strange that they are in this “predicament”. I think it’s because as I mentioned earlier, when you are given the man shot on a regular basis, to see that it does not work as effectively when there are no tailor made men around is albeit confusing. They promised us that finding the right man and settling down will be as easy as you see in the movies. Those who bought that line are now bitter and almost defiant in their singledom.

This piece of writing does sound like it could be shoved on a Self Help section in a book shop. That is not the intent. My randomly stringed thoughts should not be taken as the last word on the topic, or the starting point towards any success.

Look at it as just one female sharing some experience with other people. With the hope that we stop institutionalising all human interactions in the same fashion that Europe did with all independent thinkers, eccentric people and mildly disturbed people in the middle ages. Shoving every thing into neatly outlined categories defies the very purpose of human experience. There is no sequence to putting your life into order, certainly not your love life.

So, I say, spin the bottle. Watch where it stops and take it from there. Instead of a boy, it might land on a book. Finishing it cover to cover is immensely more pleasurable than going through a man end to end! The book will not crumble to pieces if you reach for it again and again.





Published in Chay Magazine on 1st April, 2009

The Darker Side of Light

Two bands. Two sounds. Four musicians. Having organized a few concerts in Pakistan, it seemed sponsors and some event managers would forget to do their math and assume that if one would ask co-VEN to play, that set list would multiply to include Mauj. It took some time for the market to absorb the fact that these two bands come with very different sound concepts, and sharing a line up is by no means tantamount to sounding the same. Just a look at the names of the bands significantly discerns identities.

Flip. co-VEN. Hamza Jafri on lead vocals and guitar, Sameer Ahmed on bass, Sikandar Mufti on drums and percussion and Omran Shafique on guitar. Flip. Mauj. Omran Shafique on lead vocals and guitar, Hamza Jafri on guitar, Sameer Ahmed on bass and Sikandar Mufti on drums and percussion. Toss it up; shake it around, play word salad.

The front man is where a band gets its soul from. The front man is not necessarily the lead vocalist (Bela Fleck is a banjo player); he or she could be the bassist, the guitar player. The position they occupy in the band is only as relevant as the influence they extend over the feel of the band. Whether they can colour in the sound, the genre, the concept. What makes these two bands completely separate entities are the front men.

co-VEN took off in 1991 initially, with a different set of musicians , including Hamza Jafri. In 2001, co-VEN regrouped sans Omran who was in Houston working on Mauj, and had briefly met Hamza in Pakistan before heading back. Omran used to play with Hamza's elder brother Mohammad Ali Jafri before Hamza had even started playing the guitar and in 2001 when Hamza asked Omran to work with co-VEN, Omran had heard Hamza's work and was sufficiently impressed. As Omran puts it, there was mutual respect and admiration between the two, which, eventually led to working together with the two bands.

With socio-political upheaval catching the world off guard, the music that co-VEN creates is what artists have been doing for centuries: reflecting society and its myriad complexities. In current times, these complexities seem simple enough: political manoeuvring between terrorism, poverty and economic disparity, and co-VEN, with their aggressive sound, is the rock band with “an agenda” to spread the message. This is especially true of their new album waiting to be released. "Ready to Die" , their first single release from the new album, is expressive of co-VEN's desire to bring these problems to the forefront, in bare naked words, folk guitar and drum parts, and punch driven bass lines. All lyrics, written by Hamza Jafri, mince no words and their sardonic nature is highlighted with beautiful arrangements that slip from tense aggressive rolls, into free flowing rock licks.

"gonna tell the government, to inform the president, he's been watching cnn…send the entire regiment, get the media to cover them…down from the mountains on their feet, sir the militants have multiplied…"

co-VEN's two-volume first album was more nostalgic and had a mellow feel with clean groovy bass lines and jazz, folk fusion drums. For a chunk of the listeners, Hamza’s vocal style was unusual and with lyrics in English, made the album slightly unpalatable. Though the second album is also in English, the compelling melodies and the powerful globally relevant content ensure that the songs stay in one’s head. The music has progressed as the boys matured in terms of playing styles, influences and a sensitivity to their surroundings.

Mauj is the antithesis of the social sword being brandished; it is music for everyone to sway to. But make no mistake; the music is not to be underestimated. Sitting in Houston, Omran Shafique decided that musicians were taking themselves too seriously. At the other end of the spectrum, the music that was made for mass appeal was underestimating the audience. Mauj actually was one of the first bands after Junoon that spoke a language which the masses could relate to, with melodies that were easy enough to follow despite being a complex amalgam/combination/fusion of funk, reggae, and rock played with no excuses. For that is the real challenge for Omran: "I can write a complicated rock song that I can get off playing, but to write a song that everyone can bounce their heads to and sing along with the melody...even the serious musicians."

When Hamza asked Omran to come down to Pakistan to record a session with co-VEN, Omran decided to record a video for the first Mauj single, "Khusfehmi" in the same trip. The album had been recorded in USA, but was remixed in Pakistan. It is set to launch in feb/mar 2009, after the second video "Mona" is completed.

For Mauj, Omran is the sole leading force. Mauj is Omran and whomever he is working with and wherever the chemistry is taking them. Mauj has an “irreverence behind it, no posing and doing the rock star thing” and it is this irreverence and a cocktail of funk inspired fun and solid rock that makes the debut album highly awaited.

Two bands, one great bass player, one drummer with jazz hands and two front men with no strings attached. Each band has its own time frames and for as long as the two vocalists can accommodate the other project; this great marriage of convenience will produce diverse musical progenies that will scale different heights.


Published in Rolling Stone, India in March 2009

Pulp friction

“lt’s a concert, not the Oscars!” Having said that, I shall go on to explain where the need to clear the confusion arises from. In the great dense city called Lahore, almost every event has conceptually merged into a glamour-oriented phenomenon. Perhaps the corporates are partially to blame, or the ever-present underestimation of the audience.

Whichever way the blame game might unfold, it is important that one understands that each artistic venture should not only have its own signature style, it should also compliment the art that it is showcasing. Red carpets, celebrity lists, media hounds, paparazzi-style press are not the trademarks of concerts. In the global market, even corporate honchos will respect each art and entertainment niche by not pushing or moulding it into one generic hybrid.

When the Minute Maid invite reached people, it discreetly mentioned the artistes performing, while containing the rest of the elements of a product launch. Most of the journalists invited were confused about the true nature of the event — was the music just a small part of the night; was the red carpet of a pre-event nature? All the queries boiled down to one main question: Was Catalyst, the sister concern of Catwalk owned and operated by Frieha Altaf, going to follow the predetermined fashion industry pattern of events, or was Zeb & Haniya going to be the main act of an actual concert, and not a celebrity gala?

True to the tradition of treating the music industry as a tributary of fashion, the launch was not the perfect venue for the female-fronted band. While the girls backed by the co-Ven boys and Fahad Khan took the stage with understated confidence that might soon be a trademark, the rest of the venue became frenetic with multiple distractions, including the stormy weather.

There was a red (read orange) carpet, where the camera crew for some channel had a celebrity hound (one of those flunkeys who have a distinct sense of smell to sniff out where relatively famous people might be hiding in mock modesty). This orange travesty was a cause of constant distraction as throughout the night people were being pulled, cajoled, coerced, etc, into standing against the unsteady orange backdrop on the orange carpet. And of course on the way to their ‘minute’ (pun intended) of fame, people would stop, convince more people to go pose against the tangerine backdrop.

This entire masquerade went on till well after the concert when finally the elements intervened and with their pragmatism blew away the orange carpet, camera crew and celebrity hound et al, a la Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.

The orange cough syrup that the soft drink corporate giant will now use to further establish their market presence within another Third-world country (where a soft drink is more expensive than a labourer’s meal), was stacked in lovely vintage crates at the entrance, going beguilingly well with the wooden tables and the artfully orange flower arrangements.

So what kept it all from being visually cogent? The velvet upholstered semi-circular lounge arrangements in front of the stage! From the natural wood to the elegantly ornate, it did not work. Again, it must be mentioned, it was a launch crossed with a fashion event crossed with Zeb & Haniya. The guests, after rubbing shoulders with whoever knocked into them on the way to the orange carpet, would come, comfortably recline on the sofas and fall into the daze that background music and chilled stormy breeze tends to induce.

The music itself was far from subservient to the rather confused ambience. The musicians could not see much as the lights were strong and at close range, and the rest of the world was blinded out. As one of them noted later, not being able to see the audience worked out very well — it felt like they were in the comfortable confines of a jam session!

Zeb, Haniya, Hamza, Sameer and for that night, Fahad Khan gave a sample of what contemporary local music in Pakistan can encompass if each individual plays with an integrity to their skill, to their musical preferences and yet have compositions that are pleasing for a large cross-section of people.

The advantage Zeb and Haniya have over regular Pakistani pop is that musically they are not simplifying their work to fit a predetermined, mass-multiplied sound. Haniya on her acoustic with her ‘feel’ vocals distinctly stands apart on timbre, tone and stylistic inclinations from Zeb.

Add the co-Ven boys to this band and suddenly Zeb & Haniya are doubly a force to be reckoned with. When Hamza, Sameer and Sikandar had their first concert after many years of being in different countries, everyone knew who they were, though many did not remember how their music used to sound. The co-Ven firmly re-established their presence as boys who played for themselves before conforming to anything with their very funky covers (read ‘heard it through the grapevine’) and rather unusual originals. Now when they stand with Zeb & Haniya, they do not discard their co-Venness, in fact it is that very essence of a very tight knit band that gives Zeb & Haniya an oomph and a punch. And together, they all have a sound that means business.

Their trademark song Chup, along with Aitebaar and Paimana Bitte fell a little flat in the vocal section. Chup with its arrangements and its playfulness made up for where the vocals lacked, while the other numbers did not fare as well.

Towards the end of the show two things were ascertained: Zeb, who has a beautiful, very distinctive voice was not in full form. Even though there were moments when her vocals stood out brilliantly, she fell a little flat. The second thing would be that even though on stage, the co-Ven boys assume a muted physical presence; their music makes them stand out.

The girls, together with co-Ven, can create a stir if they do not fall into a rut that many musicians who are newly famous are prone to; diva attitudes, diminishing energy, redundancy and repetition. Right now what they do have are strong vocals, a good range of compositional elements, great arrangements, mass appeal and approachability — all the makings of a successful band.

Published in Images, Dawn on June 15 2008

The Rockstar and the Mullahs

Music, man and maker.

When T2F sent an email regarding the screening of The Rock Star and the Mullahs, a documentary by Ruhi Hamid, the title piqued my interest before I read the documentary revolved around Salman Ahmad. Even though Junoon by far is the only band in Pakistan that truly deserves the accolades that befit true rock legends, after the band broke up, Ali Azmat seemed to be the true survivor of the three. Yet, reading the credentials of Ruhi made watching the relatively old documentary a must.

Released in 2003 on BBC, the documentary was originally the project of Angus Macqueen, a multi-award winning director and producer. Ruhi, who was in awe of his work, was much surprised when he called her to assist in the project, which came with Salman as a pre-requirement.

What was the project? Through Salman, the veritable “rock star” the contradictions that in Pakistan live in juxtaposition would be highlighted such as extremist elements, burgeoning musicians, banned musicians, presidential accolades to artistes. The conflict between music and Islam.

The rock star would be pitted against various religious schools of thought regarding the very existence of crafted music. To what desired outcome? According to Ruhi, the journey of the documentary was organic, changing and evolving according to the environmental and situational tangents cropping up; hence, there was no pre-seated expectation for a specific end. There was no script for the documentary. Salman would engage on screen ad hoc, according to his personally derived arguments regarding the subject that was close to his own heart. He travels to Peshawar and then to Lahore and in both places engages in dialogue with people of faith. The documentary takes one to different madressahs where students, young and old, are confronted with the question of music and its place in Islam and to conversations with MMA representatives in the then government, the Minister of Minority Affairs, Mullah Hafiz Akhtar and one Mullah Bijli, named so due to his electrifying sermons.

As this documentary was shot at a time where a coalition of Islamist parties had formed part of the government at a provincial level, many bans had been implemented in the Frontier, the validity of which was upheld by using Islamic law as the baseline.

Music was not allowed: Musicians were arrested, threatened by the police, their families harassed. Shops selling music were forcefully shut down, as were cyber cafes. None of the music confiscated was destroyed — as mentioned in the documentary, the tapes and records were taken for personal use by the very people who banned them.

The irony of the situation was that the MMA had strong-armed one part of the nation to blindly follow the new laws and no one understood why. Perhaps the one area where Salman actually achieves to show the audience something that they could take home with them was when his conversations on a bus in Peshawar and again in a madressah reflected that these men had no idea why music was banned and whether Islam actually supported this newfound law.

Another generalised propaganda in the middle class came through in the documentary: Anti-American sentiment. Not only were the Taliban seen trumping up western ills and evils, footage of the elementary section of Bahria College, Karachi, displays how ill-placed words can create uneducated ideas and opinions. Little girls spout regurgitated ideas of the widespread ills of America that surely were caught from discourse of brainwashed adults.

While there is no doubt in my mind about the imperialist and inhumane foreign policy of the US or about the brilliant in-house hogwash they feed their own citizens, there is also no doubt that the anti-America rhetoric in the street in those days had little sustainable logic, even in the minds of the most calm haters of Americanisation. Perhaps the mullahs rode the wave of anti-American sentiment while trying to “purge” Pakistan of catastrophic “evils” like a simple chord structure.

Footage of the then Coas President clapping on stage with Junoon was perhaps the only point where nauseous was a better adjective to explain how one felt, though the arts did see support and patronage from the trailblazer of “enlightened moderation”.

Visually, the strongest shots were those in the very beginning of the documentary where passionate fans of Junoon head banging would fade into shots of hafiz-i-Quran moving their heads and bodies in similar synchronisation with their chanting of holy words.

Shots of Junoon in its glory days, video snippets from concerts and casual time spent together were bittersweet and nostalgic in the wake of bitter members of the now broken up band. Areas that did not work out were shots of Salman praying and his blatant disregard of the madressah students’ discomfort at his singing a verse of the Holy Quran on their premises.

An improvement would have been more musicians, even if it were short snippets. Having only Salman to represent music placed limitations on the audience’s interpretation of how musicians in Pakistan actually perceived or dealt with the music versus Islam conflict. His Sufi manifesto automatically places him in a relatively small minority; the rest of the mainstream musicians address the conflict with different dialogues. The fact that Sufi rock was a Junoon identity discredits his actual inclinations, whatever they might be.

Post-screening, the Q&A had one very common concern arising from the audience: Where were the moderate and educated Muslim scholars? As Ruhi mentioned in the course of conversation, one of the reasons to take up this documentary was to show the West that in Pakistan, people other than extremists existed. It did seem remiss to not include an educated scholar of Islam who would not only bridge the gap but represent the millions of moderate Muslims in Pakistan, who do exist, just quietly, unlike the rock star or the mullah.

Ruhi Hamid is a documentary maker whose work reflects an eye for humanity where others avoid and stumble. Her body of work is mostly regarding conflict areas or human interest stories where her subject is an ordinary person in extraordinary circumstances.

This documentary was a rare addition in her work subject matter and methodology wise. From her being the camera woman as well as the director, here she had a crew and a subject that was current and vast and had important people featured. Whereas this piece of work is old and could need some updating, it did bring an important subject within reach for many: the misuse of religion to control society.

The evening ended with Ruhi’s husband, DJ Heretic, at his turntables. Interestingly, not from Pakistan at all, he mixed house music with very old funky desi numbers. The music had a jazz and funk feel fused with some latino beats.


Published in Images, Dawn on July 27, 2008

Three Senseless Acts Of Terrorism, One Effective Action

"Before recession could hit Pakistan, terrorism did.” — Saadaan Peerzada

When an event has not only been sustained for 25 years but has improved since inception, it seems only natural that the government takes a measure of interest in it. Since the festival encourages the culture of Pakistan and solders ties on an international level, it makes perfect sense that the government, often isolated on the international front, would want to become a stakeholder in it.

It was learnt from reliable sources that the Governor House in Lahore this year maintained an austere front in terms of helping the arts. Khalid Maqbool was also seen at the World Performing Arts Festival (WPAF) 2008 buying tickets for his family, participating in whatever capacity he could. However, no one even heard the sirens of the entourage of the new Lahore Governor graze past the Alhamra. According to Saadaan Peerzada, one of the directors at RPTW, Shahbaz Sharif helped in terms of venue and security and personally assured the Rafi Peer Theatre Workshop (RPTW) of full support after three explosions took place in close proximity on the second-last night of the festival.

What was reassuring for the Peerzadas was the presence of the public as families were present at the venue in tow with children the very next day. These were the people stereotyped to be at best not interested enough. They came to light candles, watch puppets and to show they were not scared. RPTW is a family affair. It is run by the Peerzada brothers with their sister and their next generation either working for it or contributing to the arts. It is a rambling organisation sprawling all over the performing arts.

Alena Peerzada, Saadaan’s daughter, is the director of programmes at the theatre company. Young, rather fierce and completely in control of any situation, she was seen busy coordinating visas and travel plans for an upcoming sufi festival in France. An antithesis to his daughter, Saadaan is fluid, energy simmering under the surface, bubbling over every now and then when he speaks of ideas or plans. As this was the 25th consecutive year the festival, there were grand plans, plans that never saw the light of day due to the declining economic and political situation throughout the country. Speaking to father and daughter individually, one could feel the fabric that held the festival tightly together was home spun, which was why the problems that the festival faced seemed shared.




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So why did the Peerzadas decide to take on the last night of the festival after something as serious as three explosions? The answer is simple — to cancel the show was to let the terrorists win.




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Inviting hundreds of foreign delegates every year, the festival turns out to be more than a pinch on the pocket. Prior to 9/11, Saadaan said that most international delegates required no airfare as they would reach Pakistan and then the festival would house them, feed them, entertain them and provide transportation. Since then, RPTW arranges for visas, pays visa fees, schedules flights, covers airfare and then from the moment the artistes land to the time they take off, their expenses are covered. And of course, each act is paid for performances on stage.

All these costs climb every year with raising foreign currency exchange rates and the nuisance cost of getting anything done in Pakistan. Even year when the WPAF has a sponsor, the latter acts as a partner since a tremendous portion of the cost is still incurred by the theatre company. This year, the year of their grand celebration, the corporate industry had a few minor glitches of its own (strange, as their massive ad campaigns never reflected any issues whatsoever with cash flow).

For Alena that was a glaring issue. She admitted that taking on such a festival cannot be a sole venture. In her opinion “multiple small support systems in the form of organisations and the government can offer help in a myriad of ways.” To her disappointment no one stepped up. If the festival changed its flavour to a more Bollywood event, the corporate interests would change, she added. Since the event is oriented towards promoting performing arts of all kinds, especially those stemming from multicultural heritages, it is not viewed as glamourous as are the many black-tie balls held in Lahore that sell one ticket for one night worth twice the combined value of a ticket for all the music nights at the WPAF.

There is a reason the explosions have not been the highlight of this article as it seems a shame to hand over attention to the events that were supposed to deter people from partaking in the performing arts. Saadaan was asked to list problems that this year’s festival faced, terrorism was the first one on the list. “Before recession could hit Pakistan, terrorism did,” he said. So why did the Peerzadas decide to take on the last night of the festival after something as serious as three explosions? The answer is simple — to cancel the show was to let the terrorists win.

Published in Images, Dawn on November 30 2008