May is a seminal month in Karachi, an intermediary that hints of the pleasures of a South Asian summer. The searing April heat is omnipresent but in late afternoons you can hear the cuckoo’s song that makes it palatable. Since youth, I have heard the melodious sound and to this day it brings back memories of final exams, the never ending wait for summer vacations, gola ganda (ice cones) and all the other things that made summer the most important season for a child. It truly is the sound of Karachi’s summer, a redoubtable counterpart to the robin’s warble that heralds spring or the cries of the south flying birds that welcome winter. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="540" caption="Photo: File"][/caption] Karachi’s summer weather is deliciously fickle, a courtesan whose coquetry and harsh indifference distracts one to distraction but come sundown she opens her charm first with a zephyr of cool sea breeze and then the loving embrace of the night’s quietude. Sultry days give way to ochre, silky dusks which melt into indigo nights and the moon never looks as kindly as it does then. Summers in those bygone days meant mangoes which always tasted better when unripe and stolen from a neighbour’s house. Of course, the green unripe fruit would, through alchemy, transform into the king of fruits to be gobbled at breakfast with piping hot parathas, eaten for lunch with crumbly baisan ki roti and at dinner as dessert with fresh cream. There would be other homemade mango delights such as ice cream, shakes, squash, pickle, and the Amrohvi filfora- a scrumptious concoction of mango pulp, onions, fresh mint, and chillies which is eaten for lunch with buttered bread. There would be mango parties with buckets of iced mangoes and ample utensils and appetite to go around. We would be as bold with our consumption as our tummies would allow. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="540" caption="Photo: AFP"][/caption] Mangoes were a recurring refrain but no less exciting were the summer sports. The dive in the icy pool marked the beginning of vacations and no week would be complete without a pool foray. Nights would be put to good use with cricket. I played out several Imran Khan exploits in my head only to discover a woeful lack of talent. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="540" caption="Photo: Reuters"][/caption] Nonetheless, the dawn halwa puri breakfast would more than make up for any defeats and soon I was making plans for the next match. If it wasn't outdoor sports then it were indoor games. Carom, scrabble, ludo, and chess were fixtures and helped through the lazy afternoons. Monopoly notes would be hoarded in sweaty palms until they fell apart and card sessions would last hours until the inevitable fights over barely concealed cheating or the yelling from elders to quiet down. Summer meant visiting cousins and spending the night at houses of tired but welcoming relatives and even random acquaintances for no reason. It meant having access to summer delights - video games for instance. It was the season for books with Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl, and Dickens - firm favourites. Comic books would be bought by the dozen and guarded and exchanged with all the earnestness of a Wall Street transaction. Comics would be best enjoyed in solitude or possibly around grandparents since they never asked silly questions about powers and costumes. Load shedding was ubiquitous but generators were still a luxury and the hum of the machines would be replaced by the cries of kids on the roads playing games of baraf pani and tag while the elders talked in the candle light or under the glow of emergency lights. Toddlers would swing in crude but effective dupatta hammocks and fall asleep in the serenity whilst listening to a grandmother’s lullaby. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="540" caption="Photo: AFP"][/caption] The doggone days would pile up, the heat would increase and just when you thought that Dante’s inferno is coming to life, the heavens would open and down out everything in a deluge of warm summer rain. The lashing monsoon would wash away the physical and mental grime, leaving souls weightless and lead to splashing in puddles, water games and much revelry. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="540" caption="Photo: AFP"][/caption] The event to mark it all would be the annual beach picnic. Uncles would plan like war generals; mothers would cook to feed entire battalions and the trumpet call would be planned for very early morning. Year after year the deadline to depart would be set and missed with equal regularity. The waves would beckon like sirens and the entire day would be spent getting brown and blissfully wet. We would return late in the evening, more seal than human, temporarily sated and utterly happy. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="540" caption="Photo: AFP"][/caption] Come August you could hear a dirge - the millions of children lamenting summer’s end. School shopping would start and we would start the academic year finding solace in the knowledge that it may seem like an eternity, but we will eventually be welcoming another Karachi summer! Follow Sibtain on Twitter @sibtain_n

The tennis world is agog at the return of its prodigal son, Rafael Nadal. He's back from a debilitating injury to reignite his rivalry with Roger Federer. Nadal is arguably the greatest clay court player ever, while Federer is one of the gods of the 'Grass Courts Pantheon' along with Pete Sampras, Rod Laver, and Bjorn Borg. Seeing Nadal head into yet another French Open semi-final, I recall the 2008 Wimbledon classic. The epic finale on the grandest of stages in tennis. When Steffi Graf defeated Martina Navratilova to win Wimbledon 1988, the BBC match commentator announced herald-like,

“The queen is dead, the long live the new queen.”

So it has finally happened. A Brit has lifted the silver trophy so ardently desired but so out of reach for his fellow countrymen. Churchill is crowing in his grave, the ravens at the Tower of London are dancing in their flight, General Montgomery may just give that famous half-cocked grin, the statue of Nelson at Trafalgar Square seems to be smiling, the unborn future Prince of Wales gave an almighty kick to his bonneted mummy, and the Blessed Isles of the Romans look to be deserving of their epithet.  Andy Murray, perennial bridesmaid to the Federer, Nadal and Djokovic trinity, has nabbed the big one for himself and laid to rest the ghosts of the Great British Hopes, from Tim Henman to Greg Rusedski. Murray, much like Greg who at the start of his tennis career represented Canada before making the leap across the Atlantic, is not exactly cut from the Union Jack like Henman, and while he is probably happier in the Scottish Highlands than the vales of merry old England, only the meanest curmudgeon would deny the British this sporting achievement. The Brits have developed a reputation of two things, a stiff upper lip and being the best losers in world sport. Even though they can claim heritage in many sports, successes have been few and far in between. Unlike their American and Australian cousins who’s a silverware closet groans under the weight of numerous trophies and medals the British, much like Bart Simpson, are under achievers and proud of it. They are football mad but have one title, a win way back in 1966. They invented cricket and most of the game’s traditions trace back to the sporting greens in various shires from Dover to Cardiff, yet the only world title they have is the 2010 T20 WC, a decidedly second tier tournament. Wimbledon is the world’s premier tennis tournament but for 77 years the crowds there have seen only Germans, Swedes, Americans, Australians Spaniards, etc, lifting the trophy. Seeing the pandemonium for the 2005 Ashes Win or the gold medals at last year’s London Olympics only highlights the fact that the Englishman is starved of two things, the sun and sporting prowess. Until now. It has taken a long time in coming. Every Englishman knows the name of the last champion as they would know the names of the Royal Family members. Fred Perry, that languid sporting genius won three Wimbledon Championships in ’34, ’35 and ’36. He stands ready at the All England Lawn Tennis Club in Wimbledon, bronzed, sinewy and immortalised forever with his wins and his life-size statue. While his sporting prowess got him acclaim throughout the world, it would surprise many to know that he was ostracised in his own time and reviled by the class-conscious establishment. Disillusioned, Perry eventually immigrated to the one place all society misfits used to end up in, the US of A, where he joined the Air Force and flew fighter jets in World War II. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="700"] Andy Murray, in 2013, and Fred Perry, in 1934.
Photo: AFP[/caption] Now, in 2013, the gangly lad from Dunlane, Scotland has taken over from his countryman even though he is, like Fred Perry, something of an outsider who has courted controversy in past for his less than patriotic demeanor towards England. It came to a head when he was asked before the 2006 football World Cup of who he wanted to win. His response, “Anyone but England”, showcases the historic baggage of England and Scotland and that here was a Scot who still hadn’t forgotten the Scottish victories at the battles of Stirling Bridge and Bannockburn. That moment marked the low point of his fractious relationship with the English media and fans. Still, a champion is a champion and Andy has taken on the mantle of being the English poster boy with aplomb. So how did he win Wimbledon? The ingredients were always there for Murray. He had the bullet-like shots, the long reach and the serve and volley game so suited for grass, but always seemed to be on fringes of the winner’s circle. It was not easy competing in an era which boasts the Man with the Perfect Game and an unstoppable dynamo who has won 12 Grand Slams on bad knees and a chronic foot problem. Murray did things incrementally, his appointment of Ivan Lendl was a master stroke and the eight-time champion knew what he wanted out of his temperamental ward. Lendl brought his calm to the play and since working with Ivan, Murray’s Angry Young Man persona has made fewer appearances. The US Open title last year was no fluke, Murray had it coming. He is also a lot fitter and does an annual “boot camp” in Miami in the off-season. His superb fitness was evident in the five set comeback victory against Fernando Verdasco in the quarter finals and the way Andy shrugged off any lingering fatigue from that grueling match.  Murray also won the hearts of fans around the world when he showed his sentimental side in a teary post match interview at last year’s Wimbledon Final. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="620"] Federer consoles Murray after his Wimbledon loss in 2012.
Photo AFP[/caption] His emotional “I am getting there” statement got hearts fluttering and his patriotic credentials were cast in iron when he won Olympic Gold for Britain at the 2012 London Olympics and thrashed Roger Federer in the final, the man who had brought him and England to tears a few months back. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="480"] Andy Murray poses with his gold medal at the end of the men's singles tennis tournament of the London 2012 Olympic Games. Photo: AFP[/caption] Now he stands apart from the also-rans and has his name inscribed in gold letters in the honors roll at Wimbledon. The joy of the nation is a sight to be seen and they now have a genuine, dyed in the wool champion. Honors will flow in, a knighthood (he already has an OBE), endorsements, perhaps even a road or two named after him. Toasts will be raised to him and we may see a scowling Andy statue at Murray Hill. Elton John will write a ballad and for a few days the English will forget about the Beckhams and the ovarian lottery winner due in a few months. But nothing will capture the moment of his win in the world’s premier tournament, the thundering applause and the non-stop shouts of “Come on Andy!” They say the English summer is three events, the Lord’s test, Royal Ascot and Wimbledon. This year the summer is complete. Read more by Sibtain here.

Come the sighting of the moon and my inbox, cell phone and social media feed is inundated with greetings of ‘Ramadan Kareem Mubarak’. It’s a common phenomenon and I am not the only one to experience this but it does make me think.

What has happened in the past couple of decades that we have made the shift from Urdu words to decidedly Arabic ones?

So we had been mispronouncing these words all these centuries. ‘Yes’, is the prompt response I receive along with a lecture about how better things are now.

Hendon Cemetery, London NW7 on Holder’s Hill Road is a serene space with the usual poignancy and hush that accompanies cemeteries. There, tucked away among other graves is a simple tomb with a black headstone. “786”, the numerical translation of Bismillah is etched along with this touching epitaph:

“In the loving memory of Nazia Hassan. Loving daughter, sister and mother. Beloved and cherished by millions of people. Died in her youth, August 13, 2000.”

“She is about to die”, he said.

Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very Heaven!

Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds Along the pebbled shore of memory!

 “She set - well ahead of its time - the personal album trend in India, spawning the likes of Alisha Chinai, Lucky Ali and Shweta Shetty,” it noted.

“Panchee, nadiya, pawan kay jhokay, Koi sarhad na inhay rokay, Sarhad insaanon kay liye hai, Socho tum nay aur mainay kya paya insan hokay ” - Javed Akhtar (Birds, streams, the flowing breeze No border can stop them Borders were made for mankind Just think,  what did you and I get for being human?)

“Saray jahan se acha, Hindustan hamara” (Better than the world, Is our Hindustan)

The Karachi Parsi Institute lies in the heart of old Karachi. It is hallowed ground, a place where history was made some fifty-four years back. On a sultry Karachi afternoon with a few thousand spectators in attendance, Hanif Mohammad crossed Sir Donald Bradman to record the then-highest first class score of 499, a record which stood for thirty-five years. The swaying trees witnessed much but nothing more precious than that nugget.   It was there, in the KPI Cricket ground where I raised the question of who is the greatest ever Pakistani batsman. In the ensuing debate the names of Zaheer, Majid, Inzamam, Anwar, Yousuf and Asif Iqbal came up as the best batsmen for Pakistan. Disagreements abounded, but eventually everyone agreed on two names between which we must decide, names which represent the different eras of Pakistan cricket: Hanif Mohammad and Javed Miandad. Irresistible force versus immovable object' The two greatest batsmen from Pakistan and indeed all-time greats were not quite cut from the same cloth. Prodigiously gifted and precocious, the one thing they had in common was the dogged pursuit of success and an endless appetite for runs. Hanif was the gentleman of the old school who went about his business with quiet resolve and the temperament of a Himalayan glacier. Immovable, resolute, impregnable. It could be his upbringing in the serene surroundings of pre-partition Junagadh and the uncountable hours of practice on his bungalow’s terrace that gave Hanif his immense powers of concentration. Javed learned his cricket in the rough-and-tumble world of road cricket and honed his game to become a street fighter in cricketing whites. His abrasive comebacks, panther-like running, swooping upon the cricket ball and tenacity in adversity spoke volumes about the way the game is played in innumerable streets of Pakistan. A mustachioed maharaja, he lorded over the opposition and in his pomp gave no quarter nor expected any. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="350"] Pakistani Cricketer Hanif Mohammad. PHOTO: Cricinfo[/caption] Vanguard of the willow-wielders Statistics bewilder and confound. AH Kardar’s “find of the decade”, Javed had a century at debut, the youngest player at the time to do so. He soon became the youngest batsman to score a double, a record held by George Headley for 47 years. Although not from the classical mold, he had all shots in the book and then some. His aggregate of 8,832 Test runs is a Pakistani record. His 23 centuries and 43 fifties were national records, until broken by Inzamamul Haq. His Test batting average never dropped below 50 and 52.57 is highest for Pakistani batsmen, as are his six double centuries. Javed was instrumental in many of the greatest moments of Pakistan cricket. Test wins in England and India in ‘87, drawn series in West Indies in ’88, World Cup ’92, all bear the stamp of Javed's flashing blade. Then there is the small matter of the last ball six in Sharjah. The innings was a symphony of brutal hits and deft touches and ushered in an era of Pakistani domination over India until Misbah’s miscue in the 2007 World T20. Iftikhar Ahmed’s words “1 ball left, four runs required, …and it’s a six!” are seared upon an entire generation of cricket fans and many reprise it in fantasies. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Dennis Lillee and Javed Miandad clash. PHOTO: Cricinfo[/caption] Man of crisis But if Javed was a master class in snatching victory from the jaws, nay the very innards of crushing defeat, Hanif was a maestro of the rear guard action that would make King Leonidas proud. One of the most exciting things in Tests is a team fighting to save a test match. Think Akmal and Razzaq in Mohali 2006, Brett Lee and McGrath in Old Trafford in 2005 Ashes or Faf Du Plessis’ back-to-the-wall innings against Australia in Adelaide and you realize that a team fighting for survival makes for frightfully compelling cricket. In Bridgetown, Barbados, 1958 Pakistan faced a deficit of 473 runs with over three and a half days of the match to go. Let those numbers sink in. Run your thoughts over the mountain of runs, an eternity to play, searing heat, uncovered pitches, foreign conditions, moving ball, a fast ball attack to rival any, no limit to bouncers and minimal protective gear. In this crisis to end all crisis cometh the man who was to break several records over the next 16 hours and 39 minutes of flinty batting. Legend says that a man perched on a palm tree fell down, broke his leg, had it put in a cast and came back to the ground only to watch Hanif bat on and on. He also broke the record for longest innings and runs scored. Hanif’s record making vigil was only a part of his exploits. In the Lord's Test of 1967, Pakistan were in familiar self-destructive territory at 99 for six in reply to England's first innings 369 when Hanif entrenched himself for nine hours and only ended his stay at 187 when he ran out of partners while single-handedly dragging Pakistan to 354. The writing was on the wall when he announced himself in Pakistan’s very first Test with a 195 minute 20 to draw the match. His first Test century came in a relatively spry nine hours and in Pakistan’s first test against Australia he made 104 and 93 to save his team from certain defeat. In those early days, with no live TV coverage and the barest of media exposure, he seemed like a demi-god hewn out of granite who could face up to the lumbering titans hurling lightning bolts at him all day long. Indeed, when Bradman met him after his exploits in Australia he expected a giant of a man and was pleasantly surprised to see a diminutive genius with a similar physique. Bradman promptly named him ‘Little Master’ and though there have been a few who have been given that appellation, the 5 feet 6 inch wall of unyielding mind and flesh deserves it the most. In by a whisker In the end it comes down to similarities. Both were named Wisden Cricketer of the year, Hanif in 1968 and Javed in 1982. Both are among the four Pakistanis who have been inducted in the ICC’s Hall of Fame. They played for Karachi and had a testy relationship with their captains. Their batting styles and on field aura may have differed, but both had the same fiery competitive spirit and a never-say-die attitude. Many a cricketing fan would want them both in their dream team for with Hanif you couldn’t lose a match and with Javed you knew you would win. My vote goes to Hanif purely because of the lack of support he had in his time. Javed had the pantheon of Pakistan batting in his corner, artists such as Majid, Zaheer, Asif Iqbal, Wasim Raja to back upon. Hanif, was often the last man on the burning deck and all the remained between Pakistan and ignoble defeat.

It has been the year of comebacks so far; Justin Timberlake and our own prime minister would attest to that. There are fewer sights more exhilarating than a stirring rise of someone written off. Such a sight was found at Flushing Meadows in the last US Open final, as Rafael Nadal wrote another winning chapter in what is becoming a saga of the finest kind.  Nadal, while battling weak knees and a congenital foot condition, added another US Open crown to his collection, bringing his tally to 13 grand slams. He now stands just one behind Pete ‘Pistol’ Sampras and well ahead of legends such as Bjorn Borg, Rod Laver and Ivan Lendl. When I started watching tennis, players like Boris Becker and Stephan Edberg ruled the roost. A blonde American named Andre Agassi was bringing in his own style of glam tennis and soon became a favourite. It boggles the mind that Nadal, at 27, is streets ahead of these players in terms of titles and career wins. Two men stand before him. Sampras, at 14 grand slam titles, will soon be a speck in the rear view mirror. Nadal can play on for a few more years and Roland Garros (French Open) is his personal fiefdom. It can be safely assumed that he will pass Sampras swiftly. However, the bigger challenge still stands for Nadal — the 17 grand slams won by Roger Federer. There was a time when such thoughts would not even be considered, let alone uttered. Federer’s fans, and a passionate bunch they are, have been lighting candles and sticks since he won a string of Wimbledon Championships. The Swiss has a voracious appetite, and hapless prey such as Leyton Hewitt and Andy Roddick were joyously chewed, gulped and digested by him. However, one needs to examine the evidence. Federer is not the greatest player of all time; he is not even the greatest player of his generation. He happens to have a silken game, and watching him play is akin to watching a ballet, albeit a mechanically saccharine one. He has lorded over the grass courts as few have or ever will, and his career grand slam proves that he can compete, though not dominate, on all surfaces. His clay court game is good enough to win him a French Open, something Sampras, for all his prodigious skill, could never come close to, but the caveat is that Federer did not beat Nadal to win his solitary French Open crown. Federer dominated the first half of the past decade. He barely broke a sweat against the likes of Marat Safin and Mark Philippoussis. Federer won twelve titles from the years 2003 to 2007. The next five came in 6 years, 2008-2013, what many call the “golden era” of tennis. We can narrow the numbers even more. Federer won 15 Grand Slams in the past decade. However, he has won only two since 2010. A big cause of this slowdown is Rafael Nadal. Federer has faced Nadal across the net 31 times, with Nadal winning more than twice the times Federer won. Of these 31 match ups, eight have been in Grand Slam finals, and Nadal vanquished him on six occasions, one of them being that Wimbledon final in 2008. Then there is the small matter of the Davis Cup, a tournament that has its own prestige. Rafa has won the Davis Cup 4 times, Federer none. Rafa has a record breaking 26 Masters Titles, Federer 21. Nadal has also taken gold for the singles tournament at the Olympics, Federer’s best is silver. Rafa is five years younger and seems indestructible, bad knees or not, while Federer slips into wretched decline. Nadal’s winning percentage at 88.14% is superior to anyone of his era and went on to a whopping 98.33% at the French Open. For those who discount Nadal wins as being clay heavy, they should remember that almost half of Federer’s wins are from grass. The argument is facetious in any case; tennis is tennis, whether played on clay or grass. Those who clamour to call Federer the “Great of All Time” seem to forget that the doubles game is also part of the sport, in which Federer has little significance. Comparing players from different eras is always tricky. Borg played against legends like John McEnroe and Jimmy Connors and retired at 26 with 11 Grand Slam Titles. He won 41% of the Grand Slam tournaments he entered, when playing single. His excellence was not limited to any surface and out of the 735 matches Borg played, he won 608 of them — a winning percentage of 82.72%. Tennis fans should realise that there is more to the game than Grand Slam Tennis. Meanwhile, Nadal pounds on. His winning record is superior against every player in the top 25, including the members of the Big Four and the evidence is quickly accumulating. Federer  is a great tennis player and has his own place in tennis history, but is he the Greatest of All Time? Hardly.

Getting stuck in Karachi’s downtown traffic jam in the month of June is never pleasant and that jam was a brute. After an hour in the searing heat and the never ending snarl of cars, bikes and rickshaws I was on the verge of a breakdown when from the car radio came Zubaida Khanum’s lilting voice. The song was ‘Masti mein jhoom jhoom re’ from Noor Jehan’s classic ‘Koel’ and I was transported from the inferno to an idyll-like place because of the mellifluous song. The song, much like much of Zubaida Apa’s work, represented so much. It harked back to the golden age of Pakistani movies and great playback singing. It was a time when beautiful voices and vastly talented composers came together in a confluence of magical melody. Singers like her and the legendary Noor Jehan ruled the radio airwaves and many of the elderly I spoke to, recalled being glued to their transistor radio hoping to catch a tune. The song also reminded me of my youth when Pakistani classics were aired regularly on Pakistani channels and we would stay up till late to watch them. Then bleary eyed, we would go to the market the very next day to buy cassettes that would be played in stereos until they fell apart. We were only following the previous generation who would watch these movies, listen to Zubaida Khanum’s siren-like voice and then make a beeline to the nearest music store to buy an LP disc. The more adventurous ones would head to a fancy establishment offering cabaret or live entertainment where her hit songs would be either sung or performed to. When the news of her recent demise was reported it seemed another thread to the memories of bygone days, of many people’s youth, snapped and Pakistan had lost one of its greatest singers. Zubaida Khanum who passed away recently at age 78 in Lahore was not from a family of musicians. Her family left Amritsar and after partition, and fortunately for music lovers, settled in Lahore. Zubaida Apa was passionate about singing and pursued her passion to the fullest. Her first foray in the film world was the 1951 hit ‘Billoo’ and she achieved stardom through her rapturously received songs in ‘Shehri Babu’. Her melodious voice and Rashid Attres’ music composition set the stage for a truly memorable career in playback singing. What followed then was a veritable feast for the senses with her songs coming thick and fast. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x166o6d_zubaida-khanum-profile_news[/embed] ‘Kaise kahoun mein alvida’ and ‘Balam tum haar gaye jeeta mera pyar’  from the 1956 smash hit ‘Baghi’ lit up the music world and gave voice to millions of lovelorn voices. The movie featured actors Sudhir and Musarrat Nazir and was directed by Ashfaq Malik. It was also the first movie in Pakistan that had songs by music director Rehman Verma, whose nous combined with Zubaida Khanum’s voice to produce instant classics. 1959 was the year in which director Khurshid Anwar came out with cult classic ‘Koel’ and although most of the songs were by Noor Jehan, Zubaida Khanum was able to hold her own with the two gems ‘Masti mein jhoom jhoom re’ and ‘Ho dil jala na dil wale’. The songs were mostly filmed leading actresses such as Musarrat Nazir and Sabiha, and for millions represented the language of love and courtship. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x121ff0_zubaida-khanum-dil-jala-na-dilwale-koel-urdu-hd-high_shortfilms[/embed] Many a family elder recall these songs being sung as dedications at various functions in hopes of a returned favour. Some still carry those hopes. Others expressed a fervent desire to arrange a musical evening dedicated to Zubaida Khanum songs, in an attempt to relive her glory days and their own which in many ways were tied to her songs. One such song is ‘Aaye mausam rangeelay suhane’ from the 1957 movie ‘Saath Lakh’ which is the mainstay of every wedding ‘ratjagah’ in my family. The event takes place shortly before the wedding and the entire night is spent in singing classic film songs by Mohammad Rafi, Noor Jehan and many other Pakistani and Indian singers. ‘Aaye Mausam’ was in fact the first Zubaida Khanum song I heard as a child and the ladies of the house take great pride and joy in singing it en masse. In fact, it is usually the grand finale of the night and the last notes end just before the start of the call to morning prayers. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x78iz2_aaye-mausam-rangeele-suhane-pakista_music?search_algo=2[/embed] Zubaida Khanum sang with a maestro’s skill and carried the tunes with aplomb whether it is a sprightly ‘Mera nishana dekhe zamana’  or a soulful ‘Kiya hua dil pe sitam’ . Like all great artists her repertoire extended to well beyond one aspect and she lent her voice to Punjabi songs as well as folk tunes. There is the naat or paean ‘Shaahe-e-Madina’  which is sung at the milads and religious events, not just in my family or community but in millions of homes around the world. The naat was first sung by Zubaida Khanum and though has been reprised by many others, it has yet to be sung with the same passion and skill as when Zubaida Apa performed it. Through her songs, she is an integral part of our joys and precious moments as I imagine she would have wanted to become. The transient world may have lost her charming presence but the interminable world of music is still bright with her songs and always will be.

Regarding India-Pakistan relations, Sir Walter Scott in his poem “Lochinvar” captured it the best: “Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide” Replace the river Solway with Indus or Ganges and one gets an idea of the ebb and flow of India-Pakistan relations. I first learnt of it through the most obvious of sources, Indian movies. We were watching a cliché with the usual “dushman mulk sazish” storyline when came the long advertisements and movie reviews that would be a permanent feature of the video cassettes. This was sometime after the Babri Mosque incident and relations between the two states were crumbling. Among the various real estate adverts and “geet malas” was a message from leading Indian actors who were promising to come to Pakistan soon for a peace performance. Among those were Amjad Khan, Aamir Khan, Sri Devi and various others. That in many ways represented the dichotomy of India-Pakistan relations, love and hate both meted out in portions and their adherents depending on which school of thought you belong to. This is not to deny the real feelings of mutual belonging denizens on both sides. In a previous article, I had written about the commonalities between the two countries, the hopes and desires people feel for enduring peace between India and Pakistan. These feelings have been beautifully captured in the latest Google advertisement that seeks to tune into them. [embed width="620"] http://vimeo.com/79286715[/embed] The three minute and a half minute video is titled “Reunion” and seeks to show how the search engine is good enough to traverse time, space and fraught political relations to bring two long-lost friends together. The ad is based on a series on poignant scenes and shows revolving around the friendship of two boys, Baldev and Yusuf, who were separated at partition. It then goes on to explains how the two friends are brought together by their grandchildren who use Google searches to first track down the clues given by their grandfathers in reminiscing sessions. The granddaughter gets in touch with the grandson on the Pakistani side who then trawls Google to find out about visa procedures and eventually leads his grandfather to his Indian friend to end in an emotional reunion in India. The video which aired a few days back went viral on social media and the internet in general. It has notched up more than two million hits on YouTube alone since it was posted on Thursday, November 14, and has thousands of Facebook shares, comments and likes. People have been moved to tears and have posted emotive messages on Google’s official Facebook page about renewed hopes for improved relations between the two neighbours. Among them is this comment by Akshaya Aradhya,

“Google brought nations together in three minutes and 32 seconds. The politicians of both countries couldn’t do this in 66 years.”

“Wonderful campaign highlighting all the similarities and shared experiences instead of the differences”.

“I am a Pakistani. And I love India. Peace.”

Another bomb blast; another attack on the Shia community. The blast in Ancholi, Federal B Area was so loud that my windows shook and the children woke up even though I live miles away. I shudder to think what must have happened to those near its epicentre. I have walked in those streets, bought things from the stores now destroyed, spoken to the residents in years past and played cricket with one of the dead victims. Now it has been reduced to rubble and dust, and become another statistic in the growing litany of acts of violence against a besieged minority. The true measure of a nation in many ways is how it treats its minorities and those it is meant to protect. It is fair to say that Pakistan has completely failed in this respect. The Shia community have been the target of persecution and even outright genocide. According to reports, some 5, 000 people have been killed in sectarian violence in the last two decades with the majority of them being Shias. More than 700 Shia Hazaras have been killed since 2001. In 2012 alone, more than a hundred members of the Hazara community, out of a total of over 400 Shias, were targeted in various acts of sectarian violence. Many of these were dragged off buses en masse and killed while on pilgrimages to Shia holy sites in Iran. Pakistan has never been the bastion of communal rights that its founder, Mohammad Ali Jinnah, had wished it to be. He unequivocally expressed this desire in his speech before the Constituent Assembly of Pakistan on August 11, 1947. Jinnah himself was a Khoja Shia who married a Parsi lady from one of Bombay’s most modern families and whose sister led a very public life. His speech and the utter disregard shown to it by Pakistan’s politicians after Jinnah’s death are well documented. What baffles most people is how it came to this? How could a country betray the vision laid out by its creator so quickly? The dream of communal harmony and benevolent secularism received the first blow on March 12, 1949 in the Objectives Resolution – a mere six months after the death of Jinnah and less than two years since the speech of August 11. The resolution was then incorporated into the constitution of the country and changed the nature of the country to an Islamist state in which the head of State could only be a Muslim, setting the nation on a slippery slope which becomes steeper every year. The rest of course, was done by the 1977 coup, funding of jihadi groups, use of hardliners as ‘strategic assets’, and capitulation of the state. There is no doubt that Islam was founded in a multi-ethnic and religiously diverse society and from the very beginning men and women of other faiths played a role in Islamic history. Neither the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), nor his followers practiced the form of persecution carried out by bigots in his name today. Later examples of peaceful treaties and co-existence with minorities in the area around Madina and Makkah, only confirm the belief that genocide and forced conversions were never promoted in the Islamic faith. The Quran makes it clear that there is no compulsion in religion and Muslims must co-exist with followers of other religions. In fact, throughout most of history, Islamic kingdoms have had a better record of minority rights than their counterparts in Europe and other places. When the Jews were being persecuted in Europe and being labelled as the killers of Christ, it was the Muslim Kingdom of Granada in Spain that gave them refuge. After Salahuddin Ayyubi, better known as Saladin, conquered Jerusalem in 1187, he allowed the Jews who had been forced out by the Crusaders to re-settle in the city. William Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice revealed the bigotry of the European society. In it, Shylock, a Jewish money lender is despised by the profligate Venetians that borrow heavily from him. He makes an impassioned speech in the first scene of the third act, in which he questions the persecution of his fellow Jews:

“I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, do we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.”

Southern trees bear strange fruit

Blood on the leaves

Blood at the root

Pastoral scene of the gallant south

The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth

Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck

For the rain to gather

For the wind to suck

For the sun to rot

For the tree to drop

Here is a strange and bitter crop

Omar Khayyam’s words ring in my ears today as the world bids its last farewell to Nelson Mandela,

“Lo! Some we loved, the loveliest and best that time and fate of all their vintage prest, Have drunk their cup a round or two before, and one by one crept silently to rest.”

On a recent trip to Karachi’s Hawks Bay beach, I was taking a walk and thinking about the past year. There were some highs and lows, both on a personal level and for the country. In all respects it has been an extraordinary year. The country went through a massive election and witnessed a peaceful change of guard in the political spheres. It also saw the meteoric rise and then farcical irrelevance of a major political party while another came to terms with an ever changing post-election scenario. There were pockets of good news followed by disheartening reports of attacks, economic issues amid promises of a utopian Pakistan by the powers that be. There were personal highs and lows too, snippets of happy news juxtaposed by moments of deep grief brought about by national events and deaths of young family members. In the middle of my reverie, I chanced upon an astrologer. Wild and unkempt in a Kiplingesque way, he yelled that he was a true fakir, a follower of Bulleh Shah and could see that I need help. Surrounded in a mist of acrid smoke from a sputtering fire and what seemed like home-made cheroots, playing an ‘ektara’ with a few stray dogs for company and perched on the decaying patio of a derelict beach house, he looked every inch like an avatar of the Delphic oracle. Promising to open the doors to the future he got up and did a little shimmy to prove his ‘spiritual’ credentials. The man was obviously a charlatan but his sing-song plea and notions of grandeur pricked my curiosity and I agreed for to let him tell me my future but more importantly reveal the mysteries for the country. Our “sabzi” team will continue to frustrate and bewilder...

“Baba, tell me about the vagaries of the one unifying force in Pakistan; the Pakistan cricket team.” “My son that is a very difficult question. You see even the stars themselves cannot comprehend the workings of something so complex and I need an offering to coax the spirits to yield their knowledge.”

“The green team will continue to frustrate and bewilder…”

“My son I was saying sabzi, the sabzi team will be as inconsistent as the prices of the tomatoes and onions, sky high one day and lower than a politician’s morals the other day. Young players will make their mark only to be swept aside and occasional brilliance of a bearded one which will mask his overwhelming and frequent failures. The dunce, no don’t interrupt, I don’t mean professor, I do mean dunce. He will still be around blocking the way to success and the aged one will play on and on till the sea turns to salt and the Almighty ends it all.”

“Ah you want to know about power. Well there are new faces in the corridors of power, different ones wearing stars and robes, and living in the white palace. Much is expected but beware, the more things change the more they remain the same. However, there is expected peace across the eastern border. The estranged brothers will unite and we shall have a great coming together of voices for the coming reunion. Many will oppose this, yes many who rely on hate and prejudice to earn their way, but the voices of the people shall prevail and we shall soon revel in what joins us, rather than waste time on what keeps us apart.”

 “My son you do test the spirits. Yes bright words from the powerful are marred by dark nights and there is little succor for the people. Seeds of hope are being laid by the young, the bright and honest. There is work being done with neighbours both who look like us and the yellow ones, and I am hopeful that with this new found peace with our old friends, and new, we will be able to see the seeds flower into fruitful trees. There are those who are trying to harness the very waters, the riches in the ground and the forces of creation to create power but it remains to be seen whether the disruptive forces will let this go through. I can promise you that cooling your home in summer and warming it in winter will be much more expensive than before and the lines of people around those gas things will get longer than the river indus. The ones who deal in blood and death will continue to do so as long as there is confusion about the means of tackling them. Those who can are dithering will cause the most harm and certain forces will refuse to even label them as killers and disrupters of God’s peace. Until one gets justice for the weakest and everyone is allowed to live their life there will be unending strife. My son, a great thinker once said that a nation can live without religion but cannot survive without justice and tolerance.”

 “There is some good news there. New institutions are coming up and many old ones are opening doors to unexplored realms of knowledge. We were under the impression that studying one area in isolation is best but true knowledge and prosperity comes from the understanding of how it all interconnects. I know of at least one such centre of knowledge that is starting next year and the makers are friends of the nation and have a name to go along with that. Meanwhile our students at the junior level will continue to astound all with their achievements. I pray for a day in which they stay here and work towards a better Pakistan. Perhaps the winds of change in education will sway their sails and anchor their boats on our shores while others also look to cross the seas to flock back to the motherland.”

“Your life is inseparable from the life of the people and the nation. You will prosper if the nation prospers, your hopes and wishes are intertwined with the prayers of the multitudes and even though you will face success and failure it will not be in isolation. You will find love, riches, fame and fortune but it is like this dust if it does not make you a better person. Yes there are challenges but they are not insurmountable and remember that each day and each year carries its own hope. And remember, love others and stay generous.”

Ek baat asaan naal hans ker jee

Tusi dil wich merey wasdey-o

Aywein sathoon door kion nasdey-o

Naaley ghaat jadoo dil khasdey-o

Bas ker jee hun bas ker jee

(Talk to me with a smile

You live in my heart

And yet you beguile me

I am charmed with your name on my lip

You try as usual and give me a slip

Enough is enough)

“Unsullied! Forward march!”

“March where?”

“Tum mujhay wahan dhoond rahay thay aur main tumhara yahan intezar kar raha tha.” (You were looking for me over there and I was waiting for you here.)

“The old wolf had to, winter is coming.”

“Thwarting you has never been my ambition, although who doesn’t like to see his friends fail now and then?”

“The House that puts family first will always win over the house that puts the whims of sons and daughters first.”

“Chaos isn’t a pit, it’s a ladder; the rest are illusions, only the ladder is real.”

“Every time we eliminate an enemy we create two more.”

“A Naqvi always pays his debts…”

The waiter picked up my Naan. He saw my quizzical expression and said,

“It’s not hot anymore. I am getting you a fresh one.”

“In the 1950s, the newly migrated people were looking for dishes that were famous in Delhi and the shopkeepers of that time not only adapted the names and reproduced recipes of Delhi’s traditional fare but also decided to include the name Delhi while naming their shops to conjure an effect,” said Abbas Raza, an elderly resident of Burns Road.

The Karachi Literature Festival inaugurated in 2010 and in five years has become the leading cultural event in Pakistan. A literary spectacle. I throng in with an assortment of school children, aging grandfathers and what seem to be ramp models only to run into four journalists lounging at a table and discussing media studies at a local university. The conversation is stimulating but my eye catches a glimpse of a well-known writer. A quick chat and she’s surrounded by eager little fans. Another breezes past and announces that she is moderating a book launch and needs to meet the guest, a budding novelist. A famous television actor is coming out of a session and we talk briefly about his work. He is gracious but the conversion is interrupted by officious paparazzi. At lunch, I offer my samosa to a Booker prize finalist, except he wants a chicken tikka. Would I? Who wouldn’t? And all this in the space of an hour. It’s heady, it’s scintillating, it’s the Karachi Literature Festival (KLF). [embed width="620"]http://vimeo.com/80966770[/embed] The Beach Luxury Hotel in Karachi, Pakistan is a quiet place. During the day one can often hear the rustling leaves as they blow across the parking area. Set in an unfrequented nook of the teeming megalopolis, it is usually the setting for exclusive weddings and parties. However, for three days in the year, it undergoes a metamorphosis. The venue for KLF causes the nightly festivities to be replaced with witty quotes and lyrical verses, and the crowds come in by thousands in to sample the intellectual offerings. The KLF provides an opportunity to showcase Pakistan as a country rich in culture and creativity and is a reflection of the country’s historical roots as expressed in a multiplicity of languages and in various forms of writing with past and contemporary context. Taking advantage of interest in writing from and about Pakistan, the festival also seeks to broaden the picture and counter-balance the negative depiction of society in Pakistan by celebrating the diversity and dynamism of this society. As organiser Ms Ameena Saiyid said,

“The aim of the Karachi Literature Festival is to promote and project Pakistan writers and to get people reading. The author, the poet, the playwright, the biographer have a great contribution to make to our society and we are organising this festival to honour our writers, raise their profile and bring them closer to their readers.”

“I am encouraging her to read and buy as many books as she wants.”

“You are so lucky. Toronto is freezing right now and all you can do is hole up.”

“Just try and keep me away”

“OK! I will admit, I am seriously, seriously jealous.”

They don’t come bigger than this. No. When you talk of sporting rivalries what comes to mind? Australia Wallabies and New Zealand All Blacks in rugby? Ashes? Brazil and Argentina in football? None of them compare to this one. The India-Pakistan cricket rivalry puts them all in the shade with its background of four wars, numerous skirmishes, disputed borders and nuclear weapons. From 1951 when the first India-Pakistan Test match took place to their last match in the ICC Champions trophy, every series, every tournament, every moment of every match has been a saga of raw emotion and unbridled passion. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xkmi5i_not-just-a-cricket-match-it-s-a-war-of-india-vs-pakistan-in-semi-final_sport[/embed] The India-Pakistan match on Sunday, March 2, may not be a do-or-die but it would be facile to assume that they will not come hard at each other. Today, we will look at some of the memorable matches played between these two countries in cricket World Cups. March 4, 1992 The ‘92 World Cup (WC) had many firsts. Coloured clothing made an immediate impression and Duck-Worth Lewis showed how administrators can make a disgusting hash of even the most flavoursome ingredients. The WC was also the first one to feature an India-Pakistan match which, oddly enough, had not been played in the ‘77, ‘79, ‘83, and ‘87 editions. The format meant that every team would play the other in the round robin stage and the two reignited the rivalry at the Sydney Cricket Ground. India won the toss and batted first to post 216 for the loss of six wickets. Man of the Match, Sachin Tendulkar, still in his teens, made a fighting half century against a bowling attack that included Wasim Akram, Aaqib Javed, Mushtaq Ahmed and an aging but effective Imran Khan. The match was reduced to 49 overs due to a rain delay and Pakistan, still not in their ‘cornered tiger’ mode slumped to 173 all out in spite of a fighting 64 by Aamir Sohail. The match had no bearings on the end result and is remembered more for the kangaroo jumping incident featuring India’s wicketkeeper Kiran More and the ever-irascible antagonist, Javed Miandad. More appealed for a run out against Miandad (who was well in) and in his enthusiasm started jumping like a jack rabbit. Safely in, Miandad made a mockery of the appeal and did his own high jumps which would have made LeBron James proud. Pakistan recovered from the loss to win the World Cup while India crashed out before the semis, which may have prompted more than one person to ask More to try for India’s Olympic high jump team. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x15ndda_pakisatan-winning-moments-world-cup-1992_sport[/embed] March 9, 1996 Just over four years later, the two teams met again in a World Cup match in the 1996 Quarter-final. It was a knock out and the stakes could not have been higher. Pakistan had played well in the group stage with the only loss against hot favourites, South Africa. The M Chinnaswamy Stadium, in Bangalore, was packed to the rafters with 40,000 screaming fans. India won the toss and keeping in mind Pakistan’s poor record in chasing batted first. Not for the first time against Pakistan, Navjot Sidhu played an exceptional innings and fell just seven shy from an outstanding century against what many described as the best bowling attack in the world.  Captain Wasim Akram controversially sat out but the attack was still potent with Waqar Younis, Aaqib and Mushtaq going strong and aided by Aamir’s spin. Pakistan, in spite of Sidhu’s inning, seemed to be on course to restrict India to a manageable score. At the crucial stage, Ajay Jadeja decided to play the innings of his life and took the bowling by the scruff. He made 45 off 25 balls. India scored 57 runs in the final four overs, including 22 off a Waqar over. In fact, Waqar and Javed both gave 67 in their ten overs, an abysmal bowling performance that enabled India to post a difficult 287. Pakistan started in style, with Saeed Anwar smack in the middle of a purple patch with Aamir at their belligerent best, Pakistan at the ten over mark were steaming along at 84 for no loss. Then disaster struck. Venkatesh Prasad was being hammered by Aamir who, infamously, gestured to the bowler that he can bowl anywhere and the ball will still get to the boundary. Prasad came back with a comeback that has gone in the annals of history, a riposte so good that it did away with the gesturing for good. Aamir clean bowled the very next bowl. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xfsvzu_india-vs-pakistan-1996-world-cup-quarter-final_shortfilms[/embed] [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xq4rd8_video-venkatesh-prasad-vs-aamir-sohail-1996-world-cup-quarter-final-at-bangalore-cricket-fan-s-posts_sport[/embed] Chastened and under pressure, Pakistan wilted away and 113 for two soon became 248 all out. The match was Javed’s last and Pakistan had lost their second successive match to India in a World Cup. June 8, 1999 Pakistan played India in a Super Six match at Old Trafford in the ’99 World Cup. Was third time going to be lucky? It certainly seemed so. Pakistan was in unfamiliar territory of being the tournament favourites. A star studded batting line and a bowling attack that boasted Wasim, Waqar and Saqlain Mushtaq gave hopes to getting their hands on the World Cup silver. The latter was counted among the most dangerous ODI bowlers in the world, his doosra, and the then called ‘mystery delivery’ was almost unplayable by batsmen unused to the change in spin. Leading to the World Cup, Pakistan had beaten India in the Asian Test Championship and the Coca Cola cup in Sharjah, UAE. They had also swept Australia in the round robin stage and seemed to be peaking at the right time. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xq5r4y_pakistan-vs-india-1999-sharjah-final-youtube_sport[/embed] India was a dour side, their bowling, led by medium pacers and batting featuring Sachin, M Azhrauddin and a still-developing Rahul Dravid, was hardly the unstoppable run making machine it is now. India won the toss and batted first. They struggled against the formidable attack, floundering to a seemingly sub-par 227. Pakistan batted deep with Wasim at number nine and with Saeed Anwar, Shahid Afridi, Ijaz Ahmed, Saleem Malik and Inzamamul Haq in the team, it should have been over with minimal fuss. It was. Pakistan sunk to 180, with none of the star batsmen crossing 50, the highest being Inzi’s 41. Venkatesh bowling medium pacers on a good length took five for 27 and with it ensured that Pakistan would have to wait another four years to get the chance to improve their World Cup record against India. March 1, 2003 SuperSport Park in Centurion, South Africa was the venue for the third encounter in a World Cup. Post the Kargil skirmish, the two teams had not played for a long time and the match was billed as the one to watch for. Tickets were sold out hours after being posted and the capacity crowd was a sea of blue and green. Pakistan won the toss and, faster than you can say ‘collapse’, opted to bat first. Saeed held the innings together with a century but no one really stood out. Inzi was having a torrid tournament and was run-out while the others got starts only to lose their head and wicket. Pakistan made 273, a competitive score in most cases, but India was in dominant form and there was an ominous feeling that their phalanx of stroke makers would romp to the target easily. Still, Pakistan had Wasim, Waqar and the world’s fastest bowler, one Shoaib Akhtar. Shoaib was in his pomp and the Pakistan fans half hoped he would derail the blue train. Sachin had other ideas and murdered the bowling attack and any thoughts of a Pakistan win were swiftly dashed. His 98 for 75 balls was a savage assault that had the men in green cringing and awestruck, and Shoaib was put firmly in his place. Sachin fell short of the winning target, his wicket celebrated across the land but it was far too late and Rahul and Yuvraj Singh guided the team to victory in the most unflustered manner. Pakistan did not clear the first round, a performance that ended Wasim’s career and left the country now wondering when the World Cup bogey would end. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x3gkp3_india-vs-pakistan-cricket-world-cup_sport[/embed] March 30, 2011 Pakistan and India did not play each other in the 2007 World Cup, both exiting in the early stages. The 2011 edition was being held in the sub-continent and much had changed. Pakistan was a cricket pariah, ostracised in the spot fixing scandal and shorn of their right to host international matches because of the attack on the Sri Lankan cricket team in Lahore in 2009. The dynamics of the sport had changed. India was a powerhouse, flushed from the success of the IPL and their dominant power in the cricket world. The Indian cricket team, led by the unflappable MS Dhoni, was strong and billed as tournament favourites. Pakistan, on the other hand, was seen as the dark horse, the underdogs who may just pull it off and Captain Shahid Afridi was reining high as the leading leg spinner in the world. Shahid promised a tough fight and Pakistan’s demolition of the Windies in the quarters gave life to hitherto dead expectations. The match at the Punjab Cricket Association Stadium in Mohali, Chandigarh was the most celebrated sporting event of 2011. Tickets were not to be had for love or money. Prime Minister Yousuf Raza Gilani was invited by the Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh to watch the proceedings. The Government of Pakistan declared a national holiday and almost one and a half billion people sat glued to their televisions to watch the drama unfold. India won the toss and batted first, reaching 260, courtesy of an 84 by Sachin who was given more lives than a cat by the Pakistani fielders. Pakistan started in what has become their usual style, slow, cumbersome and devoid of a plan. They made heavy work of a gettable target and when Shahid was caught by Virender Sehwag off Harbhajan Singh, it snuffed any lingering hopes. The match is also remembered for Misbah’s stonewalling which gave him the derogatory epithet of ‘tuk tuk’ and to this day, leaves some Pakistan cricket fans foaming with rage. To rub salt into deep wounds, India went on to crush Sri Lanka in the final and claim their second World Cup. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xjd2aa_india-vs-pakistan-2nd-semi-final_news[/embed] India once again look strong, their batting line-up capable of chasing just about anything. Pakistan is typically Pakistan, fine bowling, poor batting. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1811cu_magic-movements-of-pakistan-v-india_sport[/embed] Who will win? Jury’s out on this one. [poll id="326"]

So, we now have a women-only bus service. That makes sense. Given the piddling issues of mass unemployment, insecurity, a weak economy and the energy crisis, one can understand the government’s obsession with its favourite pastime – separation of the sexes. I can even imagine the conversation that must have transpired. Imagine this – a huge room dripping with opulence and accompanied with the usual smell of flop sweat that hangs in bureaucratic offices. Seated around the teak wood table are leading strategists, clad in crisp white shalwar kameez and shining pates. On the throne-like chair sits the head honcho, marked by the starchiest suit with a dome that shines like the moonlit pool of Shalimar Garden. The scintillating discussion must have gone something like this:

Minion 1: “Sir, we have some serious issues to discuss. It’s best if we finish the samosas and move on with them.” Minion 2: “The major issue is the delay in tea.” Minion 1: “Yes, but I am talking about electricity, insecurity and of course, the dushman mulk ki saazish (conspiracy of the enemy state).” Minion 3: “This is useless stuff. What we should be concerned about is public transport. Specifically, the boring buses we have. We need a morale booster that delights voters, gives them a sense of security and resolves the issue of eve-teasing.” Minion 4: “But we don’t have the budget for an awareness drive or the time for proper law enforcement. The budget is all gone in that youth festival and the kabaddi tournament. My constituents demand instant action!”

Head Honcho: “Look here minions… I mean ministers. We can resolve all these issues with a single move. Roll out a women-only bus service. The female voters will be happy and it will be just the kind of populist move that will keep the masses occupied.” Minion 1: “That’s perfect boss! We can paint it pink. My wife loves that colour so I assume that’s what all women want. But what happens before the women get on the bus or after they get off?” Head Honcho: “That is beyond the scope of our jurisprudence.” Minion 2: “You mean jurisdiction boss?”

“Same thing!”

“It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s a giant flamingo.”

“This could be the start of a beautiful traffic jam.”

Today is Holi, the festival of colours. Today, Hindus bedeck themselves in the colours of life and love and many other communities join in to mark the start of spring. Alas, the only colour adorning Pakistan is black and red. Our Hindu brethren in the streets of Larkana should be celebrating this auspicious festival. Instead, they hide in their houses, afraid for their safety and worried about reprisals from a community that should be their protectors. Once again, the spectre of bigotry and hatred has raised its head in what is becoming a far too frequent pattern. Once again, we are left wondering about the empty symbols of equality, the white strip in our flag and the all but the forgotten speech of our founder which he made on August 11, 1947 and promised freedom of worship and equality for all citizens of Pakistan. What is the issue here? The desecration of the holy book or the inherent intolerance for those of another religion that has permeated society? If the pages of the holy book are damaged by one person, is that a license to burn down temples and places of worship? Is pillage and gross retribution a tenet taught by Islam? It is not; however, there are those who have strayed too far from the ideas of equality and tolerance that Islam preaches. The 2012 killing in Florida of Trayvon Martin, a black youth, highlighted the ignorance of a few but it was the strong response of the government which showcased the rights given to all members of a society. President Barack Obama himself paid his respects, even as the news caused a national outrage in the United States and dominated the presidential race taking place at that time. That is the litmus test of minority rights, the reaction of the state and the public at large to an ugly incident. Has there been a similar response to the forced conversions of Hindus and Christian girls, the desecration of non-Muslim places of worship, and the everyday cases of persecution that occur in Pakistan? Sadly, the answer has always been a few innocuous statements by the elected officials, empty promises and then ignominious silence by state institutions. Pakistan’s case is tragic, considering the important role the Hindu community has played in the creation and, later, development of the country. The nation’s first law minister, Jogendra Nath Mandal, was a Hindu who was also nominated by Muhammad Ali Jinnah as one of the four Muslim league nominees in the interim government of joint India in 1946. Mandal was one of the founding fathers of Pakistan and supported the creation of Pakistan, him being the principle reason the idea of Pakistan got the support of the Scheduled Castes. After partition, he became the chairman of the Constituent Assembly of Pakistan and joined the first cabinet in Pakistan as the Minister of Law and Labour. He was dismayed at the passing of the Objectives Resolution and when the lower-caste Hindus were killed in East Bengal, he saw his vision of a secular Pakistan die with them. He left for India and resigned from his position, never to see the country he had laboured endlessly to help create. Other non-Muslims too played critical roles. SP Singha, speaker of the Punjab Assembly when the resolution for Pakistan was moved, proved instrumental in rallying Christian members to vote for Pakistan, which eventually was passed with the majority of just three votes. History would have been different had he not been there. Samuel Martin Burke was the magistrate of the Election Petition Commission of Punjab in 1945 and he moved 16 petitions in favour of the Muslim League, in the face of much opposition from the Indian National Congress, Maulana Maudoodi of the Jamaat-e-Islami (JI) and Sir Sikander Hayat, who had wanted a United India. Also, standing for Pakistan included BL Rulia Ram, Bhim Sen Sachar and others who fought and won this country for us. These people are amongst the many who shared Jinnah’s dreams, lived and died for Pakistan and left their homes in India, only in the belief of a new and tolerant country. There are war heroes who have accepted death as readily as any of their Muslim brethren. Christian, Hindu and Parsi soldiers have fought and died as recently as 2008, in the military operation in Swat. These are also Pakistanis, people who have worked for this country and call it their home. These are our friends and neighbours, school teachers and nurses. We laugh with them, partake in their joys and mourn their tragedies. They form part of the tapestry of Pakistan; a tapestry which is in danger of being shorn of the diversity, passion and patriotism that they add so readily to it. We stand with them to remind them and more importantly that the true measure of a nation is how it treats those whom it is meant to safeguard. If we don’t protect their rights, their places of worship, their homes and livelihoods, then we have lost the soul of our country. That is an eternal loss which I refuse to accept.

Every year, from around April to the beginning of June, I go on a hiatus from cricket. This includes shunning every cricket website and sports channel with the zeal of a politician shunning honest work and disabling the Cricinfo app on my phone and tablet. At social gatherings and at work I religiously avoid conversations pertaining to cricket and if someone directs a cricket-related comment at me, I start to extol the virtues of the insect rather than the sport. This leaves the company rather befuddled considering that for the rest of the 46 weeks in the year, cricket is a regular fixture and a much loved, read, watched and listened-to topic of mine. This has been the case for the past few years and the reason for my sudden metamorphosis can be explained in one word, or rather one acronym - IPL. The IPL, or in its full form the Indian Premier League, started off in 2008 and is now in its seventh year. The history of the tournament is complex and Machiavellian. T20 cricket is much loved now and has become almost synonymous with India but it started as a filler and, like the 50 overs and 10 overs game, was begat in England. The English and Wales Cricket Board used to host the Benson and Hedges Cup which ended in 2002 and needed another one-day competition to fill its place. The cricketing authorities were looking to boost the game’s popularity with the younger generation in response to dwindling crowds and reduced sponsorship. It was intended to deliver fast-paced, exciting cricket accessible to thousands of fans who were put off by the longer versions of the game and T20 cricket was invented. The overseas cricketers playing in various counties picked up the game and by 2005 there was enough interest to start international games. The first match was on February 17, 2005 when Australia defeated New Zealand by 44 runs at Eden Park in Auckland. India was late to the party and did not play an international T20 till December 1, 2006. In fact, the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) took a rather dim view of the proceedings including the 2007 T20 World Cup which was derided by one BCCI official starchily asked that if there were 10 over matches will they have a world cup on that too? Of course, all this was before Misbahul Haq played that shot in the final and changed the face of world cricket. A world cup win and India was awash with love for T20 cricket. A media company setup the Indian Cricket League which promised to take away revenue from BCCI who promptly banned it and started the IPL in 2008. Thus, in a span of a few months, India went from T20 sceptics to standard bearers and now, we have a yearly tournament that for all the colour and glamour is at its core a sporting take on the Lucky Irani Circus. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x17ukbu_last-over-of-t20-final-wc-2007_sport[/embed] The IPL has so far seen umpteen sixes and close games but also scandals and charges of spot fixing and corruption. For the past few months, headlines in newspapers about IPL results have juxtaposed next to ones announcing the latest investigation into its sordid workings. The previous head of the BCCI, Narayanaswami Srinivasan, was removed from his post due to charges of illegal betting in IPL matches and his son-in-law is currently in jail for the same. The man behind the IPL, the once-mighty Lalit Modi, was fired in 2010 over ‘alleged acts of individual misdemeanours’ and was officially barred from participating in the affairs of the Board, the IPL and any other committee of the BCCI. The IPL has also faced sexual harassment accusations from cheer leaders and three franchises Deccan Chargers, Pune Warriors and Kochi Tuskers, have been taken off the roster for mismanaging their affairs. Cricketers have been charged with fixing and one of the main concerns for hosting the first leg of current instalment in UAE was the fear that there will be more match fixing and illegal betting. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1asoem_no-cheerleaders-in-ipl-7_sport[/embed] One could argue that cricket itself is besmirched with charges of corruption. Be that as it may, cricket is, or at least used to be, governed by a set of rules that were agreed upon by members of the ICC. The BCCI first forced IPL into the international calendar and then on the basis of immense financial strength went to change the system itself. As the juggernaut rolls on, we see things like the ‘Big Three’ and new-fangled power constructs, all which will eventually kill off the golden goose, the fan base that keeps the ball rolling. These issues could be tolerated, if not condoned, if it were not for the inanity of it all. How many times can you enjoy the sight of a batsman pummelling a hapless bowler on a pancake pitch that shines like a mirror under lights to the accompaniment of cacophonous music? The fact is that the IPL offers nothing but shoddy cricket and no self-aware cricketer could fool himself into thinking that it is anything but a self-pleasuring exercise. Compare it to the Kerry Packer’s World Series Cricket (WSC) and you will see the difference. WSC had the best players from across the world compete against each other in a series of fierce contests of test and limited overs cricket. It was a great learning experience and several cricketers including Imran Khan have made statements about how it helped them hone their skills. It was also a great innovator and gave the cricketing world coloured clothing, night cricket and improved the players’ employment conditions. IPL adds nothing fresh and the only thing it can be credited with are inflated bank accounts and egos. The last point is crucial. Players perform well in the IPL and build up their reputations only to see them fail on the international arena. Naturally, when international players go against local ones they do well, a classic case being the IPL’s marquee star Chris Gayle. In the IPL, his batting average stands at a Bradmanesque 48.93 but drops to 32.6 in international matches. Take recent performances and the difference becomes even starker. Since 2013, Gayle has played 11 international games with one half century and scored at an average of 23 even as he decimates all and sundry from April to June. The case of other players is even more obvious. Kieron Pollard looms large over the IPL but has all but disappeared from the international scene and never could live up to his reputation. In terms of teams, there is also no correlation between exposure to the IPL and international performances. Since the start of international T20 matches, India, the host country and chief beneficiary, has played 52 international matches with a winning rate of 59.80 per cent. One would expect that a country with dozens of players getting yearly IPL experience would be dominating the sport but the result is actually worse, albeit marginally, than Pakistan’s which has played 82 matches, most not even on home turf, and has a winning rate of 60.97 per cent in spite of having its players locked out of the IPL since 2010. Pakistan’s case is unique as there are glaring inconsistencies. Pakistanis can be coaches, commentators, studio analysts, and umpires. The only thing they cannot do is play unless they have dual British citizenship. So the conclusion is that IPL does nothing for development of skills or the game itself except fill the coffers of a few and provide mundane and mindless distraction for some. The organisers have no appreciation of the nuances, finesse and tradition associated with the beautiful game. Sixes used to be celebrations of power, a mind game for the batsmen and a foray into the other team’s fort. After five hundred of them does anyone even notice? Does anyone really care where Delhi Daredevils beat Hyderabad Sun Risers? Quick, who won the 2012 IPL trophy or was player of the tournament? The long pause says it all. Business thrives in the subcontinent because of the appeals of spectacle, not sport. IPL is just that – a mind-boggling spectacle dressed up in cricketing gear. And even in this garb, it is at best a cheap Bollywood extravaganza and at worst a soap opera of flailing men and gyrating females. With the latter, one at least has the comfort that it will at last end in a happily ever after. Seeing the IPL trudging along with the pace of a snail crawling on molasses it seems my cricket exile will force me into the arms another sport. Tennis anyone?