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One technique the AIOU Computer Science department uses to transmit knowledge to the provinces is video conferencing. I decided to try it out Friday morning. I spoke in front of a small local audience and a large monitor that showed in one window an audience in D.G. Kahn and in another an audience in Umerkot, both distant dusty villages in the badlands of Pakistan. All three audiences seemed equally perplexed by my lecture on NetLogo, a computer language that models complex systems as virtual turtles swimming in a virtual pond. Fortunately, a van was waiting outside the door for my planned visit to Lahore, so I was able to make a quick escape before their perplexity turned to rage.
Inside the van I was chagrined to see that my entourage had expanded to six, including my surrogate mother, Atif, the driver, and Amrand, the surly 15 year old son of one of my colleagues. After a very long drive to Lahore we settled into our lodgings, a Spartan but highly adequate dorm for academics. There, two more people added themselves to my posse. One of these, a well-mannered fellow named Imran from the Punjab Computer College, was dressed in a
tailored shirt and tie. There wasn't a drop of sweat on him despite Lahore's baking temperature. Imran had made the arrangements for dinner that night in Lahore's old town.
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Lahore is the cultural center of Pakistan. It was once the capital of the Mughal Empire, then the Sikh Empire, and then the Punjab province under the British Raj. That's the Lahore that first entered my youthful consciousness, the Lahore of Kim, Kipling's most famous novel, which depicts the adventures of a precocious urchin on Lahore's treacherous streets at the height of the Great Game. That's when I added Lahore to my list of places to see. Pakistanis love Lahore. They say you haven't been born until you have been there. Sometimes they become so tongue tied trying to describe the wonderful chaos of Lahore that they sigh and simply say Lahore Lahore hai, Lahore is Lahore.
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When I stepped outside the door of the dorm I noticed some sort of trouble in the parking lot. Next to our waiting van was a police truck. Its red lights were flashing and there were several policemen with automatic rifles standing around. A
drug bust, I thought to myself, those academics and their opium, etc. But I was horrified to learn that they were my escort! I pleaded with Atif and Imran to dismiss them, but they refused. They said it was necessary for my protection. The police truck followed us on the long drive through town. Its lights flashed and its siren wailed the whole time. I felt like I had a huge sign on my back that said "asshole," with a big target painted on it.
We arrived at the walled old town of Lahore, zooming past parking lot attendants and security guards and right onto the pedestrian walkway, where we stepped out of the van and started walking. But the three policemen, now on foot, surrounded me, with rifles drawn. What did they think was going to happen? Were they there to protect me against Taliban kidnappers? It was hard to believe that the Taliban were omniscient enough to know where I'd be dining. Were they there to protect me against thieves? What if they shot some hapless kid trying to pick my pocket? What if they shot Kim? How would I live with that?
I was able
to forgive Imran when he led me up the impossibly narrow stairway of an ancient building to the rooftop of Cuckoo's Den, one of Lahore's most famous restaurants. There, a table overlooking the old city and laden with flowers was waiting for me. I guess I could get used to this VIP stuff.
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The next morning Imran was at my door at 9:00 sharp. He had a special Lahorian breakfast planned for me and the others. I was pleased to learn that Imran had dismissed the escort. Apparently I wasn't the only one in the group who thought that they were too much. But I threw a tiny tantrum when I learned that coffee wasn't part of a Lahorian breakfast. To stop my petulant whining, Imran promised that after breakfast he would take me to Gloria Jean's, the Pakistani equivalent of Starbucks. Breakfast was delicious, but when we arrived at Gloria's, which did resemble Starbucks, and I ordered a brewed coffee, the barista said "coffee short today, only Italian soda." I would have to spend the rest of the day with that filmy neuronal coating that only strong coffee seems to dissolve.
After the Gloria Jean's
fiasco, Imran took us on a tour of Lahore Fort and the Royal Mosque.
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... the single most important thing to understand about patterns both of Muslim history and of Muslim consciousness in South Asia is the tremendous rise of Muslim power up to the seventeenth century, and its steep decline thereafter.
from Pakistan, A Hard Country by Anatol Lieven
The golden age of Muslim power in India was the reign of Shah Jahan (1592 - 1666), fifth emperor of the Mughal Empire. Shah Jahan is best known for the Taj Mahal, a tomb he built for his wife Mumtaz Mahal. He also added the Palace of Mirrors to Lahore Fort. It is said that Mumatz wanted a palace so beautiful that the moon and stars would climb down from the heavens. Accordingly, serene pools reflect the moon and star light, and cleverly placed mirrors in the empress's bedroom multiply the light of a single candle into entire galaxies on the domed roof.
Across from the entrance to Lahore Fort, and separated by beautiful gardens, is the entrance to the Royal Mosque, built by Shah Jahan's successor and next stop on our tour. Until 1986, it was the biggest mosque in the world. To get to the mosque from the entrance we had to walk across a vast courtyard on mats soaked with water to prevent our bare feet from burning on
the scorching stone (no shoes allowed).
As we left the mosque at the end of our tour I noticed that the mood of the entourage had changed. I asked Amrad, our teenager, if he felt proud. His eyes were moist and he said quietly, "Oh yes, very much." The exchange got me to thinking, was the hope of Pakistan the revival of a Muslim empire? And if so, what does it mean to Pakistani's that their country is now on the verge of collapse? What will it be like if and when the American empire descends into permanent disrepair? What will we do with our patriotism, our belief in democracy and capitalism? I think of that moment in Planet of the Apes when Chuck Heston learns that this land ruled by apes was once America.
The next stop on our little tour was the Indian border.
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Before 1947, the glorious history of Muslim rule ... helped make it impossible for Muslims to accept a subordinate position in what they saw as a future Hindu-dominated India.
also from Pakistan, A Hard Country
When I ask Pakistanis what they think of Indians they say that between Pakistani and Indian people there are no problems, only between the governments are there problems. Cynics believe, plausibly, that fears over Indian hegemony are fabricated by
the Pakistani army to help justify the 70% of the national budget that they consume. My friends hasten to add that the story is the same in India. Maybe the two armies are even conspiring with each other.
A visit to the Indian border helped confirm this view. Miles of barbed wire lead up to a pair of massive iron gates, one on the Indian side of the line, the other on the Pakistan side. In a narrow strip of land between the gates flies the Pakistani flag on one pole and the Indian flag on another. Every day at sunset both sides simultaneously bring their flags down in one of the weirdest ceremonies I have ever witnessed.
Grandstands set up on either side of the border are filled with crowds chanting PAK-I-STAN on one side and HIN-DU-STAN on the other. Loudspeakers on either side of the border try to outdo each other by blaring patriotic disco music. The scene reminded me of a soccer match, only without a ball. Again my VIP status meant that special seats had been reserved for me and my group right next to the gate. Finally, to the wild cheers of the
audience, an elite group of Pakistani soldiers wearing absurd-looking hats marched to the gate. Only they marched by kicking their legs over their heads (not exaggerating this time) and bringing them to the ground with a loud stomp. They grimaced, malevolently twirled their mustaches, and shook their fists at their Indian counterparts who were doing the exact same thing.
The gate on either side was flung open. Two Pakistani Special Forces soldiers holding nasty looking weapons square off with two similar guys from India, their hateful glaring eyes separated by mere inches. Of course it took a lot of pomp and time to lower the flags, and during that time there was lots of high kicking and stomping. The bleachers on both sides continued to chant and cheer wildly. When the flags were finally down the leader of the Pakistani guard shook hands with the leader of the Indian guard and the gates were slammed shut.
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Now it's now, the past tense has caught up with the present, time for me to wrap it up. Readers wouldn't believe the number of power outages this poor blog has had to endure in order to get written. After
a country western concert tonight sponsored by the American Embassy I will return to my hotel. Early tomorrow I will begin the long journey home, insha Allah.
P.S. Lots more pictures below. I also have videos but YouTube is blocked in Pakistan.
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Anastasia78
Anastasia78
I absolutely love these blogs from Pakistan
Keep writing! I want more!!