Pleasantly Surprised, In Islamabad By Yoginder Sikand

Islamabad is surely the most well-organised, picturesque and endearing city in all of South Asia. Few Indians would, however, know this, or, if they did, would admit it. After all, the Indian media never highlights anything positive about Pakistan, because for it only “bad” news about the country appears to be considered “newsworthy” That realization hit me as a rude shock the moment I stepped out of the plane and entered Islamabads plush International Airport, easily far more efficient, modern and better maintained than any of its counterparts in India. And right through my week-long stay in the city, I could not help comparing Islamabad favourably with every other South Asian city that I have visited.

That week in Islamabad consisted essentially of a long string of pleasant surprises, for I had expected Islamabad to be everything that the Indian media so uncharitably and erroneously depicts Pakistan as. The immigration counter was staffed by a smart young woman, whose endearing cheerfulness was a refreshing contrast to the grave, somber and unwelcoming looks that one is generally met with at immigration counters across the world that make visitors to a new country feel instantly unwelcome. Outside the airport, Nadeem, a driver sent to pick me up, gave me a warm handshake, and when, shortly after, he learnt that my grandfather was born in his own native Abbotabad, a town not far from the Afghan frontier, he pressed on me a hearty, sweaty hug.

“Bhai Sahib, This is the land of your ancestors!, Nadeem beamed. He insisted that I travel with him to Abbotabad and stay with him in his home and try and search for the house where my grandfather had lived before the Partition. I seriously wished I could, I told him, but the vexing visa regime between India and Pakistan strictly forbids citizens of both countries from stepping out of the cities for which they have been granted permission to visit.

No sooner has the visitor stepped off the plane in Islamabad and drives into the city than he is forced to realize that whatever the Indian media says about Pakistan and its people is basically bogus. No, Pakistan is not a “fundamentalist” country, teetering on the verge of a take-over by “religious radicals. No, Pakistan is not a “prison-house of Muslim women, who are allegedly forced into wearing tent-like burkhas. No, Pakistan is not a “failed state” that produces nothing. Flowing beards and skull-caps are conspicuous by their rarity in Islamabad as are burkhas. Women drive and shop and work in government and private offices. Most basic consumer items are produced within the country. And, as in India, despite government ineptitude and convoluted elite politics, the country survives and is not on the verge of total collapse, contrary to what Indians are made to believe.

The Islamabad Club, where the organizers of the conference I had come to attend had put me up, seems like a relic from colonial times, only that it was built much after the British departed. It is the favourite haunt of Islamabad-based bureaucrats, army officers and landlords, heavily subsidized for their benefit, as in the case of similarly stuffy elite watering holes in India. I would have actually preferred to stay in much more austere surroundings”after all our conference was all about democracy and social justice in South Asia, but I comforted myself with the thought that a bit of luxury for just a few days would not do me major harm.

Islamabad, in some senses, is like Chandigarh: a new, planned, modern city, set up on decidedly Western lines. It was founded in the 1960s when the capital of Pakistan was shifted from Karachi. It straddles the foothills of the Margalla range, which leads on to Kashmir in the north-east and the North-West Frontier Province, near Afghanistan, in the west. It is divided into numerous zones, each having its own markets, schools and other such institutions. The citys roads are fantastically smooth and wide and enclosed by broad grassy banks. Carefully manicured gardens and thickly wooded parks stretch for miles. Cobbled paths lead up to trekking trails in the nearby mountains and enormous bungalows enclosed in private gardens line the streets. The air is remarkably clean and crisp, traffic jams are rare, and one can reach one end of the city from the other within just half an hour.

Since Islamabad is a new city, it boasts no historical monuments worth seeing. Yet, the city has its own share of attractions for the visitor. The massive Pakistan National Monument atop a hill that commands a majestic view of Islamabad is an architectural marvel, and so is the massive Faisal Mosque, one of the largest mosques in Asia, so expansive that it accommodates an entire university in its basement. Equally bold and striking are the Pakistan National Assembly, the Presidents House, the Prime Ministers Secretariat, the Supreme Court and a host of other swank buildings housing government offices that line the main Constitution Avenue. The Rawal lake on the outskirts of the town extends far into the distance till it meets the horizon, and, like the rest of Islamabad, it is clean to the point of appearing thoroughly sanitized, at least to the Indian eye. On the banks of the lake are a number of welcoming restaurants, and a small, whitewashed temple, a testimony to the times when, before the Partition, there was a sizeable Hindu community in the area. Nestled on the other side of the lake is the glamorous Daman-e Koh or “The Lap of the Mountains, a thickly forested valley, and the best way to spend an evening in Islamabad is to drive up there for the icy breeze, a dinner of biryani and an assortment of kababs, a live band singing melancholic Hindi film numbers from the 1960s and a panoramic view of the city below.

The suave and gracious Kamran Lashari, head of the Capital Development Authority (CDA), the body entrusted with developing Islamabad, was our host one night, having invited us to a sumptuous dinner at the fabulous Lake View Park, a large expanse of green located on the banks of a placid lake at the edge of town. I tell him, and I hope he knows I am serious, that Islamabad is the best city I have ever seen in South Asia and remark on how well-managed it is. And so do the other Indians who have also been invited that evening, fellow participants in the conference.

Lashari tells us, and he has every right to beam with pride at this, that till he took over his present position some four years ago, the annual budget of the CDA was a billion rupees, with some eight-tenths of this being funded by the Government and the remainder being self-generated. Today, the CDAs budget has increased twenty-five fold, and the ratios for government and self-generated funds have been reversed. He talks excitedly of his future plans, of the many new architects, designers and construction companies that have come up in Pakistan in recent years and about how he hopes to work with some of them for projects that he has conceived.

For fellow Punjabis like myself, Islamabad feels just like home. Most of the citys inhabitants, as indeed most Pakistanis, are Punjabis, and are essentially no different from fellow Punjabis across the border in India, although, I personally feel, perhaps a shade better looking! And, as an employee of the Indian High Commission in Pakistan, who travelled in the same plane as myself on my return, also a fellow Punjabi, quite rightly remarked, “If you want to learn etiquette, learn it from the Islamabadis.

But then, Islamabad is as representative or otherwise of Pakistan as posh South Delhi or any other similar elite-inhabited part of any other Indian city is of India as a whole. Islamabad is decidedly elitist, the poor, mainly people who work in the homes of the rich and for the CDA, being confined to a few anonymous working class localities in the city or commuting everyday from neighbouring Rawalpindi. As Zaman Khan, a burly, friendly worker in a posh restaurant quipped when we got down to talking about mounting inflation and rapidly expanding socio-economic inequalities in India and Pakistan, “Theres hardly any difference between our two countries. I am sure you have fancy quarters in cities in India that are reserved just for the rich, just as Islamabad has. What difference does it make if the houses and localities of the rich are so beautiful and comfortable? The rich here and in India as well must be equally indifferent to poor people like us.

True enough, and yet another thing of the many things that India and Pakistan have in common. But notwithstanding Zaman Khans astute observation, Islamabad, I must admit, excited me in a special way, and I long to return soon.

Sukhia Sab Sansar Khaye Aur Soye
Dukhia Das Kabir Jagey Aur Roye

The world is 'happy', eating and sleeping
The forlorn Kabir Das is awake and weeping