Channel surfing

If you live in Pakistan, you’re bound to have missed something really exciting. It doesn’t matter if you watch 20 hours of TV a day or read six newspapers every morning, or listen to the radio every waking moment – you can’t keep up with events that run on a 24/7 cycle. Even channel surfing isn’t much help. In fact, it triggers more emotion and self-reflection than when one is actually sitting down and watching something hideous, such as Hamid Mir’s show. Here is a small representative sample of what goes on in the not-so-average man’s head as he cycles through the 80-odd channels that he has at his disposal.

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Apart from the fact that she sounds like a man gargling, Hina Rabbani Khar does not have the necessary credentials to rescue Pakistan’s fledgling international image. A better choice for the job would be Saba Qamar, Khar’s stand-in on the critically acclaimed ‘Hum Sub Umeed Se Hain’. After all, she’s better looking, more eloquent and also more used to saying things she doesn’t necessarily believe in a very convincing manner. Anyone who caught last year’s budget speech knows that when it comes to believing in what she’s saying, Khar is about as convincing as a homeless man trying to sell stale nuts on the side of the road.

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The city of Karachi is like a huge pot of stew. Mommy couldn’t figure out what to make, so she just took all of the leftovers from all meals she had ever had; Bihari Kebabs, Parsi Rice, Mahajir Haleem, Balochi Sajji, Afghani Pulao, Sindhi Biryani, Punjabi Murgh Cholay and Namkeen Pakhtun Karahi; and stuck them in her massive melting pot. This pot has been simmering for some time now, but as with any good handi, the amalgam must be cooked on a naked flame of gunpowder and hate slogans in short bursts before it can be served to the starving members of this fiery family. Side orders include from Public Transport Tikka, preferably burnt to a crisp; Dasti Bum Masala for those who like to live in exciting neighborhoods; and, of course, the perennial favorite, scorched party flag salad.

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This Mathira girl has really got it going on. A TV show, a radio show, magazine spreads, the dodgy photos on the Internet; this girl’s got everything she needs to make it big. And she’s only 27.

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Amy Winehouse died? At the age of 27? Hmmmmm…

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I’m starting to think this Zulfiqar Mirza is actually a pretty stand-up guy. Anyone who has time to go to work after having had an evening with the boys must have a cast-iron stomach and a commitment to the people of his constituency. Seriously, though. Whenever I’m plastered, the last thing I want to be doing is working. But this guy does it so effortlessly and with so much reckless abandon that it’s hard not to look up to him and admire his devil-may-care attitude. He’s got a rank right up there with Jinnah and Edhi as one of the greatest Karachi-ites of all time. Wait, is he even from Karachi?

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At one point, it was the only Pakistani varsity ever to be recognised internationally. Then they discovered that it was all a huge typographical error. But now, the Quaid-e-Azam University has something else to boast about; dirty old men. Over the past few weeks, so many sordid tales of molestation, indecent proposals and forcibly-administered “exams” have been leaking out of the hallways and cafeterias of this sprawling institution that the administration has all but given up on trying to plug these leaks. Instead, QAU is now going to market itself as a rehabilitation centre for frustrated university professors who didn’t get any when they were in college and are now trying to make up for lost time. It’d be almost Byronic if it’s weren’t so moronic.

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Since when have The Jetsons started playing on Coke Studio? The machine-produced sounds, the bleeps, whistles and amazingly life-like chirps of female chorus droids make this season a thoroughly enjoyable experience. But apart from the inimitable Baloch rap icon Akhtar Chanal Zehri, who is the second funkiest Baloch in the world (after my friend, zoye DJ Shehmureed), this year’s artist line up included a lot of Version 2.0s of artists and bands that used to be famous for some odd reason, but now have to come to the Rohail Hayat Centre for Tone-Deaf Musicians and Too-Pretty-To-Sing Choir Girls. At the end of Attaullah’s last song, I half expected to hear Mr Spacely shouting “Jetson!” before the credits rolled and I realised Cartoon Network was a full three channels away. But recycled sound is the music of the future. And at least it’s better than what they’ve got in India, and for my puny Pakistani ego, that’s good enough.