…and the cost of security
A small lizard fell into my soup last night. As I jumped back the lizard with a huge effort flopped out again, leaving a wriggling tail behind. The soup was cold anyway without gas to heat it. As it gurgled down the kitchen sink, the electricity went too.
Our stolid prime minister has declared that Pakistan’s gas and electricity shortage problems will end within six months. It is possible he knows something the rest of us don’t, being something of a gaseous anomaly himself. Or maybe he was referring to an ingenious agreement just entered into with neighbouring Afghanistan.
Under the terms of this agreement Pakistan, itself in the throes of a crippling power shortage, is to develop Afghanistan’s water storage and hydro-electric generation systems on the River Kabul. In a stroke of brilliance it is agreed that any surplus power thus generated is to be re-imported into this country.
There is, however, one glitch: according to a report in this newspaper, most of the water in the River Kabul is fed into it by the River Kunhar, which originates funnily enough in sada apna Chitral. We appear therefore to be grabbing our nose by reaching around the head. Water storage on the River Kabul is also likely to cause water shortage in the River Indus, leading to a further drop in Pakistan’s capacity to produce power itself. This capacity is almost solely reliant on the availability of water which is increasingly scarce as a direct result of the ineptitude and failure of successive governments of Pakistan in providing – you got it – adequate water storage.
Such masterly examples of planning naturally render extrinsic enemy plots quite redundant.
Meantime, this week saw the same stolid and longest self-serving democratically elected prime minister of Pakistan in the courts, on charges of contempt, aided by the inimitable Aitzaz Ahsan.
Jo lawyer bhi hain shaair bhi, dono hi bohat khoob
Long March ka maqta laikin Ahsan ko na bhaya
The prime minister’s appearance in court seems to have been a carefully orchestrated affair. He was escorted by a large coterie of chanting followers in their cars, speaking evidence of his terrific popularity which excused their blocking all traffic for hours. Also accompanying him were several obligatory hysterical security men, bullet proof vehicles, as well as a gunship helicopter which flew over and around the route and Supreme Court building that whole morning. It was most impressive.
The PM, demurely dressed, appeared driving himself and his barrister in a chaste white car. This further evidence of his being the people’s representative must have brought a tear to many a susceptible eye, especially when he began his statement by quoting the pioneer Shaheed Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s line: “Dukhaan di mari jindri aleel hai.’’ He went on to assure the court of his undying devotion to the constitution and the law of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan.
One incongruous detail then: it appears that the license plate on the PM’s car, LRZ 786, once again chosen no doubt with an eye to its devout overtones, did not belong to any car owned by him. It belongs instead to a random citizen, now wandering bemusedly around the streets of Lahore who has no known connection whatsoever to the prime minister or his car. Therein lies a tale, I’m sure, and it is wriggling to be told.
The country and its people now await events following the arrival (or not) of Mr Mansoor Ijaz. Further evidence, if any is required, of our government officials being all on the same page has been provided as ever by the inimitable Mr Rehman Malik who has promised to provide complete security for Mr Ijaz, to the extent of a securing a suite for him on the premises of the Home Ministry. He cannot, however, promise that Mr Ijaz will not be arrested as soon as he sets foot in the country. Was he, maybe, referring to a maximum security cell?
The PM, on the other hand, has said quite firmly that security will not be provided for Mr Ijaz when he visits Pakistan to give evidence in court. It isn’t, he said sternly, as though Mr Ijaz were a viceroy visiting the country. In case anyone failed to understand him he clarified further that security was worth billions, and would therefore not be provided for Mr Ijaz’s person.
Ah, so that must be it then. If security costs billions, that of course is why members of the government down to every tinpot official moves in those perpetual clouds of bullet proof cars, security men, ambulances, and even gunship helicopters, and why the common man of Pakistan, being a citizen of such a poor country, lacks it so utterly.