December 27th 2007, I was in SriRangam in Tamilnadu. I had accompanied my mother on a temple tour organised by a local relegious organisation. I was really upset that evening. Temple's have become commercial and corrupted, I complained, as we stood in a long non VIP line to get into the sanctum. We eventually gave up and went back since we had to board the train back home.
The next day we arrived at Ernakulam town station and all the mammies were trudging along the platform. Don't let their sagging skin and cute faces fool you. They are as extremist as they come. I had just got up and had a hangover. As we walked out the platform i caught a glimpse of the headlines at the newspaped stand. 'Benazir Bhutto dead'. Events were to follow which would question the integrity of security in Asia. She was blown up by a suicide bomber a few seconds after a futile attempt to pump shells into her head. News channels around the world descended on Pakistan to cover the events.
Fast forward two months. A semi tramp that I am, i found my way back in Delhi looking for work. I started work editing a few pieces on Pakistan sans Benazir for Rohit. He was planning on going into Pakistan to cover the coming elections. If things went well he would take me as the cameraman. Well what do you know, In a week's time I was packing a very compact shooting kit.
Everything happens so fast in life. I wish i had a remote, like the one in the movie 'Click', and pause to take it all in. Sooner than i could say Pakistan, we were on our way to the Wagah border, the last beer posts of India crossed we immediately found ourselves in trouble. You see, the Pakistan rangers are like the toughest guys around in their country, tall, well built and fierce looking. With them around there is not much illegal activity one can do, even if you happen to be an India with a very good intent. Smart ass Rohit decides to slip in the liquour that we were carrying, like we always do, into my backpack. Yeah a mallu would' nt dare smuggle the fine stuff into Pakistan, would he. We got caught, our liquour siezed. But they were kind enough not to call us spies and shoot us down. They promised to give back our bottles when we return to India. So sans the liquid we proceeded onto Lahore.
On the face of it you could compare Lahore to Mumbai, without the population. A cosmopolitan city, it had its share of tall glass covered buildings where men in suits would come to work, driving their mercs and beemers. And probably like every other city in a developing Asian country, it too has enough slums to make Danny Boyle happy. One sight that instantaneously hits you are the women in Pakistan. They are so, ahem, good looking and uh..uh so busty. As i strained my neck to appreciate their beauty (each one of them), Rohit was on the lookout for stories. We went around doing the usual, election rallies, street interviews, peoples opinion, chats with political party bigwigs, etc. The entire worlds media had descended into Lahore, home to most political parties there.
Carrying a gun mike with an XLR out to a wireless transmitter meant that I could put my mind into shooting while Rohit did the sound. It was not great stuff, i never went over the top creatively for news, where one needs to be quick to roll. The low point was when after much follow up, Asif Ali Zardari, the current President of that country, refused us an interview. But hey we got Shavaz Shariff and inputs from Imran Khan. That kept the stories up and running. That night we shed our last bits of energy looking for news and last minute disturbances.
The second day of our stay in Lahore was polling day. The entire city was deserted. We shot some voting booths, security setup, empty streets, etc. By late morning, we got to know of a contestant from a nearby town, who was gunned down by rival party members. As we approached the scene, I began to tremble. There, crashed into a wall, was an SUV, windows blasted off, inside cushions soaked in blood, the floor layered with glass, shells, party flags and blood. But my fear soon turned into courage with the sight of the resilient family members. The mother, wife, siblings and almost anyone who cared, were crying aloud to bring back their fallen loved one. The value of a life is no less across the border. I could not face them if I weren't a cameraman. We did our best and made leave, praying that no more violence happen on this historic day.Soon we were back into the heart of Lahore. We were not getting anywhere so we decided to head to Islamabad. Heading to the nearest Daewoo bus stand, we took an express bus to the capital. These luxury buses are a good choice to get around Pakistan. Frequent refreshments, entertainment and even a sweet girl who helps you around. Rohit was getting to eat a lot, even my share, cause I happenend to be a vegetarian. And if you are a v-e-g-g-i-e then you better bid your happy eating days goodbye when you enter Pakistan. I survived my entire duration in Pakistan eating the odd biscuits, naans and of all the veggies - Brinjal.
Islamabad was much colder than Lahore. Surrounded by mountains meant it had a favorable climate all year round. We were guests to one of Rohit's friends (sorry, cannot name the guy for obvious reasons) and staying with their family was great fun. They had a beautiful home with a nice garden, in the most influential area of the city. Two fun kids, a pet goat and an impatient dog, that kept ME busy. The youngest of the kids would bring in his lego kit and with my help make something really crappy. I hate myself.
The next day, we made our way to the party headquarters of PPP, or Pakistan Peoples Party.
Riding on an emotional wave upon the tragic death of their former leader, the PPP had managed to secure a descent win. So now we were busy trying to get information on the future of the ruling party. That is Rohit's job. I had my hands, or eyes, full of beautiful pakistani women journalists. Oh, they are so commanding, I used to wonder. Once in a while, I used to get a smile or a nod. Just imagine, if I had settled down there with a beautiful Pashtun girl, there would be everlasting peace between India and Pakistan. I guess not. The PPP hq or 'fort' was surrounded by men of all sizes securing it absolutely. They wore black shirts, black pants and a black cap, all with pictures of thier former leader, Benazir. One of them, a thin heavily bearded man, noticed me examining his attire. 'We give up our lives to wear this', he said. I smiled.Driving around town we went to fill in gas, and there it was, in all its glory: Dunkin Donuts. If a radically Americanized fast food chain is any measurement of a countries progress, then Pakistan was sure progressing. Then there were the usual, Mc D's, Pizza this Pizza that, etc. What did I care, as I once again lifted a fist full of grass and stuffed it in my mouth. Islamabad is a rather new city constructed in the latter half of the last century. It is home to many expats and hence you see the brands that come along too. That evening we were at the four seasons to cover the press conference of the Mias - Navaz and Shavaz. The security was tight, but man are their cameramen real sissies. Jostling, pushing, cursing, shouting and the end result is 10 seconds of shaky footage. Me, on the other hand, waited inside and got a front row position. And as the Mia's came along, i got a perfect shot...for over 10 minutes, as those sissies behind me still pushed and shoved. I am just saying. He was there to announce the march he would take next day to the residence of the former Supreme court Chief Justice, Iftikhar Choudhary. That night, Rohit, left with his buddies out to party. I was too tired to follow. The pushing and shoving had gone too far, and i decided to crash early. Between a dog and a goat.
The next day, we were invited to the office of the director of Information and Public broadcaster. A nice lunch awaited us, veggies majority this time. We met an old guy (my mind on the veggies so could'nt remember his name) who happens to be a winning candidate from up in the mountains. >>yeah i will have some more curry please<<>>Man that is the best raita on either side of the border<<. I am sorry, but I could'nt not figure anything out that day with a full belly and all. Many Indian journalists were there, like, Nirupama Subramanian, Vinod Sharma of HT, Rohit and Me. We sure made our country proud by putting food over other important but wasteful topics like politics and development. That evening was the big rally day. It started as a small crowd, of about 100. People whose children were lawyers and now missing. They wanted the government to come in the clear, thats you Musharaf. Standing in front of the yet to be bombed Marriot hotel, they held peace posters and messages of love and harmoney. It was all going well until the lawyers union arrived. Young men dressed in suits shouting abuses at Musharaff joined the peaceful agitation and turned it into an Marilyn Manson like rogue show. With the Chief justice's house just a block away, rocks went flying, barriers were pulled down, spits were spitted until the riot police arrived. Till now the journalists and cameramen were walking with the agitating crowd and suddenly got caught between the lawyers and the riot police. Many cameramen sustained injuries from rocks, spikes and being pushed out of the way. I myself had a heavy guy falling on me, injuring my neck, but soon recovered. I was shooting away all the while. An innocent protest march had turned into a free for all. Rohit was constantly telling me to fall back as the visuals are not as important as a one's own safety. These crowded moments are what suicide bombers never fail to exploit. Even though that sense of danger persisted, I found it fun to be pushed from all sides like a rock fest. As if things could not get any worse, Navaz Shariff came around the corner cozy in his Land cruiser. With only his blow horn visible, he warned Musharaff to immediately reinstate the Chief Justice. Again, I had covered 200 meters from between the riot police to Navaz, where as other cameramen were struggling in the crowd. Being bulky has its benefits. Sometimes.
That night we were back at PPP's HQ for a briefing on the escallating situation and the imminent exit of Mushie. Unfortunately, a faulty microphone meant we could'nt get audio. And since the picture was locked, I had my eyes free to wander about. And how busy they were. Chassing and rolling with three other pairs of eyes. One was of course a young Pakistani journalist, the other seemed to be of Indian origin but was with a foriegn crew, the third was a cuttie from Japan who was there all on her own. Exchanging glances now and then, i guess, we were all distracted. Just Imagine if I had settled there with a Pashtun girl, A Pakistani Punjabi, A Japanese chic and an NRI girl: That would be the recipe for world peace. I hate myself.
Unfortunately, world peace had to wait for now. Cause yours truly had to return back to mother land. We came back to Lahore and an hours drive away, reached Wagah. Collecting our intact liquor bottles, we bid adieu to the last Pakistani soul at the border: A huge Pakistan Ranger. One step across the white line and we were greeted by India's best. A soldier with a smile on his face and a gun hanging from his shoulders. 'Welcome back' he said.
No, There were'nt any beautiful Indian journalist girls to welcome us with heroic praises and garlands. The only people who charged at us were porters and the last beer shop guy, who now happens to be the first beer shop guy. Yes, being in Pakistan was a terrific experience. Something I would cherish for the rest of my life.
