by Shobhaa De
An old Pakistani cabbie in New York went ridiculously out of his way to help us en route to the JFK International airport at peak hour. When I gratefully whispered, ‘Shukriya ji… we'll always remember your kindness,’ he had tears in his eyes while saying, ‘Khuda hafiz’.
If this is happening in such a simple, uncomplicated and real way—what is the ‘animosity’ the leaders keep talking about? ‘You are being naïve… too trusting,’ I'm told by ‘Those Who Know’. They add, ‘The wounds are deep… besides, look at what's happening all over the world. Pakistan is no better than a rogue state—a cradle for terrorists.’ Students, in particular, seem polarized, even brain-washed. During my last trip to Karachi, which is frequently referred to as ‘The Poor Man's Mumbai’, I saw more young girls sporting headscarves than I remembered from my earlier visit to Lahore. ‘It is true,’ said a friend. ‘Young people are furious about what happened post 9/ 11. They hate the discriminatory attitude of the Western world. They deeply resent racial-stereotyping or profiling, when they are singled out at international airports for strip-searching and close questioning. This is their way of hitting back. It's defiance, nothing else. They want to assert their identity as Muslims. It is a reaction.’
A young journo, in low-rise jeans, spoke passionately to me during an extensive interview shot in one of Karachi's gracious homes. She was chain-smoking throughout and talking too much. I put it down to youthful bravado. What's loosely described as ‘attitude’ on parade. I wanted to say, ‘Calm down, girl… it's okay.’ But she wasn't really listening. Armed with an American degree in mass comm., she was out to revolutionize journalism in her country. She knew what she was up against, but was determined to soldier on. Before leaving, she hastily pulled on the discarded headscarf. ‘Don't want to be seen without it—you never know,’ she winked. Mixed signals everywhere. So… was she wearing it under duress? Or was it defiance?
I was keen to visit the famous dargah perched on the seashore. ‘Are you confident? Certain you want to go?’ my nervous hosts asked before sending a well-muscled gunman gunman with me. ‘It's a highly dangerous area full of druggies and transvestites. They can get aggressive,’ the lady of the house cautioned. I was gone, before her sentence ended. Nothing happened. The gunman maintained a watchful eye, but from a distance. Yes, there were druggies and transvestites and they were aggressive. But, hey—I've lived in Bombay/Mumbai most of my life. This was a piece of cake! I got back an hour later to find relieved faces greeting my reappearance. ‘We've had a really nasty burglary recently. We rarely leave our compound these days. Karachi has become unsafe and violent,’ a beautiful begum informed me in dulcet tones, as she dealt with a shawl-seller displaying the most exquisite pashminas and shahtooshes. Shahtoosh shawls on sale? ‘This is Pakistan. We just say these are Afghan shawls, and everybody looks the other way!’
At a genteel dinner party, talk revolves around booze. It's an obsessive interest in this ‘dry’ country. Wealthy people hoard fine wines, whiskies and cognacs with immense care. It's the ultimate snob-trick to offer a rare single malt to a guest. Exquisite food, great hospitality and gorgeous women all add to an evening that's nothing less than splendid. Everybody is exaggeratedly polite, as conversation remains stuck in Bollywood gossip and fashion designers from Delhi. Nobody gets into tricky terrain. Musharraf's name is rarely dropped, and the general impression given is one of controlled lunacy, with everybody in denial. The rich live in la-la land. They have the money to maintain fabulous homes in London, New York, wherever.Their children study overseas (‘Naturally! There are hardly any good schools or colleges left in Pakistan.’), and they import brides from India and Dubai (‘Your young girls—oof! Such style! Mashallah! We have a long way to go, compared to you.’). Deep-rooted envy surfaces periodically, but is swiftly checked. My outspoken interview on TV finds countless takers… I know our thinking is parallel. But our lives are lived so very differently.
We go with our local friends to trendy bistros and sip fruit juice. There are oblique references to ‘the situation’, but a total avoidance of specifics. Perhaps, it's better this way. As we leave for home on a PIA flight, I feel like singing, ‘Yeh dosti…. Kabhi nahi bhulengey… Hari Om! Inshallah!’
*
Chinese on top of us, Pakis to the left of us. And now Bangladeshis, here, there and everywhere, pretending to be friendly Bongs from Kolkata. Oh, I forgot the Sri Lankans and our buddies in Nepal. All in all, India is gherao-ed by distinctly unfriendly neighbours sending out bad vibes. Hindi Chini bhai bhai sounds as corny a slogan today as it was fake back then. God knows what Nehru was thinking when he clasped Chou En Lai to his bosom (well, almost!). Soon after that lovely little bhai bhai bonhomie, China attacked India. And the equation has never been the same again. We can't (mustn't!) trust the Chinese. Just as they will never trust us. It is mutual. And it is inevitable. Though, when one thinks about it, if the Tiger mated with the Dragon, the world's DNA would alter irrevocably.
Military might remains the only real might, regardless of what intellectuals believe. Together, China and India would be simply unbeatable—and the world knows as much. We ought to be natural allies, as co-Asians. It's an obvious alignment. For centuries, Chinese scholars came to India and went back to their land with tales of glory and riches. Philosophers, thinkers and travellers wrote glowing treatises on their experiences in Hindustan. Buddhism became India's most important export as millions of believers embraced its simple tenets. Despite this strong and inspiring foundation, the relationship between these two giants remained adversarial at best. We continue to compete instead of collaborating. This is short-sighted and far from smart. We could dominate world markets, if we combined forces.
But that's hardly likely. As things stand, there is frost in the air, and little else. At a formal luncheon hosted by the governor of Maharashtra in his palatial Raj Bhavan, I found myself seated next to the Chinese ambassador—yes, the same diplomat who'd cheekily staked China's claim to Arunachal Pradesh. He reeled off impressive statistics as to how many Indian companies were operating out of China. He also told me about the number of Chinese companies officially in India.
On the surface, he was polite and attentive. But the curtness and arrogance were definitely there, right under the carefully camouflaged surface. Sharp, articulate and urbane, he is the face of new China. Gone are the drab Mao suits, replaced by sharply-cut Western versions. Never mind the horror stories that emerge periodically from behind the Bamboo Curtain. China is keen to prove its progressiveness via spiffy methods that bear little connection to the old ways of getting things done. Chou and Mao have had their day. The Beijing Olympics are a clever construct to prove to the watching world that China is kosher. China rocks. Chances are, the Chinese will pull off the most spectacular Olympics in the long history of the games. It's all about scale and ambition. They got it— and the're din to flaunt it.
The Chinese have learned to flog anything and everything, in the best (worst?) capitalist spirit. ‘Gucci’ could well be the most recognized name in China going by the prodigious number of Gucci fakes floating around. It's as if no other brand exists—or is worth faking. At every street corner in Shanghai, Beijing, even Xian, eager-faced Chinese counterfeiters resemble peculiar windmills as they flay over-laden arms bearing ten Gucci ‘originals’ each! The prices are shockingly low (Rs 200 for a smashing, hard-to-tell-from-the-original replica). Frankly, I was sorely tempted. It wasn't an ethical/moral dilemma at all. But the knowledge that the recipients (my daughters!) would hoot with derision and refuse to carry Chinese fakes, deterred me.
I shamelessly went ahead and acquired a wallet (Fendi-fake) and shades (Louis Vuitton) from a huge supermarket across our hotel. There was nothing clandestine about this operation. The entire basement was one gigantic fakes heaven. Accessories, shoes, bags, belts, anything that could be duplicated—was! Those goods were freely displayed in licensed shops—just like in India! There we go again, I thought, as I scanned the racks for stuff that
didn't look too obviously ersatz. I ended up buying a bright red suitcase which was vouched for by the enthusiastic salesgirl (‘St-ll-oongg! Velly, velly stllong’). It came apart on its next voyage and had to be thrown away. But, what the hell. I had fun buying a st-llong, ‘led’-coloured suitcase for 300 rupees! Nothing is designed to last in China—except, of course, the Great Wall.
As I self-consciously wheeled it across an eight-lane road back to the hotel, the friendly doorman Ismail greeted me jauntily. Dressed deceptively to resemble a Sikh (complete with a turban), he responded cheerfully to my Sat Sri Akal, on my arrival. Turned out, Ismail was a Bombay Muslim who'd left his hometown twenty-eight years ago to work as a doorman in Beijing. No complaints, he stated. The tips were good. And had he no problems impersonating a Sardar? He grinned, ‘Ki pharak penda, madamji?’ Like most other things in China, Ismail, too, was a fake! A ‘Gucci’ Sardar!
*
Back in Hong Kong, and later, in Bangkok, my heart refused to soar. I'd keep nudging my husband to hiss, ‘Look at their airports. See the signage. It's so easy to get around. There are enough chairs to rest tired backsides. Clean loos. No stench. Efficient staff. Mercedes/BMW taxis. Why can't we have the same?’ This was my lament throughout the trip.
Come on… one can argue that it's possible to achieve the impossible in China. After all, if a team of engineers falters, they can be taken to a quiet place and shot! No exaggeration. Cowering property developers are ordered to keep the lights on late into the night in all those hundreds of unoccupied apartments. ‘They must look like people are living here,’ one guide let on innocently. ‘Who pays for the electricity? The state or the developer?’ I asked. The guide hastily changed the subject and asked whether we were looking for ‘Cheap cheap electronic items. Use and discard.’ Everything is dispensable. Even lives. Human rights issues? How much? Come again? Freedom is such an alien concept in China, nobody bothers, for nobody knows! If a stubborn dweller refuses to vacate a plot earmarked for ‘development’, no problem. He is forcibly evicted and told to get lost. Entire neighbourhoods have been ‘cleared’ overnight by demolition squads to make way for ‘improvements’! The average resident lives in abject fear of waking up one morning to find the blood-red (and very dreaded) symbol for ‘Demolition’ (or Death?) painted on the building. Democracy is an outlandish idea, even to the young. The brain-washing is so thorough and total, it's impossible to have a normal conversation with anyone.
Our young guide, almost the same age as one of our daughters, widened her eyes when she overheard our conversation with Arundhati, who was in California at the time. ‘You have allowed her to travel alone?’ she asked in wonderment. It was an unthinkable dream for her. With most Internet sites successfully blocked, and only government-controlled media to disseminate ‘news’, the Chinese accept diktats and blatant un truths about the world. Worse, about themselves! They have zero idea what's happening beyond their backyard. It is only foreign residents of five-star hotels who have access to CNN and BBC. Books, magazines, movies… nearly every known form of modern entertainment/communication is banned. But massage parlours flourish, à la Thailand. Though, in China, you get to keep your clothes on, even as heavily made-up nubile ladies clamber all over your body to reach those parts that need the most relaxation!
Easy money
An economy based on brazenly fudged numbers cannot sustain the charade for more than a few years. China pulled off a ‘positioning’ coup of sorts with its tall stories of financial success. For a while, the world was fooled into believing that China was all set to wipe the floor with zillions in cash reserves and an economy that was galloping past its main rival—America—at a pace that was breathless. Most statistics were generated by the canny Chinese bosses themselves. Given the lack of access, these figures were hard to contest, and to all appearances, were accurate—till the bhaanda got broken by analysts who screamed ‘Fraud’.
China is scrambling frantically to regain lost ground, but that's going to be tough, given the wary reactions from the investors who'd flocked there hoping to make a major killing, while the dollar floundered and took a serious beating in world markets. it looks like the Chinese Dream run is over, which is bad news, coming before its first official outing (Beijing Olympics 2008). No matter how strenuously the spin-masters work on creating new brand equity. Miss China was crowned Miss World, what do you know? While the lovely lass, Zhang Zilin, waved her delicate hand to acknowledge cheers from the crowd, she didn't forget to spout the propagandist lines about the forthcoming Olympics! So much for mind control! Even beauty pageant winners aren't spared. The indoctrination is thorough and complete! The timing of Zilin's win was significant—and no coincidence. All those wins come with strategic tie-ups in place. Remember when Indian girls kept winning international titles, year after year? What happened? Dozens of luxury brands, cosmetic products and related consumerware found a ready (and huge) base in India. The same will happen in China—the floodgates have been thrown open. L'Oréal, Lancôme, La Prairie and others—rejoice! Chinese chicks will buy the lot— hand creams, face creams, butt creams. Chinese women will all want to be Zhang Zilin.
Opiate of the masses
Is this the best way for the West to strike back? Maybe. Corrupt the youth of China. Use Levi's like opium. Drug the kids with brands. And then see what happens to the Proletariant Dream. I met a European power broker, the day Zilin won her crown. He was exhultant as he discussed the enormous commercial potential of dumping Western products in the 1.3 billion-strong Chinese market. He was boastful and sneering in his assessment. I laughed silently at his pomposity. The Chinese are by far the shrewdest people in the universe. This is their time. They have waited for it over decades of being treated badly. The man snorted at my mild argument and said, ‘I was with the top Politburo members last week. Let me tell you, the Chinese are not obsessed by India the way India is obsessed by China.’ I wanted to reply, ‘You arrogant idiot! Like those sharks are going to reveal their obsession to you.’ We in Asia are masters at playing ‘Inscrutable’, when it suits us. Right now, the Chinese want to fix America and they'll do so using economic stealth to destabilize US markets. The Chinese have a one-point programme at present: to dominate the world. In order to achieve this objective, they have to first dominate America. The story of Chinese sub-standard goods being rejected by the West is a story of wishful thinking. But also, it is a story of how incredibly cunning the Chinese are. We talk of attractive investment opportunities in China and compare the returns with what India offers. The major difference lies in comparative transparancy. Doors do not open in China unless an investor joins a local coterie. It used to be the same in India twenty years ago when the Licence Raj held us back from surging ahead. Fortunately a few smart politicians woke up to the shortsightedness of such an approach and scrapped those killer speed-breakers to progress.
Beijing can stage a phenomenal Olympics and outdazzle Sydney (Australia is one country that brilliantly used the Games to reposition its international image) but it's likely to be all dikhaawa, as we say. Indians tend to borrow heavily while staging impressive weddings. Behind the grand show, the story is one of debt and little else. Neighbours know the truth but turn up to selfishly enjoy themselves at the banquet.
The Chinese will put up a spectacular show, no doubt. But what happens after the last athlete flies off? We'll find out soon enough! More importantly, how'll the Chinese youth go back to their ‘No news is good news’ existence once they discover the big, bad world outside—first-hand? No matter how closely they are watched by the secret police, they will meet and talk to the visitors from across the world. What then? Will they still be happy with the latest designer jeans and perfumes? Will ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ approach lull them into a familiar stupor? Or will they discover the heady taste of freedom? True freedom, as enjoyed by the rest? Will Western-style freedom replace designer denim as the most desired thing in life? Will the Chinese discover the difference between great fakes and the r
eal thing? Will they make the all-important connect? A society that thrives on sub-standard goods fosters sub-standard lives. Nobody ever goes to the top selling shoddy, third-rate products and short-changing the customers. Will the Chinese ever discover a precious commodity called Trust?
A Belgian businessman who has made Beijing his home took us around his neighbourhood, pointing out several tracts and ramshackle buildings that are to be razed, since the area is far too close to the Forbidden City and likely to be spotted by tourists to the Beijing Olympics. ‘Where will these people go?’ I asked. He shrugged before adding, ‘Out of the city limits, that's for sure.’ ‘No question of fair compensation? No alternative housing?’ He smiled, ‘This is China, not Europe, not America, not even India.’ I suddenly wanted to start singing, ‘Yeh mera India… I love my India!’
*
Bangkok gleams with sleaze—and that's its USP. I don't know of any other city where sex is sold as blatantly. One can hardly take a step without being accosted by touts offering highly niche, very specialized sexual ‘treats’. It's possible to demand a transsexual dwarf with blue eyes and red hair, and have the pimp promptly nod with an upbeat ‘Can do… can do… how much you pay?
All this is fine, but having a wallet pinched in a gigantic mall is not fun. When that happened to me, I rushed to register the theft with the security desk. A polite female officer was busy consoling a hijab-wearing lady whose bag had been snatched. When it came to my complaint, the officer told me calmly that the pickpocket must have stripped the wallet of credit cards and cash before throwing it into a trashcan. That's exactly where it was found. And I was expected to be impressed/grateful. ‘Madam, it happened to the prime minister's wife last week! And her bag was never found,’ the officer told me, a little curtly, this time. A big consolation in her book, but a huge inconvenience in mine. To add insult to injury, her chamcha-lieutenant added, ‘India same-same.’ He was right, of course. India very much same-same. Visitors to Mumbai/Delhi/ Kolkata or any tourist destination in the country have similar stories.
