The Overlook maze

The Overlook Hotel in Stanley Kubrick's 1980 movie adaptation of the Stephen King novel, The Shining, has a maze. The purpose of this maze for the viewer is to symbolise the protagonist's descent into madness. As the movie progresses, and Jack Torrance's madness too, the symbolic value of the maze keeps growing. Jack's son Danny first encounters it as an object of mystery and then as a symbol of fear, desperation, anxiety, vulnerability, entrapment, struggle and possibly escape. In one of the final scenes, Danny enters the maze to escape his father, who is trying to kill him.

The permanent residents of Islamabad can be forgiven for believing they are trapped in the same maze.

In January 2004, India's PM Vajpayee was in town to attend a SAARC summit. I was invited to participate in many related events. On the appointed day, I sat in my car to attend the ceremonies and drove right into a gridlock. There, I remained stuck for eight hours and missed all the events. Back then, the federal capital had no notable flyovers or underpasses. Following this, I wrote a scathing column comparing Islamabad to a two-dimensional animal that must eat and defecate from the same end or risk being split into two irreconcilable halves. I also bemoaned the lack of underpasses and flyovers. We got them in the end. But are they of any use when sit-ins and rallies come to town? I recently had a déjà vu moment when, a day before the SCO summit and on the day of the arrival of the delegates, I had to rush to the convention centre due to an unscheduled, last-minute assignment and got stuck in a similar traffic jam. I stayed there for six hours and found this crowd far more impatient, noisier and unnerving than the earlier lot.

Don't get me wrong. I know the importance of the VIP movement and events attended by high-level foreign dignitaries. The potential of access to such VIPs was instrumental in bringing this then-small-town boy to this city some twenty-six years ago in the first place. Foreign dignitaries are more than welcome, and given the complexity of life these days, you cannot even blame the authorities for all the measures adopted. However, in the past two decades, one would have expected the administration to introduce enough infrastructural changes to ensure a seamless flow of VIP traffic without security concerns or the disruption of life. Perhaps the most imaginative solution to this problem was suggested by Yousuf Raza Gilani during his premiership. He proposed a network of tunnels connecting various high-value government buildings and the airport. Let me propose a better one. Build a Nur Khan Airbase-like facility adjoining the red zone. That way, the foreign dignitaries can land where they need to go. And don't tell me there is no space. Just announce the construction of a premium housing scheme or a high-rise expensive hotel and watch the authorities cough up land. You can introduce a smaller network of tunnels for the rest of the VIP movements.

But wait. It gets better. Such a solution may take care of the VIPs, but pray, what about the periodic invasion of the capital by political and religious agitators often ready to stage a sit-in on a minute's notice? Remember, such protests pose two challenges to ordinary commuters. First, by now, all such groups have learned that if they do not protest right in the middle of major roads and disrupt life, their activities are unlikely to draw the necessary attention. Navigating through such crowds, which often turn into angry mobs, is already complicated enough. But then comes the government's response of blocking roads with containers. These containers seldom block the path of such crowds, but they wreak havoc for the public.

I was not in the city during the Lawyers' Movement days, so I wouldn't know how much life was disrupted back then. I feel heartbroken to confess that many of us chose poorly and made a terrible mistake in supporting something that only produced chaos.

But I remember when Tahirul Qadri staged his first sit-in here. The fear among marketgoers was palpable. Then he came back with the PTI and staged the prolonged sit-in. As I had begun working in the red zone, despite being overly critical of them, day after day, I had to cross these crowds with the fear in my heart that in case of damage to my car or body, my family wouldn't even get any compensation. Then, during the Panama-related lockdown by the PTI on my back from work, I spent nine hours on the streets trying to find a way back home. Then, the TLP came. One day, I got a phone call from my kids' school to immediately go and collect them as there was fear of unrest. And then the PTI again. The same musical chair continues to this day.

And here is the cherry on the top. One of Aitzaz Ahsan's poems became very popular during the lawyers' movement. Riasat hogi maa ke jaisi (the state will love you like your own mother), it promised. So here is the down low. In the love of this country, I reinvented myself many times. Initially, I tried to be a conservative, only to find that side being highly insecure. In those days, the riasat encouraged "enlightened moderation", so I began my moderate experiments with enlightenment. One day, during the Panama Papers case, I got free advice from some influential quarters to avoid discussing political commentary in a personal capacity as things were about to get messier. I said sure and started discussing American politics, which had gained much attention because of Trump. Then, one day, the same advice. Given my public visibility, I should avoid commentary on American politics, as it could complicate matters. I said sure and started discussing the lowest-hanging fruit: Indian politics. Then, five years ago, a similar whisper. My commentary was obstructing the normalisation efforts. I couldn't stop because I do this for a living. One heart episode and a lot of trauma later, I have finally decided to take this advice.

They say when a boy in kindergarten pulls a girl's ponytail, it is his way of expressing affection. This must be my riasat's way, too, because, after every momentous turn, it invades my life to subdue and conquer me. Whether it is Mother Riasat expressing its love or Father Jack Torrance chasing me into a maze with an axe under some magic spell is for you to decide. The only thing is, I am not as young as I once was and am getting tired of running.