Days beneath the Dome
Not the real Pakistan it may not be yet, but Islamabad is the working model of what Pakistan would rather like to be
The writer is editorial consultant at The Express Tribune, news junkie, bibliophile, cat lover and occasional cyclist
There is a TV series called “Under the Dome” now in its third iteration. As with many of these blockbusters it is founded on a preposterous premise, in this case a small town being suddenly encapsulated within an impermeable sphere (the Dome extends below ground as well) — no way in and no way out. The storyline follows the travails of the people trapped therein and has some interesting twists and turns, recommended to those with enough idle time to enjoy.
Cut from small-town America trapped into an excoriating piece of navel-gazing to… Islamabad. There are of course differences not the least being that if you find yourself inside the Isloo dome you can tunnel your way out or if more practically minded, take the Metrobus back in time to ‘Pindi.
It has long been said and with some justification that Islamabad ‘is not the real Pakistan’. Not the real Pakistan it may not be yet, but it is the working model of what Pakistan would rather like to be, an aspirational Pakistan that is evolving over time and gradually leaving a trail of footprints far beyond the Capital Development Authority boundaries.
The recent theft of my wallet on a visit to my home village was the spur to my visit to the Dome. Quite apart from the money which is always replaceable there was my identity card which is a far more difficult item to source, especially if you are a foreign national married to a Pakistani and carry what is called a ‘Pakistan Origin Card’ or POC.
Enter NADRA, the one outside the Dome and in my home city of Bahawalpur. Whatever connection there may be between NADRA central and NADRA Bahawalpur it was not working at optimum speed when I visited. Cutting a long and tedious story short the resolution of my problem lay under the Dome, so northwards I went in no great expectation and considerable trepidation… and discovered that the Dome effect seemed to be working in reverse. Far from the gradual and in some cases catastrophic breakdown in social order that was chronicled in the TV series I encountered a NADRA that gave every impression of working on fast-forwards. My predicament was quickly understood by people who knew what needed to be done and promptly got on with doing it. They were unfailingly polite from top (…yes, I met the man at the very top) — to bottom as in the people at reception and all in between.
There have been tales of an efficient NADRA in circulation for years, mostly disbelieved. My local office seemed to bear these out but the same was not universally true, and although I have yet to get my new POC I have every confidence that it will be delivered in the near future. Strike one for the Dome, Isloo style.
Strike two came in the form of the red beast that had been the bane of the life of millions as it hatched — the Metrobus. I had made an exploratory foray a month ago, and a month on this ugly duckling has grown if not into a swan then one of those things that one cannot possibly imagine how we managed without for as long as we did. So long as it is not raining the buses run like clockwork, and those using them have settled into an equally automotous tick-tocking. All a bit Back to the Future and the reverse Dome effect again in evidence.
Strike Three was a failure to spot The Pindi Boys. These ne’er-do-wells achieved notoriety when a large shopping mall and Cineplex imposed a tax on the entry of young single males. A Twitter-storm ensued; the ban was lifted (to be quietly reimposed later at the rate of Rs300 with not a peep from the Twitterverse) and I went to the cinema.
The place was packed. On a Monday night. So was the cinema. Food courts heaved. And either the Pindi Boys were having a night off or they were the product of a number of overheated imaginations (… and yes, I am well aware of the problem of harassment).
Life under the Dome? Yes please, I could stand quite a lot of that!
Published in The Express Tribune, August 6th, 2015.
Cut from small-town America trapped into an excoriating piece of navel-gazing to… Islamabad. There are of course differences not the least being that if you find yourself inside the Isloo dome you can tunnel your way out or if more practically minded, take the Metrobus back in time to ‘Pindi.
It has long been said and with some justification that Islamabad ‘is not the real Pakistan’. Not the real Pakistan it may not be yet, but it is the working model of what Pakistan would rather like to be, an aspirational Pakistan that is evolving over time and gradually leaving a trail of footprints far beyond the Capital Development Authority boundaries.
The recent theft of my wallet on a visit to my home village was the spur to my visit to the Dome. Quite apart from the money which is always replaceable there was my identity card which is a far more difficult item to source, especially if you are a foreign national married to a Pakistani and carry what is called a ‘Pakistan Origin Card’ or POC.
Enter NADRA, the one outside the Dome and in my home city of Bahawalpur. Whatever connection there may be between NADRA central and NADRA Bahawalpur it was not working at optimum speed when I visited. Cutting a long and tedious story short the resolution of my problem lay under the Dome, so northwards I went in no great expectation and considerable trepidation… and discovered that the Dome effect seemed to be working in reverse. Far from the gradual and in some cases catastrophic breakdown in social order that was chronicled in the TV series I encountered a NADRA that gave every impression of working on fast-forwards. My predicament was quickly understood by people who knew what needed to be done and promptly got on with doing it. They were unfailingly polite from top (…yes, I met the man at the very top) — to bottom as in the people at reception and all in between.
There have been tales of an efficient NADRA in circulation for years, mostly disbelieved. My local office seemed to bear these out but the same was not universally true, and although I have yet to get my new POC I have every confidence that it will be delivered in the near future. Strike one for the Dome, Isloo style.
Strike two came in the form of the red beast that had been the bane of the life of millions as it hatched — the Metrobus. I had made an exploratory foray a month ago, and a month on this ugly duckling has grown if not into a swan then one of those things that one cannot possibly imagine how we managed without for as long as we did. So long as it is not raining the buses run like clockwork, and those using them have settled into an equally automotous tick-tocking. All a bit Back to the Future and the reverse Dome effect again in evidence.
Strike Three was a failure to spot The Pindi Boys. These ne’er-do-wells achieved notoriety when a large shopping mall and Cineplex imposed a tax on the entry of young single males. A Twitter-storm ensued; the ban was lifted (to be quietly reimposed later at the rate of Rs300 with not a peep from the Twitterverse) and I went to the cinema.
The place was packed. On a Monday night. So was the cinema. Food courts heaved. And either the Pindi Boys were having a night off or they were the product of a number of overheated imaginations (… and yes, I am well aware of the problem of harassment).
Life under the Dome? Yes please, I could stand quite a lot of that!
Published in The Express Tribune, August 6th, 2015.