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COVER STORY: PAKISTAN
A Nation Adrift
It's been branded
a "pariah state" and denounced as a "criminal enterprise".
For a country that was created in 1947 as the Land of the Pure, Pakistan
enjoys a reputation that is distinctly unwholesome. Once the darling of
the West and the springboard of the crusade against the "evil empire"
that was the Soviet Union, Pakistan has regressed.
After 54 years, it is still to come to terms
with the fundamentals of its own identity. Never a perfect democracy but
not quite a full-fledged totalitarian state, never secular but not entirely
theocratic, not comfortably placed in the subcontinent but out of place
in West Asia, Pakistan is a nation in search of direction and a role.
Overwhelmed by a confusion that borders on despondency, it has sought
expedient shortcuts that have landed it in an even greater mess. Combining
feudal high-handedness with chic cosmopolitanism and rabid religious fanaticism,
Pakistan has been unable to cope with modernity. Its people have a nominal
stake in the system and its elite defines itself through dual nationality.
It expresses itself through a series of wild hates that threaten to make
South Asia the "most dangerous place" in the world. It is a
country long on passion and short on hope.
Repeatedly shunned but never allowed to go
totally under, Pakistan holds a macabre fascination for India. Its rulers
are warily scrutinised, its people loved and pitied, its cricketing talent
coveted and its ideology rubbished. India Today reports the complexities
and compulsions of a neighbour that has lost its way.
Even as Musharraf cuts corners to legitimise his military
regime, the country searches for a system that works
By Raj Chengappa in Islamabad
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THE NEW CULT: The General's promises hold
little fascination for a people who have suffered in democracy as
well as dictatorship |
The army cantonment
in Rawalpindi is a world apart. Order is apparent everywhere. At the residence
of Pakistan President General Pervez Musharraf, securitymen exhibit no
paranoia. Authority is not flaunted through the barrel of a gun and there
are no over-intrusive security checks. A well-manicured hedge acts as
a discreet boundary for the large colonial house that is the official
residence of the chief of army staff. Its lawns are cropped as close as
a recruit's hair.
These days Musharraf makes it a point to pack
in a game of tennis despite his heavy schedule of meetings. He is worried
about his expanding midriff and is determined to get back into shape.
Settling down in a room that has a painting of medieval Afghan horsemen
on a battle charge, Musharraf projects himself as a man totally at ease
with himself: "I enjoy playing games. I enjoy talking to people.
I am not ambitious. I am a content man. That's why I am so relaxed."
Seated in air-conditioned comfort, with two intricately carved breech-loading
guns in the showcase and with a man who likes playing a 58-year-old uncle,
you could be lulled into thinking Mohammed Ali Jinnah's "moth-eaten"
prize is in a state of idyllic bliss.
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| MISSING
BUSTLE: Life seems to have crawled to a halt with employment
opportunities dwindling and business becoming sluggish |
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That would be a terrible misreading. Not too
far from the General's house, the main bazaar of Rawalpindi looks a poor
cousin of Delhi's Chandni Chowk. Its narrow streets are marked by languid
chaos. In shops that sell just about everything, business is brisk. But
underneath the bustle runs a vein of disquiet. A seller of exhaust fans
complains of soaring petrol prices while the "generals relax".
He alleges that some lucrative bus routes to Islamabad were blocked for
the company of a retired army officer's daughter to ply its fleet. This
means he has to spend Rs 20 more on transport each day as "earlier
there was more choice". "You can keep Musharraf in India. We
don't want him back after the summit."
The candour is revealing. It is yet another
paradox in Musharraf's Pakistan. The army has taken full command of the
country and their monitors are discreetly positioned in every civilian
institution. But the streets of Islamabad are largely devoid of men in
uniform, allowing loquacious Pakistanis the comforting right to speak
their minds without fear of a midnight knock.
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