A world like ours

COMPARISONS are odious. In the world of books, as one reads, it becomes inevitable that they occur, from time to time ... words and sentences that describe events and people as they are. And yet, there are so few differences that one is startled to find a society that could be a mirror image of ours. Here is one such world.

Enter Darashikoh Shezad. His life seems to begin at the end. As one tumbles through the events of his life, one can almost nod in sympathy and say; "Ah yes, I know what it feels like." Shezad's theory about the Suzukis pitted against the Pajeros and the immense importance of airconditioning in a money-driven society makes you want to nod - "yes, yes." But it could be different when you find Shezad and his first encounter with heroin, even as you look on, sometimes in disgust and at other times in wonderment and curiosity, at the asinine behaviour of a man doomed.

Everything comes apart the day Shezad is sacked from his secure bank job. Despite his protests, he is summarily dismissed before an important and miffed client. Things get more difficult for him when his electricity is cut off and bills keep mounting. At this juncture good friend Ozi - short for Aurungzeb - with his pretty wife, Mumtaz, introduces Shazad to life in Lahore. Secure behind their high compounds and awesome security guards here is a class of people whose feet never seem to touch the ground. There is fame, there is money and boredom.

Life is then an endless chain of cigarettes packed with hashish. And then wanting Mumtaz. Mumtaz, unfortunately, is a little more complex than your average beauty. By day she is wife to Ozi, mother to son Muazzam, with whom she shares a complex relationship lover to Shezad. And then under the cover of darkness, Mumtaz becomes Zulfikar Manto, a famous reporter who manages to stage some of the most fantastic coups in the media world.

Meanwhile, Lahore bakes in the sun . The absence of power, the airconditioning and money is too much for Shezad to bear, considering the fact that he lost his mother to maybe all the three.

He resolves to take corrective steps. His desperation leads him to Murad Badshah, an old chum and contact man. Murad has the best hashish in town and Shezad does not mind selling a bit of it on the side just to keep things going. After all, there are no jobs without the right connections and how much can he borrow from the family? While the steady supply keeps him going, financially and emotionally, Shezad gets ensnared; heroin is a fatal attraction.

The country's economy takes a beating. So does Shezad. Its then a life of crime with Badshah. Their plan is to attack the boutiques where rich women shop. "You could walk into any of these places without arousing any suspicion," says Badshah to Shezad. "My mechanics cannot."

They set out to commit what they plan as a perfectly simple crime. But the deed that finally ensnares Shezad was done long ago, and by Ozi. He is the witness to Ozi's Pajero knocking down a little boy and then driving off. The chill sets in their relationship but Ozi finds Shezad's silence comforting.

Shezad finds his world slipping away. Soon there is just him, the heroin and Mumtaz.

Finally, he loses her too, the day he tries to stake his claim on her. Terrified of another commitment, she backs away leaving him angry and rebellious.

This is Pakistan's contemporary young society. Not very much unlike ours. The rules differ, depending on the make of your car. Ozi justifies the expensive Pajero he owns to the terrible state of the roads in the country. Shezad cringes each time his ordinary Suzuki manages to park next to a monster at a social-do and Badshah, is content to drive his scooterette. All three are symbols and victims of their social burden.

Author Mohsin Hamid draws and etches his characters with enviable skill. But then in this interplay, mocking subtely at life in Pakistan and interweaving a social and political commentary, only the best can survive. And Hamid has made all his characters survive.

S.B.

Moth Smoke, Mohsin Hamid, Penguin, Rs. 250.

Send this article to Friends by E-Mail

Section  : Features
Previous : Pitching for globalisation
Next     : When Kashmir was almost lost