Below is what a famous Pakistani Punjabi newspaper columnist Masood Hasan has to say about the opulent decadence that characterises this army's generals and their lifestyle:
"A friend who was asked to make a presentation to a gathering of top defenders ended up with a shrink because he believed he had been to heaven and returned to tell the tale. He blubbered on and on about what he saw, and claimed that the opulence and style was the kind that even kings could not have imagined. Six security guards alone inspected his car – not a 7 series BMW, but a humble 1300 cc local job – and himself. Another four starched men then took over and marched them through a series of lavishly appointed anterooms where another three awaited the guests. They were appropriately deposited in a room and sat twiddling their toes while in an adjoining room many more staffers tucked into a lavish spread. It was not someone’s birthday but just a routine middle-of-the-week activity. Finally they were “cleared” and led into a huge room straight out of a designer magazine. On getting used to the subdued and discreet lighting, they found a dozen and more sofas with one strategically placed separate from the rest where rested the big man, deep in comfort.
There were obviously no tables and upright chairs (who needs them?) and presentations were expected to be made from sofas to more sofas. Trophies and trappings of grandeur hung from the walls, and, although not in use, there seemed to be more air-conditioners than sofas. A posse of waiters slid about silently with highly polished silver trays bearing food fit for the gods. Sandwiches of a most delectable kind, hot, off-the-skewer kebabs, succulent samosas and patties with appropriate sauces and Ramsey Gordon styling, seductive pastries, assorted biscuits and confectionaries. Juices, light drinks, teas, coffees and lemon grass hot liquids were on call. While the hosts tucked in most enthusiastically, the visitors, clearly baffled by this mid-morning romp, politely declined to join in the Greek revelries. Their refusal was greeted with dismay. They were informed stiffly that “Elevenses were a part of the army’s traditions, and an honoured tradition, at that.” The presentation, when it finally took place, was a bit of a disaster because the food had played havoc with an attention span not quite the kind you’d find with Steve Jobs.
This was no special lair of VIPs but another mess, and there are dozens of them built in grounds where pilots can land 747 aircraft with eyes closed. These messes don’t look like they are part of Pakistan, and while in this case it happened to be the army, I personally know the same holds true of the air force and the navy. The Brits may have long gone but, by golly, their hallowed traditions are observed ritually across the length and breadth of Pakistan, and all their great virtues forgotten or simply discarded.
In civilian setups, the grandeur is not of the quality and class that is perfected by the armed forces but fairly close in many details. Such presentations are made to either a room full of dozy heads and people in an advanced stage of Alzheimer’s, or they are made to the big man himself who has no more than three seconds to hear all that you might have put together for the past four months. Once, during the days of Shauka Aziz (I have been told by his friends and fan club that he was an honest, industrious and humble man whose wife drove a battered car that could barely move; I stand corrected, and may God forgive me for judging the man so wrongly), a friend’s company was asked to travel to Islamabad and present in 30 minutes a comprehensive global plan that would overnight turn our tarnished image into rainbows. When they protested that such a fantasy was not possible – a suicide bomber had killed dozens that very morning – they were told to get on with it, or get out. They got out. The “image” caper set the country back by many millions and joyrides galore later. All was shoved under a bulging carpet – the dustbins were already overflowing. Life continued....."
