to send or not to send...

Numerous events during the last few days kept everyone holding their breath. The Prime Minister's refusal to comply with the order of the Supreme Court, to send a letter to the Swiss authorities to reopen an investigation against the President of this country finally cost him his job. He is the 23rd consecutive Pakistani leader to leave office before completing his term. The first candidate, proposed by the ruling PPP, did not make it to the election process by the parliament, having had to face an immediate arrest warrant by the Anti Narcotics Force related to alleged drug import irregularities. The now elected Prime Minister, Raja Pervaiz Ashraf, was Minister for Water and Power before and is widely seen responsible for the current energy crisis. The first meeting the day after his election was on energy.  
Protests take an increasingly violent turn in face of ever growing shortage of fuel, electricity and water.  



Scorching heat is banning us into the pleasantly cooled houses. That means, of course, the lucky ones who have cooling units powered by generators that jump in during the load shedding hours, which expand over an increasing number of hours. The once lazy stroll to a cooling swim in the pool turns into a run over the hot stone plates to reach the water oasis, gliding fast and easily into 32°C warm water, avoiding to touch the blazing hot stairs or handrail. No vigorous exercise, just a few slow moving paddles around big, lean, but powerfully stinging wasps that quench their thirst with water from the pool, closely watched by exotic budgerigars and parrots who wait to satisfy their hunger on this delicacy.

A rare visit from Switzerland, two fashionable women included, makes for a small shopping tour in Islamabad and we head - of course! - for shawls at Maharaja. It is late afternoon and only dim light inside the vast empire of cashmere, silk, embroideries and quilts. Ceiling fans give a slight movement of air, the sales assistants lying on pillows along the walls, obviously not in anticipation of any customer. The owner shows up, with his usual kind smile, offering tea and asking about the well being of some of my colleagues. Most of them are gone since a while, but they appear to have left fond memories with the shop keeper! Gradually we move all the way to the back rooms, piling up some potential treasures to be purchased. The variety and treasures are numerous, even silk saris can be found, a dress that is becoming popular again among the elegant and stylish Pakistani ladies, the younger ones adding their elaborate choice of tailor made cholis (the blouse worn under the 5-6m long shawl that is wrapped around the body) in surprising new combinations. The sari was forbidden for women in Pakistan during Zia ul-Haq's regime in the Eighties. I resist the various invitations by well meaning friends to get wrapped in these five meters of stunning silk swath, suspecting to be exposed half naked after the first three steps, watching the beauty of this artistic dress piled around my feet.

The shop was once mentioned in an article in the American Vogue and had many customers among the international community, but the business slowed down, not only due to the summer season. A wonderful friend here taught me how to bargain and I am slowly becoming an expert on that field, actually starting to enjoy it. Interestingly enough, it appears to be more promising to bargain with men than with women, tells my growing experience.

Then, in order to finalize the purchase of a substantial pile of shawls and to pay with the credit card, the lamps in the shop have to be switched off to have enough electricity for the processing of the payment.

We leave the textiles behind and go for the next Pakistani specialty, Khussas - shoes that are produced only in Lahore and Multan. All handmade with locally produced leather, the left shoe identical with the right, incredibly comfortable, stitched and died in all colors and worn by most women during the summer months, which last from March to October… Easy to decide, as the price allows to fulfill various wishes.

Boys enjoy summer vacation from school here just as anywhere else in the world and find cooling by jumping into the water irrigation canals, using air filled plastic bags as swimming devices.

Art of Living

An organization with the much promising name "Art of Living" is offering me via text message regular updates on their classes since my arrival in Islamabad. They include lessons on how to rejuvenate at their sanctuary at Banigala (moving now to an advance course!), a four day break with classes in mindfulness, dance party and breath and the latest invitation is to meet a healer. He is praised for having received his training in the USA and UK - just for those who thought it was about deeper Eastern understanding about the human being, Western knowledge seems to be a more convincing argument here. Or better book "The Art of living Happiness workshop"?? I will possibly try one of their offers to find out more about their practice of leading a life - or simply ask my predecessor, who was most probably a good customer of them and left her mobile number with me...

The Pakistanis' art of survival is truly impressive and tested in many ways daily - loadshedding being one of the biggest challenge in their personal and professional life. The constantly deteriorating energy supply situation in the country brings substantial parts of the economy, particularly the small and medium enterprises to a near stand still, makes the people having to cope with only ten out of twenty-four hours of electricity in Islamabad; in other cities and in rural areas even as little as four hours per day.
Generators for providing electricity during loadshedding hours are a luxury that only few can afford, leaving most of the people with no means to deal with the heat, without water supply due to shut down water pumps, no possibility to cook, no refrigerators, no gasoline for cars or public transport.

The two young guys who took over the project of our restaurant guide look exhausted and tired on the day of their press conference launching their website. The last days of work included the nights. With the little electricity available, the rechargeable batteries did not get the three hours of constantly streaming power needed to get recharged for the use of computers or light bulbs. We arrive at the National Press Club and pass the open seating area in the blazing heat of 45°C (113°F).

A sigh of relief when we are told that the press conference is to take place inside; we enter the hall - no electricity, no air conditioning, unbearably hot and we jump right off the sofa seats again, their woolen cushions retaining a furnace heat. At 4pm finally an hour of lightly buzzing air conditioners and the press gathering starts. Islamabad's restaurants can now be found on the internet on a new website, starting the next day.

A visit to my shoe maker and I open the door, hardly finding the door knob in the dim light, the small show room in near total darkness, just a flash light on the desk of the shop owner, who sits there in silence and patiently awaits the electricity coming back around 4pm - for one hour... He choses in the darkness some leather skins and carries them downstairs for me to have a look in the bright sunlight. I choose chocolate brown for some pillows to be made.

Bringing him as well my daughter's boots to be repaired, which she likes so much but were met with a critical look and shaking head by a Swiss shoemaker in Zurich - the repair needed would exceed the price of the shoes, I was told. The young Mr. Barismil however takes a careful look and tells me he would do the work for a truly modest amount. I ask, if he has had things that he cherished and would go to an extra length to preserve, no matter what the actual value would be. A long pause. No, Madam, he says, things are just things, they come and go. But you go such a long way for your daughter's shoes to be fixed because you love her, and that is what counts!