The abaya clad-women are perplexed for a moment when they stop by at a bookstall at the Ibne Qasim Park in Clifton on Sunday evening where Waseemuddin popularly known as Musharraf is appearing to publicise the bookshop that has put up the stall. He breaks into a broad smile as if he knows that they have recognised him.

The women’s expressions change into laughter when it dawned on them that it is former president Pervez Musharraf’s lookalike. “Main darta varta kisi se nahin houn,” they remark and guffaw loudly. The women then request him to hold their babies while they take photos with their mobiles. He sportingly takes their little ones and poses, and then fishes out a visiting card saying: “If you arrange any function for your children, do remember me.”

And this continues throughout the evening as he strolls in the park visiting different stalls. The anti-polio vaccination team grabs hold of him requesting him to administer drops to the children. As he is doing so a man passing by rags him; “So what have you decided? Will you appear in court?” Waseem indulges him and shoots back: “I haven’t decided as yet.”

Wearing a suit and tie with his trademark spectacles perched on his bulbous nose, Waseem bears an uncanny resemblance to the former general. From the centre-parted hair to his hurried speaking manner, nearly everything about Musharraf’s lookalike is similar except for his height. The real Musharraf is five feet 11 inches whereas Waseem is five feet five inches.

Fifty-eight-year-old Waseem has been living the life of Musharraf’s doppelganger when he was discovered for a TV show in 2002. Since then he has been working as a professional lookalike and appears in weddings, festivals and political rallies. Prior to this working life he used to be a store assistant in a pharmaceutical company.

He is not the only lookalike of a political personality who has been making his living in this manner. There is a Yousuf Raza Gilani lookalike, Mohammad Ashraf, who tells Dawn over the phone: “My real-estate work has its ups and downs but thanks to this trend I am now earning a decent living by appearing in musical programmes and functions organised by builders.”

Forty-three-year-old Ashraf says that people tease him with references of the letter and about his ‘missing son’. “My reply to the letter issue is usually that ‘writing the letter is not in my knowledge’ and about my missing son I tell them to pray for his recovery.”

“This phenomenon of lookalikes is relatively new and most do a great job of impersonation,” says cultural commentator Nadeem Farooq Paracha. “What they are doing is harmless fun and they have found a new source of income.” However he is critical of the fact that their TV appearances lack depth due to weak screenplays. Mohsin Sayeed, another cultural critic, agrees but adds that this is because the trend is new and hasn’t been established. “Hence it will take time to evolve,” he says.

Back at the park, near the food stalls, a woman with her two teenage children requests me to take a photograph of her family with the Musharraf lookalike. As I return her camera she makes an interesting comment: “Since it is not in our destiny to meet these real personalities, we will have to make do with the faux ones.”

Her comment points to the fact that regardless of their reputation, people are fascinated by politicians. “The real ones are inaccessible to the general public. And even if an ordinary person were to somehow meet the actual personality, the person would most likely become tongue-tied. With a lookalike they can at least crack a joke or taunt the person and in this way this untouchable personality is humanised in a way,” says Sayeed.

When asked whether Gilani’s disappearance from the news affected his public appearances, Ashraf answers: “Absolutely. Our fortunes are directly related to the rise and fall of these politicians.” Paracha remembers people sympathising with the Musharraf lookalike saying that his work as Musharraf was finished when the general left the country. Sayeed recalls another dramatic example of an impersonator whose career finished. “If you remember Ali Saleem he used to impersonate Benazir Bhutto and he was hugely popular. And with her death he can no longer ever pose as Benazir since she has become a revered figure.”

As I take my leave, I ask Waseem one final question: “Which is your favourite book?” In the Line of Fire he retorts, but of course.