Illustration by Abro
Illustration by Abro

The eccentric Holl­ywood director, the late Hal Ashby, once helmed a rather curious film called Being There (1979). It starred the versatile Peter Sellers in his last leading role. Sellers plays a middle-aged man named Chance who was adopted as a child by a wealthy businessman in Washington DC and raised (as a gardener) entirely within the confines of the business magnate’s sprawling home. Chance never ventured outside the gates of this house.

As an adult, Chance has little or no clue about life outside. The only people that he has ever interacted with are the businessman and two househelps who also work there but, unlike Chance, live elsewhere.

The only thing Chance is good at is gardening. Much of his knowledge about everything else comes from watching TV. When the businessman dies, Chance is courteously turned out of the house. Though immaculately dressed and extremely soft-spoken, Chance is bewildered by the outside world and completely fails to connect with the people he meets on the street.

He is almost hit by a car driven by the wife of a powerful business tycoon and political kingmaker. The wife apologises and insists that he come home with her. But he has no clue what she is talking about.


People latch on to vague symbolic banalities in politicians’ speeches, giving them meanings coloured by their own political ideas


Whenever anyone talks to Chance, he first seems puzzled and then responds by speaking about the only thing he knows: gardening! He is invited by the tycoon and his wife to recuperate (from the accident) in their palatial home. The tycoon asks him his name and he replies, ‘Chance. Gardener.’ So the tycoon believes his name is Chance Gardner. He begins to project some of Chance’s talk about gardening as symbolic and metaphorical comments on economic and political events. The tycoon now thinks that Chance is an ingenious political and economic pundit.

In the next few months the tycoon is convinced that Chance symbolically predicts political and economic outcomes. Chance becomes a celebrity of sorts, despite the fact that he doesn’t even know what this means. He begins to be invited on TV talk shows.

Though gardening is all that he ever talks about, the viewers see in Chance’s calm, detached homilies about plants, roots, soil and flowerpots what they want to see and hear (according to their own political beliefs).

The film is a brilliantly constructed satire of a society plagued by political and economic uncertainties, where people look for answers and meanings in places where there are none.

There are quite a few ‘Chance Gardeners’ in Pakistan. They are certainly not as innocent as Sellers’ character in the film, but they too talk in metaphors as a way to come across as being folks who are ‘in the know’. What’s more, their vague symbolic banalities are often latched upon by large numbers of people who give them meanings according their own political biases.

Recently, I was amused by how a short video clip of former MQM supremo, Altaf Hussain, was being heatedly discussed on Twitter by supporters of ‘MQM-London’ and ‘MQM-Pakistan’.

In the clip Altaf slowly sways from left to right as if in a trance, saying, ‘aik papee idhar, aik papee udhar’ (one kiss here and one kiss there). Saying this he also makes a polite smooching sound. MQM Londoners believed he was alluding to a reconciliation process between the two MQM factions, whereas the truth is, he meant absolutely nothing.

Mr. Hussain has managed to reduce himself into a caricature of his once influential past. During the height of MQM’s power in Karachi in the 1990s and early 2000s, his words were often closely scrutinised because it was believed he was a vessel of the ‘establishment’, echoing the thoughts and plans of those in the shadows.

Hussain built this perception by looping his sentences with symbolic and metaphorical allusions. They usually meant nothing, but were still seen to be loaded with meaning and predictions.

Another Pakistani Chance Gardner is the MNA from Rawalpindi, Shiekh Rashid Ahmad. He is often heard airing surreal little nothings on TV talk shows in his continuing bid to prove that he is close to the establishment. He wants his listeners to believe that his symbolic isharay (allusions) are abstractions of what he has come to know from some concealed ‘insiders’.

Nothing seems to be further from the truth. Shiekh Sahib’s isharay are more entertaining than enlightening.

There are many other Chance Gardeners in Pakistan as well, mostly politicians and TV anchors desperate to mask their obvious cerebral shortcomings with such talk. They believe this helps them create a perception that they are ‘in-the-know’. They aren’t.

Theirs is simply an extension of a ploy first established by the late Pir Pagara, a spiritual figurehead (pir) and politician from Sanghar in Sindh. Ever since he came into prominence during the anti-Bhutto movement in 1977 and then decided to support the Zia dictatorship through the 1980s, Pagara Sahib would often be quoted speaking in riddles.

‘Khaki badal ban rahey hain’ (Khaki clouds are building); ‘Fasal kasht kernay ka time agaya hai’ (the time of harvest is here). At first he was seen as the establishment’s main man in Sindh and his symbolic references were considered by many as echoing the establishment’s views. Of course, as often happens, Pagara’s obscure mutterings too eventually turned him into a self-parody.

The politician who seems to have taken Pir Pagara’s mantle is PPP’s home minister Manzoor Wassan, who is much sought after on the media for his dream-utterances.

But the question is, do the Chance Gardeners themselves ever become conscious of the fact that they have become self-parodies? I believe not. However, the person who initially began this trend (even before Pagara) was the populist prime minister Z.A. Bhutto, but he was just too smart to let it turn into a farce.

He was not as prolific in this context as Pagara would go on to become, but Bhutto would often allude to an upcoming political conflict by saying things like, ‘ab tau dama-dam mast qalandar hoga.’ By saying there will be dama-dam mast qalandar, he was referencing a boisterous modern Sufi anthem to suggest there would be a political upheaval.

This statement which Bhutto first used in 1973 is still recycled by many politicians (to mean the same). PTI’s verbose leader Shireen Mizari used it last year in a tweet; and so has PMLN’s Shahabaz Sharif on numerous occasions.

PTI’s volatile chairman Imran Khan too likes to air metaphorical allusions. His most famous was his 2014 reference to the raising of a cricket umpire’s finger (‘umpire ki ungli’).

By the umpire he meant General Raheel who was (supposedly) about to send PM Nawaz Sharif back to the pavilion. He didn’t. It seems by saying this in a highly allegorical manner, Khan was trying to imply that his prediction was coming from the inside. Maybe it was, but certainly not from high up.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, October 16th, 2016

Opinion

Editorial

Afghan turbulence
19 Mar, 2024

Afghan turbulence

RELATIONS between the newly formed government and Afghanistan’s de facto Taliban rulers have begun on an...
In disarray
19 Mar, 2024

In disarray

IT is clear that there is some bad blood within the PTI’s ranks. Ever since the PTI lost a key battle over ...
Festering wound
19 Mar, 2024

Festering wound

PROTESTS unfolded once more in Gwadar, this time against the alleged enforced disappearances of two young men, who...
Defining extremism
Updated 18 Mar, 2024

Defining extremism

Redefining extremism may well be the first step to clamping down on advocacy for Palestine.
Climate in focus
18 Mar, 2024

Climate in focus

IN a welcome order by the Supreme Court, the new government has been tasked with providing a report on actions taken...
Growing rabies concern
18 Mar, 2024

Growing rabies concern

DOG-BITE is an old problem in Pakistan. Amid a surfeit of public health challenges, rabies now seems poised to ...