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Coming to Grips
Tank Aur Bank Ki Hai Jori Ajeeb was the name of a new play by Imran Aslam presented in Karachi recently. As the invitation card did not mention the name of the play, and since it was a welfare society’s annual fundraiser, some people naturally (and wrongly) assumed that it would be a new children’s play by Grips Theatre.
The food was excellent, the weather slightly warm and humid, and the guests were decent individuals all gathered for a good cause. Two of the six guests on our table were foreigners looking forward to good entertainment, Pakistani style. Before taking a seat, one of them respectfully greeted us in Urdu. Class VI pupils of Raast Primary School, in crisp, clean uniforms, smartly marched up on stage, introduced themselves and requested everyone to stand up and sing the national anthem along with them. But what followed made one want to go and cover those innocent little ears.
Some quips, like the Americans trying to locate Osama in Saddam’s mouth with the former managing to escape through the root canal and stitching the blown-up gas pipeline with ‘Sui,’ did carry glimpses of the old Imran Aslam humour
Ali Saleem’s Benazir imitation is a hit any time. The timing of this political satire couldn’t have been more perfect. The five characters — Jiyala (K. Sajeeruddin), Madam (Faiza Kazi), Aishwarya Rai’s sister (Ayesha Shaikh), K. Wader (Ali Saleem), and Pathan (Khalid Anum) — had much to talk about, which they did without a care.
Cross-border cultural terrorism was highlighted by the presence of Aishwarya Rai’s flirty sister with an unpronounceable name. Her arrival made the Pakistani Madam immediately insecure. With one in London, one in Dubai and another in Jeddah, we can’t deny that our greatest exports are politicians, but why disgrace oneself by adding terrorists to the list?
Some quips, though, like the Americans trying to locate Osama in Saddam’s mouth with the former managing to escape through the root canal, Bush being more like a hedge and stitching the blown-up gas pipeline with ‘Sui’, did carry glimpses of the old Imran Aslam humour.
Later, the woman seated next to the foreigners on our table warned the rest not to use any foul language in their presence as the play had served as a crash course in Urdu for them. Another seated beside me was afraid the cast might get arrested after the show. Faiza Kazi’s explanation that the play was prepared in just four days gave hope that the creative juices haven’t yet dried up. But in conclusion, when she called out for Imran Aslam to come up on stage and take a bow, he wasn’t there. Was it the sombre note at the end about Jinnah appealing to his people to remove his pictures from government offices and rupee notes that made him disappear or was it just that he had to arrange for bail?
The proceeds from the evening were directed towards the Raast Welfare Society, a group of people who run a primary school in Qayyumabad which provides education to underprivileged children.
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