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visa review Visibility
of disappearance Our
own artistic heritage
visa Abid Hussain belongs to a well-established trader family of Islamabad and resides in E-11 Sector. He along with seven of his friends planned to go to Malaysia in March this year on a vacation. They contacted a tour operator who managed to get their visas after some hassle in two weeks. The group of friends left for Malaysia early April this year. “We planned to go to Malaysia because it was out of question to get visas to some European countries. We were very happy and kept on planning how to spend our time there in Malaysia and joked around during the flight. But all our excitement vanished once we landed at the Kuala Lumpur airport,” says Abid Hussain. The Malaysian authorities questioned them for two hours. They finally allowed only three of them to enter while ordered the other five to be deported from the airport. In fact, “They sent back
several Pakistanis travelling on that flight,” says Hussain. “They told
us that majority of Pakistanis who come to Malaysia on tourist visas slip
into their country and become illegal immigrants. So, they don’t allow
people on tourist visas until they are not 100 per cent sure that the
visitor is a genuine tourist.” Travelling abroad on a Pakistani passport has become tougher in the last two decades. The situation is not only affecting those who want to visit other countries for economic reasons, but also those who want to travel for recreational purposes especially in summer vacations. It is not only the war on terror and the track record of Pakistanis in many terrorism activities abroad that alone is responsible for this. “To get a tourist visa of any country has become difficult for Pakistanis because an overwhelming majority of Pakistanis slip into not only western countries, but also into countries like Malaysia and Dubai,” says Ali Butt, who is a business partner in one of the country’s largest travel agency. “They also use forged or fake documents like bank statements and police reports to apply for tourist visas. It does not only create problem for genuine tourists but also tour operators. We have to pay fines of some kind to get our licenses restored because of these people. Lately, we have been facing severe issues with the Malaysian visas. Most of the time people succeed in getting visas but it has become difficult for them to convince the immigration authorities in Malaysia. I think almost 60 per cent people travelling on the green passport who have genuine tourist visas are being denied entry into Malaysia.” Ali Butt says the US, the UK and the European countries are particularly careful while granting visas — “These days the US and European countries are rejecting visas to more than 5 per cent of applicants, and the visa processing procedure usually takes months.” Dr Abid Qaiyum Suleri, an NGO head based in Islamabad, who travels frequently to different parts of the world for work, says that getting visas in Pakistan is like getting loans from banks. “Those who need it are hardly able to get it as the process has become so complicated over the years.” A tour operator and travel agent based in Faisalabad who has been in the business since the mid-1990s tells TNS that things have changed drastically for the Pakistanis trying to travel abroad for all purposes. “Everyone, from businessmen to tourists to students to job-seekers to pilgrims, has been affected. Tourists are among the most hit. They spend money to go somewhere to relax but it has become so hectic to get a visa in the first place and then the kind of grilling Pakistanis go through at entry points almost everywhere in the world has made it very tough.” Syed Wahad Raza whose company arranges tours in the Middle East, tells TNS that his company did not receive a single application for a tourist visa this year, while when the company started, five years ago, the company started getting applications from April. Another reason is also that the expenses—airfare and hotel rates — have doubled during the last five years. According to Raza, “In those days most of the countries, except Gulf states, used to stamp passports on arrival. Now there are less than 20 countries (mainly African countries and some SAARC countries) in the world that grant Pakistanis visas on arrival.” Several Western countries’ embassies in Pakistan have scaled down their presence in Pakistan and some have scrapped their visa councillor offices altogether. The embassies now do not allow applicants to come straight to them to file the application. They ask the applicants to file applications along with pile of documents like bank accounts, property ownership details, return tickets, hotel booking confirmation receipts, proof of travel and health insurance, medical test reports and police reports through a courier service provider. In many cases applicants are needed to fill online application forms as well. Western countries have not only increased their visas fees manifold but have increased the processing time as well and applicants are asked not to bother calling the embassy to check the status of an application. At present, the tourist visa fee for the US is Rs14,400 plus Rs1,500 courier charges and UK visit visa fee valid for six months is Rs9,750 (inclusive of FedEx charges) plus Rs200 bank charges. Visa fees are non-refundable while one also spends a good amount of money to come to Islamabad for the interview. For the US and other western countries an acceptance of visa applications does not mean that visas will surely be granted. For example, the US embassy after accepting an application gives a receipt to the applicant that clearly mentions that it can take several months to issue a visa and the embassy has the right to deny a visa even then if it is not satisfied with the applicant. Another very important factor that makes travelling from Pakistan to Western countries cumbersome is the suspension of operations of all Western airlines from Pakistan after 9/11. There are hardly any direct flights from Pakistan to Western countries and Pakistanis have to travel on Middle Eastern countries which further adds to the cost of travel. For example it costs only Indian Rs 32,000 to 35,000 (around Pakistani Rs 60,000) to get a return air ticket to any European country from India. While these countries’ air ticket from Pakistan is not less than Rs 80,000 to 90,000. Then there are several countries like Mexico which do not have their embassies in Pakistan and people have to travel to India or some other country to get a visa. Different countries have introduced specific restrictions for Pakistanis who want to travel. India, has always been considered the most problematic country for Pakistanis to travel to and vice versa because of required documentation and security approvals, but even a country like Indonesia has made it essential for applicants to show a personal guarantor from Indonesia who needs to explain concerned authorities in Indonesia why he/she may be inviting a Pakistani to Indonesia. Cambodia also requires a personal guarantor for visiting Pakistanis. Dubai fines a travel agent Rs 180,000 if a tourist overstays or slips. Rumana Hussain , a regular international traveller and travel writer agrees that the situation has become tougher for Pakistani tourists to go abroad. “It depends on where one wants to go. For example India is our neighbour and the cheapest country to travel to but it is the most difficult country to get into. The situation is also different for people belonging to different age groups. Young people have been facing the worst situation. It is also true that visa processing for Pakistanis has become more complex and time consuming but better planning can help to overcome this issue. People should apply two-three months in advance and should fill the online application forms with full concentration. I think it would help those getting visas in time and less grilling at airports.”
Durre Shahwar’s
old-world charm is unmissable. Indeed the first few things that strike you
about this Hum TV serial, now on its way to conclusion, are its gentle pace
and a mature sensibility — qualities that the PTV drama of the 1970s and
early-to-mid ‘80s is best remembered for. Take a look at the
conversation-laden scenes between Samina Peerzada and Qavi Khan, for
instance; they are reminiscent of the Navid-Shahzad-Anwar-Maqsood classic
Daur e Junoon. Saba Faisal’s control-freak saas is a throwback to Begum
Khursheed Shahid’s character in the Yunus-Javed scripted long play Waadi e
Purkhar (1983). Again, writer Umera Ahmad’s dexterous use of pauses as a
device to heighten the dramatic effect is quite Bano-Qudsiaesque. For director Haissam
Hussain, a TV & Film graduate from the UK who is best known for his
period play Dastaan (2010), Durre Shahwar (DS) is confessedly “close to my
heart.” The way he has shot the play — every frame is a visual treat —
you can actually sense the love and care that went into making it. The
result is a serial that is not only inspiring but also — and perhaps, more
importantly — a proud affirmation of the fact that when it comes to TV
drama, we haven’t lost our touch. Where DS makes no
pretensions to being a ‘blockbuster’ and remains faithful to its utterly
simple storyline and a bunch of very relatable characters, there’s clearly
no urgency on the part of the makers of the play to employ cheap gimmicks in
the name of entertainment or to try to achieve some sort of
envelope-pushing/genre-defying ‘greatness’ in order to get the
(shallow?) critics talking. The very fact that the play is able to create a
connection with the audience shows that its artistic purpose is well served.
This emotional connection is due to the viewers’ affinity with a
particular character in a particular situation in the play. Both Haissam and Umera
deserve credit for striking the right chords, even though a certain group of
today’s audiences — especially the young — are going to see it as an
old-fashioned tale of a beautiful and well-bred girl Shahwar, in the
mid-1900s’ Lahore, who is married into a family of a lower social station
where everybody except her young brother-in-law is antagonistic to her. The
play captures Shahwar’s struggle to find her own little place in her
husband’s house where she is snubbed and disregarded for pettiest of
reasons by her straight-faced, unkind mother-in-law; her constant failure to
please the latter and, many years later, her tragic realisation that her
daughter Shandana may have a similar fate. The play is structured in
a way that the two narratives — Shahwar’s and Shandana’s — run
parallel to each other and back and forth in time, obviously to induce a
comparison. Shandana’s world, at
first, appears to be quite different from that of her mother: she is a
well-spoken and confident person — a modern-day educated lady who is
managing home with work, who will take no nonsense and also easily get into
a (strong-worded) argument with her husband over a question of ‘rights’.
The young Shahwar, in another time and part of the world, is meek and
submissive and constantly trying to fit into the conventional role of bahu
the society has chosen for her. She quietly withdraws into herself every
time she is slighted by her mother-in-law and even her husband, a
stiff-necked and humourless military stereotype. On another level, both
Shahwar and Shandana share vulnerability and a sense of helplessness that
tear them down at different points in their lives. However, as the plot
unfolds, the writer permits more character to Shahwar: it is now established
fully well that she is a woman of dignity and composure in the face of all
odds. And, when it is revealed that she has never let her children know
about her personal suffering, you cannot not be touched. Until episode 10
— which, in terms of the play’s ‘fictional time’, means ‘the
now’ — Shandana has always thought her parents’ was a “perfect”
marriage, as opposed to her own. In one of the play’s
highest points, Shahwar, now old and ever so graceful, decides to spill her
best-kept secret if it can save her daughter’s marriage from breaking. She
must prick Shandana’s illusions of greatness about her own father and tell
her how life wasn’t always beautiful but her patience and good intentions
paid off. This is Umera Ahmad
stating her own big message. Thankfully, she does so without letting her
heroine assume the status of an ascetic, as she almost did in Meri Zaat
Zarra e Be Nishan. As with all good dramas,
atmosphere plays a very important role in DS, and director Haissam makes
sure he never misses the mark. He is ably helped by Ilyas Kashmiri’s
competent camera work and, of course, his own (pet!) use of smoke as a
‘technique’ to add visual depth to every scene in the play. The
background score is evocative and complements the mood of the play. Finally, a word about the
brilliant cast of characters. DS’s fictional reality would not be so
tangibly real if it wasn’t for the performers on screen. While Sanam
Baloch, the eponymous heroine, looks pretty and distressed as Shahwar is
supposed to, Nadia Jamil’s Shandana is well-nuanced and Mikaal Zulfikar
also makes a convincing Mansoor (Shahwar’s husband). Mohammad Ahmad as
Shahwar’s father and newcomers Umer Naru (Saud, the sweet and caring
brother-in-law) and Maya Ali (Mahnoor, sister) are all impressive. But it is
Saba Faisal and Nauman Ejaz whose performances pack some real punch. As the
nagging mother-in-law, Saba is a complete revelation, whereas Nauman as
Haider, the grumpy husband of Shandana, is so natural he makes you forget
you are watching an enactment. The choice of veteran
actors Samina Peerzada and Qavi Khan as the older Shahwar and Mansoor
respectively, is clever casting. Though it may initially puzzle the audience
a bit, as you go along you begin to notice subtle similarities between the
younger and the older versions. Both Sanam and Samina have a pear-shaped
face structure with high cheek bones, and even though there’s a (not too
obvious) difference in height and voice tone, Haissam makes up for that by
giving them certain traits as a continuity tool. Likewise, Qavi is made to
look a believable evolution of Mikaal what with his broad jaw that he quite
frequently stiffens as a gesture of disapproval, and a straight-back,
authoritative gait. The early episodes of DS
rest a great deal on dialogue. Episode 5, in particular, is composed of one
verbal encounter between Shandana and Haider lapping over another. These are
random encounters, with no apparent link in time, but the technique works
well to chart the cracks emerging in the couple’s relationship. These are also the
play’s most interesting parts, where a light banter between the husband
and the wife turns ugly in a matter of a few conflicting (even if
well-reasoned) arguments and because neither of the two is willing to
submit. These parts show how not being on the same wavelength can lead to a
sparring match, at the most unexpected time and place — whether you are
out for dinner or on a honeymoon. usmanghafoor@gmail.com Trivia Theatre actor and academic
Omair Rana was the original choice of scriptwriter Umera Ahmed for the
character of Haider (eventually played by Nauman Ejaz) Samia Mumtaz, who has
worked famously with Umera on Meri Zaat Zarra e Be Nishan, was supposed to
play Shahwar — both young and old versions. But since she had allotted her
dates to Jami’s feature film, she couldn’t be a part of the play. Later,
Mahira Askari-Khan was roped in, but even she opted out because of her
family engagements This is Umera Ahmed’s
7th original script for TV. Most of her serials have been adaptations of her
own novels and short stories
“Ideas alone can
be works of art; they are a chain of development that may eventually find
some form. All ideas need not be made physical.” — Sol LeWitt. In a society, where
political prisoners are perpetually disappearing, the disappearance of art
hardly makes news; except in art circles which are overtly obsessed with art
objects — by the custom of creating, curating and collecting them. Yet
this took place, during an exhibition, titled ‘136 MB/Exhibition without
Objects’ (first section of the title referred to the size of image files
of artists’ visual essays) at the Drawing Room Gallery in Lahore. Curated by Sadia Shirazi,
the exhibition that was held from May 28-June 3, 2012, was a stark surprise
for everyone including the artists and the viewers. Because, apparently,
there were no physical art works — an unusual occurrence in the local art
practice and display preference. The curator contacted five artists and
asked them to contribute their images, sort of visual essays, in the form of
power point presentation, along with doing one event each during the show.
The artists, Rabbya Naseer, Hurmat ul Ayn, Ayesha Jatoi, Mehreen Murtaza and
Saira Sheikh, performed events on their scheduled days followed by a public
programme discussion with the artists on the last day. The exhibition also
included public screening of films, ranging from French La Jette to Iranian
Takhte Siah, popular Pakistani serial Ainak Wala Jinn and a few others, all
chosen by the participating artists. Every component of the
exhibition as well as the design of display (artists’ power point
presentations were projected on two sides of a single screen, suspended from
the ceiling but seemed invisible) affirmed the absence of a tangible art
piece. This negation of physicality of art object was intriguing for
multiple reasons because, as the curator indicated, there has been an
emphasis on object-making and collecting in Pakistani art. It is almost a
fetish to forge or possess an image. Thus the essential purpose and aspect
of art, conveying an idea through an image, is diffused if not lost. Hence the show was an
attempt to remind of the function of art — of being a source and means to
communicate concepts and share images. This was important in our context
because of the growing trend of collecting art (art is perceived and
presented as commodity for the consumption of wealthy in other parts of the
world too). However, in other places, alternate views and practices exist
which keep reminding of other aspects of art beyond its commercial side. But
today art is recognised for its monetary value; thus its physical character
has become supreme. One can underline a book or folds its pages but one can
not imagine to add a dot, scrawl a line or introduce a mark in the existing
art work or it will lose its authenticity and monetary chances. The realm of
ideas does not follow such a strict code. A concept can be presented in
multiple forms, yet it does not lose its value or sacredness (like in
translation, as the translation of a text – of highest religious content
including holy books to great works of literature such as Shakespeare,
Tolstoy and Cervantes illustrates this openness). The exhibition at Drawing
Room Gallery drew one’s attention to that state and status of art by
offering a substitute scenario. Usually an art piece is praised and
preserved because it is a testimony of its maker’s hard work and skill. It
also confirms the artist’s ability to converse with the material and
convert it into a visual entity. Thus a work is admired only after it is
finished, without giving much importance to the process or stages in
conceiving and completing it. In that sense the exhibition questioned the
sacredness of the ‘finished’ product, by inviting and showing visual
essays which, on the surface, seemed processes but in reality were just
ideas put together or artists’ refereed pictorial materials. These visual
essays were images selected or arranged by the artists, more like sketches
and thoughts, yet they invoked an interesting debate and dilemma on the
nature of artwork. Anything emanating from a person who is recognised as an
artist elevates his production — regardless of its informality and
unstructured nature — into a work of art. The definition of an
artwork keeps changing with the passage of time and shift in the context. A
page from Leonardo da Vinci’s sketchbook or proposals jotted down by a
contemporary conceptual artist are now regarded as art works; similarly
small ‘sketches’ of Constable and Impressionists are now praised for
their aesthetic quality and are reproduced as works of art in the books of
art history. Along with the visual
essays, which in the case of Saira Sheikh and Ayesha Jatoi were more
coherent in comparison to others, the artists also did events but these were
almost lost not because of the absence of physicality but probably due to
lapses in holding the viewers’ attention. However, in an exhibition of
this kind, a loss of this sort was not crucial because the whole premise of
the exhibition was presenting a different choice — of enjoying art without
being seduced by its physicality. What remained was just an image/idea that
was communicated and conveyed in its purity, a remarkable feat in a society
which is flirting with consumerism in recent times. caption Exhibition View, courtesy
Asif Khan.
Our own artistic
heritage Over the past many
decades it has become unfashionable to stage Agha Hashr on stage because
what all he stood for were no longer considered artistic virtues by later
playwrights. This great playwright
epitomised the theatrical form known as Parsi Theatre with its centres in
Bombay and Calcutta. Before the advent of the Talkies in the 1930s it was
the most popular form of entertainment not only in the cities but also in
the rural hinterland. These big city-based theatre companies toured the
countryside extensively. Hashr came at the end of the great tradition and
his death in the 1935 signalled the death of the tradition that he was the
best representative of. In all he wrote 33 plays
— the first ‘Mureed-e-Shak’ was written in 1899 and the last ‘Dil ki
Pyas’ in 1931, and these thirty odd years was the period when Parsi
Theatre was at its zenith. Radio and Talkies were
introduced at about the same time in the 1930s and the overall trend in both
was to wean the performing arts away from the high theatricality of the
Parsi stage. The demands of the radio were very different but when Imtiaz
Ali Taj’s ‘Anarkali’ was written for the stage it was sensed that it
was possible and seen to be a big change away from the traditions of the
Parsi stage. Since there was a huge
break in tradition from Sanskrit to the colonial era, the paucity of scripts
and original plays was compensated by a large number of adaptations. Most of
the plays that were written by the munshis were liberal adaptations of
well-known European plays. All these strains can be seen in the theatre that
flourishes in Pakistan these days. The so-called serious writers have failed
to make theatre the medium of their expression. They have written afsaanas,
novels, ghazal and nazm but have failed to write good plays consistently.
The attempts by these serious writers have been few and far between. Since then, the efforts
successful at times and not so successful most of the time has been to
inject greater realism on stage. This has been both at the level of content
and form, any deviation from that has often raised the hackles of the
critics. So when a group decided to
stage a play, which for many appeared to be dated, the first question of
interest was to see how it had been interpreted by the director so as to
have a contemporary ring about it. It was a reconnection as disclosed by
Sarfaraz Ansari, the major domo of the group to the classics of our
literature for the younger generation almost oblivious to its own artistic
heritage. Then the excessive glorification of violence and the belief that
it was the final arbiter of conflict and differences had an archetypal air
about it. This reliance on violence
could also lead to a tragic finale with the father Rustam killing his own
son Sohrab in a titanic struggle between two equally-matched heroes. Perhaps
the tragic end was the microcosmic reassertion of the violence all round us
with the ability of destruction having increased manifolds. In the traditional stage,
the sets and the props were very grand but here the set was minimal, only a
suggestion through an imaginative moving around of a bamboo constructed set
and the props too being rudimentary. In the delivery also an
attempt was made to scale down theatricality and bring it closer to the
spoken tone. The rest was manipulated by lighting. But the answer to the
question whether all this was enough, is that it could have been handled
with more verve. The interpretation itself could have been treated with more
imagination. Rustam played by Usman Zia and Sohrab by Zohaib Haider while
Princess Tehmina, the woman quashed between two heroes, one husband and the
other son, Aliya Abbasi stayed closer to the heightened heroic motions of a
larger than life performance. The others who performed were Sarfaraz Ansari
as Hajeer, Khola Quraishi as Girdafrid, Wasim Ali as Behram. The play also had
component of live music. The vocalist was Abrar Bari while the music was
overseen by Sarfaraz Ansari with Javed Krishen on the tabla, Dilbar Hussain
on the Harmonium and Adnan on keyboard. Since it was a costume play the
costumes were designed by Aliya Abbasi and Nadeem Abbas. There have been attempts
to revive Agha Hashr on stage. Many groups have tried but have not gone
beyond sporadic attempts. There was also an Agha Hashr Society, possibly
more than one in the length and breadth of the subcontinent, and their
valiant attempts too have lacked consistency. Many of the stalwarts who have
seen the glory of Hashr’s stage in their childhood are now no more or too
old to work actively. In some societies the
classics are done as they were played at the time of the premier. There is
resistance to change, the artistic virtue being to stay as close to the
original performances as possible. But the current trend is to play around
with the play to the extend of deleting even some parts or lines. This is
still better than to add or alter as it used to happen to classics in 17th,
18th and 19th century Europe. Whenever a new group is
formed it should be welcomed because more groups mean more theatre. Sarfaraz
Ansari and Malik Aslam have been associated with theatre for a long time.
They have spent the better part of their career in Ajoka and now as they
venture forth on their own they can fall back for creative rejuvenation on
their experience of all those years.
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