Much like the dinner tables laden with the very predictable biryani-kebab fare, it is impossible not to bump into a Peacenik at Islamabad-dos.
In the past three years that I have been in Pakistan, I have seen them selling themselves to people-who-matter. I have seen them smiling their smiles before shoving their visiting cards (and in one instance photocopies of a newspaper clip with photo) and frothing peace lines. I have heard them recite beautiful couplets in Urdu (and sometimes in Hindi too) to prove their passion for peace.
Of late, several entries into Peacenik Inc have been via the virtual world (thank you Twitter!) – so there is no real need anymore to network for an invite.
In the past three years that I have been in Pakistan, I have seen them selling themselves to people-who-matter. I have seen them smiling their smiles before shoving their visiting cards (and in one instance photocopies of a newspaper clip with photo) and frothing peace lines. I have heard them recite beautiful couplets in Urdu (and sometimes in Hindi too) to prove their passion for peace.
Unfortunately, I have seen the same bunch – poets, writers, mediapersons, theatrepersons, lawyers, activists -- do a turnaround in a different setting. That hurts.
While I still see a ray of hope in old-school Peaceniks, usually retired famous-somebodies, I dread the young lot, mostly reigning media bombs who articulate all-things peace beautifully for effect; or worse the wannabes, ambitious little things trying to strike it big at Peacenik Inc – even if that means getting past the Bhai brigade.
Of late, several entries into Peacenik Inc have been via the virtual world (thank you Twitter!) – so there is no real need anymore to network for an invite.
For me, the real Peacenik is the old man who got us a box of walnuts from his village and quietly prayed for peace; or my little Pakistani Hindu friend, who naively believes that the ongoing Indo-Pak talks have a fairytale ending.
