In the Arts Council building and its huge and mostly empty Nusrat Fateli Khan auditorium, a ghazal concert with voice, tabla (drums), harmonium. My guide in this is the 19 year old Dupree - his nickname, inspired by Owen Wilson whom he resembles a little. Dupree isn’t working or studying but describes himself, without a trace of hesitation, as a playboy.
I succeed in avoiding being a guest of honour. I am, nevertheless,introduced as a socialist and trade unionist and asked to shake hands with a couple of vice chancellors. The singer is a woman, sharp faced and looking strict, gorgeously dressed. She sings seated cross legged on an embroidered cushion. Many of her songs are love songs by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, poet, communist and trade unionist. The audience behaves as in eighteenth century Italian opera houses. Coming and going all the time, chatting with each other. They applaud their favorite ghazals enthusiastically and send request slips to the singer. Then the lights go up, the music stops and the artists pack up and leave. No encores, no special applause.
After the concert, Dupree drives me, the poet Anjum and Tahir to the very centre of Faisalabad where there is a Victorian clock tower surrounded by markets. There is a group of sleeping weavers who have organised a protest over the yarn shortage. We eat in the street, rice and spicy dall. Someone asks me if India or Pakistan is better. I reply they are both good and they should be united. ‘A good answer’ says a local businessman sitting next to me.
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