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Delhi gave a sense of de ja vu. It resembled Lahore in important respects, particularly with the division between the old and the modern parts. But New Delhi was bigger and had greater splendour, more glitter than the modern part of Lahore, though both had their origin in the British rule. The modern part of Lahore was so small and less ostentatious that it even shied away from the hubris of calling it ‘new’. New Delhi was imperious, grand and brash. It exuded power and pomp while modern Lahore, stretching along the Mall from north east to South east, looked demure and quiescent.
   Going around in Delhi after arriving at the New Delhi station at the eastern end of Paharganj Main Bazaar they saw the old and new parts of Delhi, the former to the north-east and the latter to the south west. The rail line divided the two parts almost evenly and decisively, leaving little space for blurring the difference, with Hazrat Nizamuddin Railway station in the south east and old Delhi Railway station in the north east standing as border posts. The Red Fort, Jame Mosque (Like Badshahi Mosque of Lahore), Karhmiri gate, Ajimeri gate, Feroz Shah Kotla and Ashuk Pillar, Sarai Kale Khan, all were in the eastern port of the rail line. Only Humayun’s tomb, a magnificent relic of the Mughal era, lay to the west of the railway line as did Hazrat Nizamuddin Aulia’s shrine. New Delhi, with its familiar landmarks of India gate, Parliament Building, Rastrapati Bhaban, Connaught Place, Race course, Golf club, the Secretariat with North and South blocs, were all to the west.
   But reading the history of Delhi revealed that the city had more divisions, rather layers, than met the eyes instantly. Geographically, as well as historically, it consisted of several distinct cities, seven according to some account. There were seven cities of seven fortress settlement built at different times by different dynasties, some of which overlapped physically, layer after layer or spatially, mile after mile.
   Old Delih, Shah Jahan’s seventeenth century capital of Shah Jahanbad, was 3 km. north east of Connaught Place. Here the traditional life-style of Mughal India had changed little. Its population was predominantly Muslim who seemed oblivious of the changes that had taken place politically. Culturally, it had remained the same, more or less, through the vicissitudes of history. Visit to Lal Qilla or Red Fort reminded one of Lahore Fort as did the visit to Jame Masjid. They had the same design and interior structures, though on a larger scale. Old Delhi with its gates and remnants of walls and warrens of houses and winding narrow lanes were redolent of old Lahore, again on a larger scale. The eateries open fronted shops and other business houses had the same boisterous look and strong smell drifting around. People here seemed relaxed in the same way, betraying close-knit relations with everyone known to each other and yelling to draw attention in falsetto tone. The din and bustle were deafening but rhythmic as if based on some invisible notation. The tongawallas wended their way through the crowd, mixing the clip clop of hoofs with voices and other sounds, harmoniously. The scene and sounds presented were both a ballet in slow motion and a symphony of a medley of sounds. Walking in old Delhi, one could think that one was in Lahore and vice versa. But the space beside the Red Fort was larger where children played and hawkers put up make-shift stalls. It was not a near and tidy sight but embraced one with warmth and assurance. Visiting Red Fort gave a different sensation both because of its size and the history. It was the head quarters of the Mughal emperors and was selected as the place from where, Nehru made his historic speech at midnight in 1947 with the ringing words, ‘To night India has a tryst with history.’
   Firozabad was another one of the old capitals of Delhi and was centered around Delhi Gate. But the other five capitals further south, were derelict, reminding one of the long-vanished dynasties. Among these was the towering twelfth century column called Qutub Minar, errected by Qutubuddin Aibak. It was the centre of the first capital known as Qila Rai Pithore and was the beginning of the development of Delhi as a metropolis. Standing before the intricately designed tall column with caligraphy in Arabic he was overwhelmed by its beauty and strength. The sixth capital was marked by ruins of walls and broken pillars that survived from the 14th century when Delhi had the name of Tughlaqubed with Purana Qila as its centre.
   The earliest known settlement in Delhi was though to be near the Yamuna (Jamuna) river near Purana Qila built between 1000 BC and 4th century BC and had been mentioned in Mahabharata, but it may be more a mythological idea than a historical one. Modern Delhi is generally dated from the founding of Lal Kut by a Rajput dynasty in 736 A.D. In 1180 another Rajput dynasty, the Chauhans, renamed the walled fortress as Qile Rai Pithor. Mohammad Ghori invaded northern India and capture the fortress in 1191. After his assassination in 1206 his palaces and forts were taken over by his Turkish general Qutb-uddin-Aibak, who founded the Slave Dynasty that came to be known as Delhi Sultanate. He became the first majar Muslim ruler of Indian sub-continent. It was he who started the Qutub Minar and was succeeded by Iltutmish in 1211, considered as the greatest of early Delhi Sultans.
   In 1290 the Khiljis, another Turkish dynasty, came to rule over northern India, making Delhi their capital. Under Alauddin Khilji Siri, the second city of Delhi was built in 1303 where marble and red stone were used in buildings for royal members and high officials. Ghiasuddin Tughlaq built Delhi’s third city at Tughlaqabad. It was used only for a short period, five years from 1321, after which the capital was shifted to 1100 km. south to Daulatubad at a great cost. Scarcity of water forced Tughlaq back to Delhi in 1327 and the fourth city of Delhi, Jahanpanah was built by him. In history he had read about this eccentric behaviour of Muhammad Bin Tughluq, from which the pejorative expression ‘Tughloqi Karbar’ was derived. Under his successor Firoz Shah, the Sultanate began to crumble in the face of almost continuous rebellions. Before he died, a new capital was built, the fifth city of Delhi named Firozabad beside river Yamuna in 1354. The Toghlaq dynasty ended with the invasion of Timurlane in 1398 when Delhi was sacked and laid waste. Firoz Shah Tughloq’s successor dynasty ‘the Sayyids’ ruled for 30 years from 1414 and were ousted by Bahlul Lodi whose dynasty left behind many tombs, mosques and the beautiful Lodhi garden still in use and admired. The Lodhi dynasty’s rule was over when Ibrahim Lodhi lost the battle against Babur a descendant of Ghenjhis Khan, in 1526. Babur established the Mughal (from Mongol) dynasty that came to rule India for the longest tenure, establishing an empire that embraced the whole of Indian sub-continent. During the Mughal rule Delhi was the capital, except for brief periods, first in Akbar’s time when capital was shifted to Agra and second, during Aurangzeb’s time when after ruling from Delhi until 1681, he transferred the capital to the Deccan to control uprisings against his rule. Mughal dynasty’s rule in India and their use of Delhi were interrupted in 1540 when Babur’s son Humayun was driven out of India by the Afghan king Sher Shah. Sher Shah built the Bimpanah Fort at Shergarh which became Delhi’s sixth capital and was known latter as Purana Qila. Humayun recaptured Delhi in 1555. But it was under Shah Jahan, his grand son, that Delhi became a magnificent city, Delhi’s seventh incarnation as a capital. Behind the walled city of Shah Jahanabad, were built Red Fort with many palaces, the imposing Jame mosque and other buildings, epitomising Mughal power and splendour.
   After the death of Awrangzeb in 1707 Delhi was ruled by Mughal courtiers when it was invaded repeatedly from Central Asia. In 1739 Nadir Shah, the emperor of Persia, overran north India, capturing Red Fort, plundering Delhi and killing 1500. It heralded the fall of Mughal dynasty which could not overcome the losses suffered at the hands of Nadir Shah’s marauding army but faced further attacks from Jats, Marathas and Afghans. When the British set their eyes on Delhi, after establishing their rule in Calcutta, Madras and Bombay, it was almost a derelict city without power to defend against attacks by outsiders. The British took control of the city, granting the last Mughal ruler Bahadur Shah, an emperor in name, with a pension and a palace. The British repulsed several Maratha attacks for the next 10 years and in 1857 almost lost Delhi their colony and their colony in India when Sepoy Mutiny broke out in 1857. After putting down the uprising, the British publicity executed two sons of Bahadur Shah and sent him in exile to Burma where he died, heartbroken. It was during his lonely exile that he wrote famous ghazals like ‘Do Gaj Zami Na Mila Koinar Ke Liye’. This part of Mughal history was tragic and pathetic. While reading ‘Dristipat’ by Jajabar, the touching description of the cruel end that came to the last Mughal emperor and his sons moved him greatly.
   The British did not make Delhi their capital at first, and continued to rule over India from Calcutta until 1911. When King George V came to India to be crowned as emperor it was decided to make Delhi India’s capital once again. British style bungalows were built, with leafy broad avenues, the Parliamentary Building and Vice Roy’s House, were constructed with red sand stone, using Victorian architecture with traces of Mughal buildings. From India Gate to the imposing public buildings and down to the lay-out of streets and parks, an elaborate city planning was done by Edward Lutyen. As they moved around Connaught Place, old names of shops like Arbuthnat were still on display and a few Englishmen were seen, walking through the colonnaded passages beside shops. Jajabar’s book captured the spirit of New Delhi while describing Connaught Place just it succeeded in evoking the past splendor of Mughal Delhi. His narration of Nizamuddin Aulia’s story ending with the famous uttering ‘Hanuj Delhi Dur Hai’ (Delhi is still far away) to assure him disciples that Tughloq would not be able to reach his place to destroy him, was captivating, almost haunting. No history book could bring Delhi so much alive as did Jajabar in his book with anecdotal stories and vignettes of past events, that had Delhi as background. It was because of reading ‘Dristipat’ that Delhi fascinated, almost mesmerized, him the moment he set his feet on its soil. It gave him the impression of a kaleidoscope in colour and sound.
   Delhi was not a single city as its past would remind one. It was not even a city that could be simply divided into old and new. It was a concatenation of cities, at least nine, including the latest incarnation after independence in 1947. Mythology and history had merged here laced by many legends. It sprawled horizontally with ruins of old forts, palaces and had also a subterranean existence, with layers of construction, one above another. Delhi was more eternal a city than Rome, it appeared to him.

IF A picture is worth a thousand words, a single cannon shot as fired by Pakistan’s soldier-president on the subject of rape and Canadian visas is worth a thousand images.
   The next time he waxes eloquent about enlightenment and moderation his own words as spoken to the Washington Post will come back to mock him: ‘You must understand the environment in Pakistan. This has become a money-making concern. A lot of people say if you want to go abroad and get a visa for Canada or citizenship and be a millionaire, get yourself raped.’
   This was during his New York visit hailed by official trumpeters — no shortage of the kind in Pakistan — as a huge success. (How does this breed define success?) Worse was to follow. Realizing his blunder, Gen. Musharraf went on the defensive, saying he had said no such thing. Indeed that he would have been stupid to say it. (‘True,’ as Nicholas Kristoff of the New York Times commented.)
   The Washington Post, careful in such matters, checked its tapes and confirmed Gen Musharraf made the remarks and was accurately quoted.
   It also quoted his remarks about Dr Shazia Khalid (the lady raped in Sui allegedly by an army officer): ‘It is the easiest way of doing it. Every second person now wants to come up and get all the [pause] because there is so much of finances. Dr. Shazia, I don’t know. But maybe she’s a case of money (too), that she wants to make money. She is again talking all against Pakistan, against whatever we’ve done. But I know what the realities are.’ Phew. You’ve got to be really tacky to talk like this.
   Gen Musharraf wants to project a ‘soft’ image of Pakistan. But he’s almost suggesting that Pakistan is the quintessential land of the purpose-built rape (Canada should be flattered). And when questioned, he gets angry, very angry, losing his cool before a gathering of Pakistanis in New York.
   According to a Dawn report: ‘Provoked by a single question, the president allowed an event held to promote his government’s pro-woman policies to degenerate into a bout between himself and part of the invited audience... ‘I am a fighter, I will fight you. I do not give up and if you can shout, I can shout louder’...Responding to (a) woman’s charge that he had retracted his interview to The Washington Post, (he) said: ‘Lady, you are used to people who tell lies. I am not one of them.’ When a woman raised her voice to ask a question, the president said: ‘Are you a Benazir supporter?’’ How does Benazir come into this?
   ‘When the altercation began to get uglier,’ Dawn added, ‘Pakistan’s ambassador to the US Jehangir Karamat, who was Gen Musharraf’s senior in the army, approached the podium and moved the president away by gently patting his shoulders.’
   Not to worry, however. Condi Rice has just issued another certificate of excellence to the general, saying that while Pakistan is not a complete democracy, Musharraf is an extraordinary man. Indeed he is.
   Tempting though it may be to say so, Gen Musharraf’s remarks are not typical of any standard Pakistani male mindset. Pakistani men, even those lacking a staff college education, don’t go around suggesting that Pakistani women invite rape for financial or travel benefits. The general’s remarks are his own and they reflect the mind of a person who (1) is answerable to no one for his thoughts and actions; and (2) speaks too much and too often.
   When you are overly fond of giving interviews, when the notion of brevity being the soul of wit is almost alien to you and when you regularly display a penchant for unscripted dialogue, don’t be surprised if you sometimes get it wrong.
   In fact, the unscripted or unrehearsed remark has been the bane of Pakistan under Gen Musharraf. At Agra for his famous breakfast meeting with Indian newspaper editors Musharraf went in unprepared and since the one subject all Pakistanis can talk about eloquently even without any preparation is Kashmir, it was about Kashmir that he spoke. There were many reasons why the Agra summit collapsed but one reason lay in that early morning eloquence.
   If only that tough stance had lasted. It didn’t. During the course of a Reuters’ interview, Musharraf made the startling proposal that for the sake of flexibility Pakistan could go beyond the UN resolutions on Kashmir. The wages of one-man rule: the entire basis of Pakistan’s stand on Kashmir ditched or diluted through this single off-the-cuff remark.
   One man says ‘yes’ to Colin Powell on the telephone post-Sep 11 without any institutional discussion of what Pakistan’s negotiating position should be. When the Americans are preparing to invade Iraq they ask for Turkish cooperation, but the Turks, even though staunch American allies, put a stiff price on cooperation (eventually too steep for the Americans to accept).
   Not so Pakistan which thanks to military rule can afford to leap first and look afterwards. Gen Musharraf’s uniform is his body-armour. But it’s also a great convenience for the Americans. As long as Afghanistan is on the boil and they want Pakistan to deliver more, they wouldn’t be too concerned about the finer points of democracy.
   Remember the time when a Pakistan aviation team was in Delhi negotiating the resumption of air links between the two countries. The Pakistani side was looking for some assurance that India would not summarily sever air links as it had done in 1970 and again in 2001 after the terrorist attack on the Indian parliament. While discussions were yet to be concluded, Musharraf, addressing a gathering of Indian businessmen in Islamabad, announced Pakistan’s readiness to resume air flights. Our aviation team wouldn’t have been amused.
   This adhocism is evident elsewhere too in dealings with India. India shows no flexibility on concrete issues — Siachen, Baglihar, Sir Creek, etc. The Musharraf-Manmohan Singh meeting in New York is, for the most part, an exercise in futility. Yet, as a measure of the tight fix Pakistan has got itself into, it is Musharraf, rather than anyone from India, who is at pains to suggest that India is showing flexibility. What a curious reversal of roles.
   And what evidence does Gen Musharraf cite in support of his contention that India is being flexible? That the Indian prime minister has accepted his invitation to visit Pakistan. Should one laugh or cry at this revelation? This was the fourth time in the past one year that the Indian prime minister was being ‘requested’ to visit Pakistan. Each time the invitation is graciously accepted but no dates are set. Pakistan has never lowered itself so much to please India, a string of unilateral concessions — from the Jan 4, 2004, joint statement to the misguided offer of bypassing the UN resolutions — for little in return.
   But there’s a reason for all this. Irfan Siddiqui in Nawa-i Waqt puts it well: ‘From Agra to New York, a single story is being repeated. Five years ago Vajpayee got upset because we spoke of Kashmir as the ‘core issue’. Today Manmohan Singh is upset because Gen Musharraf mentioned Kashmir in his address to the UN General Assembly. The basic fact is that whether it is Vajpayee or Manmohan Singh, no Indian prime minister dare show any flexibility on Kashmir. In India democracy is supreme and about democracies the worst thing is that no matter however powerful an individual, whatever high office he holds, he cannot ignore state institutions or stray even a hair’s breadth from established national positions. This is only possible where, instead of institutions, there is one-man rule, where the opinions of an individual become national policy and where every kind of u-turn and somersault becomes a part of everyday existence.’
   Gen Musharraf’s thoughts on rape, therefore, are not an aberration. Nor can they be attributed solely to the male chauvinism prevalent in our society. They reveal a problem of psychology: the helmsman in a dictatorship, [especially of the tin pot variety] beginning to lose balance. This should come as no surprise, six years of unchecked power being enough to turn anyone’s head.
   This article has been published by arrangement with Dawn

It was a nightmarish journey to Khartoum. Gulf Air is not exactly an airline to be recommended, except to those you dislike, and the few passengers on board hung on to their seats, closed their eyes, took out their rosaries as the pilot struggled to land the aircraft amidst slightly stormy weather.
   The roller coaster that passed for a plane neared the ground at a speed that had atheists discovering faith, and then just before the wheels were to touch down, the pilot changed his mind and decided to go back into the skies again. For the next 20 minutes he appeared to be pulling and tugging at the throttle — or rather an aircraft’s equivalent of a throttle — and while those in the cabin were wondering if it was the end, he went in for a second landing attempt. The groaning aircraft, sagging under its own weight, managed to hit the ground after a few thumps, and finally, we were told we had arrived. Safe, if not totally sound.
   The Sudanese are a great people. They have their own concept of time, and time here in Khartoum is made to stretch out endlessly.
   They are also very cultured and gentle. They are finding the world; or should one say the world is finding them? But the streets are now filled with cars, in all shapes and sizes, with Khartoum that old dusty town in what the Americans had once popularised as Osamaland, now vying with the world capitals to sport some of the well known car brands on the roads.
   The President himself travels in a Mercedes Benz, his guards roar around, rather uncomfortably though, on sparkling new Suzuki motorcycles, with others in his entourage travelling in Land Cruisers. Except for the yellow taxis that are wheezing their way around, most of the residents of Khartoum have their pick of cars with the Japanese and the Europeans capturing the market.
   If you look hard enough you will spot a few Tata buses, and bent and broken Marutis valiantly finding their way through the traffic.
   Sudanese women are extremely friendly, and very equal. They work, they enjoy full rights, they are in government, they are in the armed forces, and they approach men not with shy diffidence but with a salaam and a smart handshake. They are dressed in long skirts, some cover their heads with a scarf, or chadors that are wrapped around their bodies almost like saris. Unfortunately, not many know English, so it is difficult to strike up a conversation, but smiles and warm gestures are used as a substitute for language. Jeans, T-shirts are just not seen on the roads, although Pepsi has arrived replacing the delicious, and healthy, herbal flower drinks at official functions.
   Drinking is strictly prohibited, and unlike Pakistan, Khartoum is strict about this taboo. The taxi driver, of course always better informed than ordinary mortals, points out that a potent local brew can be bought from women in a particular area. He takes out a small Pepsi plastic bottle to say that arrack of this amount would cost a good $50. He seems a bit disappointed when he finds there are no takers.
   The hotel goes by the name Meridien. It has definitely seen better days, but today the ceiling is falling apart, the lifts barely work, and the carpet in the room is ‘sogging’ wet. The place is crawling with UN peacekeeping forces, and we spot Indian and Nepalese Army officers. They are all to be posted in the south and are at the hotel for a few days. The hotel menu that day offers great rice and dal, obviously a concession to our men in uniform who already appear a little nostalgic when they meet us.
   The ‘supper’ banquets hosted by different leaders of the Sudan government have their own distinct flavours. The food is aplenty, the atmosphere even in a supposed sit-down dinner, totally informal, as delegates and VIPs and media persons meet over fish, chicken, roasted lamb, an assortment of desserts and fruits, and of course Pepsi. Everyone chatters to everyone else in fluent Arabic, broken English and wide gestures when all else fails. There is this Pakistani newspaper person, speaking fluent Arabic, and seeing an intelligence undercover man in every other person he meets.
   There is the young journalist from Kenya wondering why Sudanese are described as Arabs. ‘There are only 15 per cent Arabs here, 85 per cent are Africans,’ he points out. The BBC is well represented, but somehow the Sudanese, unlike Indians, do not fall over their feet before television cameras and are totally uninterested in the western journalists.
   In fact, the new gadget of the day in Khartoum is the mobile telephone. Everyone, young and old, is carrying the cell phone and there is no occasion too sacred for its use. Cell phones rang continuously throughout the fairly secluded oath-taking ceremony of the new council of ministers and all through the President of Sudan’s speech. No one objected, not even the President. Security is minimal, and cell phones, cameras, tape recorders and chargers are given only a cursory glance.
   No one cares, for there is no violence and little crime in north Sudan. What little security is visible, is clearly a response to western paranoia. Security officers on guard inside the convention hall where the international counter-terrorism conference was taking place, were wearing Israeli-style dark glasses. And since the concept was borrowed, they did not take off the glasses even at night, presenting quite a sight for sore eyes in their uniforms, still expressions and dark glasses in the ill-lit corridors of the convention centre.
   We print this article courtesy The Asian Age