It is the day before Christmas today and work finished early. Not accustomed to such freedom, I could think of nothing to do and nowhere to go. So I ended up at Borders. Sipping coffee with a book in hand and staring into space certainly has an authorly air to it, doesn’t it?
I was reading ‘A case of exploding mangoes’ by Mohammed Hanif. This is his debut novel. I picked it up because Mohsin Hamid (I like his work) thinks the book is ‘unputdownable and darkly hilarious’. The book is tagged as a ‘political thriller’ and is about the plane crash during 1988 that killed General Zia-ul Haq.
Borders was full of people and I could hear fragments of conversations floating around, mixed with the sound of cups and dishes and spoons, children’s voices. I was taking notes on my journal. There was light just behind me so I could see the shadow of my own hand as I wrote, which made things difficult.
I vaguely remember Zia-ul Haq, he used to be on the news often. I remember once, Imran Khan decided to retire from playing cricket after turning 35, Zia-ul-Haq requested him to continue playing. This was broadcasted on Bangladesh TV and I was watching with my father. We thought it was an awesome thing to be requested by the president himself to keep doing what you do. Imran Khan looked polite, proud and handsome. Zia-ul-Haq always looked like an adoring uncle to me, with his butterfly moustache, big smile and white teeth...
It’s kind of weird to read about history that happened in my lifetime. The plane crash was all over the news and everyone around me was convinced that the Indians did it. However, that was all adult contemplation and I was still a child on the borderline. So I only remember vague comments in passing. The incident probably surprised me; maybe I was even shocked to see a prominent face on television suddenly disappear. Or perhaps by that time I got used to it - there was of course President Ziaur Rahman and Indira Gandhi before this.
Back to the book, the descriptions are magnetic and anecdotes are so true that they are extremely funny. For example, anyone familiar with the politics of the Indian subcontinent knows about the cover ups to cover cover ups.
The prologue starts from the moment General Zia-ul-Haq, accompanied by Arnold Raphael (US ambassador to Pakistan) and General Akhtar are about to board the aircraft. The story is told in first person by the narrator Junior under officer Ali Shigri, who claims to be the one that got away along with history.
It was the time between the end of one war and beginning of another and ‘history was taking a siesta’. Soviet soldiers were preparing to leave Afghanistan while General Zia was preparing for peace and ‘being the cautious men they are, they have come to Bahawalpur to shop for tanks while waiting for the end of the cold war’.
The book begins where it ends and we are taken back in time to experience the details that led to the event. Twenty pages into the book, I was hooked and ended up $NZ31.99 poorer. Back to my reading now, it’s been a long time since I’ve paid attention!
