I Fell Among (the APPNA) Doctors

In the last week of June, I was in Washington DC on personal business. When I arrived at the hotel, I could sense a commotion. A benign sort of commotion that you see at Penn Station in New York during the rush hours or, if you are not familiar with New York, at Islamabad Airport during the Hajj flights.

People milled around in the lobby, dragging their luggage and children behind them, going up and down the escalators, crowded in front of the elevators, and lounging around in the lobby. They were mostly Pakistanis (actually, Pakistani-Americans) --- men, women in their colorful shalwar-kameez dresses, and a lot and lot of children, from toddlers to teens. I soon found out why.

The Association of Pakistani-American doctors, APPNA, was holding its annual get-together. Hundreds of doctors from all over the US, along with their families, had descended upon the hotel. They do this thing once every year in different cities.

A well-known columnist has described APPNA gatherings as mela-i-mawaishiaan (cattle show). I don’t agree with that description, even though the impact of the crowd, initially, was a bit overwhelming. Actually, having gotten over the initial experience, I started enjoying the energy and dynamics of the scene.

Majority of the families who had converged at the hotel came from small-town-America where, in some cases, the total population of their town did not exceed the number of people gathered at the conference. Therefore, the exuberance of the visitors at such a large gathering, in such a large hotel and in such a large city was understandable, even though it spilled over at times.

Among the many signs installed in the hotel lobby that directed the guests to different areas and meeting rooms there was also one indicating the precise timings of the 5 daily prayers.

Presence of religion in the hotel was palpable.

While walking down the corridor in search of my room, I saw a Pakistani man with a sparse beard emerge from his room, his trousers rolled up above the ankles, water dripping from his hands and arms, and droplets of water hanging from his beard. It was maghrib time. He asked me if I knew which way the qibla was. Reflexively, I pointed to what I thought was the west. He thanked me and quickly retreated into his room presumably to say his maghrib prayer.

It occurred to me later that I had misled the man, for in the US the qibla is towards the east. I felt guilty. But then to calm down the qualms of my conscience, I remembered the injunction: “To Him belongs the East and the West; so, whichever way you turn your face doesn’t really matter… “ Plus, I told myself, I had given the information in good faith.

The APPNA managers had also arranged a delightful bazaar in the basement of the hotel, which catered to the needs of the delegates in this world as well as in the world hereafter. There were stalls selling clothes and jewelry, and stalls selling spiritual books on cleansing the soul as well as the body. With an eye on the doctors’ deep pockets, there were also stalls selling property in Dubai and other investments. The women folks thronged the bazaar, mostly the clothing and jewelry sections.

When Pakistanis come together at any place, politics cannot be far behind. In fact, after religion politics seems to be their only passion. APPNA had invited prominent persons from Pakistan to get an update on what was happening back home. They included barrister Aitzaz Ahsan, Justice Wajihuddin Ahmed, Ahsan Iqbal (PML-N), Farooq Sattar of MQM, and Pakistan’s new ambassador in Washington, Mr. Husain Haqqani. All 300 seats in the hall were taken and there were also many people standing in the back and on the sides.

The speeches were followed by questions and answers. It was clear at the outset that the APPNA crowd was divided along the same political lines drawn so deeply on the political landscape of Pakistan. They expressed their emotions, often bordering on anger, with the same intensity, which has been visible in Pakistan since March 2007.

A large and vociferous section of the audience was for the restoration of pre-November 3 judiciary, which was the topic of discussion. Aitzaz Ahsan received a standing ovation from the audience both before and after his speech. Someone from the audience even hailed him as “Obama of Pakistan!”

Ahsan Iqbal of PML(N) was heard patiently. Farooq Sattar was occasionally heckled with shouts of ‘May 12!’ but managed to say what he had to say. However, all hell seemed to break loose when ambassador Haqqani spoke.

Mr. Haqqani is a smart man. He speaks well and writes well. He has written a great book, Between Mosque and Military, which, according to Professor Stephen Cohen, “ is brilliantly researched and written book that should be required reading for anyone who wishes to understand this increasingly important state.” But, on stage, that day, Mr. Haqqani looked and acted like a fighter rooster let loose in the ring. He would go after his “opponents” with sharp rebuttals and repartee that might have won him points in college debates but did not win many friends among the APPNA doctors present in the hall.

The acrimony generated during the political debate, however, seemed to disappear by the evening when, during a musical show, the doctors of political colors, having done with their Isha prayers at 10:15 P.M, broke into wild bhangra that lasted well past midnight.

During one of the trips to my room, I got into an elevator where there were already a few Americans or Europeans. (They stood out in the hotel!) Just when the doors of the elevator were closing, an ample and exuberant Pakistani woman, in her flowing and colorful dress, accompanied by 3 or 4 children, ranging in age from about 7 to 13, rushed in. We all squeezed ourselves and pulled in our tummies to accommodate the woman and the kids. When everyone was in and had pushed his/her destination-floor buttons (the children having pushed more than one), the doors closed and that usual awkward silence fell in the elevator. Breaking the silence, the woman announced, primarily addressing her children, like a schoolteacher to a class: “Hey, let’s sing Pakistani national anthem”. The children bashfully looked at their mother with question marks on their faces. They didn’t seem to think it was a great idea to sing in a closed space with strangers around. But the mother’s enthusiasm could not be contained. Like the conductor of a choir, with one hand raised, she piped up with a full-throated ‘Paaak sar zameeen shadbaad … The children simply stared at their toes in embarrassment. The strangers in the elevator, more perplexed than bemused, slipped out of the elevator at the first stop. I listened to her solo performance in silence. Had she not been so out of tune I would have possibly joined her.

Patriotism, like nostalgia, affects you at odd times and odd places, with unpredictable results.

Overall, it seemed the doctors had a good 3 days of R&R. Recreation and Religion, that is. What they need, I guess, is an injection of a bit of Renaissance and Reformation.