Wedding halls ignore power-saving restrictions

By Afzal Hussain Bokhari

With enhanced monthly Sui gas bill in hand on Saturday noon, the forgetful consumer looked at the closed bank and, stealing a quick look at his watch, wondered aloud if it was not too early for the cashier and rest of the staff to pack up and go home. Shaking the drowsy guard by the shoulder, he asked if something was the matter. Blinking the whole fantasy of a longer weekend off his dreamy eyes, the gunman reminded the consumer of the fact that the new energy-saving, five-day week arrangement had come into effect and the bank clerk dealing with utility bills was relaxing home in comfort. New realities dawned upon the confused consumer and folding back the gas bill into his pocket, he sheepishly went home.

Confusion over the new timings and schedule was not restricted to forgetful gas consumers. It extended from schoolchildren to office workers. Teachers of federal government schools were the first to ‘obey’ the orders. As far as students were concerned, holidays have always been the biggest attraction for them on the planet. In order to fulfill the formality, they exchanged a few brief text messages on the cell phones and then reached a consensus that apart from being an unpatriotic act, showing up in school on Saturday would most likely be a violation of government rules. Private schools were, however, clear about the new arrangement. They openly declared that in the larger interest of the students, the schools would remain open on Saturdays.

As far as Peshawar was concerned, the traders’ organisations rejected the new timings out of hand. Their argument was that they had already suffered tremendous financial loss due to frequent suicide bombings, dislocation of the population and flight of capital out of the country. The shopkeepers were of the opinion that uncertain conditions, the poor situation of law and order and sense of insecurity among the residents kept them away from crowded markets. One of the shopkeepers who ran a busy general store said that only 40 per cent of the people seen roaming in Saddar Bazaar could possibly be seriously looking for something and just half of this category ends up buying food grains, clothes or cosmetics. The rest of them enjoy loitering about aimlessly and saying hello to friendly shopkeepers.

The myth that two-day offs would go a long way towards conserving energy has exploded with a loud bang. The shopkeepers refuse to pull down the shutters at 8pm. The wedding halls on GT Road and the Circular Road remain jam-packed up to 11-30pm or even later than that. This being peak of the wedding season, the marriage or banquet halls have been booked in advance for mehndi, baraat and walima dinners. Invitation cards say that the function may start at 6-30pm and the line printed in smaller font at the bottom reminds you of the value of being punctual. All the same, the very first guest reluctantly descends on the place at 8-30pm or so.

The male guests feel apologetic for arriving late. Explanations are wonderfully innovative: “The wedding hall appears to have opened just recently and our driver did not know the way to this God forsaken place!” “Ladies take time in getting dressed up and then you see what Pesco folks are doing to the public”? “Beauticians at the parlour are so lousy these days! They need to wriggle out of the car bomb syndrome”. “Peshawar will never overcome the transport problem. You waste all your freshness waiting for a taxi-cab!”

Cashing in on the opportunity, the car decorators, the garland makers and sweet sellers are doing a roaring business accepting the orders and meeting the demands. Benz Mercedes minibus operators charge Rs4,000 for carrying 20 wedding guests from Hayatabad to City and back, which takes three to four hours including music, dance, food and the lingering departure. The Seraiki-speaking drum beaters from Shah Jeona in Jhang wait on the fringes but the modern marriage parties have taken to electronic organs and hi-fi DVD players which supposedly entertain the guests in a better way.

Behaviour of guests when the food is served is almost the same everywhere. Even the well-behaved person who moments ago swore by the Holy Book that he was on diet turns out to be a formidable gormandiser. Eating habits vary from locality to locality and city to city. This is probably one of the reasons why the banquet managers in most wedding halls have now added a new query to their typically bridal questionnaire: “Where is the baraat (groom’s side of the wedding party) coming from”? Some customers take offence to such curiosity: “Why the hell do you ask this question”? The manager politely explains: “So as to know how much we need to cook”! No disrespect is intended at all for any part of the City’s community but one banquet manager is on record to have said that 100 guests from Defence Colony do not normally eat as much as the same number, say, from Tehkal do.

It may be considered a show of bad manners to talk of marriage parties and funeral processions in one and the same breath. However, one may be excused for including, even if as a tailpiece, a brief obituary note of a man of letters. Literary and educational circles in City lauded the services to Urdu language of noted scholar Professor Mohammad Hassan, who died at the age of 84 on Saturday night after a prolonged illness in New Delhi’s Parmanand Hospital. Proud author of 75 books, Professor Hassan had been associated with Aligarh, Delhi, Kashmir and Jawaharlal Nehru universities. With short, curly hair combed backwards in African style, he had been a familiar presence in literary gatherings. Paying tributes to the deceased, prominent Hindu scholar of the Indian capital, Professor Chand Lal told All-India Radio’s news and current affairs division on Sunday that the biggest contribution of Professor Hassan was that he wrote extensively on Hindi literature for the benefit of Urdu-speaking world.