My outbound bag to Pakistan consisted mainly of my own travelling pharmacy and the baggiest, most unflattering clothes I could find. It took me about a week to realise that whilst my phenomonal pharmacy was a good idea, my wardrobe was not.
The rules of dressing are complicated in Lahore, and I do not pretend even now to understand them. However, when it comes to the self-termed 'elite' of society (the powerful, the connected, the richest of the rich) the only rule is that you should be glamorous and beautiful, or at least stylishly clever if beauty is not within your grasp.And so I realised quickly that my quest for modesty was both mistaken and bizarre.
In the early days, the extent of my misunderstanding of this section of Pakistani society became clear. Sitting in an icily air conditioned restaurant eating faux French food with friends of my boss, I was invited to a cocktail party. I thanked the inviter, and explained that unfortunately I didn't have clothes to wear to that type of thing. "You didn't bring a cocktail dress?" I was asked incredulously. I thought I could make a joke of it so I explained: "you see the thing is, my frame of reference when planning my trip was a Palestinian refugee camp....". Everyone looked confused so I continued quickly, 'I know how stupid that seems now, but you know, I worked in Palestine a couple of years ago and..." I dried up with the looks of incomprehension/pity/concern. "Right, so anyway..." said the person next to me and they quickly moved the conversation on in a damage-limitation kind of way.
Luckily, none of this was held against me and I have been invited to a handful of cocktail parties since. The grandest of these occurred recently. The beautiful lawns of the garden were cooled by strategically placed fans, whilst alcohol flowed freely from professional looking bars. Exotic flowers lined the numerous lawns. When I complimented them to the host, he proudly explained that he had imported flowers from every corner in the world. These all came with complex maintenance routines which his staff had to learn. Glamorous young people kissed cheeks, puffed on cigarettes and sipped vodka tonics. The house peered down on the gardens haughtily, with dozens of well dressed servants standing to attention by its side, almost outnumbering the guests.
If you discount the odd Cambridge University Ball, I had never been to a party as glamorous as this one. I imagine some Londoners in Chelsea or Kensington throw this kind of bash, but certainly not anyone I know. And yet strangely, even with my awful wardrobe and my embarrassing habit of trying to chat to the servants, I am still one of the elite here.
People, for the most part, in this crowd are friendly and accommodating. They take an interest in the work we do and ask me about my impressions of Pakistan. As my boss introduces me to her friends, she complains about everybody knowing everybody, families being too close and the incestuousness of relationships within the group. "The thing you'll learn, Liana," she says, " is that Lahore is sooooooo small."
(Not long before this party, my boss had taken me to her husband's hunting ranch in the low salt range mountains. About 3 hours outside of Lahore, the flat landscape of the Punjab changed completely in to a green ledge of mountains.
The ranch itself surprised me in being quite understated. Without the usual ostentation, it blended in to its surroundings and made me feel like I was camping, albeit in luxury (and with a few servants). In the evening, we sat out in the slightly cooler mountain air and ate dinner from a round stone table in the centre of the site. The party consisted of only a few close friends of the family and me. As dinner was coming to a close and we all tucked into some green tea our host said, "I think we should come here every weekend. I hate those big parties...the people who go there really think they are something, when actually only a handful of us are from really good families." Clearly, small incestuous Lahore was not small enough.)
At around 1am the cocktail party was swiftly broken up. There were hushed whispers as the music stopped and the news spread that the police had been to the house. I was told that they'd been paid off, but that we had to leave as they could come back any time. One woman was incensed. "What is Lahore coming to?" she asked incredulously, "when the police think they can come and intimidate people like us!" People mumbled that the police were getting above themselves by thinking that they could close down a party like this.
This reminder of the country we were in was brief. Our huge car purred up the drive to whisk us away from this tiny glimpse of larger Lahore. Before I came here, lots of friends and family expressed concern about my safety in dangerous Pakistan. It seems, however, that the protection of powerful people keeps me safe. The only threat to these partygoers will be from the 'forgotten' Pakistanis, if and when they cannot feed their families and have nothing to lose. And, nothing to lose will make for dangerous people.
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