Originally written for The Friday Times in Lahore. BUT, since I havent ever heard back from them even after they printed my story, I thought I’d violate the slutty copyrights and work ethics of Pakistan and post it here. Plus, the 2,000 rupees I was promised were probably spent on diesel for running generators since electricity has quickly unseated democracy as the leading rarity in Pakistan.

There comes a time when you come to grips with the fact that you’re getting older. For me, this came with the realization that almost everyone I went to school and hung out with in Lahore, has moved abroad or even further away- into marriage. What this means is that the things that used to excite me, no longer do it for me. In Lahore, these were late night cruises and endless overpriced dinners on MM Alam Road.
This November, I found myself rabid with boredom. Burning compressed natural gas along the same streets I was burning petrol on three to four years ago, I began to notice, in addition to the magnanimous billboards that typically pollute Lahore’s cityscape, advertisements for the ‘WPAF07’. This sounded like a confirmation code a customer service agent would repeat to you over the phone. But this was no ordinary acronym, it was the shortened manifestation of perhaps the most important commercialisation of performing arts in Pakistan: the Rafi Peer Theater Workshop’s World Performing Arts Festival ’07.
Lahore always seems to be at the center of cultural activities in Pakistan, performing arts included. In my opinion, the Peer group has been at the forefront of the commercialisation of art; even though ‘commercialisation’ and ‘art’, according to some, should never be in the same sentence. But that’s a whole other discussion.
Anyhow, the Rafi Peer Theater Workshop seems to have become an essential catalyst for performing arts in Pakistan, regardless of where the artists themselves are from. Each year, numerous performing artists from around the world bring their talents in theatre, dance, puppetry, music and filmmaking to a boil in the melting pot known best as the Alhamra Open Air Theater, even though Nayyer Dada sahib’s design allows it to be much more than an amphitheater.

The Rafi Peer Theater Workshop, an NGO as well, seems to be at the ‘center of the center of culture’ in Pakistan. Any entity that liaisons the relativity of art and the common man’s life must be lauded, not just this one. In this case however, the most salient objectives of the group (freedom of speech, education, raising awareness through entertainment, never forgetting our art roots, and international cooperation to foster a national theater movement) all came through vividly as I walked around the theater complex once more.

The thing that struck me as I walked up to the complex was the visual and aural ecosystem there. The lights, the sounds of children laughing, the puppetry camps, the television crews, the espresso machines steaming away at Peeru’s Café, everything was as perfect as could be. It was just the place the mentally exhausted of a nation in turmoil could turn to after the day’s unresolved debates and arguments.

The WPAF07 was an 11-day event. I picked up the slick WPAF07 flyer from every ice cream and coffee shop I visited, and it felt more like a flyer than a schedule. Though internally it was scheduled fairly well, the internet was the only place I could find an extensive list of performance timings. At the venue, the ticketing booth could have done with bigger windows, not located where most people tie their belt, but at face level. Second, even the heavy foreign-telecom sponsorship couldn’t bring ticket prices down to a level where I could go on a festival-spree, attending several different events and leave with enough to pay the guy who comes up to your window asking for the parking ticket and then fill up on a hearty tank of CNG for the drive back. Perhaps more should be done about ‘day passes’ and the like. If such tickets do exist, the fact that I am still unaware of them begs a question to the organizers.

I attended one open air concert that got rained out and a couple of puppet acts as a result. World Music Night was my only ‘gig’ in the amphitheater, ticketed at rupees 300. I think the most interesting performance was Goonga Saiin’s dhol beating in sync with the Pakistani band Overload, one with an interesting sound of drums, guitars and a vocalist whose presence was more visible than audible. I also caught the Martin Lubenov Orkestar, whose Bulgarian vocals echoed two Austrian accordions. Seating was pretty much full, and the crowd seemed as diverse as the music itself. Good show!

As an observer, I noticed not only the artists’ performance, but the crowd’s as well. It’s easy to get a Lahori crowd pumped and dancing to a dhol, but to send in a foreign, Eastern European troupe right after Goonga Sain had me re-examining things. The crowd was not only less responsive, but many started packing up mid-performance. Pretty disrespectful. Sure, appeal and taste have a lot to do with how a performance is received, but I put myself in the shoes of the musicians onstage. How far had these fellows flown? How many security warnings had they ignored, and how much had they risked to come and play in Lahore that night, even if they had signed on months before?

I’m not writing this from an apologist’s point of view, asking Pakistan to consider itself fortunate every time it has foreigners visiting. I am offering a view both fans and artists will agree upon: it’s good to be appreciated. Part of that comes from a natural affinity one has to the particular music or talent being shared. Part of it comes from a nation’s training and etiquette. And finally, part of it comes from the level of organization at an event.

I think the sequence of acts matters. Make the audience wait too long, and they’ll wither by the time the main attraction comes on. Give it up too soon, and they’ll do the same by leaving early. Strategy, that sneaky word found bouncing off boardroom walls and many an economists’ lying lips, must make itself known here as well.

Why? So that artists, performers and professionals on the whole, who show enough of an initiative to trek into the Land of the Pure today, are welcomed the way we would expect to be welcomed in their countries and so that art continues to be inviting enough for people to shell out hundreds of rupees on an international festival.

What started out as a routine night out in Lahore turned into a deep conversation with myself. Like every other discussion I’d had in the last month, this one came to a rather fruitless end. I zoned back in to the black suits of the vocalists and enjoyed the rest of the night as much as I could.

Handing the parking ‘token’ to the attendant as I left Qaddafi Stadium, I thought of all the work that goes into a festival; the planning, the financing and execution. As a casual patron, I couldn’t find any excuse to say that I wasn’t leaving with my money’s worth. As a Pakistani, I felt slightly disappointed with the organisation.
Can you promote civic values through community events like the WPAF? I think we’re definitely on the right track. Logistics can always be worked out, but the crux of Salmaan Peerzada’s vision: to bring the pressing issues of society to light through art, comes through loud and clear every year, as many from world over literally come together in the heart of the Punjab to reaffirm that hope.