Karachi, Mar 13: Are you carrying any whisky wisky or rum shum" was the first question I was asked by a friendly Pakistani immigration official as I landed in Karachi on a wind swept November evening 14 years ago. As an itinerant journalist bracing up to cover India's cricketing tour of Pakistan in 1989, the question left me stumped neck and crop for an answer. Before I could mumble an uncomfortable "no", the man flashed a brilliant smile and said: "Sir, welcome to Pakistan. But the reason why I asked the question was, in the past, scribes from India have often carried whisky in Dettol bottles but could never give us the slip." On my maiden visit to an alien territory, I didn't dare ask the official what did he do with those bottles, but I am sure he would have floundered equally for an answer if he were to face that question. Having exited from the airport and ferried to the YMCA in a Toyota cab - as ubiquitous in Karachi as strawberry and cream at Wimbledon - I and some of my Indian colleagues quickly unpacked and hit the Press Club with a sense of wary optimism. We had no idea that the Press Club had prior information of our arrival and was expecting us any moment that evening. As we walked through the gates, we were given a very warm welcome by club president Fida Hussein, or "Father" as he was popularly know in the media circuit of the city. It would be in the fitness of things to mention here that the Karachi Press Club had positioned itself as a staunch opponent of Zia-ul-Haq's Martial Law.
Naturally, Benazir Bhutto's Pakistan was completely different in 1989 as beautiful women formed the bulwark of the improptu reception committee. It was not long before I was asked the second stunning question of my day one in Pakistan: "What would you have? Whisky or rum?" I chose whisky and lo and behold! Out came bottles of Aristocrat Premium and McDowell - all Indian liquor. "That's what we get in Karachi," explained the "Father", hastening to add: "Don't ask me how but we get it." And I got it, too. Karachi began unfolding in a mesmering fashion with each passing day as I went about the city, on occasions alone, and at times with Pakistani friends - obviously each one of them was driving a Toyota. Apart from indulging in the gastronomical extravaganza that Pakistan offers to gluttons like me every day, I also had come across a unique situation that often led to my embarrassment. Whenever I went shopping, the shopkeepers would refuse to take money the moment they would find out that I am an Indian journalist .