Risalpur (had to write something...)

Risalpur, the unattainable, the unconquerable, the dream of every public-speaker who answers to the name of ‘Declaimer’, the most prestigious ‘All Pakistan Bi-lingual Declamation Tournament’ in the country, and apart from the AIBD, the last remaining fortress where the art of oratory has not yet fallen into the hands of chirpy Parliamentary-style debaters, and rhetoric has yet to breathe its last breath.
Ummar made it a point of honor or mission or something to represent GCU in Risalpur again and again, probably till such time as they would dedicate an academic block or perhaps the auditorium to him. “Only four times,” says he, but for all intents and purposes he’s as much a part of that Academy as he is of GCU.
He wanted to drag me along with him to Risalpur in 2007 but fortunately Dr. Farhan Ebadat –In charge Dramatics Club- needed my services -for which now I am truly glad.
So, while Ummar was being honored with a consolation prize in Risalpur, I was feeling ridiculous, performing “Amar Bail,” an Urdu play, in Delhi, India. I was supposed to act as if the suicide of my daughter had grieved me but I never could pull it off.
However, in any case, this is not how the story began; it began a long time ago…

It was in the year 2003 that Ummar Ziauddin and I were conned by our respective colleges into going to PAF Academy Risalpur for the first time; Ummar had come from Army Burn Hall College Abbottabad and I was representing Aitchison College Lahore. Ummar and I, we never met, heard, or even so much as saw each other back then.
We were both told that it was something we had to do, a competition we had to speak, as if we had no choice. Well, turns out we did have a choice and we were not really conned; it’s just that we are rather proud and possibly too sure of ourselves to ever say no to a challenge; we were warrior-poets in the making, you see, and, as such, we could never give in; we would refuse to lose…or well, at least he would. Inertia has always had too heavy a hold on my life and rarely can I be persuaded to make any efforts to break free; I enjoy sloth. But then again, lazy or not, we debaters are egotistical creatures; and we have good reason to be this way, for after all, we win not because the judges are biased; we win in spite of it.
Back then, we were young, ignorant, unaware of what was really happening around us, and we had both been sent as humorous speakers -which was fine in my case but Ummar?
As luck would have it, we were both disqualified that year and out of the competition in the very first round. The experience, however, was a wonderful one; we got to take ‘joyrides’ in the Super Mushaak -Courtesy of the Pak Air Force- and we got to experience what it is like to be disqualified; a novel occurrence, which later became a recurring theme in my life.
With no regrets at all, I returned back home from that tournament; I had enjoyed the good food, met with interesting people, delivered a well received Urdu humorous speech and had been patted on the back on account of my ‘tough luck’ for not having gone on to the final round. Yes, I was satisfied indeed. Ummar, on the other hand, came back home with the intention of going back someday and ‘winning that insufferable tournament once and for all.’ (He tried -a record- four times in all before he actually managed to do that.)
And so then one day we joined Government College University. I refrained from crossing the threshold of the Debating Society for a whole year; I had grown too tired of public speaking; it was too much of a hassle, and thus I joined the Dramatics Club to relax.

In the year 2007, after I’d acted in enough plays to last me a lifetime, I decided it was time to try my hand at debates once again. It had been quite a while since I had spoken -Risalpur having been my last tournament- and here in GCU, everyone was all praises for this boy called Ummar, who was the President of the Debating Society and, apparently, not a bad speaker. I didn’t know him at all, and I tend to be a bit skeptical but I realized fairly quickly that with Ummar, I was in the presence of greatness; the boy could put life into the most absurd and nonsensical conglomerations of words like a demi-god of oratory! Pure talent personified! And here I must also add that I know of no other person who works as hard as he did to gain and then maintain his much coveted place as a legendary public speaker.

We spoke as a team for the first time at a place called Government College Township in Lahore; he spoke as a serious English speaker and I as an Urdu humorous one.
We won Township and it was by far the most horrendous and, in retrospect, enlightening experience of my debating career, that is, until we spoke at Comsats Lahore, much later; I will never forgive Ummar for that or any one of the other tournaments we have been to because I am always forced against my will to accompany him. Personally, I prefer a peaceful, ambition-free life, but he tends to get bored fairly easily. This is precisely why I found myself, one fine day, staring at a gigantic flying fish made of camouflaged metal, stranded in the middle of a runway at the old Lahore airport. The C130 aircraft is designed to carry everything but fussy human beings, and as it tried to take us to our destination, one of the tires burst -or as I like to put it: the plane caught fire and nearly went up in flames. A second plane was promptly requested and eventually we boarded the substitute aircraft; hoping for the best, we were on our way. Dr. Haroon Qadir -In charge Debating Society- who simply refuses to remember who I am -General Secretary Debating Society- was with us on this expedition and proved himself, by far, the most agreeable chaperon anyone could ask for; he never interfered and was always kind enough to pretend to have faith in us! In spite of the fact that he had declared: “If Ummar goes to Risalpur again, I will quit my job!” he later agreed with Siddique Awan sahib -Co In charge Denating Society- on one condition: he would keep a spring-powered shoe-thrower, to shoot Ummar with during the tournament, if the occasion called for it.

So the second time Ummar and I went to Risalpur was in 2008. This gap of five years had completely changed us as individuals. I was taller and more confident; he was being solemnly requested by the organizers to stop coming back; it was noticeable how everyone seemed to know Ummar. He had spent more time in Risalpur than most of the cadets and this is not an exaggeration: the cumulative time he has spent in the Super Mushaak taking ‘joy rides’ exceeds that of almost all cadet pilots. We were sure that in the event that he did not win, he would definitely be given honorary wings! Apart from this, nearly all the contestants seemed naturally to want to seek out Ummar for advice and ask him about the schedule etc. since he had more experience in such matters than the Academy staff, who were clearly new at this.

As per our daily routine in Risalpur, it can only be said that both of us really like to sleep; we consider it a birthright and a perfectly unobjectionable and halal past time. The young boys from Fazaia Karachi, who were bunking in our room were rather disturbed by our extraordinarily deep slumber and would try to check our pulses at regular intervals, to see if we were still alive. Naturally this practice, although performed with the best of intents on their part, left us with the desire to rip their souls out and send them up to the Almighty. Every now and then a senior cadet would also feel compelled to confirm whether we had ‘passed on’, as it were, or not.
The initial round of the tournament went rather well in my opinion. One has to choose three topics and then pick one out of the three to speak on. Two hours or so are given to the speaker to prepare. This is a rather nerve wracking process and I hope I’ll never have to experience such a thing again. Although, considering how it makes you remember God quite frequently, it might be construed as a holy thing! After the initial round was over and we were informed that we had qualified for the final round, we went back to our rooms to continue our leisure pursuit of sleeping as best we could. The following day was a day for Super Mushaak ‘joy-rides’ -an aircraft about which Ummar knows more than the pilots who fly it- and of course, the final round.

The auditorium seemed less intimidating, but just as prestigious. The trophy seemed visibly different as well, mainly because the boys from EME NUST who had won it last year, had lost the original trophy, so a new one stood in its place –they say it cost Rs15000!- and was more beautiful than the previous one. A trophy’s beauty cannot be truly appreciated until it is seen through the eyes of a debater; the longing I felt when I saw this particular trophy was a spiritual experience in itself.
There we were Ummar and I, wearing our maroon GCU blazers –mine was borrowed- looking like joyous angels of death; our skins were pale and nerves taut beyond endurance: he had only just vomited blood in the toilet, a ritualistic pre-tournament habit of his, whilst I was feeling an urgent need to use the toilet: irritable bowel syndrome! Also, we are both afflicted by bouts of narcolepsy, brought on by stress; so, sitting on the stage, waiting for our turn, we both experienced moments of total, blank, darkness wherein other contestants tried to nudge us into waking up. In such a state of vulnerability I tend to be rather emotional and am easily moved by the emotive invocations of other serious speakers; at such times I can be observed as the only fool among contestants who nods his head in appreciation and claps passionately with tears in his eyes as a bewildered speaker blabs on about some Kashmiri mother, following it up with a couplet or two by Habib Jalib or Faiz Ahmed Faiz.

We were both rather nervous. Team GCU were favorites to win but one never knows how a speech might go till it has been delivered. The audience is an unpredictable organism to be sure; sometimes it can go out of control and on such an occasion you know very well that your goose is cooked. And many a speaker gets his cooked in Risalpur.
My turn came after Ummar had spoken, and he did a pretty good job. As a general rule I don’t listen to him when my speech has to follow his speech; I’m too busy trying to keep myself from falling to pieces, as my stomach fills up with lead and I begin to panic. I rehearse the speech in my head and despair. Then I start praying for a natural disaster or something to keep me from having to do this.
I was beyond panic in Risalpur; I wouldn’t say I was ‘comfortably numb’, more along the lines of ‘resigned to my fate.’ Ummar probably felt the same.
After he was done speaking, I swallowed spit, clapped for my team-mate, swallowed again, and then waited for the President to call my name. Then, under the force of some unknown spell I got up and moved over to the dais…

Ummar and I were the first team from GCU to have won Risalpur in four years. We received the Hero's welcome on our return to Lahore. Even the C130 seemed a lot more comfortable on the return trip and I don't know about Ummar but I fell asleep on the plane in spite of it not being sound proof or spacious.
The atmosphere itself seemed charged with a sense of victory and we were confident that if we never did anything again for the rest of our stay in GCU but sit and relax, it would go entirely unchallenged and nothing but indulgent smiles would be our share; Risalpur, after all, is a big deal. We spoke this tournament together, unknowingly and separately once, and were disqualified. We spoke as a team the second time and brought home the team-trophy. Ummar says it was fated and I don’t believe in coincidences either.