Nawaz Sharif kee rangeenian
Once the interview was finished, Sharif looked at me.
“Can you ask your translator to leave?” he asked. “I need to talk to
you.”
My translator looked at me with a worried forehead wrinkle.
“It’s OK,” I said.
He left. Sharif then looked at my tape recorder.
“Can you turn that off?”
I obliged.
“I have to go,” I said. “I have to write a story.”
He ignored me. “I have bought you an iPhone,” he said.
He ignored me. “I have bought you an iPhone,” he said.
“I can’t take it.”
“Why not? It is a gift.”
“No. It’s completely unethical, you’re a source.”
“But we are friends, right?”
I had forgotten how Sharif twisted the word “friend.”
“Sure, we’re friendly, but you’re still the former prime minister of
Pakistan and I can’t take an iPhone from you,” I said.
“But we are friends,” he countered. “I don’t accept that. I told you I
was buying you an iPhone.”
“I told you I couldn’t take it. And we’re not those kind of friends.”
He tried a new tactic. “Oh, I see. Your translator is here, and you do
not want him to see me give you an iPhone. That could be
embarrassing for you.”
Exasperated, I agreed. “Sure. That’s it.”
He then offered to meet me the next day, at a friend’s apartment in
Lahore, to give me the iPhone and have tea. No, I said. I was going to
Faridkot. Sharif finally came to the point.
“Kim. I am sorry I was not able to find you a friend. I tried, but I
failed.”
He shook his head, looked genuinely sad about the failure of the
project.
“That’s OK,” I said. “Really. I don’t really want a friend right now. I
am perfectly happy without a friend. I want to be friendless.”
He paused. And then, finally, the tiger of Punjab pounced. “I would
like to be your friend.”