Late enough for a grey and blueclad Nawaz Sharif to not let a visibly tired Maulana Fazal-ur-Rehman finish his oath taking when the former took the seat next to his invisible other: The Prime Minister's. The native of DI Khan didn't object, either. How could he? A hat-trick prime minister doesn't wait for many. As it coalesced under the Quaid's massive portrait, the new assembly clearly marked the end of bipolar politics. And while the reasonably well-spoken and wryly humorous new Speaker, Sardar Ayaz Sadiq, started announcing the order and procedures of business, the self-portraits of a new, eclectic leadership in a multipolar dispensation began morphing.
On the opposition's benches, minus his Captain, Javed Hashmi lay terribly silent and aloof, maybe brooding over how the "new Pakistan" isn't his to have this time around. Behind him lurked Shah Mahmoud Qureshi, the eternal Number 2, agitated and prepared to launch the first verbal salvo from the floor. He eventually did, at the Speaker, for allowing the sloganeers of the PML-N in the visitor's box to have their song and dance when their emperor walked in, but the Aitchisonian Sardar quickly apologised to his fellow Old Boy, pre-empting conflict. Next door, Shafqat Mahmoud looked pensive and hierarchically challenged. Down the street, lost in the sea of middle management, Shireen Mazari - sporting the same fading turquoise crown from the campaign trail that surprisingly didn't match her outfit - would also try to make her presence felt, exactly as she is prone to: by raising an alarmist declaration about the assembly's security being threatened by a "siege" of N-League Shers banging at the doors of the House. At least till Hashmi would make his important speech later in the show, the PTI's game was contrived. It was clear that they wanted to have their presence felt. But the big guns of Insaf lacked chemistry, even a game plan. It was rather obvious that they need their Skipper back (who Mahmoud confirmed is arriving in Islamabad tomorrow and will be in parliament by June 21st). Still, Khan's absence probably worked for him: Mian Sahib lacked a strong opponent. And that only built up the suspense of the days to come.
Back in the Treasury, as the voting commenced, the emperor looked imperial, even relaxed, but modestly hid Tahmina Daultana's red rose that was presented just to him in front of all. Chaudhry Nisar whispered away in the imperial ear. Khwaja Asif was finicky. Ahsan Iqbal was shifty and cracked his knuckles more than most do. Shahid Khaqan Abbasi and Saad Rafiq would approach the first bench, report, and retreat, as tamed subordinates tend to. Backbencher Hamza Shahbaz was alert enough to wave to journos, but didn't inspire a stand-up hug from his uncle when he came around to say hello. And Marvi Memon, the self appointed cheerleader of the League, looked bored, perhaps pondering over the future of a cabinet that may probably miss her. In the middle, freshman Pervez Malik, and his reservedly seated wife, did what new operators do: work overtime.
The Piplis were united, but extraordinarily quite. Whip-in-Chief Khurshid Shah was spruce and most energetic, but Fahmida Mirza didn't do much. Nor did the late arriver, Naveed Qamar. Across the aisle, Mahmood Khan Achakzai was either pretending to sleep or close to it, and Sheikh Rashid, bouncy and boisterous, sought attention: He hugged and tugged his way close to Lobby A, where Mian Sahib's voters were doing due diligence, getting the press gallery excited about whether he would vote for the crown. But he snaked his way back, out of Mian Sahib's point of view, to Lobby C to vote in Javed Hashmi - unlike Jamshed Dasti, who's obsequious circuit of the N-League's trenches looked masochistic enough to indicate that he wanted to be tamed by a Lion.
The MQMers, united and organised as is custom, moved briskly in force to pay homage, led by their bilingual pointman, Farooq Sattar. The longer hellos were exchanged with the caravan from KPK, featuring an extraordinarily formal Amir Hoti, a reinvigorated Aftab Sherpao, and a demure Maulana Fazl, all personally escorting Mian Sahib to vote in Lobby A, burkas in tow.
The premier's speech itself was two speeches. The first was 28 pages (with large text, as the emperor only chose to wear his reading glasses for the notes that were coming in, and not his maiden address) with Allah mentioned at least five times; "Aitmad" (Trust) mentioned at least five times; "Jamhooriyat" (Democracy) mentioned at least 11 times; "Amriyat" (Dictatorship) mentioned at least seven times; "Aaeen" (Constitution) mentioned at least six times; and Loadshedding mentioned at least three times. But "Difa", "Tabdeeli" and "Intihapasandi" (Security, Change and Extremism) were all mentioned around once. Even drones were mentioned more than extremism, but this speech was not monotonous, nor badly delivered for a man not known for his articulation.
The other speech, with the Uhhs and Umms, was when Mian Sahib spoke extemporaneously. There were some awkward moments (Toba Tek Singh was chosen to be compared with Karachi, Peshawar and Quetta, hardly the right analogy, or provincial capital, for the point he was trying to make about poverty alleviation) and some important ones (the deal with the Chinese premier about rail and road links all the way from the Pak-China border to Gwadar and Karachi). But the gas pipeline with Iran was not mentioned. Nor was the US. Nor India. Nor Afghanistan. The take away, frankly, was how compassionate the emperor sounded when he reached out across the aisle of partisanship. The vicious steel-magnate of Gawal Mandi, who, his enemies swear, is as vindictive as a Pashtun tribesman, was nowhere in sight.
Still, the China narrative was unequivocally clear; praising the PPP for moving Gwadar into Chinese hands was hailed, twice. This was a safe foreign policy speech, a toned-down economy speech, and a provincially benevolent speech: as all were reminded how Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan could have been ruled from the Takht, but were given away in the national interest, Karachiwalas were also assured that the centre was with them. There were congenial moment from Sharif's side; and also cosmetic ones.
On economic and energy policy moves, Sharif spoke as he wore: in greys. So nuanced is his energy policy, that his speech was used to announce another speech (that he will make soon), about the tough measures for dealing with the crisis that is now being termed as power security in his inner circle. And so driven (or maybe orchestrated) is his energy czar, the dapper and suave Khwaja Asif, that when other party leaders took to the floor, the former banker indiscreetly, and rather noticeably, waved his way out of the session, gesturing to colleagues that he had tons of work ahead of him.
The others made their impact too. Amin Fahim took on the elephant in the room - nobody had gone near the army directly so far - and called the establishment a "balaa", or demon, that must be tamed. This was clearly baiting. Now that it's thoroughly done for at least a term or two at the federal level - one can expect the PPP to put on that old anti-army t-shirt again. Reinventing itself as the bastion of anti-establishment values is a high road, and the PPP is good at it; it's a smart manoeuvre, but its from a has-been party that handed out extensions and other goodies to GHQ over its tenure. Still, Fahim's personal anecdotes about defying the military's offers for high office were slightly less lacklustre than his speech delivery.
Toward the end, Javed Hashmi, loud and brash, had the sound bite of the day when he exclaimed, "For the sake of the Constitution, Nawaz Sharif was my leader and is my leader." It was a feel-good moment for old-school democrats and new-school rookies, up there with the hug the emperor and his former sage had exchanged on the floor earlier that had invited a thunderous applause. Expect Hashmi to be the yard-stick of shifting tides in this parliament. If anyone can divert the flood of independents who have flocked to Mian Sahib's side with animal passion and brute ideological muscle, its Hashmi.
Later, Achakzai was hard and fast with his quips, but surprised everyone when he gave General Musharraf a lifeline by challenging Sharif to not persecute Musharraf, rather prosecute all and sundry who supported that dictator's rule and takeover. And Farooq Sattar and Maulana Fazl did what they do: Send signals, point out discrepancies and demand a piece of the action, all at the same time.
When lesser mortals like Sheikh Rasheed would take the floor, out in the lounges and lunch stations of the capital, the grapevine couldn't wait: Sharif might pull by the end of the week what he did with General Mirza Aslam Beg in 1990 by announcing his successor, General Asif Nawaz, almost immediately after he assumed office, screamed one narrative. Why not use this current national impetus to put his own man into GHQ, these gossip gurus would surmise. And no way would Mian Sahib give General Kayani an extension!
The whisperers would be proven somewhat right - not for content, but relevance: Later in the evening, the swearing-in would be followed by another survivor, a man who's gotten 'nominated' twice- General Ashfaq Pervez Kayani, the first one to call on the new PM at his official residence - spending face time with the new premier. And as that meeting would commence, the analysts would tweet and torment each other with a new finding: Not many in this land are more qualified to advise aspirers of extending power about the rule of three than the man who has reinvented the Pakistani political comeback - Nawaz Sharif himself.