In those grand old days of flower power & hippie culture when Peshawar was a wayside stop into the hashish lands of Afghanistan, it was quite customary for Peshawari pimps with kohl rimmed eyes to sidle up to you and whisper, ‘Sahib, you need wooomaaan. Veriii boootiful.” And if you declined with a shake of your head, he would roll his eyes and lower his voice, “Okay no problem, boootifool boys have”. If you still declined, the age old courtesy of Peshawar would rear its head and the fellow would say, “So verii sorry to disturb you”.

Ah, those polite days are gone. Now the very same fellow ,a bit more aged, a flowing beard in tow, would as likely as not, sidle up and say, “Sahib, you want join Al Qaeda. Take you there. Only three hundred rupees”. Your attempts to decline the invitation would only increase the fellow’s fervour – he needs those three hundred bucks. So willy nilly you would be dragged to the nearest tea stall for a sales pitch – of course you pay for the tea.

As the tea is brought in, he will start the sales pitch with a line from Moby Dick. “Call me Ishmael.” He looks around conspiratorially and continues, “What a glorious death Sahib. Just imagine” He looks at you closely and suspects that you are not all that convinced. Then if you are of the brown variety like me, he would ask, “You, Pakistani from Eeenglaand? Good boys – them. All want to die for Islam. They come here to me .I take them to al Qaeda” You would of course say no, I am no Pakistani out to commit suicide or mayhem. Ishmael is shocked. He changes tracks. “Just think, 40 heavenly virgins waiting for you on the others side” There is a hint of his old profession in the verve with which he says that. And if you, like me, are apt to say, ‘Oh that would be one too many,” he like any good salesman would have an answer. ‘Not to worry Sahib. In Glorious Heaven you always strong. No need for Viagra.”
Then he notices an odd fact about you, “Oh Sahib, why no beard. Must have beard.” The frown on your face tells him that you don’t really relish the mandatory hirsuteness prevalent in Al Qaeda. He has the answer for that too. “Never mind. Only 2 inches beard. Okay?” Then a thought occurs to him, “You Muslim?” You raise your eyebrows and shake your head as I would have done and would probably leave the tea stall in disgust.

Ishmael does not give up that easily. He runs after you and, with a scissoring gesture of his fingers, assures you that he can arrange instant conversion & circumcision too. “It verriii necessary to be good Muslim,” he whispers, “Sahib just for you, only hundred rupees. Guaranteed – no pain.”

Now would you want to join the Al Qaeda?? .