“Oh Pakistan!” is how the immigration officer greeted me at the Berlin airport. I wasn’t surprised with the alarm in her voice or her face contorting into a panic-stricken expression the moment I came up to the counter. I sometimes forget that I really do come from a dangerous part of the world, which, unfortunately, remains in the news for all the wrong reasons. But having said that, it sure was fun watching her scratch her head, trying real hard to find something wrong with my passport. Eventually, as expected, she remained unsuccessful and I was let off after being asked three-four routine questions.

The truth is that I faced more trouble back home at the Karachi airport than in Berlin. When I checked in at the immigration counter, this lady officer first bugged me about my national ID card, which I hadn´t brought along because I knew it wasn´t a requirement to travel abroad. Then she bugged me about my place of birth which is Kuwait and not Pakistan. I´m one of those unfortunate people who got stuck in that place during the first Gulf war. Anyways, to cut the long story short, I had to tell that b**** off by eventually using the magic card called the press card and warning her that if she delayed my process by even a second more I would have to wake up her bosses in the middle of the night, which would also ensure her transfer to some shitty area of the country. Needless to say, I was led straight to the lounge with an apology after that.

Anyways, I must admit that I´m somewhat pleasantly surprised that people here don´t react with, say hatred or alarm or mockery, when I tell them that I´m from Pakistan. Yes, the first reaction is always an ´Oh!´ but then it almost always melts into a smile and with some saying that things are really bad there. In turn I always tell them that I wish I could change all that for the better. Also, quite often, people do ask me about the slain leader Benazir Bhutto and whether Musharraf really killed her or not.

I must say that overall the attitude of the people here has been quite welcoming. But sometimes people make their own judgements about a person´s nationality. This one time I went to this really nice and trendy night club, where the big and unfriendly-looking guards had first eyed me from head to toe before allowing me in. After five minutes of chin scratching, one of them finally broke the ice and said ´Do you know Amitab Bachan?,´ who is a very famous Indian filmstar. I said ´of corse brother´ shaking hands and we exchanged smiles all the way into the club. He thought I was an Indian tourist looking cool in the night wearing a black leather jacket. I was even given a tour of the place, where a live rock band was performin, young girls were cooling themselves off in an indoor pool in another area and there was a really cute bartender girl serving the most delicious of beers in another section. Little did the host realize that he had in fact invited one guy from the Islamic Republic of Pakistan and his two sidekicks from the Land of the Suicide Bombers ´Afghanistan´ into the club . I had a really good time sipping on the beers and swayin to the music that night. But I sometimes wonder whether we would have been let in if I had corrected my burly host that his guess about our nationalities was all wrong….hahahahahaha

Drunk? who? me?