A Musharraf lookalike

Col Avnish Sharma (retd)

IMAGINING lookalikes is a popular hobby with the people at large. In my case, the first such mention came from an aunt, a movie buff, who thought her nephew was a copy of this dashing actor from the North-East. I took it in my stride and attempted to look like him, till another parallel was drawn, and then another, and so on. I shook it off as an aunt’s love for her nephew until my wife one day remarked that I had ‘some things of many’.

Tensions were running high between India and Pakistan after the terror attack on Parliament. I was in command of my regiment at the Rajasthan border. We were near Laungewala, waiting to repeat 1971, my tanks set to make a beeline for Karachi. The boss visited us for a pep talk and was taken aback to find us in khaki. “Why this, Colonel?” he asked. “We are going into the khaki land. Deception combined with aggression, sir.”

“Colonel, I must tell you... you have a striking resemblance to Pervez Musharraf and in khaki, you can pass off as his clone,” he remarked. Another of my aunt’s clan, I thought. “So, when you capture Karachi, we might have a surrender treaty being signed by two Musharrafs, seated side by side.” I shared the General’s observation with my unit. They did not look surprised. “Sir, we often discuss this, but feared it might offend you,” was the answer.

Meanwhile, my wife had to undergo a surgery and I made a fleeting visit back to Jodhpur. The military nursing staff was in a huddle. “Sir, you look like Pervez Musharraf. Can we have a photo with you?” one of them said. Mr Musharraf does have a high TRP amongst the women, I thought.

All was forgotten till well after I hung my spurs and settled down in Chandigarh. We were attending a meeting on India-Pakistan peace initiative. A retired Pakistani Brigadier’s wife came up to me and remarked, “You look so much like our President.”

Unfortunately, Musharraf stands convicted and sentenced to death by a court in Pakistan. The General, indisposed and in exile, has been reduced to a shadow of his old self.

But the tale does not end here. The other day, as I entered the lobby of a hotel, the manager said, “Sir, I must say that you have a striking resemblance to this great guy.” Another of my aunt’s clan, I thought. “Is it Pervez Musharraf?” I said. “No sir, not at all. It is Ameen Sayani of the good old Binaca Geetmala.”

A new chapter had commenced. Everything has a shelf life, indeed.

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