Moroccan voices

I set foot in the world of the Arabs when I accompanied my wife to Morocco a couple of years ago. Not many Indians make the Mediterranean country their destination, but Shah Rukh Khan and Amita Basha (Amitabh Bachchan) are respected in that country.

I am one rare Indian who has had the honour of seeing Insaaf Ka Tarazu on TV sprawling on a soft bed at Fez’s plush Royal Mirage Hotel, not to mention the Incredible India ad campaign playing on Discovery Channel. The one thing that struck me about the hotel when my wife and I reached there after a train ride from Casablanca was King Mohammed VI’s life size portrait.

The oil painting was that of a man who looked hospitable and warm. The woman at the reception was high praise for him. In sing-song broken French-and-Arabic-laced English she conveyed her reverence for the monarch. She was smart, liberated and fashionable in fitting western clothes.

On the train, we met Aziza, an elegant woman who wore a floral silk head scarf, high heels and a well-tailored suit. She intrigued me. She appeared deeply religious and remained engrossed in the Holy Quran for long as the train sped through barren expanses.

An hour or so later, she looked at us and smiled warmly. She spoke rudimentary English but made an effort to strike up a conversation. Aziza introduced herself as a teacher at Fez University. Casablanca was her home, she said. She took the train to Fez once a week, stayed over for three days, finished her classes and returned.

Her husband too was a teacher, but he worked in Casablanca. They have two children. Her father was a senior officer in the king’s army. Aziza, in her late forties or early fifties, didn’t have much to say on the king. He was a distant figure who hardly mattered, she said. Her life was about her family, her train rides to work and attachment to her faith. That’s not to say she had a closed mind. She was modern and clued in. “There’s no contradiction between these worlds,” she explained munching biscuits.

For many weeks after we had returned, Aziza remained in touch, writing e-mails, struggling with her limited vocabulary. I remember her telling me: “The king seems benevolent in photographs strung up everywhere – at train stations, coffee shops, super-stores. But not too many problems in life.”

But at a Fez supermarket called Asima, the shop assistant at the billing counter was an unabashed admirer of the monarch. He spoke gushingly about SRK’s great friendship with his ruler. This guy had picked us out from the long queue, readily identified us as people from the land of Bachchan and SRK and cleared our payment on the double. No one objected.

I pointed to another massive painting of the beaming king dangling precariously from the ceiling. Feigning ignorance, I asked him if that guy up there was the owner. “He is not. But he is. He owns everything in this country. He is our king,” he answered reverentially. He had never seen the king save on TV, but knew all about his friendship with “Basha” and SRK.

Morocco, like any other Saharan country, has few people who seem to live unhurried, peaceful lives. Fez, Casablanca and Marrakesh are modern cities full of smart people who are proud and protective of their nation. At Marrakesh, I had cheekily chucked a plastic bag on the road. A cabbie saw me do it, picked it up, wagged a finger at me “never do it again”, he warned and kept it in his taxi.

Neighbourhoods have mosques with tall spire-like minarets painted in green but religion didn’t appear to overwhelm popular lives. The minarets blended easily with the gentle skyline.

Having said this, I must acknowledge I talk of the general feel we got. We had barely scratched the surface. At this level there were no telltale signs of trapped anger or those of a nation under pressure cooked conditions.

The king, even if he were authoritarian, appeared distant and more of a photo frame person for most. Some of those we got to talk had realized they’d live despite him. Others had reasons to live venerating him.

Nonetheless, Mohammed VI appears to be clued into the reality. His father gave him a Moroccan education so that he could learn his country better. He calls himself the first servant of his people and says his father told him that the biggest thing was “to last”. This probably was another way of telling the young king never to take the Moroccan people for granted. In the same breath he reminds that to govern is not to please.

Wonder how the bloody turmoil rocking neighbouring Libya has been playing on the minds of Moroccans and impacting their monarch. There have been news reports of ripples and after-shocks being felt in this beautiful country as well – but how serious? Only time will tell.

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