I was notified of my appointment with Pervez Musharraf by a text from his PR man: ‘General sahib has granted your request and wishes to see you in the afternoon.’ At the entrance to a gleaming skyscraper with views of the Burj Khalifa, I was greeted by a security guard in black sunglasses: ‘Welcome sir! You have 45 minutes.’
We ascended the elevator up to the penthouse, and were soon standing in the drawing room of Pakistan’s former president-dictator. The marble floors were strewn with Persian rugs; the walls were adorned with army mementos and Mughal paintings. The sound of ghazal music wafted through the air – as did the smell of cheese samosas.
Musharraf entered, accompanied by one of the small dogs he reputedly adores. In a subdued voice, suggestive of his advancing age (he is 79 this year), he told me that he is still preoccupied by politics and plans to go back to Pakistan for further campaigning.
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