What he conveniently overlooked was that many people knew the Cultus he flaunted was itself an official vehicle disguised with a private number plate. But that was only the most superficial deception — visible to anyone. The real story runs deeper, and it must be placed on record, especially for those who still cling to the belief that Chaudhry Anwarul Haq was somehow different from the rest.
It may not shock his ardent admirers, but it will certainly surprise them to learn that Mr Haq had placed not one, not two, but six to seven official vehicles at the disposal of his family — including the very spouse whom he recently portrayed, in a theatrically crafted and planted interview, as the one who “met his expenses by giving tuition (sic)”.
The vehicles included:
• a black five-door Prado (GA-727)
• a silver five-door Prado (MRGA-040)
• a grey Toyota Camry (MDGC-222)
• a white Toyota Altis car (MDGC-333) — purchased for him as Chairman of the Public Accounts Committee – an office he simultaneously held while being the Speaker of the Legislative Assembly
• a white five-door Land Cruiser (X68-3446)
• a black KIA Sorento (MDGB-230)
• a black Toyota Fortuner (GA-064) — the one he has now kept for himself under the category of “former prime minister’s privileges”
All of these were driven with private number plates to avoid recognition.
The irony is unmistakable: day after day, as a ritual, he denounced various purported “mafias” and accused his predecessors of extravagance at the state’s expense. Yet while he dazzled the gullible public with his Cultus, behind the scenes he quietly amended the law governing ex-prime ministers’ privileges — just seven months after assuming office.
He upgraded the entitlement from an 1800cc car to a 3000cc vehicle, added the deployment of four constables with a senior police officer as guard at the residence, and replaced the grade-11 personal assistant with a grade-16 officer.
And he did not stop there. He ensured that former prime ministers would enjoy state-funded accommodation across the entire country — yes, across the entire country — by inserting into the law a clause granting them “unrestricted access” to all government guest houses, rest houses and circuit houses.
Other perks — 400 litres of fuel per month, a driver, a gunman, and a Rs50,000 monthly house rent allowance — remained intact. All of this, of course, in addition to their salary or pension as MLAs.
Pertinently, his predecessors had already taken brand-new 1800cc cars at the end of their terms. But since Mr Haq personally wanted a five-door jeep, he simply rewrote the law to make it possible. On several occasions, however, he tried — in his trademark elliptical manner — to shift the responsibility for this amendment onto a few former prime ministers, particularly Raja Farooq Haider.
Around the same period, while addressing the Central Bar Association Muzaffarabad, he said — without naming anyone — that “some people have submitted an application to me” on this matter. “I’ve told them that departments have surrendered several 2002–2005 five-door vehicles to the transport pool, and that they can exchange their cars with those if they wish,” he had said, predicting that “hardly anyone would ever trade a new car for an old one.”
I remember pointing out in a social media post that the amended law does not state that the 3000cc vehicle must be from the 2002 or 2005 models. It only mentions the upgraded engine capacity. Under this law, any prime minister could buy a new 3000cc vehicle and take it home. And, as expected, when it came to Mr Haq himself, he did not pick a 2002 or 2005 model from the transport pool — he simply took a relatively new Fortuner, the very one he had allocated to his family alongside the other official vehicles the day he assumed office.
During our first formal meeting last year — where the then and current minister Malik Zafr Iqbal was also present — I asked the former prime minister why he had expanded the perks instead of abolishing them. His justification was that “several former prime ministers had kept dozens of low-ranking staff, including police personnel, at their homes without legal entitlement, and I merely ‘regularised’ the practice by allowing only a quarter of that number and recalling the rest.”
I couldn’t resist responding: “Sir, it is like allowing someone to commit adultery with four instead of eighteen.” He offered no reaction to my blunt remark.
He often claimed that he drew no salary and would never take a pension. With this at the back of my mind, during another meeting in June this year, I suddenly asked him whether he intended to avail the former prime minister’s perks. He had not expected the question. After a brief pause, he muttered, “For a little while.”
Let’s see how long that “little while” lasts.
The latest development is that barely a week after being ousted from the office, he has demanded additional security from the government, reportedly claiming that his “life is under threat from India.” It is said that the request has already been granted and that four commandos from the Special Police Unit have been assigned to him.
It’s why I am compelled to repeat that those who still consider Mr Haq an epitome of merit and austerity must rethink their position.
This is the same gentleman who, as Speaker in 2010, introduced the luxury of travelling with a police squad — an expense the AJK Assembly had never borne before. In the same period, the direct appointment of a close relative as Assembly Secretary in grade 21 stands as another unmatched example of his so-called commitment to merit.
When he became Speaker again in 2021, he promptly opened a “camp office” at Kashmir House. As prime minister, besides the PM Block, he occupied the entire ground floor of a newly constructed building at Kashmir House, where he spent most of his time over the past two and a half years, despite constant criticism from many.
Fear and pressure may have prevented officials from exposing the truths behind the former prime minister’s lofty claims, but facts have a way of resurfacing — no matter how many layers of rhetoric are draped over them.
Perhaps someday, when the smoke clears from his pre-scripted, carefully curated TV interviews, someone will finally hold Mr Haq to account for the myth of his “simplicity”.
Tariq Naqash
