Amir Zia
The News
Monday, August 12, 2013
There are countless such similar small and big heart-warming real-life tales that explain the meaning and spirit of Pakistan. The country’s ingredients have it all. Let’s revive that spirit and make ourselves worthy of Pakistan, which is our past, present and the future.
The month of August often makes the weather in Karachi lovely. The long spell of oppressive summer heat and humidity usually takes a break somewhere in early or mid-July. Come August and we usually have the proverbial dark clouds hovering in the Karachi skies.
Sometimes, it rains, inundating roads and entire neighbourhoods – as just happened in the recent bout of downpour. But usually, it is just cloudy weather coupled with Karachi’s trademark strong sea breeze, which always makes its evenings so lovely and delightful.
Unlike Europe, where people celebrate sunshine and its magic, in our part of the world all merriment and joy comes with clouds, breeze and rain. They invite and entice many youngsters – and the young at heart – to come out of their homes and enjoy. Street cricket blooms. Families and groups of friends head towards the seafront. Many youngsters remove the silencers of their motorbikes and in droves test their luck as they race around the traffic-choked roads, showing off their skills of one-wheeling, hand-free driving and carrying out other dangerous antics.
The less adventurous souls head to open-air eateries, roadside tea dhaabas or just sit and relax wherever they find an open space. It could be a few of the grassy traffic roundabouts, parks and playgrounds left in the city or just at the corner of some street. This is our typical resilient, courageous Karachi, where the pulse of life keeps beating despite all the killings, crime, chaos, disorder and lawlessness.
During my school days, when Karachi was a much gentler and milder city, getting ‘rented’ bicycles in this kind of weather used to be a huge treat for many of us who couldn’t afford the luxury of owning one. Come clouds or rain, wind or rainwater puddles, we paddled for the sake of paddling from one neighbourhood to another and sometimes to the Clifton Beach. It was pure, simple joy.
At our beloved University of Karachi, the cloudy weather invited some bohemians like me to skip classes and sometimes even semester exams. A small group of boys and girls occasionally slipped to the wilderness of the nearby Safari Park. For some of our companions, it used to be a fairly long walk from the varsity’s Arts Lobby to our favourite hilltop in Safari Park – but the effort was worth it.
There would always first be a debate on whether to take a rickety university bus, called ‘point’, or walk to our destination. Often those addicted to ‘walking’ managed to charm and dictate the majority. The escape from the university was necessary as our ‘friends’ in the stick- and gun-wielding moral brigade of the Islami Jamiat-e-Talaba never liked the way we appreciated the weather. And for peace-lovers like us, avoiding conflict was a preferred choice in our own ‘enlightened self-interest.’
All we needed to celebrate were a few cigarettes in our pockets that we shared to intensify the pleasure of discussion. Plain-living and high-thinking used to be the motto. A cup of tea and the aroma of freshly-lit tobacco was all we needed to be happy.
The month of August also brings Independence Day celebrations. This is the time to hoist the national flag. From an owner of a donkey cart to a plush car, most Pakistanis carry their hearts on their sleeves during this month, proudly waving the crescent-and-star flag on their vehicles and on the rooftops of their huts, houses and office buildings. It is the time when, for a brief period, there appears a rare sense of comradeship, unity and bond among many of the dwellers of this city regardless of their ethnicity, sect, beliefs or political affiliation.
During Independence Day celebrations they become one. The same way they unite while celebrating a cricket match victory – especially against India. (Once hockey used to ignite such passion and fervour.) The same sense of togetherness and oneness that we observe when Pakistan rises to the challenge of some natural calamity – be it an earthquake or floods. These are the occasions that revive and rekindle ones belief in Pakistan and Pakistanis.
And then the ultimate question hits you: why do these same people – who display such charity, benevolence and heroism when the chips are down – stand so fractured, divided and at loggerheads with one another? The failure, perhaps, is of our leadership – political, military and religious – and, of course, the so-called opinion-makers. Whenever you press the right chords of Pakistanis, they respond with passion and a sense of purpose.
But let’s keep the hard and harsh realities of today’s Pakistan aside for a while. This is not escapism, but perhaps not every moment is a moment of self-flagellation. One challenges and defies adverse circumstances by talking of hope and focusing on strengths and positives. And the month of August gives us this opportunity – moments to reflect, ponder, and celebrate.
Like me, there are many simple, ordinary Pakistanis who associate August and Independence Day celebrations with fine cloudy weather and a sense of festivity. It’s the time to sing the national anthem and other patriotic songs with passion as we used to once in our schools and mohallas. (Today, I hear some so-called elite schools in Karachi – on the other side of the bridge – have altogether banned the national anthem. But perhaps this is a matter one should discuss at some other time).
As a child and then as a teenager in Karachi, August 14 meant the neighbourhood people – young and old – coming together to decorate their street or compound of flats with strings of colourful paper and national flags and buntings. There used to be sports events in the morning and those more organised even held music programmes in the evening. And all this was made possible through small donations collected by knocking at every neighbourhood door. But that was a politically apolitical activity carried without the patronage of any party, committee or group. It was the community at work – every paisa accounted for. It was different from the modern-day donation collection by the political and religious mafias, which Karachiites call bhatta.
The generation that participated in and saw the Pakistan Movement as young men and women were still around and in command in the 1970s and 1980s. One could still hear the firsthand accounts of the brutalities and trauma of Partition. You would hear long discussions on how the British manipulated the boundaries in favour of India through the Radcliffe Award and Quaid-e-Azam Mohammed Ali Jinnah got his moth-eaten Pakistan. How overnight ‘the Muslim-majority Gurdaspur’ where Pakistani flags fluttered on August 14, 1947 was given to India and it found a passage to the Himalayan region of Kashmir.
They used to narrate endless accounts of how youngsters from Aligarh University and its affiliate institutions fanned out in the Muslim-majority provinces of British India to mobilise Muslims to vote for Pakistan in the 1946 elections. The stories of heroes of the freedom movement – from Maulana Hasrat Mohani to Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah and Sir Mohammed Iqbal to Sir Syed Ahmed Khan – brought sparkle and pride in the eyes of many, who revered them with their hearts and souls. First-hand accounts, legends and even myths about those incorruptible dreamers and fighters who made Pakistan a reality were still in vogue.
My father, who travelled on board a ship from Bombay to Karachi as a teenager in 1947 along with his younger sister found helping hands from fellow Punjabi travellers, who put up a shelter on the open deck using blankets to save them from the scorching sun. On arrival at Karachi’s City Station, a roadside Sindhi hotelier refused to accept money for the food he served from these new immigrants.
There are countless such similar small and big heart-warming real-life tales that explain the meaning and spirit of Pakistan. The country’s ingredients have it all. Let’s revive that spirit and make ourselves worthy of Pakistan, which is our past, present and the future. A Happy Independence Day in advance.
The News
Monday, August 12, 2013
There are countless such similar small and big heart-warming real-life tales that explain the meaning and spirit of Pakistan. The country’s ingredients have it all. Let’s revive that spirit and make ourselves worthy of Pakistan, which is our past, present and the future.
The month of August often makes the weather in Karachi lovely. The long spell of oppressive summer heat and humidity usually takes a break somewhere in early or mid-July. Come August and we usually have the proverbial dark clouds hovering in the Karachi skies.
Sometimes, it rains, inundating roads and entire neighbourhoods – as just happened in the recent bout of downpour. But usually, it is just cloudy weather coupled with Karachi’s trademark strong sea breeze, which always makes its evenings so lovely and delightful.
Unlike Europe, where people celebrate sunshine and its magic, in our part of the world all merriment and joy comes with clouds, breeze and rain. They invite and entice many youngsters – and the young at heart – to come out of their homes and enjoy. Street cricket blooms. Families and groups of friends head towards the seafront. Many youngsters remove the silencers of their motorbikes and in droves test their luck as they race around the traffic-choked roads, showing off their skills of one-wheeling, hand-free driving and carrying out other dangerous antics.
The less adventurous souls head to open-air eateries, roadside tea dhaabas or just sit and relax wherever they find an open space. It could be a few of the grassy traffic roundabouts, parks and playgrounds left in the city or just at the corner of some street. This is our typical resilient, courageous Karachi, where the pulse of life keeps beating despite all the killings, crime, chaos, disorder and lawlessness.
During my school days, when Karachi was a much gentler and milder city, getting ‘rented’ bicycles in this kind of weather used to be a huge treat for many of us who couldn’t afford the luxury of owning one. Come clouds or rain, wind or rainwater puddles, we paddled for the sake of paddling from one neighbourhood to another and sometimes to the Clifton Beach. It was pure, simple joy.
At our beloved University of Karachi, the cloudy weather invited some bohemians like me to skip classes and sometimes even semester exams. A small group of boys and girls occasionally slipped to the wilderness of the nearby Safari Park. For some of our companions, it used to be a fairly long walk from the varsity’s Arts Lobby to our favourite hilltop in Safari Park – but the effort was worth it.
There would always first be a debate on whether to take a rickety university bus, called ‘point’, or walk to our destination. Often those addicted to ‘walking’ managed to charm and dictate the majority. The escape from the university was necessary as our ‘friends’ in the stick- and gun-wielding moral brigade of the Islami Jamiat-e-Talaba never liked the way we appreciated the weather. And for peace-lovers like us, avoiding conflict was a preferred choice in our own ‘enlightened self-interest.’
All we needed to celebrate were a few cigarettes in our pockets that we shared to intensify the pleasure of discussion. Plain-living and high-thinking used to be the motto. A cup of tea and the aroma of freshly-lit tobacco was all we needed to be happy.
The month of August also brings Independence Day celebrations. This is the time to hoist the national flag. From an owner of a donkey cart to a plush car, most Pakistanis carry their hearts on their sleeves during this month, proudly waving the crescent-and-star flag on their vehicles and on the rooftops of their huts, houses and office buildings. It is the time when, for a brief period, there appears a rare sense of comradeship, unity and bond among many of the dwellers of this city regardless of their ethnicity, sect, beliefs or political affiliation.
During Independence Day celebrations they become one. The same way they unite while celebrating a cricket match victory – especially against India. (Once hockey used to ignite such passion and fervour.) The same sense of togetherness and oneness that we observe when Pakistan rises to the challenge of some natural calamity – be it an earthquake or floods. These are the occasions that revive and rekindle ones belief in Pakistan and Pakistanis.
And then the ultimate question hits you: why do these same people – who display such charity, benevolence and heroism when the chips are down – stand so fractured, divided and at loggerheads with one another? The failure, perhaps, is of our leadership – political, military and religious – and, of course, the so-called opinion-makers. Whenever you press the right chords of Pakistanis, they respond with passion and a sense of purpose.
But let’s keep the hard and harsh realities of today’s Pakistan aside for a while. This is not escapism, but perhaps not every moment is a moment of self-flagellation. One challenges and defies adverse circumstances by talking of hope and focusing on strengths and positives. And the month of August gives us this opportunity – moments to reflect, ponder, and celebrate.
Like me, there are many simple, ordinary Pakistanis who associate August and Independence Day celebrations with fine cloudy weather and a sense of festivity. It’s the time to sing the national anthem and other patriotic songs with passion as we used to once in our schools and mohallas. (Today, I hear some so-called elite schools in Karachi – on the other side of the bridge – have altogether banned the national anthem. But perhaps this is a matter one should discuss at some other time).
As a child and then as a teenager in Karachi, August 14 meant the neighbourhood people – young and old – coming together to decorate their street or compound of flats with strings of colourful paper and national flags and buntings. There used to be sports events in the morning and those more organised even held music programmes in the evening. And all this was made possible through small donations collected by knocking at every neighbourhood door. But that was a politically apolitical activity carried without the patronage of any party, committee or group. It was the community at work – every paisa accounted for. It was different from the modern-day donation collection by the political and religious mafias, which Karachiites call bhatta.
The generation that participated in and saw the Pakistan Movement as young men and women were still around and in command in the 1970s and 1980s. One could still hear the firsthand accounts of the brutalities and trauma of Partition. You would hear long discussions on how the British manipulated the boundaries in favour of India through the Radcliffe Award and Quaid-e-Azam Mohammed Ali Jinnah got his moth-eaten Pakistan. How overnight ‘the Muslim-majority Gurdaspur’ where Pakistani flags fluttered on August 14, 1947 was given to India and it found a passage to the Himalayan region of Kashmir.
They used to narrate endless accounts of how youngsters from Aligarh University and its affiliate institutions fanned out in the Muslim-majority provinces of British India to mobilise Muslims to vote for Pakistan in the 1946 elections. The stories of heroes of the freedom movement – from Maulana Hasrat Mohani to Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah and Sir Mohammed Iqbal to Sir Syed Ahmed Khan – brought sparkle and pride in the eyes of many, who revered them with their hearts and souls. First-hand accounts, legends and even myths about those incorruptible dreamers and fighters who made Pakistan a reality were still in vogue.
My father, who travelled on board a ship from Bombay to Karachi as a teenager in 1947 along with his younger sister found helping hands from fellow Punjabi travellers, who put up a shelter on the open deck using blankets to save them from the scorching sun. On arrival at Karachi’s City Station, a roadside Sindhi hotelier refused to accept money for the food he served from these new immigrants.
There are countless such similar small and big heart-warming real-life tales that explain the meaning and spirit of Pakistan. The country’s ingredients have it all. Let’s revive that spirit and make ourselves worthy of Pakistan, which is our past, present and the future. A Happy Independence Day in advance.
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