The author standing in front of the Nevado de Colima.
I’d like to tell you my journey to the summit of the 26th-most prominent peak in North America, was an easy one, but I’d be lying.
The Nevado de Colima stands at 14,015+ feet, and along with Volcán de Colima (one of the most active volcanoes in North America) and El Cantaro collectively forms the Colima Volcanic Complex (CVC), also known as the Volcán de Colima in Mexico.
As a dormant volcano, the terrain is entirely different to the terrain I witnessed during my climb to the Everest.
The trek itself began on a sunny Saturday, where our guide led a group of Mexicans and me, to the base camp. This trek lasted over six hours on the first day, but the views were stunning and the butterflies plenty.
The flora and fauna was really something to be admired, and often, I felt like I was in some sort of fairy tale forest.
The art of God.
We saw several abandoned places along the way showing nature had taken over.
Onwards and upwards for six hours! And finally we see Nevado de Colima.
The trek, however, was mostly upwards and so upon making it to the base camp, a sense of relief and joy washed over me, knowing I was one day closer to my goal, and could finally relax my exhausted body.
At the camp, our guides took care of everything from the tents to the bonfire in the middle of the forest. Our spot was idyllic, while we sat by the logs to keep warm, we could see the summit of Nevado de Colima so clearly. She was so close.
Our humble abode for the night.
Carb-loading inside my tent as it poured outside, leading to low temperatures.
A view of the summit of Nevado de Colima.
That night it rained on us, and as we carb-loaded in our tents, wearing all our layers to stay warm, my friend said to me, “do you realise you are stepping foot where no one from your country has before?”
While this was not new information to me, it suddenly inspired me but also, worried me.
I have always wanted to be the first at something, but I have also always wanted to show my patriotism in non-traditional ways.
As a Pakistani woman, who moved away from Pakistan some years ago, people have told me I am anything but patriotic, because the age-old belief is, if you love your country you must suffer with it, and within it.
I, however, choose to spend my days away from Pakistan. This is especially why I see myself as a sort of unofficial ambassador of Pakistan – representing my country, and its women in the best way possible, at work, at events, and during travel and the activities and goals I pursue.
Which is why when Sunday came, and the trek turned into a climb, hanging on to rocks and watching as some fell to the floor below me, panicking as the stones beneath my feet gave away, I knew as much as I wanted to, I could not give up.
For, if there’s one thing that’s true about Pakistanis, it is that we are relentless in pursuing what we believe in.
My guide stayed close to my side, as I maneuvered through the sand and silt and managed like a monkey on the rocks.
I gasped for air as it got less dense; I fumbled for a sturdy grip as the crevices became smaller, my backpack getting heavier, the summit seeming miles away.
My guide and I.
Getting closer to the top.
At this point the terrain and the view started to look almost like another planet. The flowers and trees disappeared and butterflies no longer surrounded me. I felt fear and nervous excitement, not forgetting for a second why I was putting my mind and my body through this.
As I stumbled to the top, I heard shouts of encouragement and clapping, and as soon as I reached the summit, I sat down on the first rock I found, took of my bag, and cried my eyes out.
It was a mixture of letting go of the fear, and accomplishing my goal. All the while, thinking about my country.
After a few sips of water, I pulled out the Pakistani flag from my backpack and with the assistance of my new friends tied it to the pole at the summit.
The locals and I making it to the top.
Pakistan in Mexico.
I had done it. For myself and for the country that has made me this strong and resilient.
And so now, atop of the mighty Nevado de Colima, in Mexico, you will find the first and only Pakistani flag.
Jogendra Nath Mandal has the distinction of representing the Muslim League as minister in the 1946 pre-partition political setup of India.
Later, he presided over the historic session of the Constituent Assembly on 11th August 1947, where Mohammed Ali Jinnah was sworn in as the first Governor-General of Pakistan.
Jinnah trusted Mandal – who belonged to the lowest tier of the Hindu religious hierarchy – the Untouchables or Dalits – for his vision and righteousness.
Years earlier, Gandhi had tried to replace the word Dalit by ‘Harijans’ or the children of the Hindu god Hari. The euphemism was later considered condescending by the community in question.
Dr B. R. Ambedkar, the principal architect of the constitution of India and himself a Dalit, had accused Gandhi of deceiving the Untouchables.
He believed that Gandhi was using tactics to keep them tied to Hinduism. Later, Ambedkar and his 3,000 followers converted to Buddhism.
Renowned historian Mubarak Ali says that long after Partition, the Untouchables chose to be called ‘Dalits’ or the oppressed.
To this day, the social and financial conditions of the Dalits, in both India and Pakistan, have not changed much. However, these people – having been oppressed for centuries – are now fighting for their rights.
Coming back to my topic, Jogendra Nath Mandal not only held important law positions before Partition, but also became the first Law and Labour Minister of Pakistan.
In the newly formed country, Hindus had now become a minority. On 11th August 1947 when Quaid-i-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah was to be sworn in as the first Governor General, he wanted Mandal, a Hindu member of the Assembly, to preside over the session.
Jinnah’s decision reflected his desire to bring religious minorities into the mainstream.
Ahmed Saleem, on page 104 of his book ‘Pakistan aur Aqliatien’ (Pakistan and Minorities), discusses this episode in history:
“The fact that one of the minority members was elected to preside over the session hints at the progressive attitude of the new state, and it augurs well for the future. Pakistan itself was brought into existence by the unrelenting efforts of a minority of the Indian Subcontinent.
“I would like to point out that people, from not only from Pakistan and India but all over the world, are taking notes of the business of the Constituent Assembly. The Muslims of the Subcontinent wanted a separate homeland for themselves. Now, the world wants to see whether they would treat their minorities generously.
“The Muslim League leaders, particularly Quaid-i-Azam, have assured minorities of not only justice and tolerance but also of generosity. The minorities, too, are duty-bound to honour their allegiance to the state and work responsibly for national building."
After the 1946 elections, an interim government was setup under the British Raj. Both Congress and the Muslim League had to nominate their representatives to function as ministers in the government.
Muslim League named Jogendra Nath Mandal, besides others.
For a political party that championed the Muslim cause, it was quite unusual to nominate a scheduled caste Hindu as its minister Zahid Chaudhry writes on page 47 of ‘Pakistan Kee Siasi Tareekh’ (Pakistan’s political history); (vol. 2):
“Leave aside the fire that [Muslim] League’s decision to include an ‘Untouchable’ in the government drew from the Congress Leaders. A greater trouble was caused to the Labour government in London, which feared that an angry Congress would walk away from the government that was yet to be formed. Consequently, Lord Pethick-Lawrence wrote to [Governor-General] Lord Wavell, ‘We may encounter a situation in which Congress refuses to stay in the interim government, saying that an Untouchable cannot be a Muslim League representative.’
“On 15th October, Wavell sent the five nominations of the League to London for the King’s approval. Pethick-Lawrence replied to him, ‘I truly believe that the royal consent cannot be granted unless you declare these names to Nehru. There is a possibility that Congress will take issue with the nomination of an Untouchable, and withdraw from the government. At this stage, the King should not be dragged into this issue.’”
In March 1949, Mandal supported the Objective Resolution – the same resolution that today continues to generate political debates in Pakistan where the progressives believe that it has been exploited to transform Jinnah’s ‘secular Pakistan’ into a ‘religious state’.
He later helped the government counteract the political power of the Hindu minority when he successfully campaigned for a separate electorate for the Untouchables.
In return he was booted out of office as government minister. It left him dejected. His situation can best be explained by a Sindhi proverb, “Jini laey moasi, sey kandi nah thia” (You have died for them, but they won’t bother to attend your funeral).
Soon after Pakistan came into being, the manipulative bureaucracy of the country began to position itself to usurp power. Its first target was non-Muslim politicians and officials with any perceptible authority.
To turf them out of the corridors of power, the bureaucracy underhandedly created doubts about their patriotism.
It was a warning to the Hindus and other minorities – that their support for the government made no difference, and that they were simply no longer welcome in Pakistan.
For all the pain he went through, little did Mandal know that soon he will have to leave the land he had chosen to call home.
When a resolution was tabled in the Constituent Assembly to award the title of ‘Quaid-i-Azam’ or The Great Leader to Jinnah, almost all of the minority members opposed it, but Mandal threw his weight behind the resolution. On Jinnah’s death, he said,
Fate has ruthlessly taken Quaid-i-Azam from us at a time when he wasmost needed.
Not long after Jinnah passed away, Mandal migrated to India. What made him take that step? Ahmed Salim writes in his book:
“Pakistan’s first Law Minister and the leader of the ‘Untouchables’ Jogandra Nath Mandal had been a tried and tested supporter of the government. He was a hero for the oppressed.
“In 1940 after being elected to Calcutta Municipal Corporation, he proved particularly helpful to the Muslim population. He cooperated with the [Bengal] governments of A. K. Fazalul Haq and Khawaja Nazimuddin (1943-45) and served Muslim League (in 1946-47) when Quaid-i-Azam had to nominate five ministers for the interim government. Quaid-i-Azam wanted to nominate Mandal from Muslim League. By accepting Quaid-i-Azam’s offer, Mandal countered a similar move by Congress, which had nominated Maulana Abul Kalam Azad.
“After the 3rd June 1947 announcement, Sylhet District was to vote in a plebiscite to join either Pakistan or remain in Assam [the state that was to become part of India]. The Hindus and the Muslims of the district equalled each other in terms of population. However, there were a large number of Untouchables, whose vote could sway the poll to either side.
Following the instructions from Quaid-i-Azam, Mr Mandal arrived in Sylhet to influence the opinion of the Untouchables; when he departed from Sylhet it had voted to join Pakistan.”
After the Partition, the bureaucrats in Pakistan had started making inroads into politics. Those who questioned their policies, irrespective of religious or social background, were not tolerated. Thus began a campaign to undermine every righteous individual in politics.
Mandal, too, fell prey to such ploys. Pir Ali Mohammed Rashidi states in his book Rodaad-i-Chaman (A Garden’s Tale):
“Late Chaudhry Mohammad Ali had spent a major portion of his life in the service of the British Raj when he arrived in Pakistan from Delhi. As Secretary-General of the Cabinet Secretariat, he quickly garnered fame as the ‘architect’ and leader of the Pakistani bureaucracy. He was still a cabinet secretary – even though in the years to come he was to be appointed Finance Secretary, Finance Minister, and Prime Minster – when one day it dawned on him that Mandal was not a genuine patriot. Such a deduction implied that Chaudhry Sahib had eyes more trained than that of Jinnah to evaluate a person’s character and faithfulness.
“Consequently, he tried to keep many cabinet documents away from the Law Minister. It was too much for Mandal. His pride was hurt. Hitherto, he had lived as a self reliant man, who knew his self-worth. Before becoming a minister, he had offered huge sacrifices and as a Hindu, swum against the tide to support our Quaid in the Pakistan Movement.
“How could he possibly pocket the insult from a cabinet secretary, who had taken it upon himself to judge a Hindu minister for his political character and loyalty to his country? Mandal quit as minister and went back to Calcutta to spend the rest of his life being taunted by Hindus.”
Mandal’s support for Muslim League, his sacrifices for Pakistan, and his love for Muslims cannot be discredited. His ill-treatment at the hands of a bureaucrat is a dark chapter in our history.
In Pakistan, there still exist many Jogendras who have exhausted their energies in vain to prove that they are as patriotic as everyone else.
Do we need another Jinnah to take cognisance of the services rendered by our minorities?
Translated by Arif Anjum from the original in Urdu here.
Even after hours of smooth flying, you shouldn’t get very comfy. Why? Well, if you were to believe the world’s foremost authority on airline safety, Professor Arnold Barnett of MIT, the riskiest segment of the flight, i.e., the landing, is still ahead of you.
It has not yet emerged on the national radar, but the dismal safety record of the Pakistani airlines is an open secret.
While private airlines operating out of Pakistan are too small to appear on international airline safety rankings, the national flag carrier, Pakistan International Airlines (PIA), though makes several hit lists but all for the wrong reasons. It stands out as an outlier for poor safety record.
A comparative study of airline safety revealed that PIA has consistently underperformed on airline safety, and it is one of the world’s most disaster-prone airlines.
Nate Silver is a famous American data scientist who wrote for the New York Times and manages fivethirtyeight.com, a blog that specialises in using data and analytics to offer informed commentary on political and socio-economic outcomes.
Mr. Silver relied on the Aviation Safety Network’s database. He obtained the safety data from 1985 to 2014. And compared safety record over two periods, i.e., 1985 to 1999 and 2000 to 2014.
He wanted to see if the airlines that performed poorly earlier continued to do so later. The goal was to determine if some airlines were consistently better or worse than the rest for safety.
The airline safety data provided information on incidents (near misses), fatal incidents, and fatalities. Since airlines differ widely for fleet size and operations, he normalised the airline safety data by the available seat kilometers (ASK), which is calculated by multiplying the number of available seats by the kilometers flown by an airline.
This normalisation is needed to ensure that when we compare airlines, we are not essentially penalising airlines that fly significantly more than the rest. Conversely, we would not like to favour an airline with a limited fleet and less travel.
The other important distinction to acknowledge is that airlines' safety should not be based on a comparison of fatalities or fatal incidents. This is because even for the worst performing airlines, fortunately, fatal incidents are not an every-day occurrence.
The near misses are a better indicator of the airlines’ safety culture.
Let me explain this with an example: You might know of a friend who is a high-risk driver. He speeds, does not observe traffic regulations, and takes chances during driving. That individual will have several near misses.
However, the number of times a person could expire in a traffic accident, irrespective of how cautious or irresponsible one is in driving, remains 1. For this reason, it is better to compare near misses, because near misses identify a behavioural trait rather than an outcome.
Mr. Silver compared near misses for each airline over the two periods, 1985-1999 and 2000-2014. And guess which airline stood out to be consistently high risk prone over the two periods: Pakistan International Airlines.
The government, especially the regulators at the Civil Aviation Authority (CAA), has been negligently silent over the dismal safety records of Pakistan-based airlines.
It is time for a serious introspection on the state of airline safety in Pakistan.
In fact, one wonders why this matter is not yet an utmost priority for regulators, especially when this lax attitude towards air safety is not just restricted to the national airliner, but also permeates Pakistan’s private carriers, the only other alternatives to flying for Pakistanis.
I can pinpoint the exact moment I lost faith in Pakistan cricket. It was the third day of the fourth Test during the tour to England in late August 2010.
Captain Salman Butt, swing bowler Mohammad Asif, and fast bowler Mohammad Amir, were caught red-handed, or red-footed if you will, selling out their sport, and their nation, for a sum of money, in what was the most shameful and undignified chapter in the country’s cricketing history.
Having followed the sport rabidly since the late 80s, I had recovered from my share of heartbreaking cricket moments, but this was a betrayal I felt I could never return from. Just like that, I fell out of love with our cricket team.
And as if it was fate, Misbah, your era began.
While trust in the national side was lost in the blink of an eye, it did not return so easily. No, the heart took time to mend, and it only recovered due to your leadership.
Few would disagree when I say you played a pivotal role in saving Pakistan cricket.
You led a company of warriors disillusioned by the deception of their own mates, taunted on the battleground by the opposition for having tainted their vocation, examined with suspicion at every turn, disconnected with their own forlorn supporters, and playing home games in a deserted desert foster home.
Like a forthright Paladin with a mighty shield, you slowly but surely cleansed the national team of all negative energy. Your men only responded in kind.
After standing up to the mighty South Africans during your first Test series in charge, your wards gradually regained their self-assurance, and your supporters began to believe again.
Your humble demeanour, honesty, and old-fashioned cricketing style were the elixirs the team needed.
Pakistan’s greatest Test match captain, Imran Khan, influenced his team through aggression and just a little bit of fear. You on the other hand, inspired camaraderie.
After a particularly memorable win, a former cricketer asked you how you would celebrate with your team, expecting to learn of exuberant merrymaking. You surprised him by saying that the celebrations would entail a quiet team dinner, where everyone would break bread together peacefully, while enjoying each others company engaged in friendly conversation.
This understated style of leadership was certainly a welcome change from captains who were immoral, who enjoyed biting cricket balls, and a leader who felt the middle of a cricket ground was more suitable for prayer than a dressing room.
It is no wonder you have commanded more Test match victories for Pakistan than any other skipper. While your cautious style hasn’t been optimal for limited overs cricket, it has fit the longer format like a glove.
More surprisingly, during your 43* Test matches in charge, you have drawn only 11, while Imran Khan, a reputedly more attacking leader, drew as many as 26.
Certainly, this comes down to a change in environment, where modern Test cricket is more result friendly, as well as the fact that Imran played against the hardest of opponents in their own backyards, choosing to rest himself against weaker touring teams.
Likewise, your impressive 45 per cent win ratio still falls behind Wasim Akram’s 48 per cent and Waqar Younis’ tremendous win percentage of nearly 60.
But these legendary fast bowlers had their own match winning abilities, as well as the services of some of Pakistan’s greatest players at their disposal.
On the other hand, Misbah, the only superstars you had in your team were yourself, Younis Khan, and Saeed Ajmal.
This taken into account, as well as the state of the wounded tigers you inherited, the results you achieved are nothing short of extraordinary.
This brings me to your retirement.
Misbah, with the exception of Imran, few Pakistani legends have had the good sense to leave the game at a high, still carrying enough skill to be an automatic selection in the team. I can see why it would be very tempting to now announce your retirement, as you have hinted for some time.
It is clear you are a self-respecting man, not wanting to be a part of the playing eleven unless you feel your body and your performances are up to par. Certainly, before you were announced as captain in 2010, you had been contemplating ending your career. Here you are, five years later, close to drawing the curtain once again.
After all you have done for us, you deserve to lay down your bat on your own terms, but if I may be so selfish, I would urge you to hang on for one more tour. There is a four-Test match series scheduled for 2016, where you can end your career in full circle, having taken the reins of a team shattered on a tour to England, and returning to the same country six years later.
At the scene of the original horror show, your leadership would aid in the catharsis. More importantly, the tour begins in June, traditionally a period where our batsmen find it easier to adapt to the conditions.
Regardless of what you decide Misbah, I, on behalf of Pakistani cricket fans everywhere, want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Because of you, we are able to hold up our heads high during cricketing events once again. For that, we owe you a great debt.
Rewriting history is quite common in both India and Pakistan. Governments do it, the state does it, and sometimes, so do families.
This phenomenon has been a robust and recurring exercise in both the countries ever since the subcontinent was split (in 1947) into two countries: The Hindu-dominated India and the Muslim-majority state of Pakistan.
The practice has been more frequent in Pakistan, though, especially after the 1971 Indo-Pakistan War.
The state and various governments in the country began an academic process to sketch a narrative that attempted to delink Pakistan’s historical connection with a region which, though, ruled by Muslim dynasties between the 13th and 17th centuries, still had a Hindu majority and had become the Republic of India in 1947.
The experiments in this context have had a disorientating impact on the state’s national identity-building process, more so after Pakistan’s historical linkages with the region’s 5000-year-old history were deflected towards a largely concocted idea of having a linkage with Arabia.
On the other end, till the late 1980s, the Indian state had explained Pakistan to be an ‘unnatural creation’.
This narrative began to further mutate when the Hindu nationalist sentiment first began to seep into the mainstream politics of India.
By the early 1990s, Hindu nationalists were more aggressively pushing in a brand new narrative (vis-à-vis India’s historical links with the region that had become Pakistan and with India’s large Muslim minority).
Just as the state of Pakistan (ever since the early 1970s) had tried to undermine the history that the country shares with India, Hindu nationalist outfits such as the Bhartiya Janta Party (BJP) and the radical Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), began attempting to whitewash India’s Muslim past.
One physical manifestation of this was when RSS members and supporters demolished the 16th century Babri Mosque in the Indian city of Ayodhya in 1992. The mosque was built by Muslim ruler and the founder of the Mughal dynasty in India, Ẓahīr-ud-Dīn Muḥammad Babar.
RSS activists demolishing Babri (1992).
Recently, the Pakistan state’s first major operation to put back the genie of religious extremism back inside the bottle – an ogre that was first let out by the same state in the 1980s – the operation (that now includes the participation of the Pakistan security forces, judiciary and parliament), is slowly but surely also trying to realign and amend the reactive historical narrative that the state had begun to construct from the early 1970s onwards.
For example, anyone suggesting that 8th century Arab commander ‘Mohammad Bin Qasim was the first Pakistani’ is not taken very seriously anymore.
In India, things in this respect seem to be going the other way.
One of the most intriguing manifestations of this is the way sections within the ruling BJP, RSS and certain Indian historians, in the most dubious manner, are attempting to claim ownership of perhaps the most majestic historical monument ever built in the region: The Taj Mahal.
The Taj Mahal is considered to be one of the ‘wonders of the world’. I have visited it once, way back in 1985, when I was a college student visiting India.
I eventually just sat on a bench in front of it, staring at it for hours, marveling at the building’s imposing beauty and impact.
Mainstream history correctly records that this majestic white marble mausoleum (in Agra, India) was completed on the instructions of Mughal Emperor, Shah Jahan in 1653.
And yet, very few know that by the end of the Mughal era in the mid-19th century, the Taj Mahal was crumbling and in danger of actually collapsing.
It had also been robbed over and over again by thieves and plunderers, who took away a number of precious jewels and stones that were used to beautify it.
By the mid-1800s, the Taj was nothing like the wonder of the world it is today (or how it was during Mughal rule). William Bentinck, who rose to become a governor in India in 1828, had actually joined the locals in plundering it.
He imported machinery and tools to rip out the precious white marble from the once majestic building and send it to Britain. In fact, according to Dr Mubarak Ali’s book, In Search of History, the plan also included completely demolishing the building!
The Taj in 1862: Crumbling.
What is even more interesting is the fact that in spite of ample and irrefutable evidence available about when the building was originally constructed and who ordered its construction, there appeared many Indian and some British historians in the late 19th century who claimed that the Taj was not built during the Mughal reign of Shah Jahan.
Mubarak Ali laments that it was the British who first initiated this idea because they could not swallow the fact that the ‘backward people’ (of India) were capable of achieving such architectural brilliance and beauty.
Major Sleeman, a British Major, remarked in 1844 that the Taj was actually designed by a Frenchman, Austin de Bordeaux.
British Colonialists such as Sleeman insisted (without providing any reliable evidence), that the design of the mausoleum was the work of European architects.
Things in this regard got even more outlandish when certain Hindu ‘historians’ began to claim that the building actually pre-dated Shah Jahan and was built long before Muslim rule began in India.
Such claims failed to hold in front of the overwhelming evidence available that places Shah Jahan as the man who ordered its construction in the 17th century (as a tribute to his wife Mumtaz Mahal).
A Mughal painting of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal.
Mughal painting of the Taj during Mughal King Aurungzeb’s rule (17th Century).
The Taj Mahal was first restored and saved from a complete collapse in 1902 by Lord Curzon, the British Viceroy of India.
When he first saw the mausoleum, he wrote that it had been continuously ravaged by robbers and forces of nature and was in bad shape. He immediately ordered its restoration, and, by 1905, the Taj got a new lease of life.
British officers and locals outside the Taj. In the 1930s, the Taj was still being restored.
Though the tour guides during my visit to the mausoleum, all named Shah Jahan and his large army of workers to be the sole creators of the Taj, even in 1985, I was made aware of certain Indian historians who were trying to prove otherwise.
Even in recent times one can come across many Indians quoting whole paras from books such as Taj Mahal: The True Story (by Indian ‘Hindu national revisionist’, P.N. Oak). The book was published in 1989 and claims that the Taj Mahal was built as a Vedic temple in 1155 and/or before Muslim rule began in India.
He also suggests that Shah Jahan had only acquired it from one Jai Singh. Oak claims that the supposed temple was built by Raja Paramdari Dev in the 12th century.
Oak attempts to provide multiple proofs to back his claim, but none of them have managed to stick in the face of rigorous historical and scholarly scrutiny by those opposing this theory.
Nevertheless, this book has continued to excite and inform the narrative of large sections of Hindu nationalists. Ganga Ram Garg mentions the same in 1992’s Encyclopedia of the Hindu World.
P N. Oak
It must be added that P N. Oak later went on to also claim that Christianity and Islam are both derivatives of Hinduism, and that London’s Westminster Abbey (along with the Taj) were all once Hindu temples to Shiva!
In his book, Christianity is Chrisn-nity, Oak writes, ‘Jesus went to India between ages 13 and 30 to learn Krishna-neeti (Christianity) from Hindu sages.’
In a lecture titled ‘Outsider as Enemy’, Indian historian K N Panikkar, discussed in length the attempts by the BJP to further communal consciousness of history.
He said that the party was doing this by revising school textbooks ‘to introduce a communal view of the past, highlighting the achievements and contribution of the Hindus and undermining or misrepresenting the role of others.’ Panikkar said that the BJP is ‘saffronising research institutions’.
Subhash Gatade in his essay ‘Idiocy as Scholarship’ laments that P N. Oak died in 2007 but his ideas live on.
Many noted Indian historians have called Oak a ‘mythhistorian’ — someone who peddles myths as history — while others have described him to be a ‘pseudo-historian’, or someone like Eric von Deniken, the Swiss author who, in many of his books has claimed that most of the great and ancient historical monuments on Earth were actually built by aliens who visited earth in ancient times!
When trimmed down from a universal right to a privilege enjoyed by the favoured class of people, ‘freedom of expression’ becomes a corrupted item in the toolbox of imperialists.
As a writer, there are few things in life as meaningful to me as chai and freedom of expression. And in a satirically termed ‘Banistan’, liberal artform is nothing if not subtle.
Pakistanis are not the flagbearers of free speech, but to our credit, nor do we pretend to be. My concern at the moment, is those who do.
On January 11, 2015, millions of French people reaffirmed their country’s commitment to free speech.
But on January 14, 2015, French comedian Dieudonne was arrested for an offensive Facebook post. Many more were detained and questioned by the police in that country for allegedly “glorifying terrorism”, including a confused eight-year-old school kid.
Of the 486 legal cases linked to Charlie Hebdo, 257 were against people accused of condoning terrorism through their speech.
More recently, the French high court upheld the criminal conviction of 12 activists for anti-Israel activism. They were arrested for wearing T-shirts emblazoned with the words, “Long Live Palestine, Boycott Israel”, while handing out fliers arguing that buying Israeli products “legitimises crimes in Gaza”.
The verdict indirectly declares anti-Israeli activism the equivalent of anti-Semitism. One could similarly argue that activism against Saudi Arabia is essentially the product of anti-Arab racism, or protest against the Islamic Republic of Iran, a manifestation of anti-Muslim bigotry, but not in a French court.
It is also worth noting that freedom of ‘religious’ expression is always negotiable in France.
Even those who object to the use of face veil have marveled at France’s obsession with burqa– a garment worn by a small minority of the country's Muslim minority. And as I see it, France's eagerness to rescue the ethnic woman from herself by banning the garment, is a little perturbing.
The irony has not flown unnoticed by prominent French thinkers like Emmanuel Todd who, in his best-selling book, expertly argues that the marches of Jan 11, 2015 were about cultural domination of the minorities and not freedom.
There is not merely a French internal affair. Countries like France have taken charge of deciding on behalf of us all what is objectively offensive.
John Oliver ridiculed the people of Thailand for their widespread use of Hitler imagery. Pakistan is often glared at for the tasteless swastika stickers on many motor vehicles across the country, and international outrage ensued after a clothing store named ‘Hitler’ opened up in India.
While the deliberate use of these icons to glorify mass-murder is indefensible, a non-European may reasonably be excused for not knowing European history.
After all, the swastika has been a peaceful part of East Asian history for thousands of years before its adoption by Europeans and then perversion in relation to the Nazi regime. Not every non-European may know its meaning in the European context, as well and gasp at it wherever sighted.
Western nations take for granted that the rest of the world knows their history, languages, and customs, and thinks precisely as they do. And therefore, it feels that what is offensive to the West is offensive universally, whereas that which offends everyone else is okay to carry on.
Perhaps, that is also the reason Holocaust denial is illegal in France under the Gaysott Act of 1990, while denial of the Armenian genocide is protected under ‘free speech’.
It is because of traditions like these, that ‘freedom of speech’ is often misconstrued as a Western construct.
Charlie Hebdo did not say “Bol, ke lab azad hain tere!” (Speak, for your lips are free); it was Faiz Ahmed Faiz.
‘Toba Tek Singh’ was not penned by a Danish author; it was written by Manto.
The need for freedom of speech has been agreed upon by artists and academics of all cultures, including those from Pakistan.
However, freedom of expression is not for the establishment to dole out at its own convenience to people it finds worthy of possessing it. Free speech for the chosen few is no freedom at all.
If France cannot make good on its promise of liberté, it may consider cutting down on its grandstanding before the irony becomes too great to ignore.
A recently published study shows that many divorced couples in Pakistan haven’t discussed their own divorces as much as they have discussed Imran Khan and Reham’s break up.
Parveen Shahkeen, the lead author of the study, conducted a survey of 500 couples from across Pakistan to uncover this fact.
“Our results showed a surprising trend. The couples we surveyed clearly stated they had talked about the Khans' breakup more than their own divorces,” she said.
The study, which was originally meant to look at the time it takes for divorces to be finalised in Pakistan, took an unexpected turn when researchers uncovered this ‘Khan effect’.
“On average, a divorced couple will speak roughly 18,000 words a day about the Imran-Reham divorce,” Parveen shared.
Over 80% of respondents to the study indicated that they were “very concerned” that the divorce was a result of Reham trying to poison the PTI chairman, as a senior journalist had alleged on TV.
We were never good at taking rejection as a people, but as men, Pakistanis don’t even make it passably human. They retaliate with counter accusations, and if that does not match the insult their deified egos faced, they resort to violence.
Suppose though that such a language was invented, the problem would still remain — many men do not recognise the right of a woman to say no. Period.
Our culture supports it
When women are getting married, their consent is among the most downplayed aspects of the marriage.
The more silent the nod, the less obtrusive and the more ladylike. If she were sobbing instead of nodding, extra points for that! The stakes are high, she is dolled up and perfumed. Saying no is as unimaginable as rejecting a 5-course Michelin Star meal after the dessert is served.
Arundathi Roy aptly called this phenomenon of dolling up brides in South Asian culture: Polishing firewood.
We glorify silent women and demonise the rebels.
This is perhaps why last week in Kabul a woman was stoned to death for fleeing a marriage she rejected with a suitor of her choice.
Our professional culture supports it too. When men in powerful positions approach their female subordinates, it is considered fair game because she has already determined that there is more to life than achieving the perfectly circular roti.
Women at the workplace are constantly harassed though physical advances, work pressure and excessively low remuneration. They have little or no recourse without ruining their career prospects.
Our TV and film culture is equally to blame. Women are not just routinely staked and harassed until they say yes because no means yes, but a slap to rattle them to love their oppressor is pretty routine on our shows.
When was the last time we watched a rejected man on our television screens take it with grace and move on?
And so does our prevalent socio-religious doctrine. Somehow the stories of empowered Muslim women have all been pushed back into the cervices of history and we are left with a male-dominated historical narrative.
There is a clear right of refusal women are granted in Islam but it is downplayed with a ferocity.
The stoning and the setting ablaze are indications that we are no longer content with acting out like someone normally would – writing despondent poetry or indulging in masochistic drugs or obsessive prayers for the beloved to have a change of heart.
Instead, the man is free to act out because society recognises his passions, not hers.
So great was the passion of this 24-year-old man, who has been taken into custody, that he so wrathfully set on fire a living, breathing Sonia Bibi.
We can be assured, he will at least get a gentle slap on the wrist. Meanwhile, Sonia Bibi has died. We can be assured, she was in excruciating anguish and misery in her last hours.
Perhaps, this is a world where women are only allowed to half live — with their bodies and not their will.
Almost like the witch burning trials of the 1600s, these ghastly acts on women for expressing what is their command over their own lives is borne out of the need to create a patriarchal social order, where women don’t step out of line.
Thankfully, though not quickly enough, that line is fading in Pakistan.
Pakistani women are receiving education and entering the workforce now more than ever before. They have access to a freer media and the Internet too; they have braver fathers, brothers and husbands.
These women are speaking out despite the knowledge that sometimes they will end up dead, not that most of the time men will not have the choice of resorting to violence. That is the kind of country Pakistan needs to be — a country where men learn that women are their equal and have the right to have desires that don’t include them.
Karachi has a distinct soul. While the thriving metropolis is reported in the media for all the wrong reasons, it is not too hard to find pockets of inspiration here.
And there can be no better way of getting inspired than finding music shops here that deal in classical instruments and have been doing so for over 50 years!
A beautiful display of decorated classical instruments at a music shop in Karachi.
Below, I share the journey of a weekend spent exploring some of the city’s oldest music shops – some located in the most unexpected areas – and uncover their stories.
Tyre Market — Where it begins
I am in Tyre Market and have been bargaining with a mechanic over a vintage Vespa. The mechanic is closely observing my moves and as soon as I dig inside my pocket for cash, he orders tea to celebrate closing the deal.
The rich, creamy doodhpati is way too sweet for my town-bred taste pallet but I gulp it down.
It’s still early in the day and I want to spend a little more time out in the street. So, I ask my mechanic if there is a music shop nearby. He tells me there is in fact one at walking distance.
“Here in Tyre market?” I ask him amused.
“Yes, indeed.”
Saleem and Sons Musical Store
After walking a few minutes, I find myself in front of ‘Saleem and Sons Musical Store’ where Waqar, the proud owner of the shop dealing with customers. I take my shoes off and enter the shop.
Waqar speaks to a customer in his office at 'Saleem and Sons Musical Store'.
There is a rug on the floor and a couple of craftsmen are repairing harmoniums. Waqar asks me to come inside his office which is overloaded with a wide assortment of musical instruments.
A worker repairs a harmonium.
Waqar ecstatically tells me about his father, Saleem sahib, who after migrating to Karachi bought a portion of what is a much larger shop now and turned it into a premier music instruments’ shop.
Different music instruments at display at Saleem and Sons.
Saleem sahib had purchased the premises for Rs 2,000 and invested another Rs 45 to stock up the inventory back in the 60s.
“Those were the good days,” Waqar quotes his father.
Waqar shows a delicate harmonium which was manufactured in Delhi.
Over time guitars have become a significant part of merchandise on display at Saleem and Sons.
The shop was right behind the Radio Pakistan building and therefore was frequented by iconic musicians such as Mehdi Hassan. They visited the shop not only to buy instruments but to get their harmoniums tuned by Saleem sahib.
Over time, the number of craftsmen adept at manufacturing and tuning the harmonium have dwindled, but Saleem and Sons is one of the few places in Karachi which still manufactures, tunes and repairs them.
A harmonium undergoing repair.
While Waqar is immensely proud of his shop's legacy, he is bitter about the recognition his late father received. While Radio Pakistan’s role in the entertainment industry has subdued, his shop still exists at the very place it was founded.
Saleem and sons have a workshop in Korangi which manufactures rubabs and harmoniums.
As we speak about the challenges of operating a music shop in Tyre Market, I notice a customer walking in with his harmonium. Waqar tells me that that particular musician has come all the way from Hyderabad.
A musician from Hyderabad gets his harmonium repaired at Waqar's shop.
“If we continue to serve our customers well, we will continue getting good business.”
Sohail Music Palace
We settle back on our Vespa and ride towards Duarte Mansion. A musician friend once mentioned a shop in one of the streets there.
After a few wrong turns, we finally find ourselves in front of a music shop tucked between auto workshops.
Sohail Music shop has a tiny entrance tucked between mechanic shops.
‘Sohail Music Palace,’ as the name reads on the signboard above the entrance, has been serving its customers since the 60s. It was known as Saeed Music Shop back then, named after the father of the current owners.
We enter the shop and find Sohail – one of the two brothers who own the shop – dealing with customers. It has to be the most exquisitely decorated music shop in Karachi.
Sohail Music Palace has to be one of the most well-assorted music shops in the city.
The assortment inside is much wider in range. There are guitars hanging from the wall and the racks are stacked with ek taras (one stringers). To my right, I see harmoniums stacked on top of each other and on the back wall, colorful tambourines are arranged neatly.
Sohail's music shop has a wide range of musical instruments.
Sohail is not as talkative as Waqar. I had heard from my friend that Sohail was considering switching professions on personal religious grounds.
But when we finally strike conversation about the shop and his late father’s legacy, I notice a glimpse of pride in his eyes.
His father, Sheikh Saeed, migrated to Karachi from Delhi and set up his shop with the help of expert craftsmen such as Badruddin Meeruth. Many craftsmen and entrepreneurs have mastered the trade in his shop, Sohail tells me.
More customers step in. A lady enters accompanying a child who wants to get his guitar tuned. Another is looking for a used harmonium. Sohail has something for everyone.
Guitars are a popular choice for Sohail's customers also.
I wander around the shop and stop to look at the exquisitely crafted ek taras, tambourines and harmoniums.
Sohail later tells me they don’t manufacture instruments now and buy them off traders in Sialkot and Lahore. His brother, who is a fantastic painter, adds colourful motifs to them. The instruments look like pieces of art.
Colorful sarangis on display at Sohail Music Palace.
Waheed Music Centre
Sohail and Waqar both mentioned a certain Waheed who had worked with their respective parents back in the 60s and now runs a shop in Laloo Khet.
I had visited his shop a few years ago but still ask for directions since Karachi’s landscape changes every year. I leave my Vespa home and drive all the way to Laloo Khet, picking up a friend on the way.
Everyone knows Karachi’s traffic can be a nuisance but if someone wants to experience it at its worst, driving from Hassan Square to Laloo Khet should be enough. My friend, who has recently shifted from Lahore, looks at the traffic and wonders if a visit to Waheed’s Music shop is worth it.
We try to recall the directions to the shop but give up after few wrong turns. I call my musician friend and get fresh instructions which also prove insufficient.
Finally, we turn to technology, and use Google maps to look up the shop. We end up driving in streets so narrow only one vehicle can pass through them at a time.
We battle for driving room with bikes, vegetable sellers and hordes of pedestrians. Finally, we end up in the service lane of a major thoroughfare where Waheed’s humble shop is situated.
We finally locate Waheed's Music shop and find Waheed repairing a harmonium there.
There is a canopy installed in front of the shop and we find Waheed repairing a harmonium under it. Two elderly gentlemen are sitting beside him, both of whom appear to be frequent visitors.
Waheed's music shop is tucked between a house and welding shop.
On the glass window of the shop, several photos are pinned, celebrating Waheed’s moments with music icons of the era. The jewel among these mementos is Waheed’s photo with the great Mehdi Hassan.
Waheed's photo with Mehdi Hassan is proudly displayed at the entrance.
We tell Waheed we have driven all the way from Saddar to see him. Upon hearing that, he disappears inside his shop and brings chilled water for us. We gulp it down and thank him for his hospitality. He adjusts back into his spot and resumes repairing the harmonium.
He has a tiny shop which is stocked with various music instruments.
Waheed is perhaps the only craftsman alive who has seen the Pakistani music industry’s glory days of the 60s. But he doesn't brag too much about it.
Waheed has worked with various notable musicians in his long career.
Gradually, he starts speaking of times long gone and the state of the music industry now. Waheed learnt his trade with Saeed sahib but shifted to Laloo Khet later because of high rentals in the Saddar area.
Business was good, even in an area hardly known for cultural activity, as enthusiasts found their way to his shop. He tells me wistfully of shops and craftsmen who have disappeared over time.
As he speaks, his fingers continue to weave their magic, untangling copper wires and connecting the chords of a harmonium. His helper works on assembling a new harmonium.
Waheed's music shop is one of few shops in Karachi which stills manufacture harmoniums.
He tells me he manufactures 25 to 30 of them on order every year using kel, which is procured from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa.
Waheed's shop is also a hangout for the elderly in the area.
He says customers prefer harmoniums manufactured in Lahore and Amritsar, which are made from lassani wood and are hence cheaper.
Beatles Centre
Beatles Centre near Jhel Park is one of the oldest music shops in the city and has taken its business to a whole new level.
The Beatles Centre entrance on Jheel Park road.
Aamir, the second-generation proprietor, proudly tells me the history of his shop and some of the later innovations introduced.
Aamir has transformed the Beatles Centre into one of the largest online music stores in the country.
Aamir’s father, Gulzar Khaliqdina, founded this shop on Tariq Road’s Dupatta Gali in the 60s.
The Beatles have clearly been a great inspiration.
Like the rest of the shops, Beatles Centre dealt in classical instruments also. But there were lots of Christian and Goans musicians who frequented the shop for guitars and drums.
The Beatles Centre is one of the largest dealer of guitars in the country.
Over time, Beatles Music shop stopped manufacturing classical instruments and now focuses on dealing in some of the biggest brands in the music industry: D’addario, Walden, Promark, Planetwaves and others.
Aamir frequently attends exhibitions – most notably in Shanghai, Frankfurt and Los Angeles – in his quest to bring the best of global brands to Karachi.
An assortment of imported guitars on display.
Beatles Centre has also been a trendsetter in the online community and has an active website that displays the merchandise. They also deliver music instruments across the country via courier.
The word China conjures a wide variety of different images. A typical Chinese house with curved and sloping roofs, people with their pants up to their ankles and hats in paddy fields or people with pencil thin tweaked moustaches with round and red cheeks and high hairstyles similar to the Emperors of earlier dynasties, and cities that are overcrowded, funny smells, and exotic spices and foods.
Fortunately or unfortunately, none of these things hold true for China today, at least for the two cities that I visited during my predominantly business trip there.
Despite there being many flights daily to China, our geographical position is interesting.
Though China and Pakistan are neighbours, the presence of the Karakoram, Hindukush and Himalaya mountain ranges has made this region relatively inaccessible and our sense of China, unlike India, is all that is conjured in books, pictures, films and from ancient history.
Also due to the difference in language, there is a sense of forbearing and fear when we plan a visit to China, mostly to visit the Great Wall.
The progress that has happened in China during the last few decades would change your perception about Dubai.
Street view — Guangzhou.
Comfortable expressways and highways that run for thousands of miles, sleek buildings and automation has taken China miles ahead of its other Continental Asian countries.
Not only are the streets and buildings very clean but the people there are also very friendly and ready to help.
Exploring China to your heart’s content will take more than just one visit.
Guangzhou, also known as Canton, is the capital and largest city of Guangdong province in South China. It’s a sprawling city with high-rise buildings, a beautiful and modern mass transit (underground train) system and beautiful parks.
A park in Guangzhou.
Although a bit crowded, its main attraction is that it is a trading port. My highlight of the trip was a visit to the shrine of Hazrat Saad Bin Abi Waqas, one of the blessed companions of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) who was promised heaven in his lifetime.
The Masjid near the Mazar of Hazrat Saad Bin Abi Waqas.
The mazaar is placed between a sprawling garden that also houses a historical graveyard, where Muslims from the 8th, 9th and 10th centuries are buried, a beautiful Masjid and an orchid garden. It is opposite the Yuexiu Park, famous for its light sculptures and rides.
It’s a very peaceful place and although we visited during a weekend, the place was not very crowded and devotees come there to pay their respects and prayers. It was interesting to imagine Guangzhou of the 8th century where Islam was preached.
The next city I visited was Yiwu (pronounced Ivu), a city in central Zhejiang province. The city is famous for its small commodity trade market.
China Commodity City (CCC), the large wholesale market of Yiwu, was honoured by the UN, the World Bank and Morgan Stanley as the “largest small commodity wholesale market in the world”. It currently covers an area of four million square metres, with 62,000 booths inside. About 100,000 suppliers exhibit 400,000 kinds of products almost every day from 9pm to 5pm.
The scale of the size and volume of the market is a sight to behold. I was there for three days and could hardly visit three per cent of it. It has literally everything under the sun, from rubber bands to laptops and from stapler pins to bicycles.
Yiwu whoelsale market — a shop selling rubber bands.
Once you get lost in the maze of the market, you will constantly discover new things. The prices are amazing and you bump into people of all nationalities, Americans, Germans, French, Brazilians, Pakistani and Indian who are there to import things to their country.
The scale of the place and the kind of things available cannot be explained in words, it really has to be experienced to believe it.
Yiwu by night.
Although people told us that food would be a major issue in China, personally, I did not find it a big problem at all.
Both in Guangzhou and Yiwu, there are many halal restaurants where you can get good and economical meals. Sometimes you do have to travel a bit of distance for it but the availability is not an issue.
Not only is the food very good, due to Muslim influence, it caters to the very local Arabic and Pakistani taste. The tandoori roti and kofta I had in Yiwu were as good (if not better) than that in Pakistan.
A restaurant in Guangzhou.
The entrepreneurial nature of the Chinese people, the sincerity to their work and their efforts is commendable.
It consolidates in you the belief that if people anywhere in the world are provided opportunities to perform they will do wonders. China, for me, was an eye-opening experience. It made me literally ‘look-East’ and appreciate the efforts and achievements of the Chinese people, their government and their economy in transforming China.
There are few places that I want to visit again and China is one of them. I was sad I could not visit Beijing and Shanghai and get to see the Great Wall of China, the Terracotta Army and visit the vast mountains of Tibet; and so, I definitely plan to go back!
This time, with my family and for more than five days. China means Middle Kingdom and today it is the center of the world in trade and economy, from what I saw it will soon become the center of tourism as well.
Till we meet again, zài jiàn!
Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, November 8th, 2015
Theoretically, there are only two kinds of activities in Pakistan: ones that are good for you, and ones that must be banned in a bid to protect a frighteningly free citizen from him or herself.
As a nation, we are growing increasingly comfortable with our own infantilisation. We have decided that we cannot be trusted with the freedom to determine the kind of information we receive, what we browse on the internet, and the things we consume.
On nearly all fronts, a government body must relieve us of the burden of making informed decisions about our personal lifestyles.
In line with the public’s expectation, the Supreme Court has ordered a report on the implementation of the countrywide Sheesha ban, given that many of these venues have remained operational despite the ban on its public use.
This is often the case with banned practices. An objectionable substance does not obediently vanish from the streets upon signing a sheet of paper in the parliament; there are often costly measures taken afterwards to enforce that ban.
This is why the preferred practice around the world is to regulate and tax harmful substances, unless it is absolutely essential to impose a ban. This is why developed countries are hotly debating legalisation of marijuana for recreational use.
After all, we wouldn’t want our prisons bursting at the seams with citizens charged with making indecent personal choices, while we figure out what to do with criminals who pose harm to more than just themselves.
Tax-and-regulate policies are always less expensive, more manageable, and avoid conferring a tempting ‘forbidden-fruit’ status to an unhealthy practice.
A sheesha café advertised as such, should count as a “designated smoking area”, and technically, be allowed to operate as long as they abide by the same conditions as cigarette smoking areas.
Interestingly, the difference of opinion on the matter of banning sheesha is as wide as the generation gap itself.
The strongest proponents of the ban on sheesha smoking appear to be well-meaning parents, seemingly eager to delegate their responsibility of raising smoke-free children to the Big Brother. Such parents believe their campaigning makes the cities safer for their teenage kids, but instead, help some businesses gain a monopoly on legal cancer-causing products such as cigarettes, tobacco pans, and betel nuts.
As a doctor, I’ll make no attempt at denying the effects of sheesha smoking on one’s health.
According to the World Health Organisation (WHO), an hour long session of smoking sheesha equals the consumption of 100-200 cigarettes, divided among the number of people sharing it.
Fortunately, sheesha-smoking is a social tradition, usually involving groups of people. A lone smoker at a hookah bar is an uncommon and tragic sight, unless it happens to be the wise caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland.
Other studies have found fewer negative effects, and its potential to cause addiction still appears to be under some debate. However, it may be safely concluded that sheesha smoking is a terribly unhealthy practice that is difficult to sugarcoat.
The fear of hookah compounded by rumours of sheesha cafes pouring illicit substances in their water-pipes without the patrons’ knowledge, or serving it to minors. These are indeed illegal practices, but cannot be used to criminalise all sheesha cafes. After all, cigarette packs can also be (and are!) sold to minors throughout the country.
It’s prudent for the government to take strong measures like anti-smoking campaigning and banning advertisement of harmful products in the interest of public safety.
This applies to sheesha-smoking as much as it does to cigarettes. But ultimately, the government must respect an adult citizen’s autonomy over his or her own body.
Similarly, citizens must rethink their readiness of surrendering right after right to the government – from flying a kite to smoking a waterpipe – and consider the consequences of the trend they’re setting.
The government is not a Super-Nanny expected to fly in with a magic umbrella to save us from our own indecent or unhealthy personal choices. It is crucial to retain some decision-making power for ourselves on these matters as responsible adults.
In the late 19th century, the worn tapestries of Mughal glories still told their tales to the subcontinent’s Muslims.
There existed then such a thing as a Secretariat of Poetry, run by Nawab Mirza Khan Dagh, and blessed by the beneficence of the then Nizam of Hyderabad, Mir Mahbub Ali Khan.
The poet was a master, and the secretariat was run so that he could effectively carry out his correspondence with the blossoming words of the poets of the land. They wrote to him and he sent them careful corrections; a writer of ghazals, a master, he took seriously the task before him — the creation of the poetic narrative of his age.
It was to him that the young Muhammad Iqbal, the son of an ordinary man but the bearer of extraordinary ambition, sent his first lyrics. It was a short correspondence; Dagh soon informed his student that his poetry needed little correction and there was little he could suggest in terms of improvement.
The existence of a Secretariat of Poetry suggests, in the famine-struck present of our poet-less age, an age when the lyricism of language and the labour of those who strung it together were quite dear to the world.
Muhammad Iqbal, the great national poet, could be imagined to exist in such an age, cared for and coddled and encouraged and celebrated. Indeed, perhaps it would have been so if Iqbal had remained a young poet, touched only by those portions of the culture that cared and comforted his art, untranslated yet into constraints.
Those arrived soon, and fast and with fervour. In 1892, the year of Iqbal’s high school graduation, he was married by his parents to Karim Bibi, the daughter of an affluent physician.
In the epic saga of middle class marriage, the choice of partner was one that involved the betterment of many, enabling the upward ascent of several rungs of middle class mobility. It did not take into consideration the questions of compatibility, the preservation of freedom, the refusal of responsibilities.
In the making of marriage, the qualms of a poet had no place.
The shackles were not accidental; the burden of a brood would keep the poet in check, the ethics of paternal care to temper any rebelliousness of vision.
The construction of compromise would have been possible were it not for the introduction of the possibility of choice.
Karim Bibi and Muhammad Iqbal were said to have lived in relative harmony for nearly two decades, wound together by the skeins of a suffering and sick child, roped together by the relatives who had decided their union was best for all.
So it would have been, if the poet he was and the philosopher he wished to be and the lawyer he would become had stayed in the periphery of Empire that was the India of his day. On the eve of his departure, Muhammad Iqbal chided both the Hindus and the Muslims of India for the narrowness of their vision. And then, in 1905, he left for Europe.
Atiya Faizi would be Iqbal’s dilemma. Educated, modern, unveiled, she was the realisation of what was, in the subcontinent, still just a theory — a literate and literary woman.
At the time that they met, her travelogue, written while she studied at a Teacher’s Training College in London, had already been published. Iqbal had read her work and he went to see her.
In the cold winters of Cambridge and then Heidelberg, they talked and walked and developed an intellectual affinity that Iqbal had never before known. In the companionship of Atiya Faizee, there was for Iqbal, a lifting of the sense of alienation that had haunted him from one continent to another, from periphery to metropole and from Sialkot to Cambridge.
Accustomed only to compromise, he experienced compatibility, a meeting of the minds, and a beginning of love.
Europe was not forever, but the vision of an elsewhere transformed Iqbal forever. In 1908, he returned to India and felt acutely the chasm separating himself and Karim Bibi, the wife who had been waiting for him.
The conflict between duty and desire was never more evident when he wrote to Atiya, “I have written to my father that he had no right to arrange my marriage, especially when I had refused to enter an alliance of that sort; I am quite willing to support her, but I am not prepared to make my life miserable by keeping her with me.”
In another letter it is evident that his feelings for Atiya awaken very different emotions. He writes,
My Dear Miss Atiya: I am totally grateful for the letter I have just
received. Today, since morning, my temperament has been uncommonly
joyful. Therefore, if you perceive, the sweetness of jocularity in
this missive, consider it a compulsion.
So, suspended between one woman and another, misery and joy, India and England, Iqbal remained.
“As a human being I have a right to happiness,” he wrote, but as a man, he remained unable to choose it. He began to live separately from his wife, but he never proposed to Atiya, was never able to make a life with her.
Atiya Faizi was not the silent woman of veiled times and silently borne burdens; she saw the situation plainly; the Muslim men of her time were both beguiled by freedom and tormented by it, creatures of the strictures and yet, choked by them.
Writing in 1947, nearly 10 years after the death of Iqbal, she wrote a prescient comment on the state of cultural constraints and artistic achievement. In India, she wrote, “an individual is obligated to bow before the wishes and orders of his family. In view of this, many men and women, though endowed with extraordinary intellectual abilities have ruined their lives.”
Judged by these measures, she pronounced Iqbal’s life “a cruel tragedy,” whose turns and twists developed as a result of his family’s intransigence.
Forced to separate his love and his life, the Iqbal she knew, the unfettered Iqbal of a few scant years, had been sacrificed on the altar of duty and expectation. Writing about this intellectual waste, the desolation of a man who knew he had been thwarted, the woman he loved appealed in his name to the country borne of his vision.
“Be aware of this danger,” she said, and “before you interfere in the lives of young people,” consider that the fulfillment of a nation cannot be, unless there is room for the fulfillment of its people.
References: Iqbal: Poet-Philosopher of Pakistan Hafeez Malik Editor Columbia University Press 1971.
Note: This blog was first published on Dawn.com in 2013.
A security guard sits reluctantly on a chair at the entrance to this village. He is wearing a light blue shirt with navy blue pants. There is a cap on his head and a barrier next to him. The barrier, the chair, the cap and the guard, are all out of place here.
The residents of the village walking in and out of this narrow alley ignore him and he ignores them. No one fully understands what his ‘duty’ entails, not even the guard himself.
Next to him is a wall that runs all around the small village, encaging it. A couple of entrances have been left open to allow residents to move about. There are bored security guards at each one of these entrances.
This is the entrance of a village called Charrar within the heart of Lahore’s prime real estate community, Defense Housing Authority (DHA) — a literal translation of the word oxymoron.
Outside is the shiny suburban locality of the second largest metropolis of the country and inside is a village.
Charrar Pind, as it is called, was the one of the first villages that was incorporated into this housing scheme. It was the agricultural land of this village that was purchased by DHA and then developed. Eventually, as the community prospered, the original inhabitants of this area were imprisoned within their own village to keep a separation of classes.
Before its land was sold, the village was an agricultural community; surviving on its own yield. That self-sufficiency vanished after the emergence of DHA. New relationships emerged as new classes started living side by side. A labour force was required for the new shiny houses.
Every evening there is an array of cars at the various entrances of Charrar, young boys waiting for their drug and alcohol dealers. Charrar emerged as a den of poverty only a generation after the development of DHA.
Perhaps in the modern parlance, Charrar would be viewed as a katchi abadi in the ever-growing Lahore. This, of course is not true literally, as Charrar is not an informal settlement, yet the relationships that exist between the city and this village are not different from the relationship that develops between a katchi abadi and its city.
Ironically though, whereas informal communities develop after the ‘success’ of a metropolis, Charrar came into existence centuries before DHA. According to the Land Settlement Record collected by the British in the middle of the 19th century, the village of Charrar was first established by a man called Basi in the 14th century.
Just to give you a perspective of how old that is, it is about two centuries before Babur, the first Mughal Emperor, came to India, and about 300 years before Lahore, developed as a significant city, when the Mughal capital was shifted here during the tenure of Akbar.
It was named Charrar because Basi originally belonged to a village called Charrar in the district of Ferozepur. There were archaeological mounds of the village, which were flattened to make way for the Community Club.
Charrar Pind is not the only historical village in DHA, which has been incorporated into this growing community, and has been reduced to the status of a kachi abadi. Another prominent village is Amar Sidhu. Here too, there is a wall, a few entrances and bored security guards.
According to the Land Settlement Records, this village was established in the second half of the 16th century by a man called Amar Singh, who originally belonged to the region of Malwa.
Sidhu was his sub-caste, hence Amar Sidhu. Old as it may be, Charrar does not have any significant historical monument to vouch for its historical significance. However, there are two such structures at Amar Sidhu. One is the Gurdwara of Guru Hargobind, the sixth Guru of Sikhism.
The gurdwara of Hargobind at Amar Sidhu village.
He stopped here on the way from Mozang, as he headed to Amritsar. There is a temple road in Mozang, named to celebrate the ‘temple’ of Guru Hargobind which was constructed there to commemorate the spot he stayed at. The Gurdwara of Amar Sidhu is connected with the story of the ‘temple’ on Temple road.
The other prominent historical structure in Amar Sidhu is the mosque of Bulleh Shah, the 18th century mystic poet of Kasur. He regularly travelled between Kasur and Lahore, to visit his spiritual master, Shah Inayat, who too stayed at Mozang.
Entrance to the Baba Bulleh Shah mosque at Amar Sidhu village.
There is a mosque at Mozang which is constructed over the madrassah of Shah Inayat, where Bulleh Shah studied. On his visits, he usually stopped at Amar Sidhu where he would rest under a Pipal tree. Later, a mosque was constructed next to the Pipal tree to mark the spot visited by Baba Bulleh Shah regularly.
This phenomenon of villages being incorporated into the metropolis of Lahore is not something that is unique to the DHA. Lahore has been doing that for all its existence. In fact, the locality of Mozang, which has now firmly established itself as a part of the city, was originally an independent town, outside of the city of Lahore.
This was first established by an Afghan man called Abdul Aziz Mozang, who came here during Mughal Emperor Akbar’s tenure.
The grave of Abdul Aziz Mozang.
Not far from Mozang is the locality of Ichra. Many historians believe that Ichra might be the first city of Lahore, with the walled city establishing much later. For a major part of its existence though, Ichra was a separate town from Lahore. Its origin is lost in antiquity.
One such community that fascinates me personally is Niaz Baig, which till a few years ago marked the unofficial southern boundary of Lahore. Niaz Baig has personal significance for me because my home is not far from this locality and I used to pass through its rush every day.
However, never was I able to see its historical significance beyond its poverty and disrepair. Only recently did I discover that this small town also might be as old as the city of Lahore. Its records are found in the Akbar-Nama of Abu-Fazl, written during the tenure of Emperor Akbar.
Remnants of an ancient temple at Niaz Baig.
It was a walled community, which served as the regional capital of its surrounding area. In the 18th century when the Afghan marauder Ahmad Shah Abdali descended upon Punjab to cause havoc, residents of the neighbouring community converged at Niaz Baig, as its walls provided protections. Remnants of those walls and those gateways are still present in the village. There also is, soon to be was, an ancient temple in the heart of the community, now taken over by migrants from India after Partition, whose origin too, is lost in antiquity.
A historical gateway leading into the walled village of Niaz Baig.
Not far from Niaz Baig is the village of Hinjarwal, another distinct community that has slowly lost its unique identity as it gradually drowned in the sea of Lahore.
Across the village, in an open ground is the shrine of Baba Hinjarwal, believed to be the founder of this community, and the father of the Khokhar community that now dominates the Multan Road. The plaque on its grave states that he died in the 16th century but its architecture tells a different story.
The shrine of Baba Hinjarwal.
Remains of a caravansary or inn at Hinjarwal.
Its slanting walls, an architectural feature which predates the Mughal arrival, raise doubts about the dates stated.
Scattered all over the city of Lahore are such towns and hamlets, whose histories predate Lahore. Before they became katchi abadis they too, had an identity, all traces of which have slowly eroded.
Whenever there is a discussion about the history of Lahore, inevitably the discussion steers towards the walled city, the colonial city.
However, existing in the midst of these worlds, is the world of these villages and towns, who too, have a story to tell, but in this fast paced world of metropolitan, no one has the time for stories.
Higher education has seen a remarkable progress in Pakistan recently with an increasing number of students enrolling for Masters’ and Doctoral degrees.
However, research culture in the country is still far from being inspiring and is adversely influenced by a lack of third party supervision and a dearth of quality academic professionals. This has continually affected the calibre of Pakistani students.
Research training usually begins when a student pursues his M.Phil or MS degree. Apart from course work, Pakistani institutions offer no help to enhance a students’ understanding of research and dissertation writing.
A students’ lack of critical thinking and writing skills only add to the problem.
Taking ‘shortcuts’
Getting a PhD is not as easy as it may sound. More often than not, students hire professional services to write dissertations for them, paying large sums of money. They do not hesitate in spending this amount for the enticing long-term benefit – a degree and a big promotion.
Dr. *Mansoor, a PhD and an academic, narrated his situation;
Every kind of student gets a grind in PhD. And those with no understanding of research are like rolling stones. I personally know
people who have paid two to four hundred thousand rupees to get their
research done. Competent students also struggle, albeit in a different
way.
The yes-man dilemma
Currently, there are also no formal checks on the relationship between a supervisor and supervisee. This gives immense authority to the supervisor who is not answerable to anyone.
Another PhD student, *Naeem, told me;
My supervisor avoided me, but always had time for my batch mate who lavished him with gifts and flattery. I believed in my competence and
did not want to be his ‘yes-man’. The result; my batch mate has
finished his degree, while mine is in the process even after 8
years.
Favours for a degree
Completing a PhD degree within the time frame is another major concern because the system does not enforce a proper timetable. In fact, it takes double the time in Pakistan compared to other countries that follow a timetable. The final submission takes place only when the supervisor is ‘satisfied’ with the candidate, otherwise the student has to keep waiting.
*Tabish who successfully completed his dissertation recently, told me;
My supervisor coerced me into tutoring his children; overseeing the construction of his house and so on. He brazenly declared that if I
don’t do him these ‘favours’, he will not approve my synopsis. So I
did what was required. Today, I have my degree.
Another common practice in the academia is to make students publish papers for supervisors. Staffers are required to publish a certain number of research papers in order to get promoted, and that number is often met with the ‘unconsented’ help of their students.
Dr. *Masood, who became a victim of such exploitation, revealed:
One day my supervisor called me and inquired about my research papers. I told him that I was working on them. He instructed me to
include his name and also pay the charges for its publication, to
which I agreed. As I was about to walk out of his office, he said,
‘Don’t forget that tomorrow is your final PhD seminar. I’m the one
in-charge of signing off your degree’. His message was very clear...
Women have to pay an even higher price – sexual favours. The situation is appalling within public sector institutes.
A PhD student *Samreen told me;
Soon after my enrolment in PhD, my supervisor started asking me to go
out with him for dinners. He said that all my seminars will be
successful if I did what he wanted. I tried my best to have a
professional relationship with him but failed stop his advances.
Eventually, I had to quit my PhD. I had no other choice.
In 2014, a case reported at LUMS accused a former Law faculty member of sexually harassing his female student. He was immediately dismissed after the student filed a complaint with the federal ombudsman.
Obtaining a PhD is a long and strenuous process in which a person is more likely to experience anxiety and depression. In such a situation, a conducive learning environment and help from the institution is crucial for a student to complete this process successfully, if not cheerfully.
The above mentioned accounts of PhD students underscore the moral corruption within the system. As a result, our students lack competence on library research skills, referencing, finding resources and drafting a dissertation. Such students often go on to become part of the academia and tend to reproduce what they have suffered.
Check and balance
The current situation requires a thorough assessment and implementation of improved rules; a non-partisan body must monitor the progress on research degrees in Pakistan. The Higher Education Commission should be in direct contact with PhD students and form a thesis advisory committee which would meet the supervisor and supervisee twice a year to check their progress and resolve any issues.
In this regard, M.Phil and PhD timetables for completion will also be very helpful. It will enable both the supervisor and students to set deadlines. The institution and the HEC should keep record of the timetable and closely monitor whether or not the student is meeting his targets.
Last but not the least, research students should empower themselves with language and research skills. Help from the federal ombudsman must be sought and a complaint against any mal-administration must be lodged.
By doing so, students can not only save themselves from degradation and exploitation, but can also counter those who oppress them.
Disclaimer: Names with an asterisk have been changed to protect identities.
Nothing divides people more than money; no religion, caste or creed creates more division than our social status.
We are measured by the size of our backyard, the make of our car, the price of our handbag and the zeroes at the end of our pay cheque.
In Karachi, you are largely defined by the area you live in; it is a quick shot bio-data of your entire life.
‘Aap kahan rehte hain? (Where do you live?)’ slots you into the happening or not-so-happening piles immediately. And then, there is no redemption from that.
Middle- and upper-middle class folks aspire to mingle with the solid rich; the old rich enjoy their cocktails with the powerful lot — that leaves us with the ‘mailas’ (dirty ones). And, let me assure you, nobody wants their selfie with a ‘maila’.
The term itself is so offensive that one wonders if this category of Karachiite is even considered human by others sharing the city.
That Karachi is divided along political lines is well-known, but the stronger grid lines are formed along economic status; I like to call it ‘Area Baazi’.
Generalisation is the name of the game
Class consciousness plays a pivotal role in everyday life here: residential areas have names and traits associated with them.
For example ‘Nazimabadiye’ is presumably someone living on the ‘other’ side, unpolished, speaking Dilli wali Urdu and slurping on nihari and haleem. A ‘maila’ or ‘bun kabab’ lives outside Defence and Clifton, areas that pride themselves on hosting so-called sophisticated Pakistanis.
Defence is what Bandra West is to Mumbai or Gurgaon is to New Delhi; it’s perfectly alright for people to prefer certain areas for their security or infrastructure, but must we be insensitive towards others who may be struggling to survive in the city?
There are two Karachis, each totally disconnected from the other. Spaces such as Karimabad, Bufferzone, North Karachi, etc. are taboo words for the Defence walas, who, if they had a chance, would import their oxygen too, I'm certain.
People take pride in throwing names around here: association with politicians and industrialists means their peers will respect them more.
Nobody goes: ‘Hey! I know a compounder possessing a great character. I think we should hang out with him more often’.
I’ve also learned that the secret social code here is minimum words exchanged with anyone below your class. And if someone does indulge in friendly banter with the ‘lowly’ you are allowed to walk around all day feeling like a philanthropist, like you've done some grand favour for humanity.
The city is in a pitiable state morally, but let’s not blame the elite exclusively for the collapse. The ambitious folk in the middle somewhere can’t stop labelling people either.
Their sense of inferiority is apparent in stories of exaggerated wealth, in hesitating to speak in Urdu at posh places or even dissing Bollywood, perpetuating this apathy across all strata of society. Yes, the ‘maila’ watches and discusses Hindi films, but funnily, it is the non-mailas who die for a meet&greet even when a relatively small celebrity from India arrives in Karachi.
In my case, I prefer eating rice with my hands, have often taken a rickshaw to Dolmen Mall and love dissecting Bollywood — unapologetically. I am a maila.
A bigger mafia is at work in Karachi, more terrifying than the mobile snatchers, that lurks around every corner and must be dealt with urgently: dignity snatchers are robbing people in broad daylight.
Humility has been kidnapped and taken to an unknown location — away from our hearts.
The tailor down the street may turn out to be a great source of wisdom, be a hero to his children and may have contributed more to your personal world than the lame politician who is making you empty promises live on TV right now.
So then, would you be willing to accept that friend request from your darzi on social media? If the thought makes you uncomfortable, think about where the dirt really resides.
The voters in Bihar have put the BJP and its cow hugging ‘communal politics’ out to pasture.
The electorate in Bihar, one of the most populous states in India, has delivered a resounding defeat to the right-wing BJP, which had painted Bihar in saffron and plastered billboards with Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s photographs.
The BJP was not expecting a defeat of such proportions and the party is struggling to explain the outcome.
Meanwhile, the liberals in India and the Indian diaspora are cheering these electoral results. But, while most liberals in the diaspora are pleased with the outcome, some are not convinced that the winning coalition is any better.
Professor Sumeet Gulati at the University of British Columbia, for instance, is concerned that a victorious coalition in Bihar, which also includes Lalu Prasad Yadav, the influential former railways minister, might not be that different from the BJP.
Many would recall the lawlessness in Bihar during the 1990s when Mr Yadav served at its chief minister. Still, Professor Gulati considers the BJP defeat a preferred outcome.
Bihar is among the economically struggling states in India where the BJP machinery trumpeted its economic success in Gujarat under the leadership of then chief minister Narendra Modi. The BJP asked the voters in Bihar to vote for the BJP to replicate Gujarat’s economic model in Bihar.
Voters in Bihar, however, were not convinced by BJP’s doctrine of economic success. The BJP suspecting defeat in the elections suddenly shifted the discourse from a better economic model to the politics of fear, trying to divide the electorate along religious lines.
The Biharis still did not fall for it.
Here, the real questions to ask are:
What made the Bihari electorate say no to the BJP's divisive communal politics?
Were there any differences in the economic models presented by the incumbent chief minister of Bihar, Nitish Kumar, and the one offered by the BJP?
Is there any truth to the claim that the economic gains and prosperity in Gujarat were a result of Modi’s leadership as its former chief minister?
Has Gujarat under Modi developed at a faster rate than Bihar did under Kumar?
I turned to reports that compared the relative growth rates between Gujarat and other states to seek answers for these questions.
Many Indian political analysts believe Modi’s economic model is that of crony capitalism where business conglomerates, closely aligned with the government, disproportionately benefit from economic growth.
They think that Mr. Modi’s brand of economics is exclusive, big business, capital intensive, social sector neglect and hence, no experience of the welfare state by the people.
The upper classes under such regimes generate undue profits and support the regime in return because the regime promotes wealth generation, while ignoring its distributional responsibilities.
What about the economic policies of Kumar?
Empirical evidence suggests that Mr. Kumar’s brand of economics is more low-key, delivering on the promise of the welfare state to the lowest of the castes in Bihar.
This is a slow progression where women were acknowledged and given benefits for the first time in Bihar through 50 per cent reservation for women in the local bodies and a cycle to the school-going girl child.
Even from a lower, base level of economic development, Bihar has registered a growth rate comparable to that of Gujarat. There is, however, a big difference between the two models. The Bihar model included a welfare state that was missing from Modi’s Gujarat.
In an op-ed in April 2014, Professor Ashok Kotwal of the University of British Columbia in Canada explained that while Gujarat had been one of the top-performing states in economic output growth, the same has not translated into meaningful development in the state.
Professor Kotwal compares Gujarat’s economic productivity and human development against other states and concludes that Gujarat has done so much better in terms of growth and so much worse in terms of development than other states.
Professors Maitreesh Ghatak of the London School of Economics and Sanchari Roy of the University of Warwick are also interested in the comparative growth and development in the 16 large Indian states. In an online essay in 2014, they reported that Bihar had “improved the most during the 2000s”.
As for Gujarat, their analysis revealed that Gujarat’s “performance in the 2000s does not seem to justify the wild euphoria and exuberant optimism about Modi’s economic leadership. In particular, there is no evidence of any significant growth acceleration in Gujarat in the 2000s”.
Anti-Muslim rhetoric disguised as anti-Pakistan diatribe
When the BJP bosses saw the impending defeat in Bihar, they tried to make beef and cows as the focus of the elections. The BJP ran ads showing young girls hugging cows. Indian political observers recalled BJP ministers fuelling fires by telling Hindu voters that BJP’s defeat would mean that vegetarian Hindus would be forced to eat beef!
Pakistan had undergone a similar radicalisation under General Ziaul Haq. The similarities between Modi’s India and Zia’s Pakistan are not lost on me: Modi to India is what Zia was to Pakistan.
Even in India, writers and artists have been alarmed at the way the BJP and RSS are trying to radicalise the Indian society. Almost 400 performers, writers and scientists have returned their awards to the state-sponsored institutions in protest.
Recently, the legendary poet, Gulzar, was dismayed by the radicalised rhetoric in India that included BJP’s claims that it would return India to the benevolence of the mythical Ram Raj.
Arun Shourie is a former World Bank economist and one-time Modi loyalist. He no longer supports the BJP. He thinks that India should be thankful to the people of Bihar for stopping the country from following divisive and abusive politics. “The principal result of this election has been that the direction in which this country was being hurled, that has been blocked by the people of Bihar.”
I believe the most significant result of the Bihar election is that it has given hope to the Indian liberals that the rising tide of Hindutva could be checked.
Yogendra Yadav, India’s foremost political scientist, believes that Bihar has shattered BJP’s myth of invincibility. “… the monopoly of the NDA in the country’s politics, the monopoly of the BJP over NDA, and the monopoly of Modi in the BJP, all three are bound to be seriously questioned now,” Yadav said in a recent NDTV broadcast.
A secular India and a moderate Pakistan are essential for peace and prosperity in South Asia. Zia’s Pakistan and Modi’s India are hardly the models to follow.
Biharis have finally rejected Modi’s radicalism. I hope Pakistanis will continue to reject Zia’s extremism.
I actually did, I exploded four of them. And I don’t care if doing so proves BJP supremo Amit Shah right in warning Bihari voters that if his party lost state assembly elections there, celebratory firecrackers will be set off in Pakistan.
The BJP did lose those elections. Badly. And, I, for one, am celebrating it.
Here are my reasons for each of the small celebratory bursts I had in my courtyard:
1st firecracker
The rise of the religious right in India vindicates the Pakistani right’s narrative of our history.
From primary school textbooks to the daily dose of local media, we have been told countless times that it was the overbearing, intolerant and narrow-minded Hindus which made it impossible for the Muslims to live peacefully with them. These ‘storytellers’ have bent over backwards to dig out one ‘historical evidence’ after the other in their support.
Then came the Modi baghats and made life easier for them as now, all they need is a copy of a daily newspaper. If you still harbour any doubts, they would be willing to also share a convincing video clip from social media which shows how terribly India is treating its Muslims.
Who did what and why in the past? If this was only an academic question, one could simply move on. But, we are hostages to our history. In subtle and not so subtle ways, it shapes our present political selves.
The rightist stranglehold on both sides of the border brings forth the worst of us; downright venomous, intolerant and violent. And our worse selves stand to gain from each. They pump up and inflate each other as one party’s weakness is considered the other’s strength.
This has us stuck deep in a perpetuating and vicious ‘jinx of history’. This jinx must be broken to give a peaceful future a chance. And I do believe it will break, one crack at a time. Bihar is one such crack.
Here goes my first firecracker. BLAM!
2nd firecracker
The myopia instilled by rightists does not only make the common Indian and Pakistani suffer in their own contexts, it also hinders our coexistence as two countries.
Whatever the history, Pakistan and India are now two independent, sovereign countries and above all, we are neighbours. In this age of integrated economies, neither of the two can make substantial progress without having at least decent working relations with the other. Like it or not, such is the determinism of our times.
So, what bars us from holding our hand out to the other?
Simple. The internal politics on both sides has invested heavily in jingoistic nationalism, primarily based on notions of religious identities. It has accumulated great political capital that is cashed by the parties at the electoral booths and the media counters.
BJP has made it worse by equating Indian Muslims with Pakistan.
The governments formed by these parties or the ones vested in the same ideology do not afford to betray their mandates and decide to ‘sleep with the enemy’ even though they acknowledge its economic growth potential.
That’s the sole reason why attempts at thawing our relations have turned back from the brink so many times in the past.
Unless the jingoistic religious nationalism snaps and is deprived of its authority to propel a party to power, or help it cling on, there is no way the two countries could live as tolerant neighbours. Bihar has loudly refused to be stirred up by that narrow nationalism.
So, I light a match for my second firecracker. POW!
3rd firecracker
When the viciousness associated with religious nationalism holds sway over society, it hits the believers in ‘other’ religions first and the hardest.
It is always the ‘other’ religion that bears the brunt of patriotism and piety of believers of the mainstream religion.
The ‘non-believers’ in the state become aliens in their homes, foreigners in their countries and infidels in their places of worship. They are encircled by mobs with stones and these mobs travel with them everywhere they go.
Buddhist monks in Myanmar justified their persecution of Rohingya Muslims as Taliban desecrated statues of Buddha in Afghanistan. The Hindutva brigade in India says it is merely righting the wrongs done to Hindus by Aurangzeb. Mian Mitthu, the notorious pir-politician abettor of forced conversions of Hindu girls in Pakistan, believes that he is merely rendering meritorious services to Islam and Pakistan.
Our people do not deserve to live, and die, of each other’s miseries.
The voters in Bihar not only rejected Hindutva politics, they also dumped All India Majlis Ittehadul Muslimeen that has lately risen in India to cash in on Muslim insecurities. It’s heartening to note that the Biharis didn’t budge in the face of a double-edged attempt at their ‘otherisation’ – one side trying to frighten them into submission and the other trying to capitalise over the same fear.
That’s the way forward for all the communities that have been turned into ‘minorities’ by the politics of religion in South Asia.
This firecracker is for celebrating the feat of these very communities. BOOM!
4th firecracker
The BJP did not usurp power. It rose through a legitimate electoral process. At best, a critic can say they were cunning enough to have manipulated the weaknesses of the system in their favour.
But, that does not tantamount to being non-democratic. Don’t they then reflect the will of the people? That shakes one's belief in democracy as a progressive political process.
BJP’s victory last year was a popular verdict. It was dyed in saffron but it wasn’t all about cows, pujas or whether or not Tipu Sultan was a tyrant.
Is it then this easy for the democratically-elected to betray their mandate? Are mandates carte blanche and the winners free to do as they please? Is there no course-correction possible once the mandate is awarded?
Bihar tells us that if democracy can hurt itself, it has self-healing powers too. It is not only the king-maker; it is a king-slayer too. So, have faith in democracy.
So here is my fourth firecracker. Won’t you help me light it?
Till the appointment of Misbahul Haq as Pakistan’s cricket captain in 2011, former all-rounder, Imran Khan, was overwhelmingly remembered as the greatest captain ever to lead the Pakistan cricket side.
However, five years after Misbah’s elevation to the post of captaincy, he not only leveled the joint-record (of most Test victories as captain held by Imran and Javed Miandad), but, by the tail-end of 2015, Misbah has already added to his tally another 6 victories (compared to the 14 each by Khan and Miandad).
Misbah now has an impressive 20 Test wins under his belt, the most ever by a Pakistani Test captain.
But Misbah is a modest man. Whenever he is reminded of this feat of his, he almost always recoils and politely suggests that as a cricketer he is nowhere close to Khan or Miandad.
Though it has taken quite a while for Misbah’s prestige and fame (as skipper) to mushroom, there is now enough evidence to suggest that he may as well have become the country's greatest cricket captain.
Compared to the way Misbah’s fame as captain has slow-burned its way to the top, Imran Khan’s rise in this context was a lot swifter. But interestingly, both took over teams that were peppered with multiple problems.
Khan was appointed captain in 1982 at the age 0f 29. He had already established himself as a world class fast bowler and was on his way to becoming a quality all-rounder as well.
He was a regular member of the Pakistan team, having made his debut in the early 1970s as a lanky teenager.
Till his appointment, Khan had played his most formative cricket under the leadership of Mushtaq Mohammad who (between 1976 and 1979) became the country’s most successful Test skipper with 8 wins in 19 games.
Mushtaq and Imran, Sydney 1976. Khan played most of his formative cricket under Mushtaq.
However, in late 1979, Mushtaq was nudged out by the Pakistan cricket board (for losing form and ‘an advancing age’).
He was replaced by his friend and vice-captain, Asif Iqbal (who, ironically, was of the same age as Mushtaq, 36!).
Pakistan under Iqbal had a disastrous tour of India after which he promptly retired and was replaced by the then 23-year-old Javed Miandad.
Miandad’s appointment came as a surprise to the senior members of the team, so much so, that two years later (in early 1982), 10 regular members of the squad refused to play under him.
The rebellion was led by dashing opening batsman, Majid Khan, who, though, by then had lost much of his batting flair.
Another senior, Zaheer Abbas, sided with Majid and both convinced another eight members of the team to boycott Javed’s captaincy which they claimed was immature and ‘disrespectful’ to the seniors. Imran was one of the rebels.
The board sided with Miandad. But when a new-look Pakistan side almost lost a Test against a nascent Sri Lankan Test squad, Miandad agreed to step down on the condition that he would not play under Majid or Zaheer, both of who were expecting to be named captain after Miandad’s departure.
The board, in its pursuit to resolve the captaincy crisis, decided to think out of the box. It sprung a surprise by bypassing both Zaheer and Majid and named Imran Khan as captain.
Cricketing wisdom in those days suggested that fast bowlers never made good captains. However, this perception was somewhat negated when England’s quick bowler, Bob Willis, was made captain in 1982 and did quite well in his first series as skipper (against India in India).
Although Khan’s appointment took the players and the media by surprise, it baffled Khan too. After consulting with some of his closest friends (including legendary cricket commentator, Iftikhar Ahmad), Khan almost declined, only to accept the post just before Pakistan’s 1982 tour of England.
This meant Khan had to lead a team that was severely troubled by in-fighting and had in it some players who even refused to speak to each other.
What’s more, Khan hardly had any captaincy experience. He had only captained his university team at Oxford in the early 1970s.
However, in the next two years, Khan was more than successful in transforming the once bickering squad into a close-knit unit who turned winning into habit.
Khan’s first assignment as skipper: The Pakistan team during the 1982 tour of England. (Standing from left): Iqbal Qasim, Mudassar Nazar, Salim Yousaf, Sikandar Bakht, Mohsin Khan, Tahir Naqqash, Mansoor Akhtar, Salim Malik, Haroon Rashid, Abdul Qadir. (Sitting from left): Wasim Raja, Wasim Bari, Majid Khan, Intikhab Alam (Manager), Imran Khan, Zaheer Abbas, Sarfraz Nawaz and Javed Miandad.
One of the main factors that contributed in helping Khan achieve this was the way his form as a bowler and batsman blossomed under pressure. Thus, he was able to win the respect of his teammates by leading from the front.
But Khan’s first era as captain almost entirely revolved around his imposing personality.
As an all-rounder he had rapidly evolved from being good to becoming great and this greatness permeated in him, a somewhat authoritarian and an almost dictatorial approach.
Khan and his merry men.
But, as long as he was able to perform well and lead from the front, the team willingly followed.
That is, until he broke down in 1983, and then quit cricket (for two years to rest a fractured shin).
With his exit the team just crumbled. In-fighting returned and so did players’ intrigues, again revolving around Zaheer and Javed, the two men who followed as captain after Khan’s exit.
Khan returned as skipper in 1986, his path cleared by Miandad’s second stepping-down moment – even though this time it was more voluntary.
Misbah too, took over a troubled squad. But unlike Khan, he was not even in the team when he was asked to lead.
Also, quite unlike the appointment of Khan, Misbah’s appointment as captain was initially a make-shift affair.
Misbah had made his Test debut in 2002 but was soon dropped. He was recalled to the side five years later in 2007.
In 2010, he was again dropped and was most likely to have remained in obscurity had three frontline Pakistani players (Salman Butt, Mohammad Asif and Mohammad Amir), not decided to earn some extra bit of money by indulging in spot-fixing during Pakistan’s 2010 tour of England.
Butt was captain at the time, replacing Shahid Afridi, who had conveniently decided to retire from Test cricket after his team lost the first Test on the same English tour.
Disgraced by the spot-fixing scandal, hit by the resultant long bans on the tainted players, and unable to resolve a simmering tussle between various groupings in the squad, the cricket board returned to Misbah and requested him to lead the side for the 2011 series against South Africa.
It was a one-series-deal; a series played in the UAE because at the time, no foreign team was willing to tour Pakistan which, ever since the mid-2000s, found itself wedged by a deadly wave of extremist violence and instability.
In 1982, Imran had arrived (as captain) with an aggressive plan to turn Pakistan into an attacking side. He largely succeeded because by 1988, Pakistan (under Imran’s second stint as skipper), not only shot up to become the No: 1 Test side in the ICC rankings, but the team was also being universally praised as one of the most exciting squads of the era.
Misbah’s approach on the other hand, was a lot more cautious. Because when he took over as captain, the once celebrated belligerence and flamboyant unpredictability of the Pakistan cricket teams under Imran (and then of the Pakistan sides that followed his retirement in 1992), had stopped being seen as things to rejoice or endear.
Match-fixing scandals, in-fighting, captaincy tussles coupled with the rising tide of extremist violence and political instability in Pakistan had eroded the team’s once celebrated status of being an excitingly unpredictable side. The moniker actually began to be seen with suspicion and dismay.
That’s why Misbah’s approach was almost opposite to that of Khan’s.
Khan led from his heart.
Khan had instilled unity and spirit into a disjointed side by encouraging flamboyance and aggression. He lead with his heart and in the process, realigned the team’s implosive disposition by channelising the player’s emotions towards achieving nobler cricketing pursuits, instead of attaining only those driven by their myopic self-interests.
Khan saw himself as a warrior-captain. Bold, forthright, leading from the front, he explained anything that disagreed with his approach as cowardice.
He had admired captains like Australia’s Ian Chappell. But, whereas, Chappell too, was warrior-like, he also had a sharp mind.
Khan had a good cricketing brain, but it was nowhere as potent as the heart with which he led the team and played the game.
This mind-gap in this respect was filled by the wily Javed Miandad who became Khan’s Vice Captain in 1986. According to Chappell, the Khan-Miandad nexus became one of the most powerful combinations on the cricket field.
Khan with his vice-captain, Javed Miandad.
Misbah came in as an outsider. Though untainted by the debris of what had befallen the team in his absence, he was quite alone.
Not only was he expected to restore order, but he also had to actually justify his return as a batsman.
Misbah, in this respect was like Mr. Spock (the extremely rational and unemotional Vulcan in Star Trek).
As a captain he came in as a detached and stoic Vulcan to lead a team of passionate, warlike but wayward Klingons!
He knew well that no matter how he would want to restore his version of order in a highly instable and tainted team, he would first and foremost have to win the respect of his teammates by leading from the front.
Looking back, it is remarkable how well the then 36-year-old returnee managed to do this, finding his batting form, and gradually becoming the central figure around which the team’s batting would begin to revolve on a consistent basis.
Misbah: Rational, circumspect, stoic.
Whereas, Khan had nurtured spontaneous and rugged talent because it strengthened his vision of constructing a warrior-like unit driven by unorthodox abilities and unabashed passions, Misbah groomed players that he believed had the nerve and discipline to stoically but resolutely face the rigours and pressures of international cricket.
For example, Khan would bank on the unorthodox thinking of Miandad; fight to get in eccentric leggies such as Abdul Qadir; and influence the budding of raw talent that would lead to the shaping of brilliant fast bowlers such as Wasim Akram, Waqar Younas and Aquib Javed.
On and off the field Khan’s protégés became quite like him: Flamboyant, unabashedly passionate, provocative and having a penchant for living in the fast lane.
Khan’s protégés: Akram, Waqar and Aquib (1988).
But, of course, times had dramatically changed by the time Misbah took over. The flamboyance and glitz that had emerged during the Khan era and then cut across the 1990s had, by the end of that decade, begun to misfire and mutate into becoming characteristics that were far less glamorous or inspirational.
Inzimamul Haq who was made captain in 2003 tried to stem the rot by introducing a regime inspired by the dictates and musings of the religious sages that he had begun to follow.
But by the time he quit in 2007, the team was still in shambles, even though during his four-year-stint, many of his teammates did try to exhibit how pious they really were.
It is interesting to recall that till about 2005, former Pakistan coach, the late Bob Woolmer, and former Pakistan batsman-turned-commentator, Ramiz Raja, were fawning at Inzimam’s approach, and praising it as ‘a good way to unify the squad.’
However, two years later, Woolmer was bemoaning the fact that some players were spending more time indulging in preaching than concentrating on playing cricket; and Pakistan’s media manager during the 20o7 World Cup (in the West Indies) claimed (in his report) that one of the reasons why the team did not manage to go past the first round in the tournament was because the captain’s attention was more fixed on winning converts in the Caribbean than on leading his side!
In the long-run, Inzi’s unique experiment to restore order in the team with the help of faith and spiritual rituality was a resounding failure because three years later, the team hit a terrible new low when three of its members (two of them groomed by Inzi), were caught red-handed bringing the game into disrepute for the sake of making some quick, easy bucks.
To Misbah, order meant applying reason. In the face of some vehement criticism (especially from some former players), Misbah consciously went about detaching the team’s unpredictability tag and curbing its unabashed flamboyance and its penchant to be roused by emotional spiels of glory and honour.
In their place, he encouraged the need to understand the game through one’s mind and experience; to connect and form unity through clear communication between players; and to adopt a diplomatic disposition.
He deliberately restrained his ego and presented himself as a private and modest man who did not have any favorites in the team.
This was his way of neutralising ‘groupings’ in the squad for which he also made it a point to talk to players privately on a one-on-one basis.
Unlike Khan, who often clashed with the selectors and the cricket board – mainly due to his belief that the captain should have the most say in selection matters – Misbah in his five-year-stint has never had a single major falling-out episode with the country’s cricketing establishment.
Khan used to lament that when the team lost, it was always the captain’s head that ended up on the chopping block, so he needed to be given more say.
Misbah actually agrees with this assessment. But his dealings with the board and the selectors too, have been stoic.
Khan would often threaten to resign if the selectors did not give him the player (or players) he wanted on a tour. But Misbah simply takes what he is given and tries to make the best of it.
However, the more his place in the team got cemented (due to his resolute and dogged batting), and the more victories he began to score as captain, the selectors eventually began to invite him to give his suggestions on selection matters.
This is how he made off-spinner Saeed Ajmal a permanent member of the squad and desired the same kind of permanency for solid and circumspect batters such as Azhar Ali and Asad Shafiq.
Khan’s rise as a fast bowler from 1976 onwards and then his attacking tactics as captain had ushered in a fast bowling revolution in Pakistan cricket.
Beginning with Khan himself, he soon had in his team two devastating quick men, Wasim Akram and Waqar Younus, who were supplemented well by the accurate Aquib Javed.
Khan’s musclemen: Aquib, Waqar and Akram.
Across the 1980s and even after Khan retired in 1992, Pakistan’s bowling attack was always dominated by fast men.
But, in 2011, when Misbah came in as skipper, the team’s last major fast bowler, Shoaib Akhtar, had retired, and two other quality quicks, the extremely accurate, Mohammad Asif, and the incredibly talented, Mohammad Aamir, had been banned for indulging in spot-fixing.
Pakistan suddenly had an extremely weak bowling attack. Unable to find immediate replacements in the fast bowling department, Misbah put the unorthodox off-spinner Saeed Ajmal in the lead. He had played with Ajmal in domestic cricket and believed that he was a spinner who actually thought like a fast bowler!
Ajmal is on record in saying that Misbah would often visit Ajmal in his hotel room and discuss with him what he wanted from him as a frontline bowler; and assured him that he had his (Misbah’s) full backing.
When Ajmal began to deliver the kind of performances Misbah was hoping for, the nature of the team’s bowling attack too changed.
Once dominated by fast bowlers, Misbah began to strengthen the team’s bowling attack with spin, bringing in left-arm leg-spinners (Abdul Rehman and then Zulfiqar Babar), to support Ajmal from the other end.
Spinners began to bowl in pairs for Pakistan just as fast bowlers had done till the mid-2000s. Misbah also encouraged Mohammad Hafiz (an established opening batsman), to sharpen his spin bowling skills as well, and he often became the team’s third spinner.
Spinning twins: Rehman and Ajmal.
Some former players and a section of the media lamented the fact that Pakistan’s fast bowling tradition was being trampled upon by Misbah. But the criticism largely fell flat when Misbah’s spinners led by Ajmal began to produce wins.
Also, what the critics ignored was the fact that after Akhtar’s retirement and the banning of Asif and Aamir, it was next to impossible to generate quality fast men in such a short period.
Misbah had to rely on spinners, even though Umer Gul (who had made his debut under Inzi), did give him some fire power.
But Gul’s form was on a decline ever since 2010, and the fast bowlers Misbah did have were just too inexperienced.
So, he invested in them the way he invested in his batsmen. He picked fast bowlers who were more interested in keeping things tight and stable for the spinners to have a go.
Men such as Rahat Ali and Imran Khan (no relation to the former captain) were/are given consistent runs despite the fact that their bowling talent is nowhere near the talent possessed by Akram, Waqar, Aquib, Asif, Aamir or Akhtar.
Misbah’s captaincy continued to blossom, but it was constantly tested.
He suddenly lost his bowling ace, Ajmal, when the latter was reported for having an illegal bowling action, and Rehman was banned for a year (for smoking cannabis), and then completely lost form after his return.
But just as Gul was in decline, Misbah welcomed the towering Mohammad Irfan who has pace, bounce and accuracy. But being highly injury-prone, he wasn’t around much for Misbah in Tests.
Wahab Riaz eventually filled the gap by rearranging his game after initially struggling with ball-control. In him, Misbah finally found the genuine fast man that he never had.
In Wahab Riaz Misbah finally found his hostile fast bowling act.
As mentioned elsewhere in this article, Imran was highly impressed by the captaincy style of former Australian skipper, Ian Chappell. It was Chappell who started the Australian team’s now established tradition of ‘messing up the psyche’ of visiting teams by shooting off provocative and exaggerated statements just before the series.
Imran, too, adopted this approach and would often bring in players who he thought had in them the material that he could use in a provocative manner.
For example, he picked up Abdul Qadir for the 1982 series against England when leg-break spinners had gone out of vogue and Qadir had been discarded by the selectors.
Khan insisted he wanted Qadir in the team. Apart from the fact that English batsmen hadn’t played leg-break bowling for quite a while, Imran also picked Qadir because Qadir was an eccentric. Khan admired eccentric personalities, especially those he could mold to express the mind games he wanted to play with the opposing teams.
After getting Qadir selected, Khan asked him to grow a goatee. Not understanding why the skipper was asking him to grow a goatee, Khan told him that he would be introducing him (Qadir) to the English press as a ‘spinning magician’ and thus wanted him to ‘look like a wizard!’
Khan in consultation with his ‘wizard’ (England, 1982).
In 1988, during an international ODI tournament in Australia, Khan explained Manzoor Ilahi (an average all-rounder), as ‘the hardest hitting batsmen in the world.’
During another tournament in Sharjah, Khan told the Indian press that the issue of Kashmir between India and Pakistan should be resolved on the cricket field.
Misbah, on the other hand likes to keep his cards much closer to the chest. When he made Ajmal a regular member of his team, he did not advertise him as the innovative off-spinner that Misbah knew Ajmal was.
Misbah’s stoic disposition may suggest that he plays purely in the moment without thinking much about the future. The truth is, he actually does think ahead, but chooses not to say much about it.
For example, when Ajmal was reported and was unable to bowl, Misbah was asked how he planned to fill the huge gap created by Ajmal’s departure.
Misbah just shrugged his shoulders, smiled and said the team will have to utilise whatever resources it was left with.
Unknown to the journalist who had asked him this question, was the fact that Msibah had for quite some time kept an eye on three other spinners who were playing domestic cricket in Pakistan: Yasir Shah, Imad Waseem and Bilal Asif.
He immediately got Shah in and advised his batting protégé-turned-ODI-captain, Azhar Ali, to select Imad and Bilal in the ODI squad.
Misbah: Quietly looking ahead.
Leg-break bowler, Shah, who has rapidly developed into a class act under Misbah, almost immediately filled the gap created by Ajmal’s fall.
On the other end, Abdul Rehman’s decline was addressed by Misbah when he brought in Zulfikar Babar.
Both these bowlers, along with the now very sharp and hostile Wahab Riaz, were central in giving Misbah his last 6 victories that took his captaincy tally of wins to 20.
Yasir Shah: Misbah’s new spinning weapon.
Misbah is Pakistan’s most successful Test captain. In the second place are Imran and Miandad. But Khan still remains to be the country’s most successful skipper in ODIs, with 75 wins.
If one were to choose the two’s greatest feats, then for Imran it has to be the way he led a depleted side in 1992 that turned the tables and lifted that year’s Cricket World Cup; and for Misbah it should be the manner in which he quietly stabilised a tainted side of a country in turmoil, and lifted it to become the 2nd ranked Test side in the world – despite it not being able to play a single Test at home ever since 2009.
The Jamat-i-Islami (JI) has expressed disapproval over the provincial government’s preference for shirts and trousers as school uniforms in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa over shalwar kameez.
They claim that the Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaf (PTI) has violated an agreement by not consulting with them about the move.
I do believe that all lawful agreements between political parties must be honoured for a functioning and efficient democracy, however, the JI’s claim is simply frivolous and polarising.
Using the uniform as a reason to claim that the education system is being 'Americanised' and 'imperialistic', the Jamat-i-islami is resorting to an age-old and banal trick – blame it all on Western conspiracy, call it an American agenda and create rifts among the society.
Take an issue that will instantly grab attention, retain focus on form, not substance, make it emotional, connect with the moral baggage that has plagued society since the infamous Zia era, when the state established dress codes on TV and tried to intimidate women into wearing chadors (large pieces of cloth used to cover up).
While a chador is a fine form of dress – the critical matter is choice, and that was being undermined by a repressive state instituting discriminatory policies and laws.
This repressive dress culture and its effects on society run deep.
Ironically, while imposing non-western dress codes at home, Zia’s military regime trained Mujahidin at the behest and funding of the US to fight the Soviets in Afghanistan. That military economy has since evolved, but we largely remain indebted to the United States for military aid.
Over the two decades of the 1980s and the 1990s, immense public shame and stigma was associated with clothing.
There has been a retreat in the late 1990s and the 2000s from that stigma, and newer generations' awareness of the pressure that comes with the state’s peculiar obsession with its citizens' garb is perhaps more subliminal than real. The scars remain.
This culture of intolerance towards diversity and the disgrace associated with behaviour and dress have proved rather resilient in Pakistan.
How about nutrition instead?
The JI provincial chief, Mushtaq Ahmad, said that the sense of deprivation and inferiority that prevails among people of the province cannot be removed by a mere change of uniforms.
If the JI are really serious about countering this sense of deprivation and inferiority within the people, then they must focus on developing economic policies that will bring about serious change.
Instead of putting clothes under the microscope, making it a personal issue and exacerbating peoples’ shame, introduce school lunches that could act as an incentive for parents to send their children to government schools.
They should build young people's appetites and confidence, address malnutrition among children whose parents are struggling to cope with the rising cost of food and the absence of state welfare; they should address the issue of dysfunctional schools without any basic facilities, like furniture .
By bringing clothing under the spotlight, the Jamat-i-Islami is perpetuating prejudice; their claims are hollow. There are plenty of state officials who wear trousers and shirts as uniform.
We are tired of this trick and we deserve better.
Public schools in America serve their children lunches in school too. Will the JI leadership next express disapproval over feeding children at school as part of an American conspiracy?
Maybe, so better make sure it's not steak and potatoes.
As they say, no publicity is bad publicity – unless it really is of the worst kind and puts one in league with apologists for rapists and wife-beaters and gains one’s infamy for misogyny.
Sorry, but this really is the 21st century and prehistoric ideals of grab a woman, force her to make you dinner are about as appreciated as, well, living in caves.
You woman, me man. HUAH! You cook, me eat!
Erm, no.
We all know the story of Table No. 5– the restaurant whose love for feeding people sandwiches brought Armageddon.
Okay, well not Armageddon exactly, though we really fail to understand that if ‘women can cause earthquakes’, why can’t folks perpetuating sexist stereotypes cause Armageddon or at the very least tsunamis? (No political connotations please, we are seriously into sandwiches here!)
As we stalked through the infamous eatery’s Facebook posts (can you blame us?), we stumbled upon this profound pearl of wisdom by one, whose identity we shall keep secret in the interest of good manners.
The scribe, a meninist no doubt (and haha at whoever coined that term), wrote,
I think it was a pretty smart marketing campaign. Shouldn't have givenup that easily.
That, of course, was in reference to Table No. 5’s condescending apology laced with strong ‘sorry, not sorry’ overtones posted earlier in the day.
The meninist went on to write,
We all know no one's sexist here. It's all in your head.
Quite so. Naming a dish after a serial rapist? Of course, it’s all in our head. The fact that Will Cozbee sounds so much like Bill Cosby, accused of multiple sexual assault charges, is also in our heads. Heck, the two names don’t even rhyme.
Another genius, let’s just call him Dr. Doofus for now, had an epiphany and stated,
Why make everything so controversial. Such simple conversations athome and at office are part of life and these are not ‘misogyny’,belittling of women, violence against women and sexual objectificationof women. These are simple trouble-free ‘MAN JOKES.’ Don’t try to turnthem into some BIG issues of life.
We don’t know whether we have the strength to lift that big rock that Dr. D lives under and explain to him without banging our head on the wall how completely off the mark he is.
Dr. D’s mindset is what triggers those violent misogynist acts that we all supposedly condemn.
These ‘simple jokes’ desensitise us to the bigger issues that they lead to. It’s about crossing lines – finer to less fine to thicker to thickest.
Men like him, and women like him, are the reason we have a thriving misogynist culture.
For instance, the connotation of ‘If she won’t make you a sandwich, we will!’ = It’s her job to make you a sandwich = If she doesn’t, she’s not doing her job = You should discipline her for not doing her job and show the woman her place = You master, she servant.
See where this leads to? No? Pity.
Usually when nothing works with this mindset, we bring in the ‘mummy guns’ as THAT is what the meninists usually resort to in conversations.
Lines like, “think about your kids, woman. Will they become self-proclaimed wacko idiots like you…” followed by “… you’re just some brain-cooked kid who makes roti for the entire family. I genuinely wish the menu had cream boobs served with a cold slap or sth ‘real’ to offend the feminist lot…” are thrown around with variant shades of insolence.
These particular quotes were courtesy of someone claiming to be a ‘close friend’ of the owner of Table No. 5, and was posting such obscenities relentlessly on the restaurant’s Facebook page, without any intervention from the page admin.
Going back to mummy guns, it was nice of Dr. D to educate us that rape jokes are man jokes.
Okay, little experiment. Let’s replace all the women in the ‘fun man jokes’ with Dr. D’s or any of the aforementioned gentlemen’s mums.
Give it a minute.
Ooh, suddenly we see blood boiling and steam emancipating out of reddening ears/eyes/face.
Also, do notice how this whole exercise reiterates to an old but usually invisible argument that women are nothing, unless they are women of your household?
Wives, mothers, sisters, or daughters who are related to ‘you’ are the ones worthy of any respect, if one can call it that. Without these identities, anything said against a ‘woman’ is merely brushed aside as humour.
Funny, yes? Do you see us laughing?
But yes, like all those supporters of Table No. 5, we believe in freedom of expression as well, which is why we leave Table No. 5 to their opinions, whilst we dish out ours at Table No. 6.
If you feel these ads are sexist or are targeting men in any way possible, then remember, it’s all in your head.
Table No. 5 insisted that their entire campaign was developed and put out there under the context of humour.
Well meaning, appetite-inducing humour that, according to another genius laying out the marketing strategy of the place, noted,
Speaking from a purely Marketing point of view, this guy is a genius.He's gained lots of likes on his page, got media traction andthousands of people now know about his restaurant (and will probablygo and visit it to see what the fuss is about)… A lot of single guys(which are never in scarcity anywhere in Pakistan honestly), will bevisiting this place and this guy probably aims to target them as aniche market. I wouldn't be surprised in due time if he does changehis strategy to a more gender neutral one once he attracts enoughregular customers and once he feels he wants to expand his customerbase to more females… Well played.
Right. Given that this was the poster’s personal take on the whole thing. However, the way Table No. 5 has responded to criticism by still endorsing said ads, calling the whole controversy a ‘round’ to be won or lost, does feed into this person’s views.
A restaurant that marketed its food at the expense of women’s sentimentalities so it could grab chauvinist men as its market; and there are hundreds of loyal customers who favour this.
We have to hand it to them. Realising who the target market was, aka chauvinists, Table No. 5 really did do a good job.
However, had their market been actual people with sane logical and fair minds, they might have come up with something nice like this:
Interestingly, and on an end note, many on the page seemed to bring up Jibran Nasir, contemplating how he would react to the entire nonsensical scenario. They believed he would ‘storm’ as he is one of the most feminist feminists of the country.
Yes, he is. And we’d love him or anyone else supporting us women. Who wouldn’t appreciate a man who stands up for women’s rights and their honour, demands respect for them and sees them as equal as human beings because they, in fact, are just that.
And if such a man had had the misfortune of walking into Table No. 5, he would have surely left disgusted!
Please, don’t hate us, meninists. We aren’t demeaning you. It’s all in your head.
The author standing in front of the Nevado de Colima.
The art of God.
We saw several abandoned places along the way showing nature had taken over.
Onwards and upwards for six hours! And finally we see Nevado de Colima.
Our humble abode for the night.
Carb-loading inside my tent as it poured outside, leading to low temperatures.
A view of the summit of Nevado de Colima.
My guide and I.
Getting closer to the top.
The locals and I making it to the top.
Pakistan in Mexico.
