I am no art critic, but had the photo of the regally flawless painting of the Obamas been put up by one of my Art Majors friends on Facebook, I would have hit a perfunctory like and just scrolled on by.
So many artists can create good portraits, so painting the most renowned first family in the world did not seem like an anomaly.
But the factor which stopped me dead in my scrolling tracks was the word ‘Lyari’ above said picture. A seemingly accomplished artist … in Lyari?
And this artist from Lyari had portrayed the Obama family?
Surely, there must be another Lyari I have never heard of. These were the questions that sprang to my mind.
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Lyari, the unanimously agreed upon “no-go zone” of Karachi. The violence-stricken, presumably conservative neighbourhood for whose residents’ art could not be a prerogative, I thought.
To unfold the mystery behind this enterprise, I decided to meet the artist himself. Nestled behind the ruinous Nigar Cinema and away from the usual hubbub of the market was the studio of 60-year-old Parvez Bhatti.
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Lyari's Michelangelo, Parvez Bhatti. —Muhammad Umar/Dawn.com |
The modest workshop, which also housed a mini art gallery, lacked most resources that would qualify it as the studio of a maestro.
If witnessing the hard-to-put-in-words artwork of Parvez did not overwhelm me enough, it was his hospitality that did the job. Parvez, after serving us tea twice was insistent that my two colleagues and I have lunch with him.
Also read: Lyari's Michelangelo: The man behind the Obamas portrait
Unsurprisingly, a story and a number of photos were not all I exited Parvez’s studio with; there was inspiration and a sense of how quickly the perspective about a certain locality and its people could broaden.
However, Parvez is not a figure among ciphers.
There is immense talent that remains untapped to date, even in this age of digital revolution and the social networking boom, in less-privileged areas all across the country, including Lyari.
Keeping the legacy of classical music alive in Lyari, is 80-year-old Ustad Fateh Nazar. Nazar wants to pass on to the new generations the tradition of classical music that once thrived in Lyari, before the area was marred by gang-related violence and burning streets.
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Ustad Fateh Nazar (music director and classical singer) also known as Fateh Mohammad Naskandi. —Photo by Shameen Khan/Dawn.com |
The song ‘Bija Teer Bija’— recorded at a Lyari studio and released in 1988, was a funky, driven tribute to the chairperson of the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP), Benazir Bhutto.
Also read: A song for Lyari
The sports talent in Lyari, also known as “Mini Brazil” for its admiration of Brazil’s football team, is second to none in Pakistan.
In fact, some of the best footballers of the country hail from Lyari. Last year, a team of Lyari footballers represented Pakistan in the Street Child World Cup in Brazil and brought pride to their neighbourhood by winning the bronze medal.
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Street children taking part in a football training camp in Karachi. —AFP |
Boxing is yet another sport where Lyari outshines most. Malang Baloch represented Pakistan at the Munich Olympics in 1972 and various other international championships.
Lyari is not the only underdeveloped locality in Pakistan where superior talent remains hidden.
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A few weeks ago, two teenage girls from a rural area in Punjab made headlines when a video showing them belt out the immensely popular single ‘Baby’ by Justin Bieber went viral.
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The 'Justin Bibis'. —Screengrab |
The surprising element is that song which became the girls’ claim to fame is in English — a language the girls have never known.
The young women dubbed “Justin Bibis” then lent their voices to the melody of the 2015 Cricket World Cup anthem and were even featured in the music video.
Also read: Move over Justin Bieber, you've got competition!
The above are just a few examples which unorthodoxly gained the spotlight, and which further underscore how a trove of talent in Pakistan remains undiscovered.
Consequently, the need to recognise and promote the potentials of the ‘ordinary’ among us cannot be stressed enough.
The flair of people belonging to the neglected sections of our society, if honed, could essentially help them earn their livelihood. Case in point being Parvez Bhatti, who after spending years in mastering fine arts, now earns between Rs 20,000 to Rs 200,000 per painting.
However, the advantages in a society where talent is acknowledged transcend individual utility. It is no surprise that Pakistan makes international headlines on an almost daily basis for incidents of religious extremism, social injustice, honour killings or otherwise the lack of proper facilities and healthcare.
The influence that discoveries of extremely gifted citizens could have in revamping Pakistan’s image on the international front is largely undermined. The promotion of local talent could be a viable way of showing the world the softer, peace-loving and immensely talented facet of Pakistanis.
It is critical for the government to focus its efforts on recognising the aptitude of those living in destitute areas. Unlike the elite class, or even the middle class who can afford education, these people have no means of creating a name for themselves except for their natural skill.
Hence, it is important that the government starts community clubs and group activities, alongside provision of proper facilities on a local, small-scaled and consistent level.
Since underprivileged communities are often rife with teenage gang-memberships and other crimes such as theft and sexual attacks, encouragement of activities linked with talent could play a great role in creating harmony, sportsmanship and a sense of tolerance among the participants. It would be the best possible solution to keeping the young generation occupied in productive endeavours.
People like Parvez are well-grounded inspirations for us all. The level of expertise that they exhibit in whatsoever their forte, proves that no passion, no dream is unattainable when you are willing to take adversities head on.
After personally meeting Parvez Bhatti, I, for one, am left with no reasons to rationalise my indolence. What excuse do you have?
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