The rain on your parade

jugalbandee August 24, 2009

of all the things that make pakistan what it is, including saleem javed and sohail warraich, perhaps the most fascinating aspect is cultural diversity. we have more languages than the number of uncorrupt officials in the national police force – urdu, punjabi, sindhi, pashto, saraiki, balochi, kashmiri, potwari, gujrati, memoni, brahvi, hindkoh, balti, kalash and burushaski to name a few – and the speakers of each language average at least four to five disparate cultural groups each. compound that impact with the different heritages each group has from the thousand year old warrior culture of some pukhtoon tribes to the generations old gaddi nasheen mystic lineages in southern punjab to the familial agrarian tendencies in some areas of sindh to the settled spiritual lifestyles of the makranis who’ve been settled on the coast since the slave traders dumped them there centuries ago.  it goes without saying, then, that there is also a perpetual rivalry of sorts between various regional groups especially since racial bias (and maybe an idle mind) is probably the only uniform national trait shared by all pakistanis.

when one talks of competition, one talks of the olympics, of world cups, of arms races, of national space programs, of wars of succession. it is rare to talk of majid and basit and their rivalry in the epic race for who gets the black dastaar at the end of the semester for best performance in the third grade at their madrassa in chak 57, tehsil shahjehanpoora. and so, while there is a heated debate about whether the kababs in topi are better than those in peshawar the only real rivalry anyone actually cares about in pakistan is that between people talking about whether lahore is better than karachi or vice versa. cyma talked about it in her last post and hemlock has sort of touched on it earlier on her own blog, here and here.

i was born in karachi at a time when partition (both from undivided india and the later loss of half the country) was ancient history. the earth of karachi is now custodian to the remains of four generations of my family. and while my parents were both born in what is now india – immigrant children of immigrant parents – and while i retain in family history and tradition the lore of araby, the culture of persia and the magic of india; it is that very combination of bloodlines and history that makes me a karachiite. dirty, yes. polluted, yes. violent, yes. unsafe, yes. acute power crisis, yes. and yet, karachi is so much more than just that. karachi is where ladies sit on the rooftops sipping chai, comparing the voices of muezzins echoing from all over the city with their dupattas on their heads, minutes before they discuss the latest fashions. it is where you grow up with the smell of diesel smoke and barbecued kebabs and of raat ki rani and rotting garbage. it is where kids learn the difference between the sound of gunfire and the sound of firecrackers before they lose their innocence and where five year olds play safely unchaperoned on the streets. it is where annual conferences on islam and islamic life seem to take place every day - as do concerts and melas and plays. karachi is home to over 18 million people; rich and poor, old and young, literate and illiterate from a thousand different roots and places. the richness of karachi’s tradition is not encapsulated in old buildings and folk stories – it is in the people themselves. in their language, their behaviour, their belief, their dress, their cuisine. the people of karachi claim links to the majesty of the mughals, the bravery of tipu sultan, the religion of the sufi saints, the tales of sassi and marvi, the pride of the pukhtoons, the hospitality of sindh and, above all, the magic of urdu.

for all that – is it the cultural capital of pakistan? no. alexander the great camped here but does it have great historical significance? no. it has a patron saint supposedly protecting its shore from the cyclones that mysteriously turn away just before lashing the coast, but does it have its own culture of mysticism? no. the fragrance of flowers wafts from a million florists’ stalls every evening but does it have its own greenery? no. maybe it could be prettier. better planned perhaps. definitely cleaner.  

but its home. do i need more reason to love it above any other place on earth? no.

and yet, does that mean i don’t love lahore? does the love have to be mutually exclusive? i don’t know.

i fell in love with lahore around thirteen seconds after i first stepped on its land. if karachi’s soul is pluralist, lahore’s is as singular as you can imagine. lahore is the city that gives pakistan its share in the history of the subcontinent. supposedly founded over 4000 years ago by a son of the lord ram of hindu mythology, lahore has never witnessed the cycle of rebirth – simply because it has never died. akbar the great’s capital, lahore is the capital of punjab in more ways than just political. it is the city of ali hajveri, of dara shikoh, of anarkali, of iqbal, of faiz. it is of the lawrence gardens and the red fort. it is of the badshahi mosque and of the courtesans and dancing girls who live behind it. lahore is of greenery, of mysticism, of hospitality, of food, of history and of love. the cliche goes that you haven’t lived until you’ve seen lahore. it’s a fact. lahore lahore aye.

if this were a court case, i wouldn’t want to be the jury.