Ali A November 27, 2002

Tags: Faith , Hindu , Basant , Eid , Culture , Career , Family

href="/tag/hate">hate going through the laborious learning process. I’m just lazy, and bored. So I am going to write about something a bit more interesting and stimulating. Something a little more personal.

I am of Pakistani heritage, born and brought up in the UK. I have been to Pakistan many times, and love the experience each time I visit. I always learn something new, about Pakistan, my family, and myself. Last time I went was in January this year for a couple of months, while I was ‘in between’ things, I had come back from working abroad in November last year and could not take the bitter, wet, dull, depressing and cold UK winter. So after Ramzan and Eid had passed I went to get some sunshine, fresh fruit, catch up on family gossip, and an overall increase in the feel good factor by visiting the ‘Mother land’. It had been many years since I had last been. Money, time, and career progression had all contributed to this long delay.

Many things had happened during this time, not in my personal life, shuker Allah ka, kay my personal life has been pretty ‘stable’ recently. Big things, lots of big things have happened, September the 11th, Afghanistan getting bombed, soldiers on the line of control, two of my cousins included, Pakistan had ‘dumped’ the Taleban for Amreeka, and dad finally sorted out his land dispute with my tayaji, much to tayaji’s annoyance.

Nothing much had changed on the ground in Pakistan, except for the usual. The amount of people, pollution and rubbish had noticeably increased, as had the members of my family, MashAllah. There were a few new cousins from my mum’s side, one of my close cousins had got married and moved to the far east, and everybody else seemed a little older. Going to a different country after a long time, has a knack of making you realise how much you have changed and grown. I knew that I had changed a bit, as this time I tried to make sense of all the big events, something I just could not be bothered with before, both internally in my mind and externally by conversing with family and friends. I felt I had to, Pakistan, and the things that were happening affected me, in a way that made me think, think more deeply. More so over the past couple of years since I started travelling and working abroad and telling confused looking Canadians and Americans that I was British Pakistani, which explains the accent and the ‘East Indian’ looks.

I always had ‘identity’ problems, being British and Pakistani isn’t a problem. It was the Pakistani part that often made me think, and question, especially now. You can imagine that during my extra long holiday I had plenty of time to think, and during this time I made acquaintances with a consciously unknown, but subconsciously known part of myself, the little part of me that was Hindu, so to say. The more I thought about it, the bigger this part became, until I realised that it’s actually a big part of the framework that is me, and to an extent that which is Pakistan. It started a chain of thought, which eventually led to me re-evaluating the concepts that build upon each other to form that framework.

So now acquainted, my little bit of Hindu and the rest of me began a relationship. A relationship that helped explain many things to me about myself and Pakistan, a relationship that has helped me as a person, resolve the nagging ‘identity’ problem that perpetually sat in the back of my mind, pulling and pushing me in different directions. I found my little bit of Hindu always to be there, sometimes quite close up and ‘in your face’, sometimes just sitting in the background. I befriended him, and realised he comes and goes as is necessary in my life, just as that gut feeling, the hunch trying to tell me something.

I was at the PIA office in Rawalpindi, waiting to book a flight to Lahore and Bahawalpur with a bit of paper marked with the number 72 clutched in my hand, sitting, anxiously waiting with my cool flary jeans from Energie, Diesel trainers, and a big black chador from Swat draped around my jumper and a colourful Sindhi hat to top it all off, in a style that can only be described as ‘funky pindoo’ waiting to see if kismet, and PIA were on my side. As I looked around the dull, drab, and depressing office as well as the dour faced, overly full of themselves PIA staff I noticed the dreary posters on the wall, dulled by the passage of time. The ancient cities of Moenjodaro, Harappa, and Taxila, and the fasting Buddha statue used to advertise Pakistan in an outdated marketing style. All trying to show the past glories of the Indic people, their achievements, engineering advancements, their ancient style, culture and faith, things that seep through and permeate everything that is Pakistani today one way or the other. Their faith was an early form of Hinduism according to experts, and later on Buddhism. They were my ancestors, and they brought forth a sense of cautious, historical pride from within my Muslim being. My little bit of Hindu sensing the volcano of confused feelings about to erupt within my head talked to me in a bid to help me make sense of myself. We had a small yet significant conversation.

Him: Don’t look down upon your past or let guilt and shame cloud your pride, these are your forefathers, let the pride come through, feel it for them, there’s nothing wrong with feeling this way, it’s definitely not a sin.
Me: But they were Hindu, same as those amassed on the border ready to kill my cousins, my own family.
Him: That’s now, this was then, when everybody was Hindu, you are Muslim now, but why should that stop you from taking pride in your ancient history?

Good question, the penny was beginning to drop, a process of thoughts was beginning when the buzzer sounded and 72 was flashing on the digital display hanging from a column. I stood up and composed myself, adjusting my chador, and made my way towards the Mediterranean looking Khan Sahib at the counter. He wasn’t as stuck up as I thought he would be, however my Faisalabadi Punjabi wouldn’t get me very far with him, hai maseebat, here goes in Urdu. I managed to get a flight to Lahore in time for Basant, and on to Bahawalpur a few days later. By the time I left the PIA dafter my jaw was sore, you see Urdu requires a lot of effort from this oversees funky Pindoo Punjabi, a fully fledged conversation would almost certainly bring on lock jaw.

From all corners of the globe we arrived at the house of my mum’s Khala in Lahore or ‘Lhore’ as Lahoris say. Each new arrival increasing the general buzz and excitement we felt. Uncles and aunts from Dubai, Saudi Arabia, USA, Australia and then there was the usual posse from every part of Punjab, and surprise surprise, some of the Karachi lot too. Basant was in the air, and we all happened to be there at the same time, it really was fabulous the atmosphere in Lhore was electrical, the heart of Punjab was beating faster and faster, to explode on the day that is Basant.
I meet people I hadn’t seen in ages, we dressed in yellow, flew our kites, ate good food, went out in the evening and soaked in the atmosphere, until the buzz of Lahore was in our bones. An amazing place normally, but truly a jumping city in Basant.

The next day I heard the Maulanas were condemning Basant as a Hindu festival, and calling for it to be banned. As if, they should be so lucky, the city of Lhore earned 3 billion rupees in revenue according to the Khabarnama lady. A few days later I was glad to be on my way to Bahawalpur, the Fokker flight was scary. The sooner PIA is privatised the better. Bahawalpur was a calming contrast to Lahore, in the late afternoon Baji had become busy ordering her team of servants to prepare for the evening meal and readying the house for the arrival of Paji, who was returning from Rahim Yaar Khan on business after a few days. I seized the opportunity and took to the roof to have a sly fag (British for cigarette) I mulled over in my mind the great time I had in the past few days, inevitably my thoughts turned also to what some of the Maulanas had said and that’s when it clicked.

I thought, screw this, why should I not be proud of our Hindu heritage. Everything we do in Pakistan today, from weddings, engagements, singing, dancing, celebrating the coming of spring to ringing the bell at the shrine of a Saint in Jhang to let him know that you have arrived, and keeping hair like the Hindu Pundits as a ‘minnat’ only to be shaved off if the ‘minnat’ is fulfilled, is based upon or touches somehow our Hindu past. Why should we publicly try to annihilate, condemn, and ridicule our culture, our traditions, our history, ourselves. While privately or in the case of Basant very publicly, live it. The early Muslims rose rapidly not because they obliterated everything in their sight for it to be replaced, but because they learnt from ancient cultures before them and then took that knowledge further. They learnt from our ancestors, as well as many others. I am Muslim now, that’s where I’m at spiritually, everyone that is Muslim now had ancestors that were something else.

This constant denial, hatred, guilt and shame almost and the pushing away of a major part of ourselves to become something we are not, has taken its toll. The constant tug of war on our psyche hasn’t left much room for a meaningful national identity, which has led to double standards throughout our society. Double standards, which have been inherited by confused and disgruntled generations trying to define themselves, somehow, somewhere. But that’s me, I’m done with double standards and hypocrisy. I’m going to be Pakistani, good and proper, Hindu/Buddhist heritage and all.

I called my little bit of Hindu, he was sitting in the background, just lazing about taking a rest after Basant. We talked again, I thanked him and he said he would always be around, and I told him I already knew that. Then we embraced and I finished off the fag. And then the penny dropped, when I realised that he wasn’t just mine, but he belonged to Pakistan, to every single one of us.