March 23 , 2012

National Day Evokes Nostalgia for the Homeland

 

Despite the easy access here in California to exemplary creature comforts, I miss and miss badly the sights, sounds and smells of the homeland, of Pindi/Islamabad in particular where I lived, worked and enjoyed life for over two decades. The nostalgia becomes more profound on the national day, March 23, every year as memories of the past several decades come rushing to mind - many happy and exhilarating while some sad and depressing.

The first two decades of the country’s history were marked with remarkable socio-economic attainments against numerous formidable odds.

The third decade witnessed the dismemberment of the country and nationalization of basic industries in the name of social justice. Thanks to the charisma and rhetoric of Mr. Bhutto, the common man remained buoyant and kept his head high, despite these tragic and irreparable setbacks.

The fourth decade found Pakistan engulfed in a proxy war with a super power. The collapse and disintegration of that super power speaks volumes for the valor of the Afghans and the excellent support provided to them by Pakistan and Western allies opposed to Soviet encroachment into an area of Western influence.

There is, however, no victor in a war: the defeated is a bigger loser than the winner. The rewards for Pakistan of the war were the Klashnikov culture, widespread informal economy, drug barons, smugglers, and a spurt of violence and crime because of easy access to war surplus weapons.

The fifth decade witnessed the leadership of the country falling into the hands of two feckless leaders (Benazir and Nawaz) who were also too incompetent to provide the much-needed buttress to a badly hit economy. They could hardly provide a solution, inasmuch as they constituted themselves the major part of the problem. They used power for personal pelf. But, the country became a nuclear power when on May 28, 1998, it tested its nuclear device in Chagai, Balochistan.

The sixth decade saw the usurpation of power, once more, by the army chief of the country. The General who remained at the helm of the country for over nine years (Oct. 1999-Aug 2008) gave stability to the country, allowed market forces to provide an impetus to economic growth, and developed close relations with the US, but he failed to launch any long-gestation, basic infrastructure project like the Tarbela dam. He had to quit and go into exile under political pressure. Benazir, the leader of People’s Party was assassinated making room for her money-minting husband, Mr. 10 percent, to replace Musharraf and become President. He is in his final year of a 5-year tenure. He is a shrewd operator who has learned how to work the system. But, his feudal lord proclivities, his unbounded avarice and his relegation of the common weal perhaps to the bottom of his priorities, make him an unattractive leader for many. No wonder the people at large find themselves subjected to the tortures of relentless price hikes, expanding unemployment, power and gas shortages, unprecedented street crimes, the indifference of the police and a judiciary whose verdicts are treated like toilet paper. Life has become a virtual nightmare for the common man. Yet, Zardari could manage to secure a majority of his party in the Senate because of the indirect election system. That system might once more give him a majority in the elections to the office of the President.

When I reminisce on this national day about Pakistan my mental kaleidoscope keeps turning, bringing before my eyes a host of images of my native land. The mosaic of memories carries some amusing patches too. These immediately occur to mind perhaps because I miss them here.

Living here in California, blessed with several modern amenities, I feel on each national day an intense nostalgia for the lifestyle and values of the native land.

Man has contributed immensely to the charm and beauty of California - a vast desert in its natural state. The sand hills and dunes are all verdant hillocks studded with houses built on steppes and clearings on the hillsides that look like dollhouses from a distance.

Anaheim Hills, where I live with my sons now, is as its very name suggests studded with beautiful hills, dales and canyons. But, I yarn for the sights of the hills of Margala in Islamabad whose natural attractions have been unfortunately depleting with each change of government. Propelled by political power, each new regime found the lap of these mini-Himalayas suitable for being parceled out in patronage. I hope the limits of geography have put an end to this nefarious practice.

Believe it or not, the images that emerge before my eyes carry some loathsome sights too, but I am nostalgic for them too. For instance, the various forms of pollution: streets caked with animal wastage, and oozing of clogged sewers littered with the overflow of uncollected garbage piled on the sidewalks. The emanating stenches might be a nasal disaster for a Western visitor but for the locals they are the cure for many mental ailments, arrogance for one.

Even ghosts and poltergeists do not haunt houses in the vicinities of such stench-making dumps which are fast becoming ubiquitous - the number may vary from area to area but they adorn the sights everywhere. You become so used to them that you start missing them should the municipality in one its fits of efficiency clear your familiar dump.

The odor reaches all regardless of rank or address. No barrier can shut it out; no social distinction can save one from it. I miss that leveler, that equalizer!

There are more cars here in just one county, Los Angeles for instance, than in all of Pakistan. Yet, there are fewer accidents. A bruised, dented and accident-damaged car is seldom seen. Traffic is well regulated and the ‘meek’ drivers religiously obey the traffic rules. The traffic jam, a monster spawned by civilization, has been largely brought under control here. It is so colorless, so prosaic from my Pakistani viewpoint.

I miss, therefore, this multi-faceted, enormous monster in the cities of Pakistan. Cars, buses, wagons, horse carriages, motorbikes, bicycles and pedestrians all melt together in one agglomerate mess. Everyone seems to be driven by some frantic demon of haste in total disregard of traffic rules. Even the stray dogs and cats appear supercharged as though late for an appointment.

In the middle of the mess of traffic jam could be seen three or four traffic constables blowing their whistles and shaking their arms in all directions. Theirs is no mean contribution to the mess. Some give them total credit for it. I have never seen a situation so dismal that a policeman of Pakistan couldn’t make it worse!

Caught in a traffic jam, you are buffeted with the fumes of unwashed bodies and the stench of ‘niswar’ mixed with wafts from the adjoining gutter overflowing on to the road. You keep turning your head from side to side till your nostrils get used to both and your brain becomes numb and insensitive to time and space.

History tells us how Moses crossed the Sinai with his people, how Caesar crossed the Rubicon with his men, how Sultan Muhammad Fateh crossed with his armada the strip of land to reach the Basphorous and conquer Constentinople (Istanbul). A pedestrian who manages to cross a street in say Karachi amid a traffic jam deserves no less a notable place in history, provided of course he does manage to reach the other side alive.

I miss also the rags and riches paradox - tenements huddling pitifully in the shadow of mansions, splendors of the posh localities sneering at the filth of shantytowns. The poor living close by the rich and the contrast in their housing embarrassing those of sensitivity, troubling those of conscience and mocking those of faith. This counterpoint of squalor and luxury strikes like a lady with diamonds round her neck but her toes sticking out of torn, shabby shoes.

I hunger and long for such sights; I am nostalgic for them too. And, I wish you a happy Pakistan Day.

(arifsyedhussaini@gmail.com: 714-921-9634)