Skimming through the TV channels, changing logos caught my attention. The blue-yellow logo had turned green. Not to my surprise, this shallow branding technique remained the same across all local media channels.
Oh, and immediately something struck and I recalled, the month of August has begun. I thought to myself and picked up the newspaper lying on the table and it seemed as if the ink was turning green too.
I wanted to laugh out loud. Suffocating my voice, I thought, how long will we continue to entertain and fool ourselves with the change of colors? And do we change ourselves with this change of colors? Is Independence Day or celebration of independence the name of change of colors?
After a while, my head started spinning upside down and the days of yester years came back to haunt me. Seemed as if the mind already knew the script of the next fourteen days.
Green flags, shirts, scarves, hats, all kinds of masks, whistles, musical instruments and what not to bathe in green will be sold on roads, intersections, shops, and what not. After August 12, the whole city will light up in green and white.
Looking at the masses, it would seem that there can be no nation more patriotic and full of national pride. Well, in this circus, the day of the fourteenth will finally fade away too. And the next morning on the fifteenth, the sun will rise smiling, the rising rays of which will be pointing at each other with their eyes, saying, “Look, there rest the piles of torn flags and banners like every year.” For weeks, the streets would be littered with garbage. The flags waving on the roofs will continue to wave until they become rags and disappear in the air. ”
Nowadays, because there is a lot of time to self-evaluate, thinking about this desire that has been in my heart for quite some years, I too, travelled a bit deep in the world of dreams. And it is an accepted fact that we human beings, consciously or unconsciously, find in the world of dreams all the desires that we cannot fulfill in material life. This is not my personal experience but it is believed that all the desires that are not possible to achieve in ordinary life can be lived in the valley of dreams.
While imagining with eyes wide open, my grandfather, an eighty plus year old man began to walk in my thoughts. White hair, slightly curved shoulders, nominally protruding abdomen, full of small confidence of thought, he looked very worldly even from a distance. Smiling lips, but intertwined as if nothing could come out. A slight fatigue in the eyes and a gleam of experience, some ink of old age in the hair, and cold heat of the time that has turned him into “Pakka Kundan” (highly refined gold).
Only then did all the words and memories that had reached us in the form of the story through my grandfather, ancestors and curriculum notes began to make rounds. Repeatedly, my dada ji, would narrate the hardships that he and his fellows along with their families endured while migrating to Pakistan from “Riyasat” (Jammu, a place in Indian occupied Kashmir). Often with dewy-eyes, he would recall the extreme violence the Sikhs of Jammu had inflicted upon the Muslim residents of the vicinity, and how in the gloomy dark at night they managed to reach “Pasrur” (a city of Sialkot District in the Punjab province of Pakistan). Convincing himself, he thought that the more a person obtains something, with great effort the more he protects and takes care of it, which is a principle of nature.
But Then why is this not the case with Pakistan?
After Jinnah, it feels as if we inherited a nursery of conspirators, opportunists, dishonest, shameless, arrogant leadership. Be it politicians, judges, bureaucrats, military generals, mullahs, business fraternity, or even academics.
And Pakistan which is delusional to her own standing is also ignorant to the pace with which the rest of the world is progressing. It has neither its own ideology nor its own collective thought process. One can associate the country with a kite that flutters, and might land in anyone’s yard, or if someone who gets the string in his hand will snatch it or it could get entangled in the branch of a tree.
After the fall of Dhaka, my dada ji recalls that the tragedy was great, he felt, now the country would collect itself, that was the need of the hour and also the pride of the nation demanded that too. To counter the mourning of the humiliation, we had to inculcate a progressive thought process. But here it seemed that what happened was destined, it went well, it happened as expected, wishes came true, prayers came to fruition, business life went on as if nothing had happened.
We used this tragedy as a proverb and started associating it with any major or minor incident, “The story of Bangladesh is being repeated or the situation is becoming like Bangladesh.” Saying this, there is no sense of collective humiliation, no tears of shame in our eyes, no skipping heartbeat, no holding of our breath.
If we look back with a sincere heart, the analysis of the past 74 years would be something like this.
Leadership played to the galleries, got divided in quest of power and selfishness. The constitutions were violated. No attention was ever paid to the organization of political parties. The government machinery and the media have always been used against the opposition and for government propaganda. The ruling groups have given legitimate and illegitimate benefits to the workers of their parties. There was always a question mark before the election on the role of LEA’s (Law enforcement agencies). Landlords and feudal lords monopolized the national political arena. No arrangements could be made to purge the corrupt politicians. Every present government has called the opposition a traitor and the root of all evils. The bureaucracy has always been involved in corrupt practices and national politics. The trend of religious intolerance has destroyed all moral values. The mullah-military nexus has brought in the ‘kilashnkof’ culture, extreme violence and a sense of fear. The position of power has been sought more than the integrity of the country. Due to lack of political awareness and education, weighing the vote in the scales of money became part of faith. Emotional and cheerful sloganeers were encouraged. Minorities remained under the pump, were abducted, their places of worship kept getting bulldozed and incidents of killing became a normal regular feature in news channels.
All these factors greatly promoted the regional, sectarian and linguistic politics in the country, but democracy and mutual co-existence remained dwarfed and crippled.
Even a crowd of 12 million to 50 million and 50 million to 22 million could not become a nation. As soon as the name of the nation is mentioned, the mob becomes Punjabi, Sindhi, Seraiki, Balochi, Swati, Gilgit, Chitrali, Kashmiri, Makrani, Muhajir, Pashtun, Hazara. This irresponsible behavior not only damaged democracy but also destroyed the country. It would not be wrong to say that whatever the government groups did, the Pakistani people are equally complicit in the assassination of democracy and its failure.
These were the thoughts that were knocking like rain water. Walking in the rain of thoughts, I imagined the eighty-year-old man who was walking slowly with his lips sealed, how mature his gait and movements were. There was no weakness in any way. I gathered myself and in reality I was picturing Pakistan in my head. I felt as if he was also asking when Pakistan will evolve into the kind of tolerant mature old man. When will progressive thinking knock the door of this seventy five year old Pakistan? When will it mature? When will the people living in it realize that patriotism is not about waving flags or going from head to toe in green? It is a consciousness, a feeling and a great blessing.
