Random Thoughts From a Far Away Land

Like every year, the second week of August would be consumed by the usual preparations for the big day. Most of us have gotten immune to everything that is happening around us. Sad, but then, how are we to live, if we get depressed by each display of bestial terrorism in the name of religion or creed? The killing of an innocuous doctor from a certain community only stings us for a while, as we go on living our lives with an ugly insentience. While one part of town celebrates a “happy new year”, the other part seethes in anger. Anger with their state of unemployment, with their sense of insecurity, and with the melancholy that surrounds their future.

“There is nothing left here”, is the canned reply I hear from many of my relatives whenever I visit home. Most of our near relatives have lived in the balmy West since a long time. Some went for their studies, others risked their living here for a better life there. Some others are seriously contemplating migration. I have no qualms admitting that many of my relatives are amongst the statistically significant Pakistanis who have done everything to acquire an American residency. The “paper marriage ” was always the easiest passport to success. One taxi guy in Washington DC very proudly told me why he was the most successful person in his peer group. He married a Caucasian woman who helped him acquire a residency abroad, and now they are ‘very good friends’. Another man, whom I met during a flight had the distinction of getting divorced twice (he had absolutely no remorse for that). His first wife was an American native who, as the story goes, assisted him in times of trouble. His second spouse was from Pakistan, and things did not work out. How our Pakistani men manage to be “good friends” with women outside their own culture, when many cant even think properly about females from their own community…..beats me!!!

I might be digressing a little, but I was saying that all methods have been exercised to land in the verdant West. Begum Pura ( in Canada ), a name given to the area, where wives of Pakistanis tend to stay to solidify their visa status, i.e. ultimately get the Passport. I forgot to mention the “ American Baby ” phenomenon, whereby many of our brothers choose to come to the United States of America to have their babies born there, as the law stipulates permanent residency for such parents. To sum it all, we have been very creative with business visas, spouse visas, baby visas. Thus, the Pakistani is intent on leaving his homeland, at whatever cost.

Reason: very simple. There are no prospects for good jobs, no chance of an effective education system being in place. Nor is their a thing called justice, and respect for law. A place where corruption is rife, where innocent people are killed with impunity, and where there is nothing even near the word accountability, is a place everyone wants to leave.

I don’t want to sound overly mawkish in my request for patriotism, I just wanted to share with you random thoughts that are occupying my mind on the eve of our independence day. I mentioned why we are so desperate to leave, why our state is so pitiful that even the most optimistic soul says “get out of here”. Still, isn’t it ironical, that despite all the loose talk we do about Pakistan, in spite of the Paki-bashing we tolerate in our own country, we are ready to fight every inch, when it comes to national pride. No one dare say anything to my country, is the motto of many people who have come to the West. Those who don’t operate within this paradigm have sought a different one for themselves. They revel in the times passed by in their country of origin.

I belong to both groups, more so to the latter. On the eve of the 14th, my patriotism, or its vestiges (as most would think) takes me to my days at home (in Pakistan). I never woke up on my own to watch the Independence Day proceedings. My dad used to wake me up. This was usually around 9:30am, after the gloriously “ optimistic ” speech by the President, and the songs by the children had finished. I remember the enthusiasm (which perhaps never diminished) with which we used to put a flag on our houses, and cars. It was competition, amongst friends, to try and take the lead with independence day celebrations. I distinctly remember mali baba, being one of the first to put a flag on his cycle. And, who would forget my irritation with the rich elite, who would go on their merry ways, without thinking of Pakistan.

This August 14, I wont be there to celebrate the genesis of a nation that was formed through the miracle of millions of Muslims and blessings of the Almighty. I wont be there to put a flag on the rooftop with my family. I wont be there to get out of my house with friends, to witness the lighting around the city. I wont be there to say things, I regret saying to my beloved country and its people. I wont even be there to mock at things I now wish to do (like watching the proceedings early in the morning). All I have the strength to say is: happy birthday Pakistan, I surely miss you!