- Part I -

I’m always mystified – and more often, quite miffed – by Pakistan’s hatred of herself. By that I mean Urdu. Or whatever reason it was a bunch of stuffy, skinny, secular nationalists, in polytheist but nonetheless monoglot awe before Ataturk, launched their land of the pure, a homeland for those Indian Muslims who were themselves not native to our pasteurized – but still not yet homogenized – pastures. Understandably, Urdu, never the language of the peoples of the Indus valley by any majority, has failed to establish a meaningful toehold where she was supposed to enjoy a sweaty salvation. Just a measly little toehold, that is, not even the big toe’s imprint, but the pinky’s, all the way to the left of the subcontinent.

Still, it is one thing to applaud the emergence of a more attractive Islamic Indus identity, distinguishing Pakistan from India not on the basis of a faded past but on the cultures of our provinces and the religion that dynamically (explosively, lovingly, brightly) supersedes them. I pause to reassure: this doesn’t mean that the Muslims of India are any less our captive brethren, but it does mean we more willingly accept that their P.O.W. status will continue for roundabout one to two centuries more, till when there will be five hundred million of us and five hundred million of them, and thus we will all fit comfortably into one place and proceed to sink it (Fortunately, the Qur’an counsels us to patience).

To continue, let me say by way of cliché that it is an altogether different thing to continue bowing before the whiteness of somebody else’s skin, and by such I signal the Pakistani proclivity for including English everywhere. We have our own language(s). Let us use them. So that people like me, who barely speak those languages, can better and faster learn them.

Karachi has by far the best airport in Pakistan, though I readily admit the competition is pathetic and limited. Most often, the two a twain. Yet when we search her impressive façade for some Urdu, what do we find but that the impressive lettering is no more than an exact transliteration of the English opposite it? In our modified Perso-Arabic script, plus four shiny new letters (because four is the maximum number of wives one can have), it reads "Quaid-e Azam International". There is a perfectly good word for “international” in Urdu. My Urdu-speaking (and Hindustani) friend informs me that it is “Bayn al-Aqwam.” Why then is that blatant Arabic plagiarism not used? HELLO! (Ha-laam with tashdeed-waw). Might as well construct a monstrous English townhouse, mope in never-ending fog, eat fish and chips, play cricket and try to conquer the world, only to be beaten by the United States.

But shukr-e khoda, alhamdulillah and an always incorrectly used mashallah, my desi brothers and sisters in ideology. We have a better basis upon which we can create a more cohesive Pakistani identity, inclusive of the Punjabi, the Afghani, the Kashmiri, the Sindhi, the Iranian and the Balochi. We are the Brainless Aqwam. Because we came together through the efforts of the many Muhajir who, somewhere along that crooked sirat, forgot to add an “m” to our country’s name. For themselves, ya’ni. Were it not for them, you wouldn’t have had the delightful chance to read this light, playful and constructive commentary on, well, them. But it’s not so bad. Better we thank them for getting us here and then forget all about them. Otherwise our country would be Pamkistan, and that wouldn’t mean anything at all. Not even in English.

- Part II -

Because I am ignorant of Pakistan’s linguistic heritage, I was rightfully surprised to find out that, in Urdu, an airport is called a hava-ada, which literally means air-stop (Could this be referring to PIA’s exuberant exploits above the earth which so eagerly pulls us back down to her?). However, I wish to suggest that, if we really wish to go back to Urdu in place of English, we

1) Find someone who can translate this essay into Urdu, so that we
really can go back to Urdu; and,
2) Replace those Urdu words that are ungainly or otherwise limp. We
are, after all, a nuclear nation on the recovery road. “Hava-ada”
sounds like “hava-anda,” which is not fission, but flimsy.

A more radical reflection: Why don’t we just kick out Urdu – we can give it back to India in exchange for Kashmir – and enshrine in its place a potent Punjabi? Be proud, Sultan Bahu. Everyone, everywhere, will hear us talking. Our curses will be the envy of the world (not so much to say for much else). Ours will be one of the official languages of the United Nations. We will berate the U.S. and afterwards ask aid of them. Then, with the land thoroughly flooded by five boisterous rivers, the recognizably boring and fruity “hava-ada” will become the more livening “hava-jaga,” or air-place, which is after all what an airport essentially is (It most definitely is not really an airport, as ports are on the ocean, and airports are usually far from oceans, or alternatively floating on top of them, as the Iraqi and Afghani resistance recently discovered).

Nor will we stop it there. The poetic “Bayn al-Aqwam” is way too Arabic for our tastes. Its prominence on an airport will practically make us into Arabs. What is the point of an Islamic Republic if it’s full of Arabs? We need, instead, something that captures our spiritual and cultural connection to the Arabic language, respecting it and promoting it, but nevertheless Indusizing it. Instead of “Bayn al-Aqwam,” we will say “Aqwam-Vich.” Say it with me: Quaid-e Azam Aqwam-Vich Hava-Jaga
(These new, hyphenated words count as Punjabi because I, a dislocated Punjabi, have invented them. Better an airport sound like a sandwich than an egg).

Which leads me to think: Why do people eat eggs? They’re really unfertilized embryos. In East Asia, people recognized this nastiness and acted upon it, not even eating eggs until the coming of the white man. Thereby proving that colonization was an irremediable evil, minus the fact that many East Asian cultures prior to the pale faces enjoyed eating dogs and snakes. Today, China, the world’s most populated country, the center of centuries of history and philosophy, is ostensibly guided by the philosophy of a German Jew who found refuge in England, where he went bar-hopping and ignored questions rightly pointing out the stupidity of his stupid leftist project.

So then let us forget all of this. If Karachi’s airport reflects too much of England, at least our entire country does not. Of which I mean to say, I am an American citizen.