INTROSPECTION: The Fist Of Fury
Our failure to integrate as a nation is perhaps why the fist of Liaquat Ali Khan glares at us.
At a busy square in Karachi, a giant fist protrudes from the ground, big enough for the square to be known as Mukka Chowk. Purportedly, it is the scaled-up replica of Liaquat Ali Khan reminding us of his famous words that Punjab, Sindh, Balochistan, the NWFP and Kashmir — or maybe it was East Pakistan — unite like the fingers of a hand hence the people of Pakistan could break anyone's jaw like a strong fist.
The other day while stuck in a traffic jam, I saw the ironical symbol of our past (and unity that never was).
Even before traffic lights were installed here, the flag of a certain political party rose high just a few metres behind. The silhouette of the fist and the flag post, at twilight seemed to suggest shadowy obscenities, a gesture blatant yet befitting what we are today.
A few furlongs farther down the road, another flag of the same party adorned an electricity pylon on the kerb, its leader's picture atop; flouncing his fist ironically or so it seemed, as there was little electricity to speak of.
I am, however, reminded of the events of May last year, and then those in December, when the very stalwarts of peace and democracy failed. Reactions to actions are imminent, but these days reactions are thought provoking.
There are things I find disgusting about us as a nation. For instance, our complete disregard for traffic laws and the revolting lack of civic sense. Traffic jams in Karachi are ubiquitous, and I was stuck in one. Take our leaders' persistence in corruption, mudslinging, 60 years of 'democracy', martial laws, emergencies et al have never managed to bring forth spotless leadership and our failure to integrate as a nation is perhaps why the fist of Liaquat Ali Khan glares at us.
Fortunately, our governments haven't all been just blabbering about getting things right. That a whole lot of roads and bridges have been built is commendable, but it would have been much better had the policymakers paid figurative heed to the idea of building bridges as well. Even then, were more roads and grand bridges the solution to the traffic problems? While I am at Mukka Chowk at least, the answer is an emphatic no. The big question is whether we deserve these roads and bridges given that a great part of our population appears to lack the sense and the conscience, and would that be more significant than the blame games we start playing now and then.
I am forced to ask myself, who are we? Are we Pakhtoons, whose sole raison de etat has been fulfilled with NWFP being renamed the Pushto equivalent of Pakhtoonistan? Are we Sindhis who start bawling over our bottle of water that someone has snatched from us? Are we Balochis, furious over what some little kid did in our backyard yesterday? Are we Punjabis who think they deserve the best toys daddy brought home? Are we Muhajirs still shedding tears after having lost a cricket match on the street?
Or are we Pakistanis, tall and proud, ready to break the jaw of anyone who looks at us with malicious eyes? My questions about our identity remained unanswered as the traffic started to flow at the Mukka Chowk.