Homebody and the Face of Pakistan

I was ecstatic when Sharmeen Obaid Chinoy won the Oscar. Then I became slightly depressed that she won an Oscar at 33 when at 29, my biggest achievement has been to eat 10 Kit-Kats in a row, really, really fast. But I’m the only one comparing, so whatever.

So in the wake of the congratulations and twitter dedications and facebook updates (in which I too came up with a little ditty: Don’t just congratulate – donate! To http://acidsurvivorspakistan.org/you-can-help )I came across a lot of articles about the ‘face’ of Pakistan – not just a terrorist face but a smiling woman in a sleeveless Bunto Kazmi graciously dedicating her success to the unsung heroes and women for Pakistan. And suddenly, I remembered another face that I had encountered back at the University of Karachi. I don’t know why I think about this person often – but I decided to write a blog post talking about why HE represents the curious, contradictory and surprising face of Pakistan to me.

I don’t know his name; about which I’m very ashamed because he sat with me in philosophy for six months. He had kohl-rimmed eyes, unshaven cheeks and a permanent frown on his face. His skin was pock-marked – he’d had a bad case of small pox when he was young, it seemed. He wore a loose shirt and extremely tight trousers. And he glared at me whenever I giggled too loud. Through the course of the six months, his views were clear – he was an MQM following Muslim who believed that the sound of a girl’s voice asserting a contradictory opinion was an anomaly of nature and a blight upon society. I used to avoid talking to him, labeled him as a Mutahida Fundo and had nothing to do with him. I never tried to engage him in debate or discussion and am ashamed to say that I snickered whenever he spoke to make him feel uncomfortable and unvalidated.

So it happened that my philosophy course ended and I went my way. A year later, as I walked down the Arts Lobby, I was stopped by a man calling me: ‘Madam! Madam!’ I turned around to see his scowling person marching my way. I took a few steps back, wondering if my anti-Altaf rantings in class had inflamed him to take action. My defensive side perked up and with a raise of an eyebrow and a haughty ‘Jee?’ I asked him what he wanted.

He reached into his back pocket and took out a photograph of me.

I was stunned.

‘You dropped this when you were taking documents out of your file to pay your fees. I picked it up and took it before it could go into the wrong hands, koi ziadti nahi ho jai. And then philosophy ended and then I didn’t see you around – I don’t usually come to the Art’s lobby. So, here you go and in future be careful with your photographs!’

I think he would have been satisfied to see my jaw drop and remain dropped as he walked away. This long-haired hooligan who I had dismissed for a pseudo-gangster and dismissed had actually done something remarkable chivalrous, even though he didn’t like me. From me he had received cattiness, dismissive comments and even sarcasm and yet he had kept my photograph (a singularly unattractive one) for a whole year because he didn’t want it to be misused.

And this long haired gangster/gentleman represents to me the face of Pakistan. A face I don’t quite understand, a face that was easy to label but a face that leaves room for contradictions. And Pakistan, like other societies, is a mix of the most radical contradictions – of chivalry and chauvinism, of hate and love, of ignorance and wisdom. It’s a rugged face with kind eyes and a bright soul. It’s a face to be studied, painted, sketched, mulled over, redrawn and re-understood. It’s a face that cannot be put into a category.

So whenever I read an article about the ‘real’ face of Pakistan, I smile, because how can a society ever have just one face? But if it were to have one, it would be that of my philosophy student, never to be categorized, always elusive, always surprising but ultimately, worth the interaction in the end.