India is just like Pakistan, say reality show contestants (from Pakistan)

[Areesh]

i think the whole arguement here is flawed. just because bunch of kids said they found no defference between india & pakistan, only by gaining limited exposure to indian culture which happened to be somewhat similar to their own. c'mon.. culture in south india is nothing similar to the one in pakistan in any which way. goan's follow portuguese culture & here everyone is fighting like bunch of monkeys based on a thread, title of which is flawed to start with.

At last a better post after sometime. You just defined it in the perfect manner.

 

[mehru]

No Pakistanis are taller, stronger and erm Fairer(with a Capital F) and have nothing in common with Indians! :p

Just putting things in perspective before everyone start jumping on thread starter!

On a serious note, there is no difference when it comes to colour. Really funny but yeah some of my fellow Pakistanis claim that. I don't know what they mean by that. I mean all people of subcontinent are considered brown, not white.

 

[SpArK]

I dont know why people are so concerned about color.

People from the subcontinent almost have the same color.

A thai, philipino, srilankan, Bangladeshi, vietnamese, malaysian,cambodian, indonasian etc etc all have similar colors. Does that make them inferior too???

Its not as if some people are like western whites ( shall we call people who says color are different as goras)

This color talk is all bullsh!t and infact a racist term.

I remember there was infact a traffic jam in Lahore because of this color factor.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmyM7uLwYLo&feature=player_embedded#!

 

[LaBong]

Go check out this thread! You own country fellows are trying really hard!!!!

Apart from few nostalgic north Indians I don't think anyone gives two hoots for Pakistan in India or even in World. Sorry if I'm being rude but you people seem to have suffering from a collective delusion that somehow Indians claiming they are like Pakistanis gonna elevate their image. On the contrary it could get you beaten up in streets of New York. The thread was a kind attempt at creating more harmony between Indians and Pakistanis but you lot don't deserve any sort of kindness.

 

[desiman]

lol, how few Indian are desperately trying to compare themselve with Pakistanis'....
Hey man! we do not look same, our habits are not same! Even our culture is not same. WE were and are two different nations!!!!!

By comparing yourself with Pakistani you cannot turn your color, habits even culture same as Pakistani...! It will remain Indian....! So please come out of this inferiority complex. I am not saying anyone is superior to other but attitude and posts of you guys is evident of inferiority complex you guys have. Come on....!

join the racist band wagon and please do not waste my time. I refuse to argue with a person so stuck up in color and race. First you say that you arnt saying that anyone is superior and then you tell us to come out of our inferiority complex lol nice one. What complex do we have ? You must be smoking something good if you think we are in awe of you in any way. Thats what I said we are the same, but our mindsets will never be. Waqas come out of your la la land and learn to respect other people.

 

[MilesTogo]

Here is a latest article on Pakistani Identity:

Pakistan's identity crisis
Thursday, 26 August 2010 14:38 | Written by Akbar Zaidi | | |


While Pakistan’s geographical location has not shifted in the last 38 years, there has been a marked shift in terms of its identity and associations. In the past, what is now Pakistan was closer to, and more part of, the larger south Asian or “Indian subcontinental” identity, but it has now “corrected its direction” (apna qibla durust kar liya hai)

Whenever some ministry or de­partment of the government of Pakistan organises an event for the benefit of foreigners – officials, tourists or investors – it publishes brochures and flyers which claim, proudly, that Pakistan is located at a particularly important and profitable geographical location, at the confluence of at least three (but occasion­ally four) civilisations or regional group­ings. This publicity material talks about Pakistan’s historic and ancestral links with the Muslim world in west Asia (or the Gulf or middle east) as part of a larger Islamic and Muslim civilisation and identity, both historical and contemporary, and also in­cludes a second region, that of the central Asian republics, many of which also have “Islamic” or “Muslim” markers and have belonged to a much broader Islamic civili­sation of some centuries ago. The third region to which Pakistan is also claimed to belong – for which the term “civilisation” would cause great problems for the offi­cials who write such publicity blurbs, and hence is not used – is that of south Asia, a name primarily for a pre-Partition (or, ac­cording to one view, post-independence, Greater) India, from which Pakistan was born. Both central and west Asia have had an undeniably formative impact on this third region, now known as south Asia. Depending on the political mood of the times and on the audience, a fourth site through which an association is claimed, is that of the ancient Chinese civilisation with references to the Silk Route, and a more contemporary relationship is also invoked with western China’s large Muslim population. These references are not merely geo­graphical or locational, but often con­scious choices, which suggest that far more is at work than merely a lesson in geography. The selling point in this act of public relationing is the underlying claim that the state of Pakistan belongs to mul­tiple and often conflicting regions and identities, but anyone who can pay the right price, can use this location to their advantage, to whatever purpose, ranging from those related to trade, investment, or even as bases for military exploits into neighbouring countries. As long as you pay, you get your way. While many, such as those who belong to the institutions of the state, celebrate this eclecticism which results in multi-polar identities being created for the purpose of profit, one could, in fact, argue, that this lack of root­edness causes a condition which results in uncertain, fluid and schizophrenic be­haviour. To make matters more interest­ing, this desire not to belong to any one particular region – despite geography, lo­cation and history – in other words, the conscious choice to remain unrooted, may be a consequence of a very rational thought process.

Many of the questions which one can raise about the location and identity of a country, are difficult to answer. What con­stitutes a “country”? Is it merely the nation state which represents what a country is? In a country where the state is strong, over­developed, and unrepresentative, who “speaks for that country”? It might be pos­sible to examine the nature of a particular state – its class and ethnic composition, its forms, institutions, politics, and the practice of power and the ability to use it to do violence – but is this the same as trying to understand the identity of a country particularly with regard to its lo­cation? Rather than try to grapple with these questions directly, this paper looks at what one can make of “Pakistan’s” identity in terms of culture, politics and institutions, with regard to its location and relationship with and in the spaces surrounding it. In fact, to put it more squarely the question one can ask is: Does Pakistan “belong” to south Asia?

1. ‘Creation’ of South Asia

The term and notion of “South Asia” re­placed the older and much used “Indian subcontinent”, soon after being coined by the US state department when it boxed the world into different regions so that its of­ficials could get a quick and uncomplicated grasp of global geography. This regionali­sation of many parts of the world forced the people who were being so classified to belong to” a particular region. Perhaps in some regions there was a natural affinity and shared cultural history to want to belong, perhaps even on the basis of equal or shared power. Where many similar-sized countries were clubbed into a region, one could imagine their desire to be represented at a larger political level, so that the benefits and advantages – political and cultural – which do not accrue to one country on its own, could accrue to all or many, collectively. In some cases, despite differences of numerous kinds, trade, commerce and economic activity helped to create easily recognisable regions, having assumed many shared traits or identity. Yet, the idea of south Asia has been troubled from the start, and continues to cause problems of association and that of identity, for some of its constituents.

The two largest countries of south Asia differ sharply on the nature of the moment of their departure from their pasts which, I feel, is the core reason why a more meaningful notion of south Asia has not emerged. India and Indians – ranging from the more vituperative types, to the more amiable liberal and “progressive” – are all agreed that Partition was a tragedy. It is their sense of loss, which accounts for this tragic mood. The loss of land, people, and for many, shared cultures and histories breaking with the past, which makes Partition a tragedy for them. Yet, this idea of loss and tragedy is specific to a particular generation and to some regional/ethnic groups of India. This idea is primarily a Punjabi, or perhaps more broadly, north Indian, view, also articulated by Hindu chauvinists and some Indian nationalists. The voices from the south of India, whether in Tamil, Malayalam or Telugu, are probably less vocal about the extent of tragedy Partition brought upon them, and may perhaps be less concerned with the issue to pass judgment. Clearly, how “India” feels about the tragedy of Partition is far more complex and complicated than what one hears at Independence Day seminars at the India International Centre in Delhi.

Likewise, this birth of a country perceived as tragedy in one is celebrated, as a moment of a birth like any other – erred, no doubt, but celebrated, nevertheless – in the country which has come into being. Two sharper and more discordant views would be difficult to find, and neither is fully aware of, or understands, how the other feels. In Pakistan too, there are those for whom this birth, the moment of independence, has little meaning, but it would be safe to say that there are many more who celebrated the coming into being of a new country, than those who were unaware of, or indifferent to, this fact. Whether this celebration leads to the need to belong to a large entity called south Asia is a different matter.

If the Pakistani state were to accept wholeheartedly, and to embrace the idea of south Asia, the rationale for Partition and for an independent homeland for Muslims, would be undermined, or at least, questioned. If Pakistan were to accede to a request to reunite with India or to form a South Asian Federation in which the balance of power and scale would under no conditions be in the Pakistani state’s favour, it is believed that the reasons for its creation would come undone. While it is the nature of Pakistan’s birth from India which creates a hurdle for the Pakistani state to embrace the idea of a south Asia, existing imbalances in what is known as south Asia further cause an identity crisis for Pakistan.

India’s Presence

Another reason, perhaps now more important than the form and nature of its birth which hinders such a union, is the present domination of India in any entity which includes smaller countries and nations. This hegemonic dominance of one country over all others could be acceptable to some of the very smaller countries which form such a group – they may have no choice in the matter – but countries with pretensions of equal status are unlikely to agree to any such terms. The pride associated with being a nuclear state does not allow the leaders of a country to bow down their heads in front of others. The often repeated statement, “we are a nuclear power”, has given rise to illusions of grandeur in which Pakistan is seen far superior to many, and at par with, other countries. India’s huge dominance over south Asia, in every form, does not allow the nurturing of a notion in which there is one spoiler who claims to be an equal.

While the Pakistani state (the military, more correctly) is not willing to play the south Asia game and makes a conscious choice to opt out, that still does not answer the question posed earlier, whether Pakistan belongs to south Asia or not. If the “state” has its problems, how do those who constitute the country known as “Pakistan” fare? Here again, the desire (by Indians, largely) to create an entity called south Asia, falters, for a large part of what is today Pakistan, contests (culturally, politically, associationally) whether it actually belongs to the existing boundaries of what is south Asia.

Very much like the smaller border regions of north-east India where many tribes and communities live and contest their forceful integration into India, the major landmass of two of Pakistan’s provinces west of the Indus – Khyber-Paktoonkhwa and Balochistan – claim genealogical and historical cultural roots across the border, in the opposite direction to the migrants from Bihar, Hyderabad and Uttar Pradesh, now settled in Karachi or Sukkur. These migrants, or present-day muhajirs, brought their cultural histories from lands many hundreds and thousands of miles away to the east, Pakistani Punjabis can see their ancestral lands across the border of Partition. For the muhajirs and the Pakistani Punjabis, their identities are closely entwined into what is south Asia, a concept in which they can find much affinity, and an idea in which they can find much hope and promise. On being asked, aur aap kahaan say hain? (“and, where are you from?&#8221, many young muhajirs, based on where their grandparents came from, answer: hum Lukhnow say hain (“we [even if it is just one person answering] are from Lucknow&#8221, or wherever else their ancestors may have migrated from, not even knowing where it is on the map. For the older generation which migrated, their vatan (or gaon, for the Punjabis) is another country, and the hope of incorporating their own (new) country along with another older one into a far larger entity called south Asia, which does away with these arbitrary partitions, allows them hope to return to the burial grounds of their forefathers.

However, those who live in the province still called the NWFP, and Balochistan, have very different cultural roots, and relationships with very different geographical regions. They look west and north-west rather than east, as do their Punjabi or muhajir countrymen. Not only do they have markedly different languages and cultures, but by being on the fringes of British India, they have remained a fair distance from the core experience of what we know as colonialism. The idea of south Asia, which is hegemonically Indian, and north Indian at that, is further away from them than is Farghana, Kabul or eastern (Baloch) Iran. Their interest in working for and promoting the idea of south Asia can only be political, and hardly cultural. Their vatan is a long way from Bihar Sharif.

Hence, the constituency to promote an idea called south Asia falls by the wayside, when seen from the Pakistani side, both from the point of view of the military state’s ideology, and from that of the Baloch and Pakhtuns, because of their primal identity based on their location. Perhaps the only ethnic groups who have a desire to belong to south Asia, are those who “came from there”, the muhajirs and the Punjabis, the largest and the most powerful of the many nationalities/ethnic groupings in Pakistan. Moreover, in terms of “progressive” politics too, the idea of south Asia is attractive, for it undermines the domestic hegemony and power of the Pakistani military and statist establishment, but only to be replaced by a larger “Indian” hegemony in its stead.

2. Pakistan’s Shift in Identity

While Pakistan’s location has not shifted in the last 36 years – although the 2007 Pakistan is half of what it was in 1947 – there has been a marked shift in terms of its identity and association. If what is now Pakistan was somewhat closer to, and more part of, the larger south Asian, or better still, “Indian subcontinental”, identity in the past, it has now corrected its qibla – apna qibla durust kar liya hai (“it has now corrected its direction&#8221. The numerous references to Islam and Muslim in the opening paragraph of this paper with regard to Pakistan, emphasise a relationship which has evolved over the last four decades, with an identity which is extra-locational. Despite being part of a multi-religious south Asia, Pakistan is almost entirely Muslim (97&#37, and unlike Bangladesh, is in very close geographical proximity to the many Islams that abound in the countries west of its border, factors that give it now a distinctively Muslim look. The Indian-ness of much of Pakistan in the early years following Independence has been replaced by a far greater Islamic/Muslim identity, Bollywood notwithstanding, than anyone could have anticipated in the 1950s and 1960s.

Reasons for Drift

There are a number of reasons which account for this drift in identity, from the one earlier rooted in an undivided India, to one which emanates from the middle east. Economics, certainly, has been a key reason following the boom in petro-dollars from the 1970s. Pakistan’s labour exports to the Gulf and Arab states have accounted for a huge dependence and have been a very lucrative form of exports. This export of Pakistani labour to the oil-rich emirates and countries has made Urdu (and its cultural links) almost the second language of many a city and town in the region. A bond has emerged between Dubai and Karachi, similar to what one hears about the one between Bombay and Karachi in the early part of the last century.

With growing communication and travel, access to places considered holy, whether in Saudi Arabia, Iraq or Iran, are far more accessible than ever before. And even if many Pakistanis are unable to travel to these lands, they have enough live information about religious and political developments in the region, keeping them involved. After 9/11, this bond has been strengthened even further, as Muslims and Islam face the challenge of cultural domination, military might, and imperialism, resulting in a global resurgence of Muslim and Islamic identity. Being at the heart of many military and political moves and developments, this identity in Pakistan has been fortified, often at the cost of other markers of identity.

The state, and particularly the government of General Zia ul Haq from 1977-88, also played a decisive role in accentuating Pakistan’s Islamic identity, by building close political and religious links with the Sunni Wahabi Islam of Saudi Arabia. Awash with petro-dollars the House of Saud was willing to pay for madrasas in Pakistan and continues to be an active source of funds to aid and abet the spread of Islam and its institutions in Pakistan. Moreover, along with the support from the state, there has also been a rise in social conservatism across Pakistan, reflected in an acceptance and assimilation of perceived Islamic/Muslim motifs and symbols. This process of “Islamisation” taking place in Pakistan, is quite apart from the efforts of the state. Moreover, after 9/11, the slow trend of the social conservatism amongst Pakistani Muslims has taken a sharper, and more accentuated, Islamic turn.

In passing, one should note that this Muslim association and growing Islamic identity with other Muslim countries has made Pakistan turn towards the middle east, ignoring links with the two south Asian countries, India and Bangladesh, which have very large Muslim populations. The fact that the Pakistani Muslim association and identity is made with the middle east rather than within south Asia which has three of the four largest Muslim populations, underlines the arguments made above, that Pakistan’s desire to belong to south Asia, to which it belongs, in a locational and historical sense, is far weaker than it is to belong to an identity which is extra-locational.

3. Competing Identities

In some ways, the Pakistani identities of the Muslim and the south Asian/Indian, are competing identities, and in many ways, mutually exclusive. A secular India with a small Muslim population, would not wish for a Muslim south Asian identity to strengthen. A Muslim Pakistan may not want to belong to an idea or union, in which it would be marginalised and subservient to a power which is its nemesis. Moreover, the geographical divide mentioned above, which separates different nationalities/ethnic groups with different moorings within Pakistan, also makes the Pakistani support for south Asia to look like a muhajir-Punjabi idea forced upon other groups. Yet, while countries do not choose their location, the choice of identity, is fundamentally a political choice.

The reason why progressives and liberals – both westernised lifestyle liberals and political liberals – would want to identify with a south Asian identity, is because they see in such an identity the means to shed their presently repressive political, militaristic and cultural roots. Through India, they look for a more democratic, participatory, representative, and culturally liberal association than they have currently available. They would prefer to weaken their ties with Islamic countries, because they see these countries as repressive, closed, intolerant. In contrast, those who ascribe to completely different and opposing “Islamic” cultural values, would prefer to strengthen their ties with the Islamic “homeland”, rather than with a Hindu dominated south Asia.

The sharp, insurmountable, divide in the desire to identify with disparate and contradictory entities on a regional scale, is a reflection of the deep-rooted divisions within Pakistani society: the lifestyle “liberals”, against the defenders of Islam. Yet, unlike many other countries, much of “what Pakistan is”, has been determined by a few institutions of the Pakistani state. The absence of the practice of democratic politics, the absence of an effective civil society, and the hegemony of the military over the political settlement that is Pakistan, gives “Pakistan” and the choices it follows, a very statist orientation. Perhaps not even that, for one military man’s religious beliefs determine when the official position of Pakistan becomes Pakistan ka matlab kiya? La ilaha il-lal-lah (“What does Pakistan mean? [replied by the Muslim kalima]&#8221. There is no God except Allah or when a reorientation in ideology results in “moderate enlightenment”.

Clearly, geographical entities and regions are ideologically configured, as are national boundaries, and often both change with the times. This realisation does not lament the nation, but instead, celebrates the possibilities beyond, and outside, the nation and its state. The multiple regional inheritances of Pakistan make it possible for Pakistanis to identify themselves beyond the nation. This perhaps makes it easier for them to imagine themselves both in the nation and beyond. The state can promote its own regional identity, yet it cannot contain other regional identities from being evoked. In fact, this multiple representation subverts the project of the nation which has been forced upon the people, brutally and militarily, as the case of numerous nation states including Pakistan, shows. In another sense, it is the nation state which subverts another nation’s idea of a hegemonic, imagined, geographical entity, such as south Asia. It is this dual subversion, contradictory in so many ways, which shows how borders and nations are metaphorically constituted, and why the postnational allows possibilities to construct identity very differently.




S Akbar Zaidi is a social scientist who lives and works in Karachi .

 

[mehru]

I dont know why people are so concerned about color.

People from the subcontinent almost have the same color.

A thai, philipino, srilankan, Bangladeshi, vietnamese, malaysian,cambodian, indonasian etc etc all have similar colors. Does that make them inferior too???

Its not as if some people are like western whites ( shall we call people who says color are different as goras)

This color talk is all bullsh!t and infact a racist term.

I remember there was infact a traffic jam in Lahore because of this color factor.

YouTube - Nargis Cream

Looks like a comedy skit. Don't take it seriously.

 

[Areesh]

A Rose by any other name would smell as sweet. - William Shakespeare.

A rose may be but not a political party.

but A.Q. Khan definitely feels that he was not a Pakistani, not a Son of Soil and is still a Mohajir.

Lolzzz. And he was on the most sensitive position of Pakistan just because he was consider a foreigner by other Pakistanis. And remained at that position during the rules of different Sindhi and Punjabi rulers and nobody removed him from that position. Come on the argument is too flawed.

So looks like Altaf Hussain and his ilk are not fighting a lost cause after all.

What lost cause? They already have left playing Mohajir card for political gains.

Further i also hear of a Quota System on Mohajirs which bars the talented Urdu Speaking youth from entering into Government Jobs.

Yeah and thousands of Mohajirs are present in Govt jobs in different departments. Lollzzz


Your arguments are too flawed my dear. Better correct your record.

 

[WAQAS119]

I remember there was infact a traffic jam in Lahore because of this color factor.

YouTube - Nargis Cream

lol, have you checked clip yourself??
It is a comedy skit....!

 

[MilesTogo]

A long and old article but worth reading...

The Identity Crisis of a Modern Muslim
Anwar Iqbal January 14, 2002
Tags: Literacy , History , Education


"They chased the dog out, lest it pollute the mosque. But they left these

men inside, ignoring the ***** hidden in their hearts. Who will clean the

mosque now?'' I looked back and saw a strange man sitting on the steps of

this old Muslim shrine which was half way between my college andhome. He

had a long flowing beard and was wearing a spotless white shalwar-qamis

(baggy trousers and a long shirt).

He did not look poor yet he was doing a job only the poorest do. He looked

after the shoes of the visitors who had to take them off before entering the

shrine and the adjoining mosque. In return they threw a few coins before

him. Nobody knew his name. Everybody called him "jootaywala" or the

shoe-man.

He saw me looking at him and smiled. "Don't believe what you see. Seek

more," he said. I ignored him and went inside. ''What will you get from this

bowing and prostrating when your heart is still attracted to sins. Clean

your heart first and then come to worship,'' the Qawwal was singing a

devotional song. Surrounded by a group of devotes, he was playing a simple

tune on a harmonium, one of his companions played the tabla while others

repeated the refrain with him.

"What will you get from your worship, what will you get from your worship,"

they chanted. Some of the devotees got up and started dancing in ecstasy. I

sat under the banyan tree that sheltered the shrine. Dozens of parrots were

chattering above me. The Qawwal was singing and the devotees were dancing.

Every now and then one of the devotees would say ''Allah'' and the others

would join the chant which was echoed back to them by the surrounding hills.

"Chase the dog out of your heart," I heard the shoe-man talking to a group

of people who had gathered around him. Then he started telling them the

stories of Mullah Nasiruddin (a legendry character popular in the Muslim

world). "Mullah came to a wedding reception in his usual dress which was

made of coarse cloth and nobody took any notice of him. Nobody asked him to

sit. Nobody served him food. He went back, put on his new silk coat and

returned to the reception. Now he was taken to the best table and made to

sit with the notables of the city. When the food came Mullah dipped his

sleeve in the soup and said 'eat, my coat, eat.' The host was surprised and

asked Mullah why he was doing that. 'When I came in my usual dress, nobody

welcomed me but my new coat made all the difference. So I gather that the

invitation was for the coat, not for me,' said Mullah Nasiruddin."

The old story pleased the audience because they could relate to it.

Although the story was hundreds of years old, it had not lost its message.

"Now tell me what do you want, you want to be respected for your appearance

or desire real honor," asked the storyteller.

This reminded me of another story that I had read as a child. This was a

story from Gulistan, a book by the famous Persian poet Sa'adi which was

popular throughout the region until 50 years ago. For centuries people have

read Gulistan to learn wisdom, faith and morality and also about the wicked

ways of the world. The story that the man at the shrine told as one of

Mullah Nasiruddin's is also sometimes credited to Sa'adi. The Mullah was a

legendary character and many of his stories are found in other collections

as well.

The other story was of a poet who wrote a long eulogy for the sardar or

chief of a gang of robbers and went to his den to recite it before him,

expecting a great reward in return. The robber listened to the poem

patiently and when he finished, he asked his companions to strip the poet

and throw him out of the cave.

"But why? I praise you and you do this to me," asked the poet. "This will

teach you not to praise robbers," said the chief. When he came out of the

cave, dogs started chasing the naked poet. He looked around for stones to

throw at the dogs but it was snowing and the snow had covered all the

stones. He tried but could not retrieve one from under the snow. "What

strange people," said the poet, "they have tied their stones but set their

dogs free."

When I read this I asked my teacher what relevance the story had for me, as

I was neither a poet nor a robber. He asked me to be patient and read

through the book. But later, while working as a journalist, I would remember

the story again and again. Dozens of times I had to write homage for robbers

and their chiefs and dozens of time I was stripped of my ego and thrown out

in the streets to suffer my nakedness. Many times their pet dogs bared their

teeth at me and I had no stone to throw at them.

And yet I was among those who did not have the courage to say no to this

hypocrisy. The punishment was greater for those who did not praise the

robbers. Instead always tried to say what they wanted to and willingly

suffered the consequences. Yet sometimes they could not help feeling bitter

and helpless. Thus the story echoes again in a beautiful poem by Faiz Ahmad

Faiz, a poet who dominated the minds of several generations of South Asians

with his powerful poetry. When talking about restrictions on freedom of

expression in his country (Pakistan), he refers to Saadi's story and reminds

his readers of the mental torture that a poet or a writer has to go through

because of those restrictions.

These old stories were part of the knowledge of the Sufis. They used them

to train their followers for the path. The stories are so powerful that they

appeal to an intellectual like Faiz and an ordinary peasant alike. Perhaps

that's why there is always a crowd at the shrines of the Sufi saints. They

give knowledge without arrogance. But what brought me to the shrine, I did

not know. I could have read the stories at home but instead I preferred to

hear them from this man who always shouted: "Take the plunge, take the

plunge. Don't watch the storm from the bank." He never explained what he

meant.

Perhaps he was referring to Hafiz, another famous Iranian poet. Himself a

Sufi, Hafiz asks the seekers of the path ''not to watch the storm from the

safety of the bank but to take the plunge'' if they wanted to learn. I was

surprised to hear an apparently illiterate shoe-man quoting Hafiz.

The man intrigued me. I could not make out if he was educated or had learnt

bits and pieces from here and there and kept repeating them. He never gave

me the chance to guess. One moment he was there smiling and inviting to take

the plunge and the next he was gone, ensconced in his shell, dusting the

shoes with a piece of cloth, unwilling to let anything out.

One day I saw the shoe-man in the bazaar, buying flowers for the shrine. It

was the only time I saw him buying something. When he saw me, he laughed and

showed me a little boy who was selling 'nay' (flutes). "Do you know why the

nai (flute) wails? It is the pain of separation from its source that makes

it do so," he told me and laughed. Now he was referring to the Sufi master

and great Persian poet Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi who also formed the circle of

whirling dervishes. "Listen to the nai, it cries because it has been

separated from its source (the tree from which the branch was broken).

That's why it is full of sad notes. Similarly men suffer because they are

separated from their source (God)," says Rumi.

"My God," I said to myself, "who is this man? Apparently rough and

illiterate and yet he knows classical Persian poetry which is difficult even

for the educated to understand. How?" But I could not find an answer because

when I turned back to look for him, he had disappeared in the crowd. To my

contemporary mind his attitude made no sense. If he is educated why does not

he print a resume and do something more respectable! Why does not he carry a visiting card!

I went back to the shrine. The qawwals (devotional singers) were signing

another song. "In your love I dance like a whirlwind, I dance like a

whirlwind." The shoe-man was there but he ignored me. I sat under the tree.

The parrots were chattering. One big bird sat separately on a higher

branch. It seemed as if others listened when he spoke. It reminded me of

another story, The Assembly of Birds, by Attar. And I entered another age

when animals spoke and people understood.

One day the shoe-man disappeared from the shrine also. It annoyed me. I

wanted to know where he went but nobody could tell. I was annoyed because he

had disappeared before I could figure out who he was and what he wanted. But

why I wanted to know who he was, I don't know. How could have I known him

when I don't even know myself. I am worse than the disciple of a Sufi master

who spent several years learning irfan, the knowledge of the Sufis, and then

came back to his master to tell him that he was now a man of knowledge. When

he knocked at the door, the master asked, 'Who?'

"Me," said the disciple. "Go back. There is no room for two in this house,"

said the master. The disciple went away to learn more and when he comes

back, the master asked again: 'who?' ''You," said the disciple. "Yes, get

in, now you have knowledge," said the master.

But who am I? I did not know. I am not two. I am many. Like a broken

mirror, I reflect a thousand images. One day I looked at the mirror. I saw a

thousand faces staring at me. One moment all looked familiar. The next all

looked different. It scared me. I threw the mirror away and it broke into

dozens of pieces, fragmenting me further in the process. My search

continues. I look for myself everywhere, inside and outside. I see no light.

I seem to be floating around in a mist, a fluffy velvety mist. It softly

touches my toes, moving up. Out of the cloud emerges a face. One moment it

is my face. The next moment it is someone else's. I try to touch it, hold it

but it melts away. Many faces appear. I feel around, trying to hold them but

they slip through my fingers and disappear in the fog which is slowly

slithering around my body. I am tense. I want to scream. I want to hold on

to something. But all faces, all images disappear in the haze as I stretch

my hands. Shadows dance on the wall. Broad, bold shadows, leaping around in

a rhythmic chaos. They whisper to each other and laugh; a full-throated

laughter fills my room. My skin prickles with fear. I try to escape to the

comfort of past images. I seek refuge in narrow, warm streets. Familiar

smells of closed rooms, sweat and masala (herbs) wander in the streets,

getting stronger as the heat increases. I see people pushing, shouting,

laughing and jostling. The muezzin (a Muslim priest) calls for the evening

prayers. A soothing shadow slips down the minarets. The sun is plucked from

the sky. The night drops from the clouds. But the streets are not deserted.

They are now filled with the faithful smell of summer evenings. People still

move around, laughing and shouting. I extend my hands. Try to coax them into

my existence. But they slip off my hands. The mist licks my fingers and the

shadows moving on the wall scare me. I reach out but only touch the cold,

slithering mist.

The longing never ends. I wander like a lost soul through the images that

fill my mind. Sometimes the images look familiar to me. Sometimes they float

through my mind like strangers. But as the time passes, these strangers also

become a part of me, of my identity. Yet the confusion continues.

Sometimes I see myself in a valley full of both familiar and strange

images. I see people, buildings and trees slowly emerging out of the mist. I

see cars, buses and trains. An airplane flies over my head. I see shops and

office blocks. I see people working on their computers, lifting telephones,

talking to those thousands of miles away, and speaking foreign languages.

"We received your e-mail earlier this morning. Here is a list of the goods

you asked for," says a message from distant America. The man working on the

computer looks at his watch. As expected, the reply had come in less than

half an hour.

Although all these seem foreign, they also look familiar. I feel sure of

myself moving around in this world of computers. I need them. I am used to

them. They form part of my identity. But then the muezzin calls again.

"Allah is great, Allah is great," he reminds the faithful. The man switches

off his computer, turns his face towards Mecca and prays. There seems no

conflict between his faith and the technology he is using.

The scene changes again. Now I hear thousands of horsemen, crossing huge

mountains and running into the valley. They come in groups, some small, some

large. They keep coming for hundreds of years. Wherever they stop, they make

small mosques and call the faithful to pray to their one and only God. It

sounds familiar. I understand it. I identify with it.

But my search does not end here. Now I hear music and songs. It is a group

of girls in white saris with red borders. Wearing fragrant garlands around

their necks and arms and colorful bindies (a decorative dot) on their

foreheads, they sing as they move towards the river with their offerings of

flowers and fruits. I understand their song. I recognize their music. Dress.

Flowers. Fruits. All seem familiar. After all we share so much with them.

Our social habits, our cultural manifestations, languages and even physical

features are similar.

So I see a link.

Their song fades away. Once again I hear horses and battle cries. These are

Aryan warriors who come with their horses and arrows and conquer the valley.

They come and over-power those who lived here before them. But the valley

conquers them and they never go back. Now they live with us. I speak the

words I borrowed from them; I share their customs, their tales and even

their prejudices about castes and creed.

But does my journey end here? No, I also have affinities with those who

lived here before the Aryans. I feel a sense of attachment to the

un-ciphered tablets discovered from the ruins of the Indus cities of

Moenjodaro and Harrapa. The statues of the mother goddess fascinate me. The

dancing girl of the Indus is no stranger. She lives inside me -- frozen in a

frame of ecstasy which has been copied by countless generations of dancers

ever since.

Many in my country say that this journey of thousands of years ended 54

years ago when we assumed a new identity, that of Pakistanis. After that we

should shun all other identities. We have been trying to do so for than half

a century now but it has not worked. I can't ignore the invisible string

that links me to all those who came before me. Yet there are some who put my

new identity in conflict with my old identities. Besides being a Pakistani,

I am also a Punjabi, a Sindhi, a Baluch and a Pashtun. And, here I must

speak the forbidden word, an Indian, a cultural Indian.

There are some who don't feel comfortable living with the past. The

controversies they stir also disturb me. It has pitched my faith against my

politics, my traditions against my work, my ethnic origin against that of

others and my language against that of my neighbor. My being a Muslim is not

enough. I also have to identify myself with the groups doing politics in the

name of Islam. My being a Pakistani is not enough. I must also associate

with those who look at any mention of other historical, social or cultural

references with suspicion. I also have to subscribe to the narrow ethnic

identities of various groups who have their own definitions of nationalism.

Born a Muslim in Pakistan, I grew up with strong cultural traditions that,

although heavily influenced by our religious beliefs, have retained their

secular characteristics. Poetry, music and painting are an integral part of

the Muslim culture of my region. The Sufi# saints who preached Islam in

South Asia over hundreds of years borrowed generously from the local

culture. They introduced such religious practices as qawwali and dhammal

(devotional songs and dances).

For most South Asian Muslims first introduction to Islam comes from the

poetry of these Sufi saints. Sufi poets have influenced South Asian

languages so deeply that hundreds of their couplets that preach tolerance

and acceptance of other faiths have become proverbs.

South Asian Muslims' devotion to Prophet Mohammed is nurtured in the

tradition of milad (a Muslim religious gathering). A practice common in

other Muslim cultures as well, in the Subcontinent a milad includes

recitation of poetry and singing of religious songs. The religion that

Muslims learn at milad gatherings is one of love and tolerance. It is also

at these gatherings that we are introduced to Sufi poetry, which defines all

religious paths as leading to the same destination (God).

A modern South Asian Muslim is also influenced by South Asian literature

written in the later 19th and 20th centuries. The strongest influence is

that of the Muslim poet Dr. Mohammed Iqbal, who, writing in early 20th

century India, presented Sufi concepts in modern terms.

Modern poets and writers like Faiz Ahmed Faiz and Saadat Hassan Manto,

perhaps among the most popular South Asian writers of the mid 20th century,

introduced Marxist and liberal Western thought to the local Muslims. Even

the Marxism introduced by Faiz, a winner of the Lenin award for literature,

was of a South Asian nature -- mild and romantic.

The popular Islamic culture of South Asia owes as much to poets like Amir

Khusro and Ghalib and Muslim masters of the Indian classical music as to

Sufi saints like Nizamuddin Awlia and Data Ganje Bukhsh.

It is a culture that allows people like Ghalib to "seek an idol in Kaaba

(Mecca)" and encourages Khusro to declare, "It is the man who is the center

of his prayers rather than the holy mosque in Mecca." Even in modern times

South Asian Muslim writers have raised probing questions about the very

basis of Islamic faith without causing a violent popular reaction.

This popular culture has had little difficulty coexisting with other South

Asian religions and has attracted many followers from other faiths who visit

the shrines of Muslims saints in both India and Pakistan. It has encouraged

people like Prem Chand, Krishan Chandar and Firaque Gorakhpuri, all Hindus,

and Rajinder Singh Bedi, a Sikh, to write literature in Urdu, basically a

language of the South Asian Muslims, using Muslim symbols and metaphors. It

is a culture that is alive and thriving not only around the shrines of Sufi

saints but also in the hearts of millions of their followers, who often fail

to understand the political fervor of the militant Islam.

Although brought up under the influence of these liberal cultural and

literary traditions, most South Asian Muslims also retain a strong

attachment to their religion, which does not pose a contradiction. Such

blending of cultural and religious traditions and the coexistence of Islamic

values with local traditions and Western influence is not confined to South

Asia. Most Muslim nations continue to experience such mingling traditions.

However, confusion and contradictions emerge in the realm of politics,

particularly the politics practiced by groups identified as militant

Muslims. So far political Islam has failed to attract strong popular support

in the Islamic but its influence is increasing. This is because of a general

disenchantment with the current political system and the ruling elite. Most

Muslims express their dislike for the current political set up by staying

away from the fake elections held by their governments, allowing the rulers

always to proclaim a sweeping victory for themselves.

Widespread corruption and the failure of a Western inspired democratic

system to address social and economic weaknesses of the society is the

apparent cause of this disillusion. In Pakistan people don't trust the

English speaking ruling elite. There is a general perception that they may

be good at making money but they have no desire or training to do anything

for others. Gone are the days when people looked up to the Western educated

elite and believed that with their knowledge and expertise they could help

change the society. "My heart is dead. I don't trust anyone. I will not go

to vote," said a laborer, working at the new palatial office of the

Pakistani prime minister in Islamabad when asked by a BBC correspondent if

he would vote in the 1997 elections. His comments were polite compared to

what people say about the educated elite in general and the politicians in

particular.

Disillusion with the Westernized elite turns into a dislike for the West

when they see Western governments supporting totally corrupt and morally

bankrupt rulers in the Islamic world. The West is seen as a bully bent upon

maintaining its hegemony over the Islamic world with the help of inefficient

and corrupt Muslim rulers.

But despite this there is still a widespread respect for Western technology

which many believe could help them jump several generations on the

development ladder. So people want Western technology but not Western

culture. However, this attitude is full of contradictions. Everybody speaks

against the Western culture but people still watch Western movies and listen

to American songs. Until recently this was confined to the upper and middle

classes but now even the lower middle class is developing a taste for

American films and music. As soon as they get money, people send their

children to English medium schools. Thus the West is revered, even if

grudgingly, for its prosperity and scientific achievements.

However, the possibility of benefiting from the West or the Westernized

education is still only available to less than 20 percent of the population.

Most people don't benefit from it. They continue to live in abject poverty.

In fact no changes have had any impact on their lives.

Ask any man, or woman, in the street about how democracy was different from

a military rule or monarchy, he would see no difference. "We struggle for

bread, clothes, democracy or no democracy," would be the standard answer. In

Pakistan the slogan for roti, kapra aur makan (bread, clothes and shelter in

Urdu) was made popular by the late Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto in the

1970s. Similar promises were made by other left-leaning Muslim leaders as

well. But they did little to make them available to those who need them

most. Nothing seems to work in the Islamic world. Political ideas and

economic theories -- Islamic, socialist and dictatorial -- of all ilk and

brand have been tried here. All failed.

No country suffered under this ideological conflict more than Afghanistan.

The cold war brought the Russians who brought superpower-rivalry to this

unfortunate country. Both the Russians and the Americans -- and their allies

-- created dozens of armed groups who are still fighting each other.

Hundreds of thousands died during the Soviet occupation, 1979-1989. But what

followed the Russian withdrawal was even worse. More than 50,000 were killed

in Kabul alone during the first Mujahideen government which ruled the

country from 1993-96. They paved the way for the Taliban takeover in 1996.

The Taliban brought even more suffering and turned Afghanistan into an

international pariah by sheltering suspected terrorists like Osama bin Laden

and his al Qaida network.

The Muslim nationalists tried to create Western nation states in countries

that have not one but many nations with distinct ethnic, linguistic and

cultural features living within their boundaries. The socialists tried to

impose a secular ideology on a people known for their devotion to Islam. The

Muslim radicals based their dreams of a pure and just Islamic society on

people's attachment to religion. But instead of delivering any of the goods

they had promised, they led their followers to a path that pitched Islam

against the rest of the world.

Reforms, introduced by liberal Muslim rulers, helped improve the situation

but only for some. Education was supposed to bring knowledge and prosperity

to all. It did not. For most, it only increased their dreams without

equipping them with the tools to make them come true. Divided between the

English (or French) schools of the elite and the ordinary schools for the

rest of the country, the education system has created a large number of

educated unemployed or under-employed.

In Pakistan, most of these unemployed or under-employed educated youths

come from Urdu medium schools who churn out thousands of graduates every

year but the establishment, dominated by the English speaking elite, has few

jobs for them. Totally disenchanted with a system which has little to offer

to them, they are the ones who provide the bulk of the supporters to Islamic

militant parties, as they did to the Marxist groups before the collapse of

the Soviet Union. They want change, any change and at any cost.

The cities are growing, slowly but steadily. In Pakistan, officially between

30-40 percent people live in the cities but nobody trusts official

statistics. People argue that since it is the zamindars or the rural

landowners who dominate the establishment, they juggle up the figures to

suit their interests. And it is in their interest to make the cities look

smaller than they are.

Many in Pakistan argue that the zamindar-dominated establishment rigs census

results because true results would lead to a re-arranging of parliamentary

seats between the cities and the villages. An increase in the number of

urban representation in the parliament threatens their power base.

Most leading political families in Pakistan come from the villages. People

like Bhuttos, Jatois, or Hussains of Jhang own thousands of acres of land.

They rule over the villages in their jurisdiction like kings. They decide

who goes to parliament from their areas. Peasants refusing to vote for their

favorite candidates may face eviction and even physical torture.

But the cities are growing. They have a high literacy rate. The city

dwellers also have exposure to modern thoughts, courtesy the media. They

also develop, what the Pakistani establishment calls, a disrespect for

authority. The cities are full of hundreds of thousands of unhappy people

who want to topple the system, peacefully and through democratic means if

possible. But if not, they will use any other means which is made available

to them. And that's why militant groups get recruits from the unemployed

educated youths of the cities too.

Another important thing happened during the during the previous elections

held in 1997. The Jamaat-i-Islami, Pakistan's main Muslim militant party,

for the first time in 50 years boycotted the elections and pledged to

struggle for change through other means. The Jamaat had no other option. It

has countrywide support in Pakistan's educated middle and lower middle

class. It gets thousands of votes in each constituency it contests from, but

only thousands. This means that they never get more than a handful of seats

in the parliament. Most of its supporters live in the cities. In the

villages the zamindars hold sway and do not allow Jamaat or any middle class

party to come and disturb the status quo.

Denied opportunities to expand in the present set up, many in Jamaat, and

other Muslim militant groups, openly talk of a revolution to create an

Islamic society in Pakistan (or in Egypt or Algeria). In the mid 1990s, some

of them wanted to follow the Sudanese model where a small but effective

Islamic group, led by Hassan al Turabi, joined the army in creating an

Islamic state. Such a move, the radicals believed, would enjoy the support

of the urban middle class. The Sudanese army has since gotten rid of Turabi

but it did not weaken the resolve of the Muslim militants in Pakistan of

bringing an Islamic revolution with the army's help.

The Pakistani army, once dominated by the feudal families of Punjab and the

North West Frontier Province, has also undergone a change in the 1980s when

the former military ruler Gen. Zia encouraged recruitment from lower middle

classes. Thus now the army has a large number of junior and middle rank

officers who are unhappy with the present political situation and share

Jamaat's zeal for an Islamic revolution. They are still not in a position to

influence decision-making and will be further weakened by Musharraf's

attempt to root out religious extremism.

The more radicals, particularly those from thousands of madrisas or Muslim

seminaries spread across Pakistan and Afghanistan, did not even trust the

army. They wanted a pure Islam, so pure that they could not trust the

Islamists, like those of Jamaat, either. They believed that only a mullah is

qualified to lead an Islamic state. In 1994, the madrisas got lucky.

Searching for a force to control unruly Afghanistan, and to maintain its

influence over the neighboring country, the Pakistan army helped form the

Taliban movement. The Americans and other Western powers, fed up with the

Mujahideen infighting, quietly supported the move.

Within two years the Taliban, or the students of Muslim seminaries as the

word means in the local dialects, captured most of Afghanistan and pushed

the Mujahideen to a narrow strip in the north. Thus Afghanistan became the

first state of the majority Sunni sect to be ruled by the clergy. As the

events that followed proved, the Taliban were not fit to rule.

Power corrupted them. For a group, which traditionally depended on the alms

the mosques get from affluent Muslims, even a little power was too much. So

they went berserk. Nothing else explains the strange, and un-Islamic,

restrictions they imposed on women and their decision to dynamite the Bamian

Buddhas.

Intoxicated with power, the Taliban failed to understand the difference

between beating a helpless Afghan woman for peeping out of her veil and

allowing their fundamentalists guests to go about planting bombs around the

world. And so the inevitable happened.

Their so-called honored guest, Osama bin Laden, allegedly arranged the 9/11

disaster which brought down the icons of world capitalism, the twin towers

of the World Trade Center, and damaged the Pentagon. The Americans reacted

as expected and in two months, the Taliban were history.

But the Taliban were not created out of void. The madrisas serve an

important purpose: providing food and some education to those who were

denied both. They are mainly children of landless peasants who cannot feed

them. So they send their children to the madrisas where they are given two

meals a day, two pairs of clothes and some education which can provide

low-level jobs in thousands of mosques across the country.

For the families that they come from, even this is a major social

accomplishment as it brings both food and some prestige. Some of these

madrisas received money from Arab governments wanting to fight increasing

Iranian influence in non-Arab Muslim countries after Ayatollah Khomeini's

revolution. Others received money from affluent Muslims who prefer to give

their religious tax, called Zakat, and alms to mosques rather than

governments.

Since Sept. 11, the Pakistani government was under great pressure to

control these religious schools. And on Jan. 12,2002 President General Pervez Musharraf announced a plan to control them. Now the government will write the books read at these schools. No new madrisa or mosque can be opened without the government's permission. They will not be allowed to teach jihad or holy war. They will not be allowed to collect funds for jihad. They cannot recruit foreign students and teachers, without the government's consent, and cannot preach sectarianism.

But many Pakistanis say that the government does not have the resources or

the will to carry out such an ambitious plan. Besides, so far it has no

plans to control the process that brings these poor village children to the

madrisas. "As long as there is poverty and unemployment, both in the

villages and the cities, the madrisas will never be short of volunteers,"

says Mahmood.

New madrisas will still be opened, now in remote villages. And only time

will tell who will use them to create another Taliban force in the future.

This time they may be asked to fight for a social change or in the name of

the class struggle but they will always be willing to fight as long as they

live on the fringes of the society.

But this will not end the process that brings these poor village children to

the cities. They will still come. New madrisas will still be opened, now in

remote villages. And only time will tell who will use them to create another

Taliban force in the future. This time they may be asked to fight for a

social change or in the name of class struggle but they will always be

willing to fight as long as they live on the fringes of the society.

The appeal of Islam as a remedy to the Muslim world's social and economic

ills is not confined to the Taliban. It is also not just a reaction to

Western domination or the hold of the Westernized elite over the

administrative set up. For many Muslims their religion has always had this

special appeal. The distinction between religion and politics is not as

obvious in Islam as it is in the West today. Even poets and philosophers

like Iqbal have opposed the separation of religion from politics saying, "A

political system without religious influence becomes a tyranny." For this

Muslims draw inspiration from their history which is full of religious

figures opposing despotic secular rulers, often at the risk of their lives.

Prophet Mohammed's entire family, except a male child and a few women, was

martyred while opposing one such ruler, Yazid. And thus his grandson Imam

Hussain has become a symbol of courage, resistance and supreme sacrifice.

Since then many have followed his example and laid down their lives fighting

for the oppressed and the down trodden against the tyrannical rulers. Their

list is long and includes Imams, Sufi saints, religious scholars and the

freedom fighters. It is not the Abbasid caliphs of Baghdad or the great

Moguls of India that the Muslims look up to for inspiration but it is people

like them who have been inspiring the Muslims for generations.

So Islam has always had an appeal for the Muslims as an alternative to a

corrupt political system and the current situation in the Islamic world

makes it even more attractive. Thus when the common people debate the issue

of politics and Islam, they don't say whether it is right or wrong to mix

the two. They are more concerned about the legitimacy of the people aspiring

to represent those martyrs to determine whether they are fit to do so or

not.

However, this over-emphasis on religion clashes with their other identities

that are also dear to the people. Most Pakistanis are well aware of their

Islamic identity but they are also aware of their group interests as

Punjabis, Sindhis, Pashtun or Baluch. They respect their neighbors as fellow

Muslims and Pakistanis but most also retain a strong desire to preserve the

economic and cultural interests of their provinces which prevents them from

whole-heartedly supporting a Pan-Islamic or even a nationalist Pakistani

ideology.

Thus those born as Muslims in the 20th century, particularly in South Asia

face this crisis of identity from the very beginning. It is like being born

with several faces. Who are you? A Muslim, a Pakistani, an Indian, a

Bangladeshi, a Punjabi, a Sindhi or a Baloch?

The first identity, a Muslim, transcends all national and geographical

boundaries. A Muslim is identified by his faith and as long as he believes

in Islam he is a Muslim. Ideally, it may be correct, practically, it is not.

A Muslim is also a Pakistani, an Indian, an Afghan or an Arab. Being a

Muslim does not automatically grant him the nationality of all the 56

countries that claim allegiance to Islam. The moment he wants to travel,

even from one Muslim country to another, he ceases to be a Muslim and he

becomes an Egyptian or an Iranian. No Islamic country allows a Muslim to

enter its territory on the basis of his or her faith only. And this is where

the national identity, which provides the traveler with a passport and a

visa, becomes more important than the religious identity.

But, as internal conflicts in many Muslim countries show, even a national

identity is not enough. You need to identify yourself with a particular

group or place as well, in the case of Pakistan with one of the four

provinces. Then there are identities based on a language or race. Sometimes

one identity takes precedence over the other. Thus a Muslim living in the

West, where he confronts the non-Muslims, often gets more comfort from his

Islamic identity than his nationality.

But a Pakistani living in the Gulf finds it more useful to be a Pakistani

before a Muslim. Here his Pakistani identity comes before his religious

identity. It also comes before his regional identities as a Punjabi or a

Pashtun because it provides him strength in dealing with the Arabs who often

look down upon him as a Pakistani, whether he is from one province of

Pakistan or the other. However, back in Pakistan his Pakistani identity

ceases to be important. Now he is more cautious of being a Pashtun, a

Punjabi, a Mohajir, a Baloch or a Sindhi. And when he goes to his ancestral

district, he has to further divide his identity on ethnic and tribal lines

thus becoming a Seraiki speaking Sindhi or a Sindhi speaking Sindhi, a

Pashto speaking Baluch or a Balochi speaking Baloch.

In the West, the Pakistanis face yet another crisis, that of their affinity

with the Indians. Back home India is the number one enemy. Pakistanis spare

no effort to prove Pakistan as the ultimate un-India. They argue that

Pakistan does not retain any of the traditions that it might have acquired

when it was a part of united India for hundreds of years.

But these walls of separation don't prove very strong against the waves of

affinity that the Pakistanis face when they meet Indians in the West. Here

they are both seen as belonging to the same race. They face the same racial

prejudices. In some cases they speak the same language as their adversaries

from India do, eat the same food and even wear the same dress. Thanks to

films and television more and more Indian women are wearing shalwar qamis

and Pakistani women are wearing sari. In Britain a large number of

Pakistanis try to hide under a larger South Asian identity when the British

racists brand them as Pakis. So whether at home or abroad, the confusion of

identity never ends.

 

[WAQAS119]

join the racist band wagon and please do not waste my time. I refuse to argue with a person so stuck up in color and race. First you say that you arnt saying that anyone is superior and then you tell us to come out of our inferiority complex lol nice one. What complex do we have ? You must be smoking something good if you think we are in awe of you in any way. Thats what I said we are the same, but our mindsets will never be. Waqas come out of your la la land and learn to respect other people.

If it is not color, not race, not language, not religion, not culture.. then what kind of similarity you guys are talking about...! But hey, I was expecting this kind of label attaching tactics, as when arguments are over people tend to do that. But I am happy to be called racist.

Our color, race, language, religion, culture......everything is different. We are not same.

 

[Jackdaws]

oh please, not this BS, an that too from and india! Don't get me started on your beliefs cuz it aint gonna be funny!

I have not insulted anyone's beliefs. If I have, I express my regret - that is not my intention. I am merely pointing out the difference between a set of beliefs any religion may have and a set of beliefs its followers may or may not have.

 

[MilesTogo]

Comment from Sethi, releant to the topic...

 

[SpArK]

Looks like a comedy skit. Don't take it seriously.

Its all hilarious to see people from both sides arguing on things that looks to stupid.

Nobody has any questions regarding the loyalty of anyone towards others. All are as much as citizens of their respected countries like any others.

India is ruled by a person who was born on the other side (PM). Even the most important opposition leader is also born in that part of the world.

I have read enough to understand that lots of eminent people are there in "mohajir" community.

People from Nusrat fateh ali khan to shehzad roy are loved in both countries and people from hanif mohammad, miandad to inzi and sami are admired by all here.


I dont know what the heck is wrong with these debating people.

 

[nForce]

A long and old article but worth reading...

The Identity Crisis of a Modern Muslim
Anwar Iqbal January 14, 2002
Tags: Literacy , History , Education


"They chased the dog out, lest it pollute the mosque. But they left these

men inside, ignoring the ***** hidden in their hearts. Who will clean the

mosque now?'' I looked back and saw a strange man sitting on the steps of

this old Muslim shrine which was half way between my college andhome. He

had a long flowing beard and was wearing a spotless white shalwar-qamis

(baggy trousers and a long shirt).

He did not look poor yet he was doing a job only the poorest do. He looked

after the shoes of the visitors who had to take them off before entering the

shrine and the adjoining mosque. In return they threw a few coins before

him. Nobody knew his name. Everybody called him "jootaywala" or the

shoe-man.

He saw me looking at him and smiled. "Don't believe what you see. Seek

more," he said. I ignored him and went inside. ''What will you get from this

bowing and prostrating when your heart is still attracted to sins. Clean

your heart first and then come to worship,'' the Qawwal was singing a

devotional song. Surrounded by a group of devotes, he was playing a simple

tune on a harmonium, one of his companions played the tabla while others

repeated the refrain with him.

"What will you get from your worship, what will you get from your worship,"

they chanted. Some of the devotees got up and started dancing in ecstasy. I

sat under the banyan tree that sheltered the shrine. Dozens of parrots were

chattering above me. The Qawwal was singing and the devotees were dancing.

Every now and then one of the devotees would say ''Allah'' and the others

would join the chant which was echoed back to them by the surrounding hills.

"Chase the dog out of your heart," I heard the shoe-man talking to a group

of people who had gathered around him. Then he started telling them the

stories of Mullah Nasiruddin (a legendry character popular in the Muslim

world). "Mullah came to a wedding reception in his usual dress which was

made of coarse cloth and nobody took any notice of him. Nobody asked him to

sit. Nobody served him food. He went back, put on his new silk coat and

returned to the reception. Now he was taken to the best table and made to

sit with the notables of the city. When the food came Mullah dipped his

sleeve in the soup and said 'eat, my coat, eat.' The host was surprised and

asked Mullah why he was doing that. 'When I came in my usual dress, nobody

welcomed me but my new coat made all the difference. So I gather that the

invitation was for the coat, not for me,' said Mullah Nasiruddin."

The old story pleased the audience because they could relate to it.

Although the story was hundreds of years old, it had not lost its message.

"Now tell me what do you want, you want to be respected for your appearance

or desire real honor," asked the storyteller.

This reminded me of another story that I had read as a child. This was a

story from Gulistan, a book by the famous Persian poet Sa'adi which was

popular throughout the region until 50 years ago. For centuries people have

read Gulistan to learn wisdom, faith and morality and also about the wicked

ways of the world. The story that the man at the shrine told as one of

Mullah Nasiruddin's is also sometimes credited to Sa'adi. The Mullah was a

legendary character and many of his stories are found in other collections

as well.

The other story was of a poet who wrote a long eulogy for the sardar or

chief of a gang of robbers and went to his den to recite it before him,

expecting a great reward in return. The robber listened to the poem

patiently and when he finished, he asked his companions to strip the poet

and throw him out of the cave.

"But why? I praise you and you do this to me," asked the poet. "This will

teach you not to praise robbers," said the chief. When he came out of the

cave, dogs started chasing the naked poet. He looked around for stones to

throw at the dogs but it was snowing and the snow had covered all the

stones. He tried but could not retrieve one from under the snow. "What

strange people," said the poet, "they have tied their stones but set their

dogs free."

When I read this I asked my teacher what relevance the story had for me, as

I was neither a poet nor a robber. He asked me to be patient and read

through the book. But later, while working as a journalist, I would remember

the story again and again. Dozens of times I had to write homage for robbers

and their chiefs and dozens of time I was stripped of my ego and thrown out

in the streets to suffer my nakedness. Many times their pet dogs bared their

teeth at me and I had no stone to throw at them.

And yet I was among those who did not have the courage to say no to this

hypocrisy. The punishment was greater for those who did not praise the

robbers. Instead always tried to say what they wanted to and willingly

suffered the consequences. Yet sometimes they could not help feeling bitter

and helpless. Thus the story echoes again in a beautiful poem by Faiz Ahmad

Faiz, a poet who dominated the minds of several generations of South Asians

with his powerful poetry. When talking about restrictions on freedom of

expression in his country (Pakistan), he refers to Saadi's story and reminds

his readers of the mental torture that a poet or a writer has to go through

because of those restrictions.

These old stories were part of the knowledge of the Sufis. They used them

to train their followers for the path. The stories are so powerful that they

appeal to an intellectual like Faiz and an ordinary peasant alike. Perhaps

that's why there is always a crowd at the shrines of the Sufi saints. They

give knowledge without arrogance. But what brought me to the shrine, I did

not know. I could have read the stories at home but instead I preferred to

hear them from this man who always shouted: "Take the plunge, take the

plunge. Don't watch the storm from the bank." He never explained what he

meant.

Perhaps he was referring to Hafiz, another famous Iranian poet. Himself a

Sufi, Hafiz asks the seekers of the path ''not to watch the storm from the

safety of the bank but to take the plunge'' if they wanted to learn. I was

surprised to hear an apparently illiterate shoe-man quoting Hafiz.

The man intrigued me. I could not make out if he was educated or had learnt

bits and pieces from here and there and kept repeating them. He never gave

me the chance to guess. One moment he was there smiling and inviting to take

the plunge and the next he was gone, ensconced in his shell, dusting the

shoes with a piece of cloth, unwilling to let anything out.

One day I saw the shoe-man in the bazaar, buying flowers for the shrine. It

was the only time I saw him buying something. When he saw me, he laughed and

showed me a little boy who was selling 'nay' (flutes). "Do you know why the

nai (flute) wails? It is the pain of separation from its source that makes

it do so," he told me and laughed. Now he was referring to the Sufi master

and great Persian poet Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi who also formed the circle of

whirling dervishes. "Listen to the nai, it cries because it has been

separated from its source (the tree from which the branch was broken).

That's why it is full of sad notes. Similarly men suffer because they are

separated from their source (God)," says Rumi.

"My God," I said to myself, "who is this man? Apparently rough and

illiterate and yet he knows classical Persian poetry which is difficult even

for the educated to understand. How?" But I could not find an answer because

when I turned back to look for him, he had disappeared in the crowd. To my

contemporary mind his attitude made no sense. If he is educated why does not

he print a resume and do something more respectable! Why does not he carry a visiting card!

I went back to the shrine. The qawwals (devotional singers) were signing

another song. "In your love I dance like a whirlwind, I dance like a

whirlwind." The shoe-man was there but he ignored me. I sat under the tree.

The parrots were chattering. One big bird sat separately on a higher

branch. It seemed as if others listened when he spoke. It reminded me of

another story, The Assembly of Birds, by Attar. And I entered another age

when animals spoke and people understood.

One day the shoe-man disappeared from the shrine also. It annoyed me. I

wanted to know where he went but nobody could tell. I was annoyed because he

had disappeared before I could figure out who he was and what he wanted. But

why I wanted to know who he was, I don't know. How could have I known him

when I don't even know myself. I am worse than the disciple of a Sufi master

who spent several years learning irfan, the knowledge of the Sufis, and then

came back to his master to tell him that he was now a man of knowledge. When

he knocked at the door, the master asked, 'Who?'

"Me," said the disciple. "Go back. There is no room for two in this house,"

said the master. The disciple went away to learn more and when he comes

back, the master asked again: 'who?' ''You," said the disciple. "Yes, get

in, now you have knowledge," said the master.

But who am I? I did not know. I am not two. I am many. Like a broken

mirror, I reflect a thousand images. One day I looked at the mirror. I saw a

thousand faces staring at me. One moment all looked familiar. The next all

looked different. It scared me. I threw the mirror away and it broke into

dozens of pieces, fragmenting me further in the process. My search

continues. I look for myself everywhere, inside and outside. I see no light.

I seem to be floating around in a mist, a fluffy velvety mist. It softly

touches my toes, moving up. Out of the cloud emerges a face. One moment it

is my face. The next moment it is someone else's. I try to touch it, hold it

but it melts away. Many faces appear. I feel around, trying to hold them but

they slip through my fingers and disappear in the fog which is slowly

slithering around my body. I am tense. I want to scream. I want to hold on

to something. But all faces, all images disappear in the haze as I stretch

my hands. Shadows dance on the wall. Broad, bold shadows, leaping around in

a rhythmic chaos. They whisper to each other and laugh; a full-throated

laughter fills my room. My skin prickles with fear. I try to escape to the

comfort of past images. I seek refuge in narrow, warm streets. Familiar

smells of closed rooms, sweat and masala (herbs) wander in the streets,

getting stronger as the heat increases. I see people pushing, shouting,

laughing and jostling. The muezzin (a Muslim priest) calls for the evening

prayers. A soothing shadow slips down the minarets. The sun is plucked from

the sky. The night drops from the clouds. But the streets are not deserted.

They are now filled with the faithful smell of summer evenings. People still

move around, laughing and shouting. I extend my hands. Try to coax them into

my existence. But they slip off my hands. The mist licks my fingers and the

shadows moving on the wall scare me. I reach out but only touch the cold,

slithering mist.

The longing never ends. I wander like a lost soul through the images that

fill my mind. Sometimes the images look familiar to me. Sometimes they float

through my mind like strangers. But as the time passes, these strangers also

become a part of me, of my identity. Yet the confusion continues.

Sometimes I see myself in a valley full of both familiar and strange

images. I see people, buildings and trees slowly emerging out of the mist. I

see cars, buses and trains. An airplane flies over my head. I see shops and

office blocks. I see people working on their computers, lifting telephones,

talking to those thousands of miles away, and speaking foreign languages.

"We received your e-mail earlier this morning. Here is a list of the goods

you asked for," says a message from distant America. The man working on the

computer looks at his watch. As expected, the reply had come in less than

half an hour.

Although all these seem foreign, they also look familiar. I feel sure of

myself moving around in this world of computers. I need them. I am used to

them. They form part of my identity. But then the muezzin calls again.

"Allah is great, Allah is great," he reminds the faithful. The man switches

off his computer, turns his face towards Mecca and prays. There seems no

conflict between his faith and the technology he is using.

The scene changes again. Now I hear thousands of horsemen, crossing huge

mountains and running into the valley. They come in groups, some small, some

large. They keep coming for hundreds of years. Wherever they stop, they make

small mosques and call the faithful to pray to their one and only God. It

sounds familiar. I understand it. I identify with it.

But my search does not end here. Now I hear music and songs. It is a group

of girls in white saris with red borders. Wearing fragrant garlands around

their necks and arms and colorful bindies (a decorative dot) on their

foreheads, they sing as they move towards the river with their offerings of

flowers and fruits. I understand their song. I recognize their music. Dress.

Flowers. Fruits. All seem familiar. After all we share so much with them.

Our social habits, our cultural manifestations, languages and even physical

features are similar.

So I see a link.

Their song fades away. Once again I hear horses and battle cries. These are

Aryan warriors who come with their horses and arrows and conquer the valley.

They come and over-power those who lived here before them. But the valley

conquers them and they never go back. Now they live with us. I speak the

words I borrowed from them; I share their customs, their tales and even

their prejudices about castes and creed.

But does my journey end here? No, I also have affinities with those who

lived here before the Aryans. I feel a sense of attachment to the

un-ciphered tablets discovered from the ruins of the Indus cities of

Moenjodaro and Harrapa. The statues of the mother goddess fascinate me. The

dancing girl of the Indus is no stranger. She lives inside me -- frozen in a

frame of ecstasy which has been copied by countless generations of dancers

ever since.

Many in my country say that this journey of thousands of years ended 54

years ago when we assumed a new identity, that of Pakistanis. After that we

should shun all other identities. We have been trying to do so for than half

a century now but it has not worked. I can't ignore the invisible string

that links me to all those who came before me. Yet there are some who put my

new identity in conflict with my old identities. Besides being a Pakistani,

I am also a Punjabi, a Sindhi, a Baluch and a Pashtun. And, here I must

speak the forbidden word, an Indian, a cultural Indian.

There are some who don't feel comfortable living with the past. The

controversies they stir also disturb me. It has pitched my faith against my

politics, my traditions against my work, my ethnic origin against that of

others and my language against that of my neighbor. My being a Muslim is not

enough. I also have to identify myself with the groups doing politics in the

name of Islam. My being a Pakistani is not enough. I must also associate

with those who look at any mention of other historical, social or cultural

references with suspicion. I also have to subscribe to the narrow ethnic

identities of various groups who have their own definitions of nationalism.

Born a Muslim in Pakistan, I grew up with strong cultural traditions that,

although heavily influenced by our religious beliefs, have retained their

secular characteristics. Poetry, music and painting are an integral part of

the Muslim culture of my region. The Sufi# saints who preached Islam in

South Asia over hundreds of years borrowed generously from the local

culture. They introduced such religious practices as qawwali and dhammal

(devotional songs and dances).

For most South Asian Muslims first introduction to Islam comes from the

poetry of these Sufi saints. Sufi poets have influenced South Asian

languages so deeply that hundreds of their couplets that preach tolerance

and acceptance of other faiths have become proverbs.

South Asian Muslims' devotion to Prophet Mohammed is nurtured in the

tradition of milad (a Muslim religious gathering). A practice common in

other Muslim cultures as well, in the Subcontinent a milad includes

recitation of poetry and singing of religious songs. The religion that

Muslims learn at milad gatherings is one of love and tolerance. It is also

at these gatherings that we are introduced to Sufi poetry, which defines all

religious paths as leading to the same destination (God).

A modern South Asian Muslim is also influenced by South Asian literature

written in the later 19th and 20th centuries. The strongest influence is

that of the Muslim poet Dr. Mohammed Iqbal, who, writing in early 20th

century India, presented Sufi concepts in modern terms.

Modern poets and writers like Faiz Ahmed Faiz and Saadat Hassan Manto,

perhaps among the most popular South Asian writers of the mid 20th century,

introduced Marxist and liberal Western thought to the local Muslims. Even

the Marxism introduced by Faiz, a winner of the Lenin award for literature,

was of a South Asian nature -- mild and romantic.

The popular Islamic culture of South Asia owes as much to poets like Amir

Khusro and Ghalib and Muslim masters of the Indian classical music as to

Sufi saints like Nizamuddin Awlia and Data Ganje Bukhsh.

It is a culture that allows people like Ghalib to "seek an idol in Kaaba

(Mecca)" and encourages Khusro to declare, "It is the man who is the center

of his prayers rather than the holy mosque in Mecca." Even in modern times

South Asian Muslim writers have raised probing questions about the very

basis of Islamic faith without causing a violent popular reaction.

This popular culture has had little difficulty coexisting with other South

Asian religions and has attracted many followers from other faiths who visit

the shrines of Muslims saints in both India and Pakistan. It has encouraged

people like Prem Chand, Krishan Chandar and Firaque Gorakhpuri, all Hindus,

and Rajinder Singh Bedi, a Sikh, to write literature in Urdu, basically a

language of the South Asian Muslims, using Muslim symbols and metaphors. It

is a culture that is alive and thriving not only around the shrines of Sufi

saints but also in the hearts of millions of their followers, who often fail

to understand the political fervor of the militant Islam.

Although brought up under the influence of these liberal cultural and

literary traditions, most South Asian Muslims also retain a strong

attachment to their religion, which does not pose a contradiction. Such

blending of cultural and religious traditions and the coexistence of Islamic

values with local traditions and Western influence is not confined to South

Asia. Most Muslim nations continue to experience such mingling traditions.

However, confusion and contradictions emerge in the realm of politics,

particularly the politics practiced by groups identified as militant

Muslims. So far political Islam has failed to attract strong popular support

in the Islamic but its influence is increasing. This is because of a general

disenchantment with the current political system and the ruling elite. Most

Muslims express their dislike for the current political set up by staying

away from the fake elections held by their governments, allowing the rulers

always to proclaim a sweeping victory for themselves.

Widespread corruption and the failure of a Western inspired democratic

system to address social and economic weaknesses of the society is the

apparent cause of this disillusion. In Pakistan people don't trust the

English speaking ruling elite. There is a general perception that they may

be good at making money but they have no desire or training to do anything

for others. Gone are the days when people looked up to the Western educated

elite and believed that with their knowledge and expertise they could help

change the society. "My heart is dead. I don't trust anyone. I will not go

to vote," said a laborer, working at the new palatial office of the

Pakistani prime minister in Islamabad when asked by a BBC correspondent if

he would vote in the 1997 elections. His comments were polite compared to

what people say about the educated elite in general and the politicians in

particular.

Disillusion with the Westernized elite turns into a dislike for the West

when they see Western governments supporting totally corrupt and morally

bankrupt rulers in the Islamic world. The West is seen as a bully bent upon

maintaining its hegemony over the Islamic world with the help of inefficient

and corrupt Muslim rulers.

But despite this there is still a widespread respect for Western technology

which many believe could help them jump several generations on the

development ladder. So people want Western technology but not Western

culture. However, this attitude is full of contradictions. Everybody speaks

against the Western culture but people still watch Western movies and listen

to American songs. Until recently this was confined to the upper and middle

classes but now even the lower middle class is developing a taste for

American films and music. As soon as they get money, people send their

children to English medium schools. Thus the West is revered, even if

grudgingly, for its prosperity and scientific achievements.

However, the possibility of benefiting from the West or the Westernized

education is still only available to less than 20 percent of the population.

Most people don't benefit from it. They continue to live in abject poverty.

In fact no changes have had any impact on their lives.

Ask any man, or woman, in the street about how democracy was different from

a military rule or monarchy, he would see no difference. "We struggle for

bread, clothes, democracy or no democracy," would be the standard answer. In

Pakistan the slogan for roti, kapra aur makan (bread, clothes and shelter in

Urdu) was made popular by the late Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto in the

1970s. Similar promises were made by other left-leaning Muslim leaders as

well. But they did little to make them available to those who need them

most. Nothing seems to work in the Islamic world. Political ideas and

economic theories -- Islamic, socialist and dictatorial -- of all ilk and

brand have been tried here. All failed.

No country suffered under this ideological conflict more than Afghanistan.

The cold war brought the Russians who brought superpower-rivalry to this

unfortunate country. Both the Russians and the Americans -- and their allies

-- created dozens of armed groups who are still fighting each other.

Hundreds of thousands died during the Soviet occupation, 1979-1989. But what

followed the Russian withdrawal was even worse. More than 50,000 were killed

in Kabul alone during the first Mujahideen government which ruled the

country from 1993-96. They paved the way for the Taliban takeover in 1996.

The Taliban brought even more suffering and turned Afghanistan into an

international pariah by sheltering suspected terrorists like Osama bin Laden

and his al Qaida network.

The Muslim nationalists tried to create Western nation states in countries

that have not one but many nations with distinct ethnic, linguistic and

cultural features living within their boundaries. The socialists tried to

impose a secular ideology on a people known for their devotion to Islam. The

Muslim radicals based their dreams of a pure and just Islamic society on

people's attachment to religion. But instead of delivering any of the goods

they had promised, they led their followers to a path that pitched Islam

against the rest of the world.

Reforms, introduced by liberal Muslim rulers, helped improve the situation

but only for some. Education was supposed to bring knowledge and prosperity

to all. It did not. For most, it only increased their dreams without

equipping them with the tools to make them come true. Divided between the

English (or French) schools of the elite and the ordinary schools for the

rest of the country, the education system has created a large number of

educated unemployed or under-employed.

In Pakistan, most of these unemployed or under-employed educated youths

come from Urdu medium schools who churn out thousands of graduates every

year but the establishment, dominated by the English speaking elite, has few

jobs for them. Totally disenchanted with a system which has little to offer

to them, they are the ones who provide the bulk of the supporters to Islamic

militant parties, as they did to the Marxist groups before the collapse of

the Soviet Union. They want change, any change and at any cost.

The cities are growing, slowly but steadily. In Pakistan, officially between

30-40 percent people live in the cities but nobody trusts official

statistics. People argue that since it is the zamindars or the rural

landowners who dominate the establishment, they juggle up the figures to

suit their interests. And it is in their interest to make the cities look

smaller than they are.

Many in Pakistan argue that the zamindar-dominated establishment rigs census

results because true results would lead to a re-arranging of parliamentary

seats between the cities and the villages. An increase in the number of

urban representation in the parliament threatens their power base.

Most leading political families in Pakistan come from the villages. People

like Bhuttos, Jatois, or Hussains of Jhang own thousands of acres of land.

They rule over the villages in their jurisdiction like kings. They decide

who goes to parliament from their areas. Peasants refusing to vote for their

favorite candidates may face eviction and even physical torture.

But the cities are growing. They have a high literacy rate. The city

dwellers also have exposure to modern thoughts, courtesy the media. They

also develop, what the Pakistani establishment calls, a disrespect for

authority. The cities are full of hundreds of thousands of unhappy people

who want to topple the system, peacefully and through democratic means if

possible. But if not, they will use any other means which is made available

to them. And that's why militant groups get recruits from the unemployed

educated youths of the cities too.

Another important thing happened during the during the previous elections

held in 1997. The Jamaat-i-Islami, Pakistan's main Muslim militant party,

for the first time in 50 years boycotted the elections and pledged to

struggle for change through other means. The Jamaat had no other option. It

has countrywide support in Pakistan's educated middle and lower middle

class. It gets thousands of votes in each constituency it contests from, but

only thousands. This means that they never get more than a handful of seats

in the parliament. Most of its supporters live in the cities. In the

villages the zamindars hold sway and do not allow Jamaat or any middle class

party to come and disturb the status quo.

Denied opportunities to expand in the present set up, many in Jamaat, and

other Muslim militant groups, openly talk of a revolution to create an

Islamic society in Pakistan (or in Egypt or Algeria). In the mid 1990s, some

of them wanted to follow the Sudanese model where a small but effective

Islamic group, led by Hassan al Turabi, joined the army in creating an

Islamic state. Such a move, the radicals believed, would enjoy the support

of the urban middle class. The Sudanese army has since gotten rid of Turabi

but it did not weaken the resolve of the Muslim militants in Pakistan of

bringing an Islamic revolution with the army's help.

The Pakistani army, once dominated by the feudal families of Punjab and the

North West Frontier Province, has also undergone a change in the 1980s when

the former military ruler Gen. Zia encouraged recruitment from lower middle

classes. Thus now the army has a large number of junior and middle rank

officers who are unhappy with the present political situation and share

Jamaat's zeal for an Islamic revolution. They are still not in a position to

influence decision-making and will be further weakened by Musharraf's

attempt to root out religious extremism.

The more radicals, particularly those from thousands of madrisas or Muslim

seminaries spread across Pakistan and Afghanistan, did not even trust the

army. They wanted a pure Islam, so pure that they could not trust the

Islamists, like those of Jamaat, either. They believed that only a mullah is

qualified to lead an Islamic state. In 1994, the madrisas got lucky.

Searching for a force to control unruly Afghanistan, and to maintain its

influence over the neighboring country, the Pakistan army helped form the

Taliban movement. The Americans and other Western powers, fed up with the

Mujahideen infighting, quietly supported the move.

Within two years the Taliban, or the students of Muslim seminaries as the

word means in the local dialects, captured most of Afghanistan and pushed

the Mujahideen to a narrow strip in the north. Thus Afghanistan became the

first state of the majority Sunni sect to be ruled by the clergy. As the

events that followed proved, the Taliban were not fit to rule.

Power corrupted them. For a group, which traditionally depended on the alms

the mosques get from affluent Muslims, even a little power was too much. So

they went berserk. Nothing else explains the strange, and un-Islamic,

restrictions they imposed on women and their decision to dynamite the Bamian

Buddhas.

Intoxicated with power, the Taliban failed to understand the difference

between beating a helpless Afghan woman for peeping out of her veil and

allowing their fundamentalists guests to go about planting bombs around the

world. And so the inevitable happened.

Their so-called honored guest, Osama bin Laden, allegedly arranged the 9/11

disaster which brought down the icons of world capitalism, the twin towers

of the World Trade Center, and damaged the Pentagon. The Americans reacted

as expected and in two months, the Taliban were history.

But the Taliban were not created out of void. The madrisas serve an

important purpose: providing food and some education to those who were

denied both. They are mainly children of landless peasants who cannot feed

them. So they send their children to the madrisas where they are given two

meals a day, two pairs of clothes and some education which can provide

low-level jobs in thousands of mosques across the country.

For the families that they come from, even this is a major social

accomplishment as it brings both food and some prestige. Some of these

madrisas received money from Arab governments wanting to fight increasing

Iranian influence in non-Arab Muslim countries after Ayatollah Khomeini's

revolution. Others received money from affluent Muslims who prefer to give

their religious tax, called Zakat, and alms to mosques rather than

governments.

Since Sept. 11, the Pakistani government was under great pressure to

control these religious schools. And on Jan. 12,2002 President General Pervez Musharraf announced a plan to control them. Now the government will write the books read at these schools. No new madrisa or mosque can be opened without the government's permission. They will not be allowed to teach jihad or holy war. They will not be allowed to collect funds for jihad. They cannot recruit foreign students and teachers, without the government's consent, and cannot preach sectarianism.

But many Pakistanis say that the government does not have the resources or

the will to carry out such an ambitious plan. Besides, so far it has no

plans to control the process that brings these poor village children to the

madrisas. "As long as there is poverty and unemployment, both in the

villages and the cities, the madrisas will never be short of volunteers,"

says Mahmood.

New madrisas will still be opened, now in remote villages. And only time

will tell who will use them to create another Taliban force in the future.

This time they may be asked to fight for a social change or in the name of

the class struggle but they will always be willing to fight as long as they

live on the fringes of the society.

But this will not end the process that brings these poor village children to

the cities. They will still come. New madrisas will still be opened, now in

remote villages. And only time will tell who will use them to create another

Taliban force in the future. This time they may be asked to fight for a

social change or in the name of class struggle but they will always be

willing to fight as long as they live on the fringes of the society.

The appeal of Islam as a remedy to the Muslim world's social and economic

ills is not confined to the Taliban. It is also not just a reaction to

Western domination or the hold of the Westernized elite over the

administrative set up. For many Muslims their religion has always had this

special appeal. The distinction between religion and politics is not as

obvious in Islam as it is in the West today. Even poets and philosophers

like Iqbal have opposed the separation of religion from politics saying, "A

political system without religious influence becomes a tyranny." For this

Muslims draw inspiration from their history which is full of religious

figures opposing despotic secular rulers, often at the risk of their lives.

Prophet Mohammed's entire family, except a male child and a few women, was

martyred while opposing one such ruler, Yazid. And thus his grandson Imam

Hussain has become a symbol of courage, resistance and supreme sacrifice.

Since then many have followed his example and laid down their lives fighting

for the oppressed and the down trodden against the tyrannical rulers. Their

list is long and includes Imams, Sufi saints, religious scholars and the

freedom fighters. It is not the Abbasid caliphs of Baghdad or the great

Moguls of India that the Muslims look up to for inspiration but it is people

like them who have been inspiring the Muslims for generations.

So Islam has always had an appeal for the Muslims as an alternative to a

corrupt political system and the current situation in the Islamic world

makes it even more attractive. Thus when the common people debate the issue

of politics and Islam, they don't say whether it is right or wrong to mix

the two. They are more concerned about the legitimacy of the people aspiring

to represent those martyrs to determine whether they are fit to do so or

not.

However, this over-emphasis on religion clashes with their other identities

that are also dear to the people. Most Pakistanis are well aware of their

Islamic identity but they are also aware of their group interests as

Punjabis, Sindhis, Pashtun or Baluch. They respect their neighbors as fellow

Muslims and Pakistanis but most also retain a strong desire to preserve the

economic and cultural interests of their provinces which prevents them from

whole-heartedly supporting a Pan-Islamic or even a nationalist Pakistani

ideology.

Thus those born as Muslims in the 20th century, particularly in South Asia

face this crisis of identity from the very beginning. It is like being born

with several faces. Who are you? A Muslim, a Pakistani, an Indian, a

Bangladeshi, a Punjabi, a Sindhi or a Baloch?

The first identity, a Muslim, transcends all national and geographical

boundaries. A Muslim is identified by his faith and as long as he believes

in Islam he is a Muslim. Ideally, it may be correct, practically, it is not.

A Muslim is also a Pakistani, an Indian, an Afghan or an Arab. Being a

Muslim does not automatically grant him the nationality of all the 56

countries that claim allegiance to Islam. The moment he wants to travel,

even from one Muslim country to another, he ceases to be a Muslim and he

becomes an Egyptian or an Iranian. No Islamic country allows a Muslim to

enter its territory on the basis of his or her faith only. And this is where

the national identity, which provides the traveler with a passport and a

visa, becomes more important than the religious identity.

But, as internal conflicts in many Muslim countries show, even a national

identity is not enough. You need to identify yourself with a particular

group or place as well, in the case of Pakistan with one of the four

provinces. Then there are identities based on a language or race. Sometimes

one identity takes precedence over the other. Thus a Muslim living in the

West, where he confronts the non-Muslims, often gets more comfort from his

Islamic identity than his nationality.

But a Pakistani living in the Gulf finds it more useful to be a Pakistani

before a Muslim. Here his Pakistani identity comes before his religious

identity. It also comes before his regional identities as a Punjabi or a

Pashtun because it provides him strength in dealing with the Arabs who often

look down upon him as a Pakistani, whether he is from one province of

Pakistan or the other. However, back in Pakistan his Pakistani identity

ceases to be important. Now he is more cautious of being a Pashtun, a

Punjabi, a Mohajir, a Baloch or a Sindhi. And when he goes to his ancestral

district, he has to further divide his identity on ethnic and tribal lines

thus becoming a Seraiki speaking Sindhi or a Sindhi speaking Sindhi, a

Pashto speaking Baluch or a Balochi speaking Baloch.

In the West, the Pakistanis face yet another crisis, that of their affinity

with the Indians. Back home India is the number one enemy. Pakistanis spare

no effort to prove Pakistan as the ultimate un-India. They argue that

Pakistan does not retain any of the traditions that it might have acquired

when it was a part of united India for hundreds of years.

But these walls of separation don't prove very strong against the waves of

affinity that the Pakistanis face when they meet Indians in the West. Here

they are both seen as belonging to the same race. They face the same racial

prejudices. In some cases they speak the same language as their adversaries

from India do, eat the same food and even wear the same dress. Thanks to

films and television more and more Indian women are wearing shalwar qamis

and Pakistani women are wearing sari. In Britain a large number of

Pakistanis try to hide under a larger South Asian identity when the British

racists brand them as Pakis. So whether at home or abroad, the confusion of

identity never ends.

hmm ...I like it..