Raising Spoiled Children

Parenting books and blogs are written about this generation of rug rats and how to raise them best.  The 1 to 8 year olds of a certain class are probably the most over stimulated people around.  These are the kids who grew up absorbing Mozart with dancing hand puppets on Baby Einstein videos, learned numeracy skills and saw Van Gough at age five months.  These are the kids who go to Saturday studio for art instruction, Tuesday afternoon for football, equestrian classes, swimming at Beach luxury, tennis lessons at Sindh Club, Math tutoring, piano lessons at CAPA, karate at Gymkhana, rowing at Boat Club.  First world lives in third world countries.  I am surrounded by a generation of mothers who must provide their child with every opportunity so they may realize their fullest potential, get the 12 A stars at O levels, and go onto to excel in some field.  Even their emotional needs must be met.  Serving them in parallel is a whole industry of caterers and entertainers, and magicians who eat last.

All in some unknown quest for the child's development - some excellence?

When M's fascination with Greek mythology, and the prophets of God, took a serious turn, I figured I don't aspire that she be a deeply spiritual person, but I'd be fine if she chose a Phd in Theology - yes. Am I seeking excellence?  Despite my instinct, I did not dissuade her.  She may rebel and hate my politics.  I have taken her to press club protest.  She sat through a two hour peasant meeting in the Thal desert of Southern Punjab.  As a toddler, she handled, albeit discontentedly, signs at regal chowk.  She saw a rural school with benches, brick walls reminiscent of Mohenjodaro..



But these experiences are few and far between.  And I am apologetic..

Compared to the jumping castles in manicured lawns, these can be alienating.  Real life organizing and road protest politics is not fun in Pakistan.  Its not cheery or creative; it does not appeal to young people; nor is it a non hostile space.  Organizing in communities takes grit and stamina, as does working on issues of basic survival.  Old activists of the Akhtar Hameed Khan And Humza Alavi genre would say - throw them in and let them swim.  But that was a stoic generation, perhaps, oblivious to their children's looming insecurity while they engaged in purist politics and no frills activism.  It may be a right winger's fantasy, but the title, "Alice Walker's daughter exposes the cruel narcissism of a feminist icon," is a frightening, if exaggerated, prospect.  Children remember their emotional happiness, and may recoil from progressive politics if that period is associated with their own personal turmoil.

Our parents, although apolitical, never had time to tap any hidden talent of ours, never had the time to nurture the fluff.  Most days were spent in the infinite boredom of youth and powerlessness, and trying to find something to do.  A couple of decades of self analysis later, we came out whole.  But a nice set of markers would have worked just as well - as would some focused attention on a skill - some reassurance.

But with our children -- if our peculiar neurosis prevents us from throwing them in and allowing them to resurface - what kind of twisted politics would they emerge with the other side of two decades?  What chance do you have if you are surrounded by privilege and entitlement, based indirectly upon the systemic oppression of others - and not much questioning or organizing besides the typical.  The rich kids learn charity, a form of self appeasement, but not much more.  That Earth day must be celebrated, but no reflection how over consumption manifests itself in their own lives. Their lives are spent in activities which would be more normal in the first world, but within the grotesque inequity of Pakistan, seem excessive.

This while their 99% counterparts have little fun.

I have seen children sit through four hour lectures and funeral speeches, and look forward to tea and biscuits.  Protected by little, they struggle, experience oppression; in their Eid finest they hear about domestic workers's unions, and clap when an activist goes up to sing Faiz or Jalib.  They sit through day long seminars because the air conditioning at the arts council auditorium is a treat in the blistering summer, and so is an extra bottle of Pepsi and a box of spicy biryani, and the bus ride home to Karachi's shifting peripheries.  Kids in Sajawal displaced by the floods, their cheeks dry and chapped from the cold, noses caked in snot, responded enthusiastically to art, drew in the colors of their environment, were happy to receive two crayons as keepsake.  They traveled on a bus to from Thatta to Karachi, not for a circus or a party, but for a 2 km march demanding land rights.

The point is not to highlight disparities in our society.  But this:

How do you raise your child to be ethical amidst an indulgent elite culture and intense deprivation that does not find respite in inspiring or sustained resistance.  How can you popularize resistance and make it matter?  How do you nurture children and make them political at the same time?

Expose them perhaps to multi class spaces.  The zoo, the flower show at sea view, the book fair at Frere hall on Sunday.  Expose them to shows that are political minded.  Sanya Saeed's storytelling for little children.    A few down to earth lessons in gardening and composting inspired by Taufiq Pasha.  Membership in the Children's Human Rights Museum.  Community building within schools.  Building campaigns around issues.  Train them to use social media as a tool to promote their campaigns and organizing.

Would these baby steps ever be enough though given how bad the economic imbalance is right now and how strong the current of self indulgence?  Are we continually missing the boat?  Can it change the tide and salvage them from free market economics and liberal politics -- and before they can say:  Why the heck would you want to destroy a Starbucks? How do you teach them that privatization and the IMF are bad; so was the Iraq war and the drone strikes; that providing social security and labor legislation is important.  Ultimately they can not just organize in their own private stratosphere.  Is the only true choice to actually just give it up and practice your politics.  Can you ever be a radical if you can not allow your children to leave the trappings of class.

The Terrible Appeal of Humsafar: Addendum

The conversation at the park revised:


Ashar:  Khirad, Your middle class simplicity and sensibility and little girl vulnerability has won my heart all over again.. I want to protect you, provided you distance your self from your debaucherous past.  I forgive you, I do.  Now come closer..

Khirad: Aap ki aala zarfi ka shukriya.  I am having too much fun knowing you think I committed adultery, so I am not going to try to clear up this misapprehension.  This confusion is what I have become, and you want to take that away from me?  I get pleasure in my martyrdom, and you want to deprive me of that...

Ashar:  But why do you want to be a martyr when I am willing to overlook the past?  Look, I can have any girl I want.  Girls swoon when I look this intense.  They jump from bridges.  Why does it not work on you, Khirad?  Why do you hate me so?  Daddy said I could mold you any which way because you are simple, poor, and chaste..

Khirad:  You may be handsome.  But I could have had Miss Hyderabad Club bite the dust if only Abbu had allowed me to go for the trials.  Its just that martyrdom demands this doleful look.

Ashar:  I don't understand.  I am the one wronged.  You cheated on me with with....I can't even take his name.  I forgive you.  You should be groveling at my feet.

Khirad:  I only grovel before God.  And aap ki aala zarfi ka shukriya...

Ashar:  Don't you get it?  I spent sleepless nights imagining you and Khizar in each other's arms.  It killed me...It made me cruel, cold, loveless...I wanted to kill you and be hanged for it..I fantasized about it, but business kept me busy....That and dissing Sara.

Khirad:  Okay, calm down.  This look is sexy on you, but you are about to pop a vessel.  I never cheated on you with Khizar.

Ashar:  What?

Khirad: There I said it.  I wanted you to finally see through the shining light of my soul and discover for yourself that your Khirad could never be deceitful.  (Non disclosure of the truth and willfully concealing facts that could clear up a gross familial misunderstanding and provide an innocent child the love of a father, and the benefits of an upper income household is not deceitful as omissions are not treated the same way as willful commissions in the law.)

Ashar:  But, but..what about the games in the kitchen?  I saw it with my own eyes. And this ommission bit is a bit much....I''ll let Sara handle it.

Khirad:  It was an accident.  He dropped fluid on me.  He was trying to help me.  Actually it was a big scheme devised by your mother to make you think I am a slut...and it worked

Ashar:  My mother!!  You dare to blame my mother.  My mother works for blind children.  I resent the use of the word slut and mother in the same sentence..what fluid???

Khirad:  There you go again..  Lets just wait another four and a half years before we have this conversation all over again.

Ashar:  I was looking forward to make up sex.

Khirad:  Aap ki aala zarfi ka shukriya..

Ashar:  I went to Yale, and I really don't know what aala zarfi means...Oh God, why did you do it with Khizar?  It makes me feel dirty and disgusting,  the mother of my child, my flesh and blood, in the arms of another man..

Khirad:  Khizar is gay, Ashar.  He liked my duppata.  Gay men go nuts for chiffon and pretty girls.

Ashar:  I thought you said my mother devised a plan.  And that is a stereotype, Khirad.  I went to Yale.  I had gay friends.

Khirad:  Well, obviously that line of argument was not working on you.  You are obsessed with your mother.  You Freudian mess up.   Do you like mother and bitch in the same sentence?

Ashar:  Oh goodness...Khirad.  A girl from Hyderabad, a Math teacher's daughter, swearing like a sailor..I don't know if I can ever have you again.  This new persona is shattering my image of you...

Khirad:   You can have your mother then...Ashar.  When you were four and she never had time for you, when you were seven, when she missed the sports day for a meeting, at eleven, she filled your life with computer games and dvds, so you would not cling to her.  You were always so needy Ashar.  And now, you have ultimately attained her through sacrificing your own love, knowingly and consciously, because that was the only way to pacify her callous heart.

Ashar:  Ok, that was SO not nice.  Throwing my past at me like that...I told you in confidence.  I like the occasional glass of wine with my mother just like every other Karachi boy.  But  yes, I do need to reevaluate my relationship with my mother.  You make a good case for that...She sounds manipulative.

Khirad:  I may be sweet and simple, but I appreciate human complexity.

Ashar:  Okay so you are saying.  Khizar is gay.  Mom is conniving.  I am clingy.  What about Sara?

Khirad: Sara is dispensable.  On a side note, she is an omen for all girls who devote themselves to their careers.  They end up single, suicidal and even worse, single, suicidal and over 30.  Its much better to be simple, chaste, poor, and pure.. But that is like stating the obvious.

Ashar: So where do we go from here?

Khirad: Um...don't know.  Lets just pretend we never had this conversation.

Ashar:  Great idea.  I will continue to oscillate between hate and love for you, emote passion and pain, grope you occasionally, try to hug and touch you once in a while on the pretext of our mutual concern for Hareem's wellness.  And let the tension build up in these hospital scenes?

Khirad:  Okay, as long as we are clear that I have no love left for you in my empty heart.  I have every intention of going back to Hyderabad, where I will live in chastity, poverty, valor, and honor.  I will abandon Hareem but miss her everyday because I am a devoted selfless mother.  I will remember that she has a better deal in Karachi.  I will pray, and abandon all interest in worldly possessions and outward appearances.  Love and sex will have no place in my life, just struggle, strife, sajda, and samjhota.  I will get a job as a Maths teacher, and I will wear torn slippers and cotton shalwars to school.

Ashar:  OMG, Khirad.  Keep going...I SO abhor and adore you...

The Karachi Literary Festival - transgressive?

The Karachi Literary Festival is a treat for the city's avidly reading population.  Hundreds flocked to see and hear from authors such as Anatol Lieven, Ayesha Jalal, and William Darymple.  It was a literary heaven, bumping into Mohammed Hanif, watching Raza Rumi materialize out of his twitter picture, seeing Kamila Shamsie hassled by a most polite groupie, and witnessing Shoba De on the steps with a giddy Tapu. 

What was missing -- was the Mumbai resistance.  Just like the World Social Forum in India, in its representation of oppression and struggle, was challenged by the Mumbai resistance, the KLF too needed a subaltern voice.  

The morning picked up slowly with Ayesha Jalal on the retrieval of selective memories to tell the tale of partition, an exercise that has become prevalent and popular amongst historians.  I wanted to hear more about this with examples from Manto.  But what followed next was a fond recollection of Manto's relationships with Ismat Chugtai, Krishen Chander, Shyam and Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi.  Jalal while warming hearts seemed to be asserting her own Pakistaniat.  She was older now since the mid nineties when I heard her speak in Boston, and remember her haughty intelligence; she was accompanied by the compensating, smiling Sugata Bose in the first row.

Hanif Kureshi spoke of characters that had to be "monstrous and transgressive" to be interesting.  He spoke of identity, as not monolithic, but multiplicative - deepening and changing as we have new experiences.  His attitude to Karachi seemed standoffish and blunt.  When he started, he seemed falsely self deprecating thanking people to come hear him read from a book so early in the morning. It was well past 11 am.  


He said Karachi seemed more "run-down" since his last visit in the mid eighties. Someone had remarked to him, it was a war zone.  The liberal elite in the audience seemed anxious to emphasize the good news.  I suppose one could brag about the perverse development, the numerous billboards and air conditioned shopping malls, the Tedx conference, Hardees burgers, and the ubiquitous Pakistani hospitality.  Wasn't KLF itself evidence that Karachi was not run down, asked a chagrined audience member. No, stupid.  I doubt Kureshi was taken through Rehri Goth.  But what he saw are the effects  of a neo liberal economy where weakening institutions and movements, unable to push for equitable wealth distribution, have resulted in a show of destitution. We are shabbier.  

Kureshi was happy to absorb the juices, albeit briefly, of the strange country that produces bright literature and film.   He doesn't have to concern himself with issues and causes of the poor.  We pay him for literature which is anarchic, but despite his on stage irritability, not without compassion.

The Carlton Hotel grounds, with manicured lawns and ballrooms named the Maharajah, where the KLF was held, was once an area the fisherfolk of Karachi freely traversed.  I asked Zubaida Birwani, a mahigir activist, why was they did not protest when the Golf Club, the Carlton Hotel, the Marina Club, and the Creek Club were built on a strip of land by a body of water that was strategic to them.  They missed the boat on that, and what was more important, she said, were the present struggles for Bundal and Buddu islands, the destruction of mangroves, and the illicit power structures. 

lets talk about books..at the carlton

There are issues that the KLF, as a whole, is unable to tackle at an institutional level, and problems it is complicit in - its corporate and consulate sponsorship notwithstanding.  There are daily disappearances in Baluchistan.  Seven parties protested against these and demanded accountability from agencies and the military at the Karachi Press Club just today.  Drone attacks are prima facie illegal.  The government no longer does rigorous inspections of safe working conditions in industries exposing workers to daily peril.  However issues of workers living in poverty and working without social safety nets, the Baluch, victims of drones (arguably political emergencies of a sort) have not permeated our consciousness, and therefore do not make their way into the discussion of and around literature and writing.  

Protest at the Karachi Press Club (not in Phase 8)

KLF's message was positive, yet politically indistinct, and lacking a sense of dissidence.  In the hallways, there were no red banners professing a cause.  No large pictures of political prisoners and demands for their freedom.  No Amina Janjua camp.  No bloodied protesters, only earnest British Council volunteers, awkward but helpful.  Bookstalls selling their wares, and stands offering bad biryani.  The Labor Party, and other working class groups were conspicuous in their absence.  The lawyers from the judiciary struggle were amiss.  Part of the problem is language, and in these spaces it would be edifying to hear from a labor activist who could tell the story of unions, or of the Multan Bar's strategies in repressive times.  I know a few who have written but lack a good editor and tools to legitimize it, or English language publishing know-how, and therefore can not speak the same language that was dominant at the KLF.

This is not to say individual authors do not (or did not) bring important issues to the table.  There were a fair number of people present who come out for various issues including against extremism and for womens's rights (of-course also the more accepted forms of political intellectual discourse rather than the plight of Baluchis, drone victims, and the working poor.)  


Ayesha Siddiqua questioned Anatol Lieven for his admiration of the Pakistani Military in light of its recent losses at Mehran.  However, she allowed the discussion to stray into irrelevances and become depoliticized. What the moment necessitated was a sharp criticism of the military and its violations in a few crisp, Chomsky like sentences.  And who better to do that but Siddiqua with her research  into military usurpation of land, water, and wealth.  The other moderator, Mohsin Hamid seemed suitably apolitical.   Surely, an anti-war and anti privatization activist could have offered some analysis, but we had to settle for wordy blandness.  In another conference room, there was Arif Hasan the architect and biographer of Karachi gentrification and katchi abaadification.  The host was HM Naqvi.  Perhaps an urban non NGO activist who understood Karachi's concrete jungle construction history would be more suitable.  Perhaps what would have been even better is not knowledge for the sake of knowledge, but a federation of local community organizations working in uprooted communities and slums backing up the talk, showing muscle.

I am not saying the KLF should turn into a literary version of the World Social Forum.  Just this -- that in times like these it would be good to see some protesters, some unified fighting for justice, some discussion on class and privilege.  The Resistance from the parking lot could be -- not the bloggers, the twitterati and those who did not make it to the podium, but truly the non elite, a good cross class representation. 

Literature and its festivalizing would be nicer, more real and effective, if it were connected to broader political struggles that affect the 99%, and struggles to literature -- and KLF a space where struggles transform, democratize, and radicalize and class rifts eliminated through dialogue and interaction.