A man who’s never felt the spirit of the earth bow beneath his feet in solidarity feels no need to ground himself. Those who don’t often have roots deep enough to reminisce about, care less for honouring others. Nevertheless, conversation began.
“Your English is amazing.”
“It’s a burden I have to carry.” A crooked smile lingered on my lips.
“Well, it’s just that we have come further than you, I mean, it’s so backwards here”
I told him that westernism is not the pinnacle of progression. He laughed in response. The tea immediately burned his tongue.
How comfortable exactly is his city? A mausoleum of its creator’s bones, flesh and soul? How heavy is his king’s crown if its jewels were carved out of the carcass of its keepers?
“People in general, I mean- they speak English quite well here.”
“Yes, they do.”
He’s only been taught to live a linear path. I cannot blame his ignorance.
“Language is the primary reason we prospered, if you ask me.”
That much is true. There’s something so wickedly tactful about the English language. They can hide behind their words gracefully. They mean just little enough to not truly weigh anything down. Not worth fighting to keep it alive.
“Soft speech has always been your decoy, not ours.” My tea was getting cold.
We do not stuff our mouths with sunflowers. Our words are not filtered. Each phrase is uttered with the epitome of the human experience: to live is to embody, not linger.
The words my people speak are vigorously recited. Each letter is so thrilled to be used- our hands move along with it. The voice always comes out loudly, our frowns are deep, and the expressions are often fiery.
The English language is a cowardly one- I think. The old and young have no distinction; there are not enough endearments to use between lovers, and surely not enough rage for the world. I’ve noticed the moon has rarely ever possessed their poets as well, what a shame.
He says the farmer with whom he was staying had a refreshing simplicity in life.
Poverty & exploitation are refreshing for him. The white man’s ability to reduce thousands of years of the farmers’ ancestry- soaking up more blood, sweat and tears than water or bread on the table, is fascinating. Struggle is what he yearns for; human beings have always wanted what they can never have. It’s a tale as old as time.
“It’s the simple life that calls for me, I tell you.” He adds.
My tea is finished, so I tell him that an eternity of lifetimes could not make him a sliver of that man. A white man with hands like his? They hold no story of a selfless man.
I let the rest of the anger slide, after all, he could barely acknowledge the sins of his forefathers, let alone that farmer’s integrity.
He describes my people the way a father would to his child in a zoo exhibit. There’s such a concocted kindness in his description of us, as if we are not capable of complexity like him. He believes we’re too far below his viewpoint to comprehend things such as anger or greed. Pride should not burn such deeply colored skin. We are not people, only vessels of pity.
Pouring another cup of tea for me, he spoke about getting scammed by an elderly woman selling coconuts on the sidewalk of the Baad Shahi mosque.
“To do it near a place of worship is a disgrace.” Was his remark.
Majboori is a term that means compulsion, although we use it with empathy, I’m sure it would translate differently for him.
“A fifty-rupee note does not even cover half of the reconciliation your people owe mine.” I rescinded from adding that our god was far more understanding than his.
He got up and left in anger. Resentment painted his face, but there were glimmers of confusion as he stormed out.
I ended up paying the bill. Me and the white man never spoke again.
PHEWWW long & controversial piece, huh!
This piece is by no means meant to offend white people on a general basis; in fact, the narrator is meant to be a little biased and unwilling to understand. This stems less from a broad observation and more so with my irritation with foreigners coming to my country with the viewpoint they have. I think things like this need to be talked about, Pakistan has seen an influx in its tourism and tourists generally tend to forget how to respect a place, so if this piece does offend you know that it’s not a viewpoint I hold (at-least not in the sort of rude way described here) but it is one many do, and this IS a perspective that’s common between people who come here.
A country and its people are not made to bend to your will, especially not one with so many complexities, and it’s appalling the way tourists come here and describe the way of life as ‘simplistic’ and ‘enviable’ when it’s not at times. A farmer who struggles to put food on the table is not meant to be romanticised, people who work day and night for bread and butter due to below minimum wage pay is not something to look up to, and of course, our English is good, the British forced it to be.
Once again, this IS meant to irk people, I want it to create conversation and thinking, but truly I refuse to be the one that openly welcomes THOSE individuals into our country who think it must revolve around them, in general, whether you’re brown, white, black, purple- when you travel to a different country, listen to and respect the foreigners there.
So do come to Pakistan, it’s beautiful, my people are hospitable, kinder than they should be, but please do not come here with zero sensitivity and cultural understanding.
PSA: I do not think white people do not have a culture/history obviously, however like I said the narrator is not meant to be correct/ unbiased.
Question of the day: What’s your opinion on the tourism industry/tourists in your country?
References to note:
Sunflowers soak up poison.
Baad Shahi Masjid is a tourist spot located in the old city of Lahore, Pakistan, built in the Mughal era.
I say ‘The old and young have no distinction’ as in Urdu as they use honorifics when referring to old and young, or ‘levels of politeness’ (sometimes for formality too” For example it is “aap” when referring to ‘you’ for elders/respectable individuals, formal conversation etc’ and ‘tum’ for friends, casual conversation etc.
The rupee is the currency in Pakistan
Majboori/compulsion is used in this prose because sometimes we say ‘iski majboori hogi’ = “Must be their compulsion” when referring to negligible acts like scamming, for example. Most of the time it’s those who barely make ends meet that do it, especially when they see a foreigner/ well dressed individual.
-Zoha
I love this Zoha. This might be one of the best pieces I’ve read in a while. It’s refreshing to read a POV that doesn’t romanticize colonization and white culture.
this is stunning. i’m sorry anyone’s made you feel like this is a controversial piece, i loved reading it and kept finding more and more gems in it as i went on! this will stick with me, thank you 🤍