MRSOP: My ‘Romanticised’ Story of Pakistan
Pakistan, the motherland, has always been difficult topic to discuss. Pakistani-born citizens see me as a Westerner and so, my story is one of detachment.
I recently visited the High Commission for Pakistan in London. I went during the evening, one light was on. It was quiet. Unlike the normal chaos that arises in daily life at the embassy.
Standing outside, I recollected memories of getting a NICOP card so I didn’t have to carry a Pakistani passport. I remember my dad having various heated discussions with officials in loose Urdu inside those four walls.
This little piece of Pakistan is so isolated but at the same time very much in accordance with the situation in the East.
Chaos.
Lack of organisation.
Political instability.
Words associated with ‘Third World’ or ‘Global South’ nations. Pakistan is not a ‘Third World’ country. Or rather, it shouldn’t be.
Pakistan has the 6th largest population in the world. One, Two, Three, Four, Five… yes Six. That’s five countries ahead including neighbours India and China. Most Westerners have terrible perceptions and formed wide-ranging stereotypes about Pakistan. A country that holds 2.6% (approx) of the world’s population, has such a bad reputation.
It is ranked around 40th by various organisations in GDP (nominal). It’s GDP is less than (thought to be very corrupted) Nigeria and (Chinese-contested) Taiwan.
Why, you might ask?
The answer is not simple. It would take reams of internet paper to explain, additionally I wouldn’t be the most experienced nor qualified to comment.
Also, I’m a Westerner, so whatever I say is romanticised and wishful thinking.
But I’m here to share why I should love Pakistan and appreciate it more than I already do. It’s one of those things I’ve taken for granted for a long time. Returning to London from Austin, visiting the High Commission on the off-chance — has opened my eyes to possibilities for the future.
I want to share a story of hope. A story often hidden for the public eye. This is my ‘romanticised’ story of Pakistan.
I visit Karachi, when I go, on the south coast of Pakistan. I visit for family, never for business. The last time I visited was after six years. The last visit was in 2016.
The majority of my family still live in Pakistan, while the South Asian diaspora movements have sprawled families far and wide, most families have roots in Pakistan.
My grandmother (dadi) is very unwell, I felt that this might be my last time with her. She’s still going strong. I hope I can go back before time runs out.
The youth, future generations of the family are being brought up in a country that doesn’t appear to have much for them past secondary (high) school.
There is hope, however.
Below are two pictures. One with me and one without.
Spot the difference in the backgrounds?
This is the work of my wonderful younger cousin Khadija. This is an integral part of the problem.
My supposed ‘romanticised’ view is from the lens of a filter. I sometimes feel like it’s visiting North Korea on a guided tour. Jumping up the social hierarchy ladder as a British-Pakistani visiting the motherland means you miss the real lives behind the filters.
The struggles can be seen on the streets. Oftentimes, the cars are moving so fast and nimbly that you miss it all. I don’t like being in this privileged situation and ignoring the problem. It is probably one reason why I don’t want to return unless I’m here for work.
Education, in my rightful opinion, is a human right. Just as clean water and food. Disparity in the education system in Pakistan is disgraceful. We talk about the economic inequality in Western countries but Pakistan really adds persepctive.
This Footpath School doubles as a shelter during the night for the homeless and a school during the day teaching arts and crafts. It runs off donations from passers-by.
Hope, in a picture.
The political situation is questionable and unexplainable at times.
My view of Pakistan is one of hope. Not loss. I want to visit, but only if I can help.
It’s selfish but I think another trip living the high life while others suffer would deter me from returning.
I’ve been saying for a while that I want to live abroad postgraduate. I think, after a aloof trip to Knightsbridge — that Pakistan might just be that place.
My story is one of hope, but doesn’t mean that I’m wrong. I’m a visionary but I’m realistic. The road to economic, political and social stability is arduous but not impossible.