The Elusive Self

Navid Shahzad

In Pakistan-India relations, the past continues to weigh the heaviest as both countries attempt to wipe the slate clean of their respective collective history. In their sustained attempts to reconstruct individual pasts and forge a national identity, both forget that memory, despite it being an unreliable resource, is the unforgiving thread that stitches all time together – at individual and/or collective level. Very much like a photographer framing a subject chooses to omit what does not fit into his frame, memory also leaves out details or obliterates that which does not serve its purpose. As such, written or oral history, literature and cultural tradition are all acts of a selective memory as they reconstruct and reinterpret the past in each new ‘text’ they create. It would therefore appear logical to assume that the prime instrument for recording and remembering events occurring in space-time would fall within the jurisdiction of what contemporary society knows as journalism. Before readers throw up their hands in horror at the thought of bypassing history and literature, it bears consideration that journalism cannot but be seen as a key agent of memory work, even if journalists themselves are averse to admitting it as part of what they do. To begin with, much of what is presently wrong with the Pakistan-India relationship has to do with poorly investigated news stories, deliberate deconstructions and distortions of history and an indifference to respective literatures by highly irresponsible media platforms on either side of the border. The fallout from the acerbic combination of all three with their various representations and interpretations, has unfortunately done irreparable harm to relations between the states.

Take for instance, the debate between ultra-nationalist historians and public intellectuals that has visibly pushed the likes of Shashi Tharoor, supported by Amartya Sen, Arundhati Roy, Rajmohan Gandhi, Karan Thapar to the periphery as fiery, young and hawkish Vikram Sampath and J Sai Deepak, supported by a coterie of like-minded people such as Dr Vikram Sampath, Sanjay Dixit and Abhijit Chavda, are usurping centre-stage. In attempting a rewrite of history, the ultranationalists have narrowed their focus primarily to three contentious points: Pakistan, the Muslims in India today, and Muslim rule in the past. There is however, in their view a larger picture that requires framing in which they envisage the Bharat of Hindutva as territory that includes Pakistan, claiming that the foundation of Indian civilisation lies in the land of the River Indus. Until recently, a saner view put forward by Taroor’s thesis asserting that history is linear and that secular and democratic modern India must continue to move forward was very popular, but it has been displaced by a growing rhetoric obsessed with ‘unforgivable, barbaric, foreign invasions’. It would do the firebrand ultranationalists well to refer to the essays written by Tagore and Orwell on nationalism as they patently voice their hostility towards the idea. Tagore especially states his disapproval of the practice of interpreting the term in a narrow political sense as he paints an apocalyptic scenario where: “Machine must be pitted against machine, and nation against nation, in an endless bullfight of politics.”

This was not always the case. One clearly remembers a time when the territories presently known as Pakistan, Bangladesh and India could well have qualified as a tryptic in artistic terms. Hinged together by centuries of shared history, each panel complemented the other just as much as each would have appeared incomplete without the other two. The larger two panels have been separated for 77 years, while the smallest has been independent since 1971. Over the years, each panel has developed independently of the others while aspiring towards the acquisition of a distinct, homogenous and coherent identity that has, sadly, eluded both Pakistan and India.

Identity is a fluid process and subject to volatile changes that constantly create new concepts of space inhabited by the self and community. In their attempts to define the ‘other’, Pakistan and India have both sought to establish specific identities for the ‘collective self’, with far from ideal results. Facing resistance from within, the emergence of a single homogenous entity has proved to be a chimera for the simple reason that Pakistan and India offer a unique kaleidoscope of incredible diversity within each country. Communities still stand firmly rooted in ethnic, social and religious segments while the addition of another complex element to the existing conundrum is the presence of large minorities that exist like circles within circles forming helixes within the body politic. The problem of state identity therefore, has become vociferously contested territory, due in large measure to repeated attempts to legitimise the superiority of a dominant culture chosen to represent a national identity as in the case of an Indian identity being supplanted by a Hindutva state.

Traditional culture tacitly implies the presence of a legacy that a community inherits. Largely practiced with passive acceptance, few attempts (if any) are ever made to reflect upon age-old behavioural patterns to reassess or reinterpret the cultural inheritance that we, in turn, expect to bequeath to the next generation. The immediate result of an absence of that critical factor called the ‘historical sense’ therefore leads inevitably to dangerous hermeneutics breeding chronic suspicion about the ‘other’. Muddying the waters still further, the word culture itself encompasses an enormous landscape of tangible and intangible markers in equal measure, which extend far beyond the constraints of the mere praxis of tradition. That is perhaps one of the reasons why state attempts to identify nations as either Hindu rather than Indian or Muslim rather than Pakistani, have largely met with disappointment as they repudiate the great ethnic and historic diversity of the very people they profess to represent.

The same dichotomy can be seen in the life of the land itself. The enormous region called the Subcontinent has a long history of seeing a large scale migration of people coming from places as remote as the Caucasian steppes, beginning with the Arya, an endonym referring to the region known as the ‘abode of the Aryans’ from whence they came. The first wave was more of an infiltration by Sanskrit-speaking tribes of people called the Indo-Aryan with a collective identity based on religious, cultural and linguistic practice, with the exclusion of race. Centuries later, after a number of Muslim invasions, the Chagatai Turkic-speaking ruler of Fergana and a descendant of the Timurid dynasty sparked off a series of conquests that led to the emergence of a dazzling Mughal empire. In yet another unforeseen transformation, with the might of the Mughal empire in steep decline, the Subcontinent saw an inglorious end as it crumbled into what became a British colony. One of the greatest tragedies of the Subcontinent is that the ancient civilisations of the Indus Valley and those overseen by kings and emperors such as Asoka and Akbar, fell prey to a predatory British empire posing as a trading company.

The Arya, Mughal and British were not the only wayfarers who came as invaders and stayed to conquer and rule the region comprising present day Pakistan, Bangladesh and India. The Subcontinent had already lived through a thousand years of Buddhist predominance whose tangible imprints may still be viewed at sites such as Taxila in modern day Pakistan. Foundational myths, folklore and sacred texts such as the Puranas have also woven a fascinating tapestry of stories such as a surprising explanation for the large pool at the Kitas Raj temple complex in the Potohar region of Pakistan where the water body is credited to the tears of an inconsolable Shiva at the death of his beloved wife Sati. The six interconnected temples on site also find mention in the Mahabharata as they are traditionally believed to have served as the Pandava brothers’ sanctuary while in exile.

That is not all. Through centuries of history, the Subcontinent has borne witness to a conspicuous presence of various religions and people coming to its shores. During the 8^th century for example, massive interactions took place between local populations, migrating Zoroastrians and Arab traders who frequented South India. Vasco de Gama’s landing at Calicut in the 15^th century paved the way for 400 years of Portuguese rule in Goa, resulting in a significant Christian presence added to by the missionary zeal of the British. With Jainism also having spread far and wide, a later younger religion Sikhism, drawing upon previous older ones, eventually created yet another significant presence of a people distinguished clearly by dress, language and moral code. It is important to understand that shared territory, rulers and cultures, rather than creating divisions, resulted in an exciting ‘borrowing’ from each other, which may be evidenced in almost all creative traditions. The fusion can be distinctly evidenced along with the exciting departures from specific cultures, especially with reference to the art of the miniature, music, literature, architecture, et al, which can be traced to the multicoloured strands weaving themselves across cultures, beliefs and languages that have enriched the history of the Subcontinent.

Consequently, we should need no reminding that influential as a dominant culture may be, it is never the only factor that determines the life or identity of either the self or the nation, since it is constantly being redefined with reference to race, class, profession, gender, values, predisposition and that critical contemporary component – political leanings. Identity therefore, must be seen as an inherently complex rubric comprising of history, literature, religious practice and everyday life – the sum total of which actively resists any attempt to reduce it to the ready simplicity of a political template. With a legacy as varied as that of the Subcontinent, the attempt to stamp one dominant identity over all using the war cry of a militant nationalism, is to do any country a great disservice. Reductionism is tragic just as much as it is never representative of the whole truth. It would do us well instead, as Pakistanis and Indians, to remind ourselves of our mutual history and put it to use as a catalyst facilitating and enabling the cultivation of much needed tolerance between the two, rather than the present day contentious rewriting of history being actively pursued, particularly in India.

While one is fully cognizant of the fact that the 20^th century brought in its wake two world wars carving out new borders and the end of the fabled Ottoman empire, the 21^st century also is neither a peaceful nor a critical one. Fukuyama’s twin markers for state identity, namely religion and nationalism, have served only to provide further impetus for a fierce debate about ‘identity politics’, which is a core issue today. In response to a query about who one is, one could for instance, be confronted with an entire list of identities – all valid and all strongly upheld. For instance, a personal priority would be to describe oneself simply as a woman academic from Pakistan (my name is gender misleading) but one would not in the same breath necessarily refer to the fact that one is a Muslim of mixed Punjabi and Lucknow ancestry, married to a Syed Sunni Muslim who traces his ancestry back to Urdu-speaking Bhopal and a militantly Punjabi Jalandhar. For the individual, as it is for many of us, faith is and one believes should be, a private matter with little bearing on one’s public persona. This, one hastens to add, would not be the majority response as more often than not it is ethnicity, religion and caste rather than nationality, that the majority identify with.

Despite the fact that everyone believes history can be a great teacher provided one is prepared to learn from it, both India and Pakistan have on occasion, consciously and sadly, chosen to play ostrich at various critical junctures. It is truly sad that their midnight tryst with destiny on August 15, 1947 was fated to be divisive from the very start but the angst need not continue. It is worth considering that in a war-torn Europe it took less than 50 years to bring the Berlin Wall down while in our case and almost eight decades later, Pakistan and India have yet to find common ground and move ahead in the interest of peace and prosperity for the entire region.

Having been born on the same date as Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children, though two years earlier at the end of WWII, one sees oneself as the product of two centuries that have lived through some of the most catastrophic events that the world has ever seen, which include the residual effects of a horrific Partition and the subsequent wars fought between Pakistan and India. The Nobel prize winning Samuel Beckett probably described this generation’s journey best as he traced the linearity of the past to a troubled present even as we yearn for a better future: “In me there have always been two fools among others, one asking nothing better than to stay where he is, and the other imagining that life might be slightly less horrible a little further on.” In one’s personal capacity one has chosen to play the latter fool and take the road less travelled, but in spite of being an unfailing optimist, one has no qualms about admitting that things have gone from bad to worse. The historic paralysis of state policy in Pakistan and India regarding each other is not just a byproduct of a contentious past but a conscious, determined intransigence, which refuses to allow for the possibility of a better future.

It was not always so. Mine was a childhood spent in the company of school friends such as a Hindu Pamela Nadkarni whose father was a film distributor, a Buddhist Chinese named Rebecca whose father owned a handmade shoemaking shop on Lahore’s historic Mall Road, while my brother Rashed Rahman’s Hindu classmate Savtintar Kumar, the grandson of the famed Beli Ram and Brothers drugstore in Lahore’s acclaimed Anarkali Bazar, was my first rakhi bhai (sworn brother). One has since tied the simple but meaningful red cotton thread bracelet onto others even as the family has been welcomed into Brahmin, Sikh and Muslim homes in India with the same warmth that we receive from our own. Among other pre-independence philanthropic institutions, the vastly expanded Sir Ganga Ram and Gulab Devi Hospitals in Lahore continue their work even as Ganga Ram’s granddaughter was given a rapturous Lahori welcome on a recent trip. However, needless to say, these are tales for another day.

At present, the relationship between the two countries appears almost like an underexposed film with multiple blurred images forming a frightening dark collage in which nothing is clearly decipherable. Perception rather than fact has taken precedence over everything, which frequent travels in India brought home. One has noticed for instance, a striking contrast between Delhi and Mumbai hospitality as the further one moved away from the north, the chillier the response seemed to get. That Delhi sees far more Pakistanis as compared to Mumbai may be one of the reasons for the latter’s hostility, but it is in the interest of both countries to make a concerted effort to reconstruct a relationship that can be mutually beneficial and rewarding.

Abstract ideas apart, it may serve us well to examine the case of language(s) for example, which is not only a means of communication but is intrinsic to the expression and practice of a particular culture. Durkheim viewed it as the ‘mechanical glue’ that held a community together, making it not only an essential marker of social and cultural identity at many levels but powerful enough to realign borders. Pakistan has had to learn the hard way that the preservation of community languages is a critical component in the evolution of a national unity as the perceived loss of a language, particularly as a deliberate policy of suppression by a dominant language, can lead to unforeseen and tragic results. As historic evidence, one need only cite the case of West Pakistan as it fell prey to state hubris and chose to ignore Bengali, with disastrous results. To the discerning eye, this could well have been a case of deja vu as signs of Sindhi nationalism had already raised a banner against Field Marshal Ayub Khan’s One-Unit strategy as early as the 1950s. In an ironic replay of the Muslim League’s own efforts to carve out a haven for Muslims of the Subcontinent, the creation of Bangladesh in 1971 served forcefully to drive home the fact that state alienation of a people identifying with a separate ethnicity, would inevitably result in tragedy. Subsequently, much soul searching has been undertaken as one has been forced to mull over the possibility of a still united West and East Pakistan had Urdu and Bengali both been given an equal status ab initio as official languages of the new state.

India faces similar problems, which need sober introspection as the demand for a Sikh Khalistan reaches global velocity propped up against the dark backdrop of a violation of places considered sacred leading to the horrific assassination of Indira Gandhi. The manhunt in India for a Sikh perceived as a radical secessionist is proof yet again of how contentious the problem of identity and homeland can be even as ham-handed state attempts to keep Indian Punjab off-line is akin to trying to thread a needle in the dark. The Kashmir issue remains a chronic festering wound, particularly after the government at the Centre withdrew the special status historically enjoyed by Kashmir and Jammu in 2019, which resulted in a dramatic response from Pakistan as it banned all imports from its closest neighbour. Apart from the crippling effects the decision has had on trade and commerce, the ban has hurt academia badly as it also put paid to a flourishing book trade. Unable to purchase expensive foreign publications, Indian substitutes had enriched libraries and individuals alike for many years. This may be of little significance at state level (as one seriously questions whether parliamentarians, barring a few exceptions, read at all or not) but the result has been a voluminous increase in pirated editions of books by prominent authors such as Shashi Taroor, Arundhati Roy, Amitav Ghosh, Jhumpa Lehri and Anita Desai among others, while Pakistani authors published in India are sadly unable to access their own books. Meanwhile, online sites on Instagram have sprung up that offer poorly printed photocopies of books at throwaway prices, belittling the work of both writer and publisher.

On the language front however, India appears to have performed better, as the state formally recognizes 22 languages, which represent the plurality of the people who identify as Indians. Laudable as that may be, a simultaneous state discourse attempting to wipe the slate clean of a socialist-Nehruvian identity remains baffling to say the least. It is as ill-conceived a policy as are the attempts to obliterate a Muslim past as these acts are not only a distortion of history but also belittle the multicultural pluralist governance policies practiced by emperors such as Akbar with his famous Nauratans (ministers) drawn from all religious sects, intermarriages among royal households producing heirs of dual religious ancestry and honorifics being bestowed for performance in battle rather than dictated by a question of faith. There is a wonderfully descriptive Punjabi adage that describes such initiatives perfectly: Mithai naal pyar te Halwai naal wair. Notoriously difficult to translate, the adage means something like ‘Loving the sweetmeat but disliking the sweet maker’, which is a perfect description of, among other contradictions, the angst surrounding the status of the incredible monuments built by the Mughals in India!

The SAARC initiative taken as far back as 1985 had promised to be a pathbreaker but for the intransigence shown by India on several occasions, countered by knee-jerk reactions from Pakistan, which has reduced the initiative to the effectiveness of a spent bullet. The region could so easily have taken a page out of EU history (despite Britain’s exit), as there is a pressing need for a rethink about relations with next door neighbours with whom one shares a more than 2,000 mile long border. Adding still more weight to the argument is the plethora of similar problems ranging from food insecurity to climate change to poverty alleviation that beset both countries and need immediate action as burgeoning youthful populations in urgent need of a future that delivers at least the bare modicum of a decent wage and satisfactory life knock at their respective state doors.

It is a formidable task but not an impossible one. First things first. In view of the suspicion and hostility expressed in the vitriol-laden opinions in online print media and the narrative of local and cross-border news channels, chat shows and interviews, the first initiative will perhaps be the most contentious one. Rather than waiting for a signal from respective governments, the solution lies in a widespread people-to-people contact strategy as there is an urgent need to invest both time and effort in getting down to the business of learning from, and about each other. It is imperative therefore, that the reading and (hopefully) thinking person, of which there are still quite a respectable number, to lobby for visa relaxation policies and initiating forums for dialogue in their respective countries.

Secondly, it is both logical and practical at the same time to view journalism as the prime starting point for a resetting of compasses. Water never reaches boiling point if temperatures are kept low enough. Journalism functions by drawing from content and form, necessitating an address to the past. But it is equally important to understand how journalism remembers and why it remembers in the ways that it does. Since journalism’s work is both widespread and multi-faceted as much as it is topical, both journalists and the organisations that employ them are able to predict and control the erratic quality of news flow. What this suggests is that in a recounting of the present – which is the prime function of journalism – reporting on events takes on the more general role of collective memory. Consequently, extreme care must be taken to present news in a dispassionate, objective manner rather than lending coherence, however temporary, to ever-present contestations over the past.

In essence, what it boils down to is that journalism must practice some stringent form of self-censorship as in its attempt to score points, cross-border journalism has played a disappointing role. One can only imagine for instance, the effect a first meeting between Editors of leading dailies from both sides would have if it were ever to materialise! That Indian journalism is capable of enviable investigative efforts can be evidenced by the 1997 explosive results emanating from Manoj Prabhakar’s startling revelations about match fixing in cricket. Bordering on collective hysteria, there is no greater thrill than to watch the green shirts and the blue battle it out on the field. Unfortunately, with home ground being off limits, the teams compete on foreign soil, much to the disappointment of home spectators. Though the cricket diplomacy initiated by General Ziaul Haq became ironic fodder for Mohammad Hanif’s popular The Case of Exploding Mangoes, it has been India’s constant refusal to play in Pakistan that has taken the sportsman’s spirit out of the game. Be that as it may, Indian journalism scored a century at home with their breaking news story about match fixing, which deserves the entire international community’s appreciation as apart from its own Captain Mohammad Azharuddin, it exposed nine international players from various countries, including the South African icon Hansie Cronje as well as a Pakistani player. All the more reason why the present shrill voices of hysterical interviewers and presenters sighting Pakistani conspiracies in everything, everywhere and all at once should be tempered as they reflect poorly on a fine journalistic history almost as explosive as Watergate was to the American presidency.

However, journalism is not the only spoiler as both TV and film have played equally important roles. It is common knowledge that Pakistan and India are cricket-mad as much as they are fervent acolytes of the visual image, i.e. film, and therein, as Hamlet would say, ‘lies the rub’. The 20^th century witnessed massive anti-colonial movements in South Asia, which reset borders and created nation states, thereby reinforcing existing hierarchies of identity and the sense of home and belonging that began to be examined through cinematic narratives. The emergence of independent cinema added to the mainstream content with a hybrid and cross-cultural porous film culture. Histories of Subcontinental cinema therefore offer fertile ground for the study of complex issues of politics and bordered identity such as are amply demonstrated by the layered narratives of early films such as Mother India, Do Bheega Zameen and Garam Hawa, with the last film offering a searing examination of how Partition affected Muslim families in India.

At present, much of the Indian content available to all ages on streaming platforms exhibits needless violence against women, rampant sexual activity and drug abuse, which would very likely not be approved by the censors at home. At the risk of sounding judgmental, some of the ‘new’ cinematic content bordering on pornography and making its way to unwary viewers serves no purpose other than to denigrate the hard earned reputation that Indian cinema has earned over a century. Someone, somewhere at home needs to take note of how such content is allowed to represent the Indian film industry to audiences the world over. That there are dangerous fallouts emanating from a viewing of such works is evidenced by sound research and mounting evidence that finds exposure to screen violence may lower sensitivity to violence in real time. In light of increasing barbaric incidents of rape and violence against women both in India and Pakistan, we must ask ourselves why streaming sites allow the perpetuation of screen violence that is fast reaching an unacceptable level. Cinema in our countries is a family activity and age restrictions may be bypassed by viewing in alternate forms such as easily available CDs or on the enormous number of search engine sites.

As a woman and pioneering TV, theatre and film actor myself, one was delighted with the fact that in the not too remote past, an Indian TV channel had started to air drama serials from Pakistan. Sadly, the selection of content left much to be desired. Visual treats provided in terms of acting prowess, good looks and realistic sets packaged in an unending plethora of boy-meets-girl scripts, though gratifying, was the kind of material that was highly inaccurate and bordered almost on the subversive. Not too dissimilar and paralleling such Pakistani content, Indian television serials also present false and highly objectionable content in the shape of incessant family feuds between overdressed mothers-in-law and resplendent pouting brides on an unimaginable scale. Both stereotypes occupy worlds that are virtually nonexistent in everyday lives in either country yet continue to appeal to the lowest common denominator on the entertainment scale.

The days of Doordarshan viewing being long over, during which the Indian film Pakeeza brought all of Lahore to a standstill, commercial channels dependent on ratings and advertising have continued to present an enormous amount of content that is objectionable to say the very least. Of course there have been exceptions, such as the work of that master storyteller Gulzar, whose serial Mirza Ghalib was critically acclaimed on both sides of the divide, as was the series titled Kirdaar based on stories by Indian writers. Similarly, serials from the Pakistani side, such as Zindagi Gulzar Hai (Netflix) and the recent Dil Na Umeed To Nahin (YouTube) on women trafficking have struck a chord with home audiences as well as the diaspora viewer. Not too long ago, dramatic enactments of stories based on women’s issues such as acid throwing, misogyny and exploitation of women aired on Indian TV. What was particularly laudable was the introduction of the Urdu language with a word-a-day translated into Hindi running as a ticker, which appeared to be a welcome attempt to bolster familiarity with the language associated with a not-too-friendly neighbour. It seemed to me at the time an ingenious step taken to familiarise Indian viewers with a living Urdu speaking culture rather than an obsolete cinematic stereotypical Lucknow model, which is still extant in Hindi cinema. Had it continued, it would have been wonderful to see a reciprocal response from Pakistan TV channels but needless to say, the Indian experiment was brief and disappeared quietly without a trace just as many such opportunities for linguistic bridging have. Despite the fact that there appears to be a welcome revival of interest in Urdu in northern India, the common perception of whether Pakistanis speak Urdu or ‘good Hindi’ as one has been frequently reminded, remains in limbo. The introduction of more Sanskrit into spoken Hindi as is visible in films, also appears to be an attempt at a conscious shifting away from the historic commonality enjoyed by both languages. A recent comment by a well-known Indian writer who asserted that Urdu was an Indian rather than a Pakistani language as it had been in use prior to the birth of Pakistan is to stir controversy needlessly. The Mughal court conducted its business in Persian while Urdu emerged as the lingua franca of the people, to which Farsi, Hindi, Turkish and Prakrit all contributed. Rather than assert Indian ownership, it would be historically more accurate to describe Urdu as one of the many languages of the Subcontinent.

An examination of recent history between the two countries also evidences that though music had played a welcome bridging role in the past, the same is not true today. One clearly remembers attending a Mehdi Hasan evening in Mumbai and Ghulam Ali recitals that were lauded by rapturous audiences. In recent years, actors/singers Fawad Khan, Ali Zafar, Atif Aslam, Mahira Khan and Sajal Ali appeared to be much in demand and attained enviable success within the world’s largest and most prolific film industry as well as being welcomed socially. At present however, a tectonic shift appears to have taken place as Pakistani artists and performers are treated as absolute anathema by performers and directors alike. To be fair, the storming of the Mumbai Taj by terrorists of Pakistani origin remains more than a traumatic memory for the Indian side but it must, and just as fairly, be acknowledged that Pakistan has itself suffered horrific violence from similar fanatics. The tragic killing of school children in Peshawar offers ample evidence to accept that terrorism exists far beyond the borders of the two countries and is a global rather than a limited malaise. One cannot even begin to emphasise how great the responsibility of each state is in helping stamp out one of the most fearsome and barbaric challenges faced by humanity today. Only great collective wisdom, compassion and the strongest political will can lay a hydra of this proportion to rest.

Meanwhile, lesser mortals like oneself must be content to draw attention to what may appear inconsequential but remains a serious sociocultural issue on a massive level. The representation of women in media and literary narratives in both countries requires serious revision and action. In recent years for example, visual and print media supported by a predatory social media have shared and popularised images of burqa-clad women, claiming these as a standard trademark of Islam’s repression of women. Driving the nail home further, much of what the world believes about Islam itself is based on perceived narratives and hasty speculation rather than factual evidence. That Pakistani women, like their Indian counterparts, are struggling for empowerment at all national levels against overly patriarchal constraints is a fact, but it must also be clearly understood that the brutal suppression of women across the Durand Line has no bearing on the status of women in Pakistan. To perceive ‘Muslim identity’ or for that matter, any collective identity as a single homogenous entity is to see myopically.

Memories of perceived slight and pique also have a habit of lingering on years after events have taken place. Pakistan’s state ban on Indian film exhibition in Pakistan after the 1965 war meant to discourage viewing fell afoul of such myopic ‘nationalistic’ attempts due to the ease with which pirated films, digital and streaming sites could be accessed. Hopes that the long breather from Indian films would allow for a local industry to develop in Pakistan were laid to a premature death by military regimes and civilian governments alike, who have never understood the value of creating a ‘soft image’ of the country. While India managed successfully to romanticise even its appalling poverty in multinational offerings such as Slumdog Millionaire, Pakistan has trailed far behind with outdated studios and inadequate infrastructure due to the dearth of private investment aggravated by a visible lack of state support. The rise of Indian cinema and the partial failure of the Pakistani film industry, only just starting to resuscitate itself with recent blockbusters such as The Legend of Maula Jatt, is fertile ground for enormous research with far reaching effects such as scholars crossing over, moots and conventions taking place with the possibility of jointly published works further enriched by film festivals held alongside.

For the longest time Pakistani and Indian women have been forced to live between the binaries of a silent self and the noise that the rest of the world surrounds them with. As citizens of their countries women average around 50 percent of the population held back forcibly by patriarchal societies from achieving their potential. With women leaders having served as Prime Ministers of their respective countries such as India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Myanmar and Bangladesh, the Subcontinent may offer a case study of female empowerment but for the fact that not much has changed for the ordinary woman citizen. Cinematic constructs therefore, that take the masculine as standard and the feminine as derivative, not only mislead but smack of an even more subversive attempt at denigrating the self-esteem of and perception about an extremely vulnerable disempowered group.

There is much to be learnt from such research, particularly with reference to the ‘female identity’, as the manner in which women are represented in the majority of film and TV content by both countries is appalling. It can be seen that in film after film, TV soaps and dramas continue to ply the image of the liberal as opposed to the traditional woman as the pariah simply by juxtaposing the image of the ‘good’ woman as a sati savitri or as in our case a nek Parveen. Huge audiences at home, across the border and in a vastly expanding diaspora view programmes that ignore hard won successes for women in politics, governance and policy making. To cite another inappropriate example: in a Rani Mukherjee starrer called Mardani (2014), which ostensibly concerned itself with empowering women, the clear message given was that success for a female police officer was possible only if she became a ‘male’ clone, i.e. shed her femininity to act, dress and abuse like a man.

It is a fact that the majority of people working in media as financiers, directors, script writers, et al, are men and that the number of women in decision making roles in the media run to a mere handful. But it is nothing short of a tragedy that anti-women, misogynist programming should continue to be the norm. While these experiments in ‘public’ space require a strong gendered response that exposes the lack of credibility in present dramatic narratives on Pakistani channels through the agency of print media, debate and discussion on channels strengthened through strong self-censorship mechanisms, the same argument holds true for Indian cinema where the female presence has largely been relegated to a mindless construct of ‘item’ girls, arm candy and a mere love interest rolled into one. Much concern has also been expressed over what is seen as an increasingly popular trend toward the portrayal of brutality against women in the media. The view that the battering and sexual harassment of women in real life has been encouraged by the portrayal of women as victims of sexual assault and other violent acts on screen and in the media is an area that requires systematic research.

Yet all is not lost, as exceptional film makers like Sanjay Leela Bhansali boldly create characters such as Gangubai while the latest Pakistani film Joyland directed by Saim Sadiq is both courageous and tender. Both narratives concern themselves with lives shadowed by despair and hopelessness as characters barely survive on the fringe of the social order but offer hope in the person of a spirited protagonist. While the Indian film examines the lives of women trapped in the back alleys of cities where their bodies substitute for tender, the Pakistani film features a transgender heroine as its main character. That the film failed to obtain an exhibition certificate in Pakistan despite its standing ovation at Cannes 2022, is an indicator of the polarisation of ideas that exist in the country. On the other side of the border, Shahrukh Khan’s Pathaan, the highest grossing Indian film in history, also merits mention since it has also had its bouts of hiccups, prominent among which has been the controversial colour of a bikini. How then one wonders, is it possible to forge a national identity given the present circumstances when states are held hostage by the rhetoric of moral brigades who would reduce nationalism to a single set of beliefs?

With all that one finds wrong with the local and Indian press, film and television content, it is important to end on a note of hope. For that one need only look to women, both Pakistani and Indian, who have countered both state and male rhetoric with spirited courage while inspiring and supporting their more vulnerable sisters. One was fortunate enough to hear the wonderfully erudite Arundhati Roy when she visited Pakistan many years ago. Listening to her reinforced one’s belief that women today have built up enormous reservoirs of strength. Unafraid to go down that last one mile despite the loneliness encountered by the long distance runner, they pursue the truth with an unrelenting, single minded passion.

Pakistani women have also created inroads where none existed. Theatre, film, literature and public service have been well served by a coterie of women swimming upstream. That the state finally recognised the dogged determination of Madiha Gauhar’s Punjabi plays and Naheed Siddiqi’s magical kathak performances offers some comfort but women pay a heavy price for breaking through barriers. Fehmida Riaz turned the literary scene on its shaky head and her work cartwheeled itself into the hearts of the joyous women who read her. Not since Manto or Ismat Chughtai had any writer dared to write as explicitly and as overtly. Riaz’s poetry transformed the passive object of traditional male desire into a living, breathing creature, who yearned, desired, rationalised and survived the savagery of her existence. But perhaps the greatest contribution that Riaz made to the cause of women was to present woman as a thinking being as in the heart wrenching argument of Aqlima in the poem by the same title. Hounded for her talent and forced to go into exile, Riaz stubbornly resisted efforts to ‘tame’ and ‘temper’ her fierce spirit until her death.

This is by no means the final headcount. The late Asma Jehangir devoted herself to the cause of justice for women. Reviled, threatened on pain of death, Jehangir, along with her sister Hina continued to challenge and be challenged by an insane society perpetuating itself barbarically through self-proclaimed dispensers of the law. That Jehangir received international recognition is no comfort, since it is at home that her unyielding spirit needed to be recognised and lauded. There are many more. The late Nigar Ahmed at Aurat Foundation, Rani and Farida at Shirkat Gah with their modest, unobtrusiveness working towards the empowerment of the weak, the wretched and the forgotten. These are the voices of the new century. Some centre-stage like Roy, others, gentler, sweeter, but no less powerful.

Yet, despite these islands of hope and infant beginnings, the dilemma for us in Pakistan as it is for all men and women in India is whether we truly believe a new society should be created. If we do, then the next step would be to determine the extent to which we would be willing to stretch ourselves in the pursuit of the goal. Our greatest collective challenge lies in the fact that we are both societies in transition as more than half our populations eke out a livelihood trapped in a medieval time warp as the urban citizen lives in a century far ahead of his rural counterpart. As respective governments come and go with their own agendas, it is up to the collective wisdom of the people of both countries to reach out to each other on all platforms through the agency of discourse and debate, if we hope to see the region prosper and become the powerhouse that it has the potential for.

In Pakistan and India as in other Asian countries, slowly and painstakingly, the age old barriers of class are beginning to show signs of fraying at the edges. As our societies evolve from a state of naïve consciousness into progressive states of awareness and self-knowledge, they face the inevitable, bitter truth that without great effort and without the active participation of all: householder and neighbour, women, men and young adults, reaching out to the ‘other’ to learn collectively will remain an elusive goal. Far better to substitute the weapon for the book. Rhetoric for reason. Hostility for congeniality. Let us stand as two great nations shoulder to shoulder seeking a gentler, fulfilling future for all.