Tallat Azim On your birthday dear Quaid, I do not know what to give you, No words suit the occasion, Nor can I look you in the eye, No bouquets or candles, Can ever make-up, For the guilt of plundering, The country, Of your dreams, No praise or flowery language, Can ever atone, Of pursuing for years, Only selfish schemes, Do not ask my Quaid, How we have come to this pass, Of what happened to our ideals, our values, alas On your birthday dear Quaid, I do not know what to give you, No words suit the occasion, Nor can I look you in the eye. I wrote this poem in December 1986. That was in the heydays of Ziaul Haq. Twenty-four years on, while we have an elected government and Parliament in place, it holds true more than ever. Jinnahs Pakistan was conceived as a progressive, democratic country, free of dogmas and doctrines, an equal opportunity provider to people with merit, irrespective of their religious beliefs, gender and social status. Compare that to what we have. The exact opposite. Jinnahs Pakistan could not have imagined that Muharram processions would have to be guarded with extreme vigilance. Jinnahs Pakistan had no room for women being shot dead by their husbands, a few days after being married, because they did not bring cars in their dowries. The dream of Pakistan did not include two sets of educational systems or two sets of laws. Jinnahs Pakistan did not imagine that the Pakistan army would be its only most powerful institution, which would be a stumbling block in the way of many progressive ideas and which would continue to pull strings from behind the scenes when not in actual power. What was supposed to have been the strongest signal of Pakistan, its moral fibre, is its weakest. While we almost top the list for the most corrupt nations of the world, there is also the strange paradox of being among the highest to make charitable donations. It is almost as if we were trying to offer commissions to Allah - as that are a way of life - to balance our abysmal report card and look the other way. The decline in the moral fibre is also evident from the daily depressing stories of gang rapes in cities, even of minor girls. Jinnahs Pakistan did not visualise sycophancy as being the key to achieving success. (The eulogising of the President in the national press by Sharmila Farouki, an advisor to CM Sindh, is one such glaring example of overkill) I would like to remind Ms Farouki that it is the common man who is supposed to eulogise, but all he is doing, when not trying to commit suicide, is trying to sustain body and soul in the face of the most daunting circumstances. Whereas the underprivileged or poverty-ridden citizens of no country have an easy time, the Pakistani poor are probably a notch worse. They have nowhere to turn to when confronted with any kind of situation. The only time that any of the wretched are able to get some redressal to their grievances is when, if they get lucky, the media highlights their stories or plight. In Jinnahs Pakistan, there was no concept of so much disempowerment for the bulk of the citizens. Those who contest elections after promising the moon to the voters spend the bulk of their energies in wheeling and dealing and furthering personal interests afterwards. It never ceases to amaze aam sheris how blatant this practice is and how quickly they are reverted to the position of 'used tissue paper. Which is a sad commentary, because as we have seen time and again, the only reason people prefer A over B in an election is not because his degree is fake or otherwise, but because they think the candidate will give them the sifarshi parchi when they require it, which is at every step of their daily lives. In Jinnahs Pakistan and in Parliament, which has a huge portrait of him looking at the chosen representatives, there was no place for liars, fake-degree holders and the corrupt as leaders. Our natural cultural ethos, our research, our books, our poetry were all supposed to flower further in Jinnahs Pakistan. Repression has only led to under the surface vulgarity and a brain-drain. The new generation of youngsters who study at elite private institutions may be well versed with information technology, but they, mostly, remain totally ignorant of the beautiful expressions of Ghalib, Iqbal or Faiz, and have a complete disconnect with their own indigenous culture. Those who study at the Urdu-medium schools are equally unaware of them because they are just so poorly taught. Year after year, as we celebrate Quaid-i-Azams birthday and pay him homage, it would be more appropriate to think about all that has been done wrong in the beautiful country he gave us, instead of just rattling off clichs and singing taranas. Because we can only start to put it right once we acknowledge and rue our mistakes. A U-turn is not possible otherwise. In another 24 years, I certainly hope I am not writing a similar column again. The writer is a freelance columnist. Email: tallatazim@yahoo.com