The recent sectarain violence in Rawalpindi, Pakistan has once again left me puzzled. Everytime violence like this occurs, I am left to wonder, this is not the Pakistan that I remember. This is not who we were. We are a diverse, beautiful bunch. And that should be a cause of celebration, if anything. As someone who moved to Canada from Pakistan at a tender age of nine, I often think about how my own Pakistani identity is a mishmash of many other identities, which is perhaps my favourite thing about Pakistan itself-the fact that each one of us has so many stories to tell about who we are.
As I think back to my own childhood, I am reminded of my grandmother who came to Pakistan from Hyderabad, India and who I never saw wear any dress other than a sari. Heck, my grandmother was so cool that even when she went on a scholarship to study in Australia (after she had been widowed and left to raise two children on her own), she did so in a sari. Even as she took her last breath, that was the dress she wore, as it was for many migrant women who were accustomed to wearing the traditional Indian dress after marriage.
As I think back further, I am also reminded of the Sindhi classes that we had to take at my elementary school in Karachi, and showing off about being able to say, "what is your name?" in the Sindhi language. Anyone who has ever been to school in Karachi can relate to this, I am sure.
And then there are the beautiful memories I have of going to Lahore every summer, as that is where my mother's family resides. From imagining the Mughal kings and queens walking around during my tour of the Shalimar Gardens to visiting the Lahore Zoo every single year and hearing the story of the slave girl Anarkali upon visiting the famous Anarkali Bazaar, Lahore is anything but dull. And then there were instances of picking up Punjabi words from my half Punjabi cousins and being amused by their Punjabi accents and being reminded by them of the famous Punjabi proverb: "the one who has not seen Lahore has not been born". And of course, the food! Lahore is nothing without its food.
Lastly, there is the ongoing memory I have of being confused about why my dad's last name is Khan when he looks anything but Pathan and have him tell me stories of how his paternal great great grandfather came from Afghanistan. Since my grandfather died when my dad was very young, I have been unable to find out if this story is real or if it's another one of my dad's ongoing jokes.
Either way, the truth is, Pakistan is so vibrant and so alive, so much so that it is almost hard to define what it means to be a Pakistani. But this dilemma should not serve as a clash of identities. It should be proof of the fact that Pakistanis are perfectly capable of co-existing with one another regardless of differences in cast, creed and socio-economic status. Many of us have multiple identities residing peacefully within us, so why not let these identities exist at the national level and live in peace?
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