By Ghazi Salahuddin
But the paradox is that in recent weeks, Karachi has remained culturally vibrant when Lahore and Islamabad seem withdrawn under the shadow of security concerns, so much so that the World Performing Arts Festival, the pride of Lahore, has been cancelled this year. This would have been the festival's 25th anniversary. Last year, its sponsors, the Peerzadas, braved an actual threat of terrorism while the festival was going on and the people of Lahore had rallied their support. We were all inspired by their resolve to carry on with the activities.
That inspiration, alas, has not survived, at least not during the present surge in terrorist attacks. A number of functions, planned in Islamabad and Lahore, have been cancelled. Security threats have altered the very rhythm of the lives of the citizens. That we are under siege is evident from the barricades and security checks during the normal course of one's activities.
Such precautions, though, have not been very helpful in the story-tellers' city of Peshawar. It is suffering a string of suicide bombings, as a counter point to the on-going military operation in South Waziristan. Those of us who have known Peshawar can only grieve about what is happening to a city that symbolised the potential of the Pashtun society to embrace modernity and social advancement.
Coming back to Arts Council's 'Alami Urdu Conference' which concludes today, I can testify that its hectic schedule and thoughtful sessions on a range of Urdu-related issues have generated a lot of excitement in the city's literary circle. We have the most prominent names in Urdu letters, so perilously advanced in age, brought together. Casual encounters that take place on the sidelines are so rewarding. There are many delegates from abroad -- the diaspora being such an active partner in promoting literary activities. Unfortunately, though not unexpectedly, Urdu scholars and writers from India could not come.
My purpose here is not to summarise the proceedings of the conference. I am more concerned with many of the questions that any deliberations on the role and place of Urdu in our polity are bound to throw up. Yes, the mood during the conference would naturally tend to be festive. Again and again, the glory of Urdu is highlighted. There are repeated assertions that Urdu cannot but survive and flourish. But these songs, as an English poet said, "are those that tell of saddest thoughts".
I was not able to attend many of the sessions but was on the panel of a discussion on Urdu language and literature's interaction with the media. This, or any other related topic, would obviously raise some very controversial and contrary opinions. After all, languages do become a basis for political or ethnic identity and can create a lot of friction. Urdu is particularly wedded to our freedom movement but it could not become a motive for national unity. It is, officially, the national language of Pakistan but it is not yet the official language.
At one level, it is an Urdu-versus-English debate, with specific reference to the dispute about the medium of education and also the very system of education that we want. At another level, it has to contend with the legitimate linguistic pride that exists in different parts of the country. The universal truism that the child should initially be taught in his or her mother tongue is also a factor in this debate. In Pakistan, we seem to have this particular gift for forever temporising when the situation demands an urgent resolution of a conflict or a dilemma. This has happened with what we want to do about education and the languages we need as a vehicle for our creativity and progress.
Indeed, the language issue in Pakistan does not as much relate to Urdu as it does to English. I feel very, very strongly about how the dominance of English in our society amounts to a malicious exploitation of the majority of our people. Many of our experts do not tire of insisting that English is indispensable for us and how the entire world is turning to English in a globalised setting. I do realise that the argument for teaching English as a second language is almost incontrovertible. But can you really have a second language when you don't have your first one?
It so happened that before leaving for the forenoon session on Thursday, I chanced upon the editorial page article in Dawn, by the newspaper's New Delhi correspondent. This is how it began: "Urdu and Hindi have been the most disruptive languages in South Asia. Urdu, for completely spurious reasons, was declared the national language of Pakistan. Hindi was wrongly, but aggressively, foisted as the main language of a unitarian Indian state."
It also added: "The conception of Urdu as a linguistic attribute of South Asian Muslims -- the reason for its embrace by Pakistan -- would be laughable had it not led to a tragic denouement for the country. The creation of Bangladesh questioned the axiom."
Now, this article did not exclusively relate to Urdu or Pakistan but to linguistic and political matters in Maharashtra. I used it as a peg to only highlight the complexity of the language issue in our country. However, my theme was the intellectual desertification of Pakistan because of our neglect of education and social justice. It is not Urdu's future that is threatened, I suggested. It is, in fact, the future of Pakistan that is at stake. What we are doing to Urdu may be one measure of our present educational, cultural and ideological drift.
Any discourse on media and Urdu is bound to take account of the linguistic expression of the television news channels. There was that purist approach to how the language has been polluted by newsreaders and participants of the current affairs' programmes. There was also the counter-argument that the news channels had certainly broadened the reach of Urdu, irrespective of how it is sometimes mispronounced.
As an aside, I am reminded of that quotation by Christopher Morley: "Life is a foreign language; all men mispronounce it." But what would you say about that small cultural elite that does not mispronounce a foreign language. Perhaps English no longer is a foreign language for some people. Possibly, Pakistan is a foreign country for them. The question is: where do they, those who do not mispronounce English, really belong?
The writer is a staff member. Email: ghazi_salahuddin@hotmail.com