By Adnan Adil

Travelling on the Grand Trunk Road from Rawalpindi to Lahore is like passing through a city thoroughfare from one part of a mega city to the other. On occasions, it gets so crowded that one feels as if passing through the crowded Ferozepur Road of Lahore. The double carriage expressway is flanked by factories, mills and shops on both sides; and one comes across brand shops of clothes, boutiques and shoes on the way.

What, until 15-20 years ago, was a national highway winding through vast tracts of green fields dotted with mud houses has now transformed into a busy road with brick houses and multi-storey buildings on its two sides. These industrialised and heavily commercial central districts of the Punjab province are typical of highly urbanised areas in Pakistan.

The journey from Lahore on the national highway down to southern Punjab offers similar scenes of densely populated and bustling towns. Punjab Bureau of Statistics lists 16 cities of the province as major cities, including Lahore, Rawalpindi, Multan, Gujranwala, Sialkot, Sargodha, Bahawalpur, Jhelum, Faisalabad, Jhang, Kasur, Gujrat, Sahiwal, Sheikhupura, Rahim Yar Khan and Dera Ghazi Khan. Dera Ghazi Khan with a population of 250,000 is now almost the size of what Lahore used to be in 1947.

According to official statistics, Pakistan, in 2008, had an urbanisation of 35 per cent of the total population with a three per cent growth rate in urban population estimated for 2005-2010. It is estimated that Pakistan is the fastest urbanisating country in South Asia. By 2030, the urban population in Pakistan is likely to increase by 140 per cent and exceeds the rural population. The urban population contributes nearly 75 per cent of Pakistan’s gross national product.

According to the Punjab Bureau of Statistics, there are 3,464 union councils and 25,914 villages (mauzas) in the province, while the province with a population of 95 million people has been divided into 36 district headquarter cities and 135 tehsil cities, which are small urban clusters in the province and connected with each other through a vast network of 75,000 kilometres of roads.

Out of 95 million people living in the province, 65 million (68.5 per cent) are estimated to be residents of rural areas while 30 million (31.5 percent) are city-dwellers, according to official figures. The unofficial estimates of the urban population could be higher as the official count takes into account old municipal limits which have expanded on the ground but not officially recognised yet.

The fast growing cities are characterised by burgeoning population; it has jumped up from 31 million in 1947 to nearly 180 million in 2011 — the six-fold increase in the population of today’s Pakistan in the last 64 years. At the time of Independence, Lahore was a small, serene city of around 350,000 people, which now has more than seven million people and still growing in all four directions. Lahore is the house of all the rich farmers, traders, industrialists and professionals of the Punjab, whether they hail from Sargodha or Rojhan. Everyone who is anyone has a bungalow in one of Lahore’s smart suburbs.

As a result, the real estate has become the most precious item, with property rates in the city rocketing up by almost 500-1000 per cent during the last 10 years. The situation is no different in Islamabad and Multan. The appetite for real estate in expanding cities has eaten up green and open spaces around cities and replaced them with concrete structures.

The fields on the outskirts of Lahore used to provide fresh vegetables and fruits to Lahoris till the 1980s. The conversion of farms into residential colonies has led to steep rise in the prices of green grocery in Lahore as they are now trucked into the city from far-off areas. The same is true for Multan, though relatively at a smaller scale as the city is fast growing towards the Chenab River on the one end and towards Qadirpur Ran on the other.

The ruling elite’s obsession with building roads has been a major factor in the urbanisation of Punjab besides other factors like mechanisation of agriculture that displaced a large segment of the rural labour from villages. For successive governments, the building of roads has been the number one item of the development agenda. For example, in the budget 2011-12, the Punjab government’s development outlay for roads is more than double of what has been allocated for education and more than three times of the health’s development budget. The budget provides Rs51 billion for roads (Rs36.6 billion for provincial roads plus Rs8.50 billion for urban development, Rs2 billion for farm-to-market roads and Rs4 billion for the maintenance of existing roads.)

Contrarily, there is utter disregard forthe needs of the rural population when it comes to spending on so-called development. For instance, the FY2011-12 Punjab budget allocated merely Rs2 billion for clean drinking water for the entire province in a situation when more than half of the population is deprived of clean drinking water. It’s but natural that rural population has been forced to migrate to cities to have a modicum of essential requirements of modern life.

The 59 per cent literacy rate in Punjab, higher than the national average, has also contributed to the growth of skilled labour and its migration to urban centres in search of livelihood. One silent phenomenon has been a large exodus of skilled and unskilled labour from southern Seraiki-speaking districts of the Punjab, including Rahim Yar Khan, Bahawalpur, Lodhran, Dera Ghazi Khan, Rajanpur, Muzaffargarh etc, to Karachi during the last three decades. The Seraiki-speaking labour works as housemaids, barbers, tailors and construction workers in Karachi in large number and the estimate of their population could be in a couple of millions, but no official survey is available so far.

The Seraiki-speaking labour in Karachi has added to its urbanisation but has gone unnoticed, largely because these people, mostly belonging to the lowest rung of the society, have not yet politically organised themselves. The remittances of the Seraiki labour back home have again led to urbanisation with the rural population shifting to cities for business and trade activities.

The growth of cities is accompanied by the rise of the middle and lower-middle class, which was miniscule at the time of the Independence. In 2010, there were 1.15 million cars and jeeps and 11.56 million motorbikes in use by the Punjabis. It can be safely concluded that almost 12 million families (the owners of the motorbikes and small cars) fall in the category of lower-middle class and almost half a million families (half of the car-owning families) could be affluent middle class people.

Since 9/11, there has been a skyrocketing hike in foreign remittances. These remittances were about 900 million dollars per year in 2001, but shot up to 11 billion dollars per year by 2011. The money sent by the expatriate Pakistanis has fuelled the real estate market, trade and commerce and stock market. This has further strengthened the process of middle-class building in the Punjab like elsewhere in the country.

Although urbanisation means de-linking of a population from the agricultural mode of production and the village life and dependence upon manufacturing, commerce and services sector, the urbanised sections in Punjab are not totally de-linked from rural life. Most of the people living in cities have roots in their ancestral villages and draw part of their income as agriculture landowners. Thus, we have a large part of the urban lower-middle class and middle-class population which may be categorised as urban-cum-rural. These people have their political interests wedded into the rural electoral districts and thus their political behaviour is not totally driven by urban interests unlike MQM that represents urban groups in Karachi.

Punjab’s urban affluent class largely comprises businessmen and traders who are semi-literate and socially and politically conservative. For them, the performance of religious rituals and ceremonies take precedence over voluntary social actions and the organisation for social and political objectives.

 

Pakistan’s urban capital

Sindh is the country’s most urbanised province in which around 43 per cent of the population lives in the cities unlike 35 percent national average of the urban population, and Karachi is its main urban hub. According to the website of the Karachi city district government, the city’s current population is estimated to be 20 million, a fifty-fold increase over its 400,000 population in 1947. At the time of the 1998 census, the city was home to 9.3 million people.

Karachi produces nearly 20 percent of Pakistan’s GDP, according to a recent Asian Development Bank report. The Sindh Board of Investment’s data shows Karachi houses 54 percent of the country’s textile units. The mega city is arguably Pakistan’s richest city in terms of per capita income, as well as in terms of relatively low level of poverty. According to a report (2004) by the Social Policy Development Centre, headcount poverty in Karachi was estimated at 10 percent, as compared to 18 percent in Lahore.

As per the 1998 census, the linguistic distribution of the city was: Urdu speaking 48.52 percent Punjabi 13.94 percent; Sindhi 7.22 percent Pashto 11.42 percent; Balochi 4.34 percent; Seraiki 2.11percent; others 12.4percent. The others included Gujarati, Dawoodi Bohra, Memon, Brahui, Makrani, Khowar, Burushaski, Arabic, Persian and Bengali.

The Urdu-speaking (Mohajir) population in the city is the most urbanised segment of the Pakistani society as they have no connection with villages and the agriculture sector unlike other ethnic groups that have rural or tribal affiliations. In 1947, Sindhis were 60 percent of Karachi’s population, but today they have been reduced to seven percent of the population.

A major demographic change occurred in Karachi over the years is an increased share of Pashtuns who made up 11 percent of the Karachi’s population as per the 1998 census but now they constitutes nearly 4 million (or 20 percent) of the city population. Karachi is now considered the world’s Pashtun capital. Karachi’s Mohajirs constitute nearly 9 million of the city’s population — about 45 percent of the total population.

According to the Karachi city district government, the city’s population is currently growing at about 5 percent per year, mainly on account of rural-urban internal migration, including an estimated 45,000 migrant workers coming to the city every month from different parts of the country.

Migrants to Karachi come from rural Sindh, southern Punjab, Balochistan, Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa, PATA and FATA.  The rural migrants are attracted by better access to public services such as electricity, clinics, schools, as well as better prospects for recreation in cities. Migrants also move from poorer areas to wealthier areas for economic gain. In the last few years, thousands of people from Khyber Pakhtunkawa shifted to Karachi because of military operation in Swat and South Waziristan.

It is estimated that most parts of the city are outside the realm of the government and informal sectors, gangs and mafias hold sway over almost half of the city.

 

— Adnan Adil

 

By Sarwat Ali

When Prithvi Raj Kapoor left the normal middleclass Indian life to join the films/stage and moved from Peshawar to Calcutta and then Bombay in pursuit of his career, his children also grew up on the sets and under the studio lights imbibing the work that their father was doing. It was no coincidence that his sons joined the world of glitz and glamour. First Shashi Raj Kapoor, then Shammi, followed it. And now two more generations have been part of the film/stage world, enriching and embellishing the screen with their looks and talent.

When one belongs to such a family the problem is not to make a debut as it is for an outsider but to prove immediately that the style and work is different and better than the peers and other members of the family. For Shammi Kapoor making a debut was the easy part but to prove his presence was difficult. He stayed on the margins for the first few years only because he belonged to the illustrious family, achieving modest successes in films that he made. He acted with some of the biggest heroines of the times but was not able to break the stranglehold on monopoly of the three reigning princes — Dilip Kumar, Dev Anand and his elder brother Raj Kapoor.

Though the films were good and some like ‘Dil Tera Diwana’ and ‘Tumsa Nahi Dekha’ were successful, his image of a carefree playboy was still in the making. When he made ‘Jungli’ he broke through the shackles to achieve an individual style. The film and the role put an unmistakeable stamp on the acting of Shammi Kapoor. By that time new heroines were also appearing on the screen. Nargis, Madhobala, Nimmi, Meena Kumari and Nutan were being challenged by Vijantimala, Asha Parekh, Sharmila Tagore and Saira Bano. Shammi Kapoor teamed up with these younger women to hoist the Indian screen into the next decade of 1960s.

It was a different kind of image that he brought to the screen. It was the hero who was carefree and ready to fall into a relationship without the fear of its consequences. He was the brash young man not afraid to woo the woman he liked, even if it bordered on harassment. It was the pleasure of the pursuit, free and simple, winding up with winning the object of desire. It was a new image that shunned the layers of traditions and morality the heroes always found themselves held back by.

In the conservative Indian society many strings are attached to the man-woman relationship. Hence his carefree unburdened love/infatuation that appeared to break the rules, smacking of sexual freedom resonated with the audiences. Shammi Kapoor played characters full of antics with exaggerated physicality that bordered on tomfoolery.

As always in Indian cinema, the music of his films too was instrumental in promoting that image. The composer Shanker Jaikishen and vocalist Muhammed Rafi were great allies in that. The sprightly tones that were composed breathed life into them by Muhammed Rafi which brought another dimension to the sheer display of jumping up and down, the greater use of the body — in the speech and the carefree whirling style that suggested no woman was prudish enough not to be won over, no hurdle was high enough not to be jumped over.

He was the first of the mainstream heroes to dance on screen. Before him the heroes did not dance, the heroines barely, while the dancers were lesser characters known for the dancing skills as performers. Now all the heroes are required to dance, in fact, they dance more than they act. This could be the legacy of Shammi Kapoor because he was the first hero who made dance the basis of his performance. Though he had not formally learnt to dance, he had a knack for it and most of his movements were the result of his natural ability rather than rigorous training.

But as he grew older, he changed his style to suit his age. The jumping was lessened and pure physicality was replaced by more roundedness. Despite all his agility and popularity on the box office it was always thought that the actor in Shammi Kapoor took a back seat to the performer. There were reservations about his real capacity to act roles that were more mired in the Indian tradition — the roles that represented a type and not an individual. Shammi Kapoor may have been aware of this criticism for he played more traditional roles in his later films. He was greatly admired for his thespian talent as it portrayed a man carefree but in the end caring more for the homeless children that he was looking after in ‘Bharamchari’.

His first film was ‘Jeevan Jyoti’ and his last was ‘Rockstar’ and in the middle were many — ‘Kashmir Ki Kali’, ‘Professor Evening in Paris’, ‘Bharamchari’, ‘Jungli Janwar’, ‘Teesri Manzil’, ‘Andaaz’, to name some — a busy three decades spent on the sets, under the lights, on the studio floors. His last film was ‘Rockstar’ with his grandnephew Ranbir Kapoor.

He resembled his father the most and he too followed the family tendency of gaining a few pounds in middle-age. That must have limited the array of roles in the films that he was offered and played, and then there were lesser number of roles to be had as time went by.

Perhaps no other profession is as cruel in denouncing a person due to age as show business. All parts are for younger people, fewer with each passing year for those aging, and many actors/stars have had problems in adjustment to something that happens all too soon.

He won the best actors award for ‘Bharamchari’ (1968), best supporting actor for ‘Vidhaata’ (1982) and Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award in 1995.

A book review seems like a futile activity because if you intend to read a book, you may not wish to taint the impact of the book by reading a review beforehand. Nor does a book review have any significance for the reader who has already read the book, since it hardly adds anything new or extra than what the author intended in the first place.

The reviews of books on art are slightly different; a publication with multiple illustrations and reproductions of art works has a different relationship with its reader. A person does not read an art book completely nor is he totally unaware about the contents of the book. The reader normally flips through an art book, reads a few lines here, a paragraph on another page and a chapter from the middle. Also the visuals which may lead to the subject and the intention of the author give him the illusion that he knows the text even if partially.

The images along with text provide something for readers of all sorts. So it is a custom that a book on art must have illustrations (often full page), which not only introduce the text, but add to the authenticity (and price) of the volume. Salwat Ali’s new book, Making Waves, is another addition in the list of books on Pakistani art. Published by FOMMA Trust, the book comprises her reviews of art works and interviews with artists, previously printed in the daily Dawn and the monthly Newsline.

The 13 sections deal with subjects such as Contemporary Miniature, Sculpture, Drawing, Painting, Print Media, Mixed Media & Multimedia, Video, Ceramics, Art Craft along with other areas relating to curators, dialogues on art and residency programmes. In each group, a number of artists’ works are discussed which were initially written for the weekly supplement on art or a monthly magazine.

The subtitle of ‘Making Waves’ is Contemporary Art in Pakistan, a term that is often employed without a lot of thought. For instance it appears odd when Anwar Jalal Shemza is included in the section on contemporary art. This is understandable because we have the habit of uttering terms and concepts without going through the trouble of finding the right meaning and connotation. So, several commentators employ the term “contemporary” while defining a certain type of work. For them, anything which is non-representational and geometrical can be described as contemporary. Similarly, another term, Contemporary Miniature which is also the second chapter in the book is also paradoxical since it indicates both past and present at the same time.

In our context, it is not contradictory to confuse the past and the present, because most of our cultural, artistic and social practices are formulated by blending the two. But, in the realm of art, the term ‘Contemporary’ enjoys a specific meaning and significance. It seems that the editors in were not conscious or selective in picking up articles which justified the main subject of the book. Instead they have put together her published pieces which vary not only in their subject and focus but also in terms of the quality of writing. Sometimes, the text for a temporary requirement/readership does not hold the same meaning for the reader of a book.

Another problem with the writings on art is the use of heavy jargon like “Societal flux imperils human values compelling the conscientious to voice their concern” and “artists have addressed this unrest through a multitude of expressions”. Language of this sort indicates how most of our critics and reviewers attempt to impress the reader with so-called profound vocabulary. One has to open the newspaper every Sunday to find the writings on art being exercises in difficult words and complex phrases. This is odd because big names like E. H Gombrich, John Berger and Arthur C. Danto have opted for a clear unpretentious diction. It seems that for writers of that stature, the content of writing is more crucial than the attempts in flowery and frivolous diction.

However, for its future value, a volume that comprises of reviews and articles previously printed in weekly and monthly magazines, is a worthy effort, an exercise to preserve otherwise lost sheets of newspapers and magazines.

Mind over matter

Dear All,

Another Ramzan over and done with, hopefully leaving most people spiritually reinvigorated and physically detoxified. I, however, am just feeling exhausted.

I couldn’t fast for more than a few days, but every year I do try to keep at least those few fasts, to do as much (or as little) as I can. But somehow as the years go by Ramzan is getting more and more tiring. It could be me now lumbering through middle age or it could be due to the fact that this month has been slowly drained of any sense of joy and celebration it once had, and has been transformed, instead, into a rather onerous, grim and self righteous sort of time.

For most working people Ramzan is a time when one is  short of sleep and cranky. The best case scenario is, of course, that your body adjusts marvellously to the new routine, you begin to feel light and energetic, and as your physical appetites are curbed, your spiritual understanding is sharpened. The ideal outcome is that you have time for reflection and meditation without mundane interruptions. The reality, of course, is that the new routine often proves very stressful and tends not to complement your working life too much. Most people have a hard time dealing with caffeine and nicotine withdrawal so they are often quite cranky. And mean. And angry.

So is it my physical state that is the cause of my increasing fatigue or is it a basic change in the mood of my fellow worshippers? Probably a bit of both, but on the public attitude aspect I have to say that the ambience is not pleasant. We loved this month when we were children as we used to find it wonderfully exciting. And we especially loved the whole build-up to Iftari: the preparations, the smell of pakoras and samosas being fried in hot oil, the activity of preparing fruit chaat and dahi phulki... we probably have much the same sort of routine now but perhaps our appetites are jaded and high prices and increasing social expectations put most of us under intense pressure through Ramzan and during the build-up to eid.... most people are so tired and irritable that nothing seems to be function and productivity is abbreviated and tempers are raised...

But what is terrific about the month is the spiritual and material detox aspect, the opportunity it gives you to assess and audit your own selfishness levels. It is not just refraining from food and drink and commemorating the special dates of Ramzan that matter: what we all need to do is take some time to reflect on ourselves and our world, to try to be kinder to and more tolerant of each other, and to truly open one’s heart to knowledge and enlightenment. To try to declutter one’s emotional and physical baggage. And, I believe, try to be grateful for the gift of Life and Intellect.

Eid Mubarak. Hope it is a peaceful and joyous one for us all.

Best wishes,

Umber Khairi

 

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