In the midst of darkness, there was light

Around a decade ago, a highly proficient, honest and dedicated civil servant named Tasneem Ahmed Siddiqui commented editorially on one of the by-products of political instability, a worsening law and order situation, dismal social indicators, rampant unemployment and rising inflation. He was, of course, referring to the rise of mediocrity and the resultant incompetence at all levels of Pakistani society, both in the public, as well as the private sector, universities, schools, the civil service, the police, parliament and in the fields of journalism and jurisprudence.

“Bureaucracy has now become a pejorative term. In spite of its arrogance, abrasiveness and inaccessibility, the civil service of Pakistan was one of the best in the region … our engineers could make barrages, dams and could run a very intricate canal system by themselves. Now, most of them do not know even the basics of their profession … We gradually destroyed our institutions whereas most other countries did not have even the basic infrastructure but built on whatever little they had.”

What made this critique so remarkable is the fact that it appeared to be a forerunner of things to come, for if you really think about it, the situation has gotten much worse. In the public and the private sector, universities, parliament, primary schools, the fields of journalism, law and the civil service, mediocrity remains the characteristic trait of Pakistani society. If it hadn’t been for Pervez Musharraf, the National Assembly and the other trajectories of a democratic system which provide a five-year sinecure to freeloaders would have still contained a number of non-graduates. Now, if you have read this far and are sufficiently depressed, let me cheer you up. In our country, even in the midst of darkness, there has always been light. There’ll always be a clutch of rebels who can inject humour in the most adverse conditions. One tribe that did this most successfully was composed of chaps who preached rear bumper philosophy.



One doesn’t see too many of them these days. But there was a time in Karachi, especially in the prehistoric days, when we had some kind of rule of law and when the car sticker was very much in vogue. In fact, there was a great deal of one-upmanship and creativity in the selection of the terse messages that were displayed, which must have triggered off a competition among the youth. I’ve always maintained that the stickers should be taken for what they are — innocuous quips meant to amuse the chap who is cruising behind and probably plotting various strategies to hasten the temporal existence of the bloke who planned the transport system in the metropolis. But, perhaps, the choice of sticker also says something about the personality of the motorist who has made the selection. Like, for example, the bloke who points out that his is the official mafia staff car and follows it up with, ‘This automobile has been insured by the Mafia. You hit us and we hit you.’

Some have a biological twist such as, ‘Don’t honk, I’m not deaf.’/‘Don’t blame me, this car has a mind of its own.’/‘Don’t honk, I’m peddling like hell.’ Or a legal twist, ‘Don’t hit me, my lawyer’s in jail.’/‘Don’t steal this car, it’s already stolen.’/‘Danger, I drive as well as you do.’/‘Don’t come so close. I hardly know you.’ The snob preferred, ‘My other car is a Porsche.’/‘I’m really a Mercedes in disguise.’ And the student of psychology used something like ‘The main reason for divorce is… marriage.’

Published in The Express Tribune, February 16^th, 2014.

Like Opinion & Editorial on Facebook, follow @ETOpEd on Twitter to receive all updates on all our daily pieces.