Sach Mooch: The woes of a chronic diljala

As their dil ki baat can never be expressed, Pakistani boys live in a perpetual state of emotional heartburn.

KARACHI:

“Gosht gal gaya, dil jal gaya.” My friend Zeeshan has a theory that Pakistanis are more inclined towards being diljalas because they eat saalan. He infers that lots of spices and abundance of cooking oil in food cause us emotional heartburn.

Some say Farooq Leghari toppled the government because he was a diljala. From Cain, known as the first diljala, to Emraan Hashmi in his films, this state is a part of who we are from the beginning of mankind. And there is no escape. Even truck art depicting an arrow pierced through a heart tells us that we are destined to meet a sangdil sanam who will blind us with her qaatil nigah.

The fact that Bollywood actors such as Sunil Shetty and Ajay Devgn still tug at our heartstrings proves that Pakistanis are in a perpetual state of diljala-ness. Shetty and Devgn are actors whose careers are nearing their end, but for us, they are tantamount to Ali Pacino and Robert De Niro — timeless. Whether it’s the torn flip-flops scene from Shetty’s Dhadkan (2000) or the biopic of every 90s college kid, Devgn’s Diljale (1996), these films represent the sentiments of the majority of our youth, speaking to them on a deeper level.



I came across the first specimen in university. Diljala. Akhtar Diljala. He did not speak much, stood in a corner and smoked extensively. Whenever someone was happy, he would look up with his signature grin and say something cynical and diljala-ish such as “Woh tere naseeb ki baarishain kisi aur chatt pe baras gayeen. Dil-e-bekhabar, meri baat sun, usse bhool ja... usse bhool ja.”



Years went by and he fell in love with many girls, but none of them knew he even existed. That’s how consuming his mohabbat was — unrequited and unconditional. It was similar to the love of a stalker: building quietly in the darkness. No one knew what he was feeling, but those who knew him, knew it was intense.

As his dil ki baat could never make its way to his zabaan, the girl he loved would start dating another boy and that is when Akhtar Diljala would go into the ‘zone’. I remember Akhtar being depressed for weeks because someone bought his love a beef patty from the canteen. He would listen to Sajjad Ali’s Yaad Tou Aati Hogi all day and wear an ‘I’m-content-in-this-pain’ smile on his face.


Sajjad is a legend and I’m a fan of his craft. He is undoubtedly the biggest diljala idol in Pakistan. His ability to portray the most heartburning emotion in one phrase is pure genius. The way he sings “Yaad Tou Aati Hogi” can bring out the diljala in even Ryan Gosling. The entire Pakistani music industry banks on this emotion, as 90 per cent of mainstream music centralises falling in love and the ideas that she doesn’t love me back or she betrayed me.



Before his arranged marriage, every guy is an Akhtar Diljala. After studying in Model School for Boys, the first girl you meet in college is your Kajol. You will always see her moving in slow motion with her hair bouncing and eyes sparkling. Even if her name is Gul and she smells like pyaaz, you will think she’s the one.

Akhtar eventually became an engineer and moved to America. He goes to a local pub everyday where he has a reserved table for two but always shows up alone. And if someone asks to join him, he looks at the empty chair beside him, looks back at the person who asked, grins and says, “Chal rein de.”

Akhtar Diljala performing at his graduation party.

Published in The Express Tribune, September 14^th, 2014.

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