Where does one belong? What does it take to belong to a particular place? Why should one try to belong to a particular place? Can one even belong – whether to just one place, or more?
These questions are highly relevant for me, given my upbringing and also given the decisions I face in life right now (location and belonging is an important consideration for where I choose to spend the next 12 months). I have moved to live in a new city 12 times in just the first 24 years of my life (I know my way around 15 world cities now – it’s the best, more liberating feeling in the world, when you reach that point in your relationship with a city). And if past performance is any predictor, this number will continue to grow. I have the choice of spending the next 12 months in East Africa, South America, South Asia or South East Asia. I am tempted to pick a combination of all four, although I am well aware that this does not make any sense in terms of building depth of experience (current thought process is to spend another 6 to 8 months in East Africa, followed by 4 to 6 months in South America – followed of course by a two-year MBA, most likely in the US of A, another new location). And I know for a fact that it’s not just me – anyone who has spent just a summer in a foreign country, or even merely travelled is likely seeking answers.
But why am I reflecting on these questions now? As I travelled to and landed in Islamabad yesterday, I felt a strange sense of familiarity but a lack of belonging. Some might call it “culture shock” or rather “reverse culture shock”. It was indeed a very raw sub-conscious rebellion against change. But it’s not just Islamabad. It’s the kind of rebellion I have had to go through in many new cities.
Earlier this year, when I was here in Islamabad on a consulting project for a just a few months, I went through exactly the same motions. After a week or so of turmoil, those months turned out to be some of the most productive and rewarding months of my life. My consulting project was extremely interesting and offered me with a lot of insight into the corporate world, especially on corporate governance. I built some amazing relationships with my teammates and some folks from the client side. I got to reconnect with family and old friends, discover new parts of my culture, really think through and understand to some extent the issues facing my country and enjoy simple raw pleasures – such as watching the Cricket World Cup with friends and local supporters, and eating great food.
Nairobi was no different. My first three weeks there were absolutely miserable. I had a tendency in those early days, not to flip out on the change of cultural scene (for fear of being branded a colonialist), but rather the grubbiness of my material existence (which was not grubby at all in the grand scheme of things). In fact, I actually enjoyed the cultural aspects of the change, watching evangelical preachers on the GOD channel or the Kenyan Parliament in session at breakfast in the Ngong Hills Hotel. Both of those were very different to anything I had ever seen or experience before – even surreal. But that breakfast room was dark and dreary, and the cornflakes they served had a strange sweet taste to them and were not crisp. And there was not much more for breakfast, other than bananas and tea. My walk to work in the mornings left me choked with smog, and often wet in the rain. Miserable!
But as it turned out, this summer in Nairobi was absolutely phenomenal. I got to meet so many incredible new people, including building at least half a dozen in depth relationships; did some amazing adventure and cultural travel; and got to a learn a lot about a new country – an interesting one which has a lot of parallels with Pakistan (at least I am in a the unique position to draw those – which I abuse to the hilt). Professionally, I have been at the forefront of change in an organization which I am passionate about. The next 8 months in Nairobi are likely to be equally amazing if not better: I plan to learn Swahili; climb Kilimanjaro and Mount Kenya; take my tennis to the next level; and take one or two my artistic pursuits to the next level (salsa and drumming if you may ask).
But why is Islamabad such a shock after just 4 months away from it? What I have realized in all my city moves is that change is most difficult is when it’s back to familiar grounds (reverse shock). Nostalgia can be good and bad. Brings back memories, both good and bad (mostly good), but also raises (near) existential questions about why one left in the first place. I am writing this post sitting in the grounds of the Islamabad Club, a place that brings back many fond childhood memories (learning to swim, birthday parties, family gatherings, etc.). Driving through Islamabad on the way to Islamabad Club brought back many more memories. It felt like a bit of a ghost town, on the day before Eid, when everyone has left for their home towns, but nevertheless just as I remember it (used to be much less crowded growing up here than it is nowadays).
But I think the crux of the issue might be very simple – I am just different now and find it hard to fit in. I have either “out evolved” the people and/or surroundings I left behind (a very strong statement), or shudder to reconnect with them or re-understand them. I definitely hold a bit of anger and helplessness (negative emotions) against things taking a turn towards something different, especially when it comes to my core values and interests versus those I see around me. Or perhaps they were like this all along and I have changed.
Maybe I am only just starting to discern things from a “different” lens, given my own personal turns in life (or my “evolution” as I like to call it – strong statement). As I got onto the plane from Dubai to Islamabad, the Deobandis were out in full force (that familiar character from my earlier post – “Religion to the extreme”). Their paternalistic values were on full display. The Deobandi gentleman next to me passed a snide remark against the fact that Emirates was serving wine on a flight to Pakistan, which according to him is especially deplorable in the month of Ramadan. I smiled politely and told him that people should have that choice (he probably thought I was being sarcastic).
Television back home has been turned into the GOD channel (24 hours of preachery) – it has always been a bit like this in Ramadan, but this might be the worst it has ever been. Now there is a lot of God in Kenya as well, but it doesn’t make me cringe the way it has been making me cringe here in Pakistan over the past couple of days. This is perhaps because I expect to belong here, but am realizing that I simply do not – not because I want to go reverse militant on the mullah tide which is sweeping the country.
Some of the developments are very strong and quite entertaining – I am trying my best not to be intolerant – allow me to demonstrate. Javed Miandad, the legendary Pakistani cricketer, has started singing religious hymns on television, even though he is not a singer and should not be allowed to sing, at least on national television. Junaid Jamshed, the singer, has a one hour slot on prime time television where he delivers religious sermons. He even has a game show now – a religious version of “Who wants to be a millionaire”, where the top prize is an apartment in Mecca. The questions are on religious history or facts.
And it’s not just God or religion. Conversation is generally superficial – especially for a country in the midst of a crisis, if not a full blown civil war. Topics include – where to immigrate to; which car to buy; how real estate prices in Lahore will perform this year; and how everyone is praying for the moon to be sighted early so that no one has to keep an extra fast (each Islamic month, including Ramadan either has. 29 or 30 days, depending on the sighting of the moon).
So core values or interests in life are clearly misaligned, or rather have become misaligned over time, but the language and customs are extremely familiar. As we were driving across Islamabad today, I was taking pleasure in being able to read the street signs in Urdu with ease. Indeed when I have been in East Africa, the Middle East or even in the UK, I have drawn on our music and poetry for raw cultural or artistic pleasure – even pride. As I like to say, a little bit of it is the gift or burden of having to live up to my name (Ghalib was one of the best Urdu poets of all time). Some of it has to do with finding my own identity niche, or rather trying to find depth within it. It’s easy for someone to cling on to what one has left behind, rather than try and discover something new – the same way Muslim immigrants in Europe tend to be so religious. But the fact that I am able to draw so much raw pleasure from it is enough to make it a worthwhile activity or pursuit.
So with values and interests misaligned, or having grown apart over the years, but an appreciation for core language, art and customs still intact, I must re-discover Pakistan over the next two weeks. If anything seems misaligned or doesn’t quite tickle my fancy, I will continue to just cringe on the inside and try my best to smile on the outside – I must acknowledge that I am different. If past experiences with change are any indication, this confusion or resistance to change is just a phase, and this trip will turn out to be fantastic - let's enjoy the ride.
No comments:
Post a Comment