‘Ik Sutti Uthi Dooji Akhon Ka’ani ’- Do you understand what this Punjabi idiom means, or do you need a translation in English first? The literal translation may be “one just woke up and the other one is partially sighted!” but that isn't what it means.  This funny phrase refers to a person who has just woken up and then on top of their disheveled appearance is cross-eyed as well. It is used "icing on the cake" in English. Most people wonder why everything in Punjabi sounds so comic? Maybe our ancestors just appreciated humour. If you belong to a Punjabi speaking family and couldn't understand then this is proof that our language is teetering on the brink of extinction. How many more generations will it be before the original dialect just vanishes from the planet? Nobody in my circle of friends has a Punjabi vocabulary like my parents have. If the trend continues, than it’s not really hard to predict the outcome. The Punjabi language is not the only one facing this acute hazard of becoming extinct. According to the World Resource Institute, out of 7,000 unique languages spoken in the world today, nearly half are likely to disappear this century, with an average of one lost every two weeks! Imagine the sound of Punjabi and the rich cultural heritage it boasts lost forever. You may think the notion is absurd or maybe do not see it happening in your life time. So, what’s the big deal if there isn’t a single person speaking Punjabi at the end of this century? Who needs Punjabi anyway? Aren’t we better off with a universal language? But imagine our offspring speaking only English (or Chinese for that matter). Language is not just the encoding and decoding of information among people but it brings with it the norms, identity, traditions, history and values of a society. When we move to a foreign country, we adapt to other languages and our lifestyle also changes. While I believe different languages can co-exist within a society and this might be the ultimate solution to save the endangered ones. We spend so much time learning so many random things, but what I fail to understand is, why not make a little effort to learn our own mother tongue? Why not strive to save our languages, so that history may not hold us responsible for confining these languages only to the books kept in the unfrequented corners of old libraries. I can’t describe the delight I saw on the faces of my elders when they came to know that at least somebody from their descendants was interested in learning the language they spoke all their life and are so proud of. Languages need not to be taught, but should define who we are, which means we need to inculcate a sense of responsibility and understanding explaining why a mother tongue is important for the next generation - why speaking their own language will earn them more respect. The point here is not against the learning of other languages but the emphasis is to keep our own culture alive. I believe that we become the unintentional ambassadors of many things involuntarily, but by fate and being the heirs of Pakistani and Eastern culture at large, we owe it to our region to uphold its worthiness and value, and keep it bustling with progression and development for our future generations.

My dear Mian sahib, Once, when George Bush was sitting in his plush chair with lights illuminating every nook and cranny of the White House, he asked Musharraf - yes the one who dethroned you when your delusional state of mind made you believe that you were the next Khalifa of the Ummah (Muslim nation) - a question very similar to the one I have for you today.

"Whose side are you on?"

"Your side, Mr President," replied Musharraf, loud and clear without giving it a second thought.

Mian sahib, whose side are you on?

Today, 85 years ago, a very special girl was born in district Kasur, Punjab. Had fate been kinder to us, she would have still been with us today. Madam Noor Jehan may have left the world but her legacy will forever live on, emblazoned in the minds of her fans as her evergreen songs. Noor Jehan has a special place in my heart. This is not just because I am a fan of her beautiful voice and enviable poise, but also because she belongs to Kasur, where my grandparents were from. In fact, I have been told that my granduncle and she were playmates. I was properly introduced to the queen of melody as a child. In grade three, I was asked by a teacher to sing “Ae Watan Ke Sajeelay Jawaanon” on September 6 of that year in a Defence Day function. I listened to it for the first time and although I didn’t completely understand it, I could feel that there was a very powerful message involved that the singer delivered perfectly. To help me practise the song and understand the true essence of it, my aunt explained to me what the lyrics of the song meant. She said, Noor Jehan thanks the many brave Pakistani soldiers who saved their countrymen and didn't care even if it was at the expense of their lives. She says that her songs are for them. Such a sense of gratitude and pride emanates from her voice as she sings this beautiful song, that even today it can make the fiercest Army-hater bow his/her head as a tribute to our brave soldiers. It was then that I immediately knew I would be a Noor Jehan fan for life. This came naturally, as I come from a family of classical music aficionados. Whenever I ask my father to teach me Punjabi, he only teaches me the language by translating Madam’s saccharine songs word by word into simple Urdu. Now I don’t know how I can make use of the word “wanjhli” (flute) in normal, conversational Punjabi, but the lyrical translation sessions were and still are very educational to me. Madam Jehan could conveniently convey with the highs and lows of her voice, emotions of all kinds brilliantly. Be it Punjabi, Urdu, Hindi or Sindhi, she was able to stir sweetness into any language. People, even today, light up to the romantic and naughty “Gaayegi Duniya Geet Mere”, weep to “Ae Puttar Hattaan Te” and yearn to reunite with their beloved to “Chaandni Raatein”, just as they did years ago. Even today, when I listen to a Noor Jehan classic like “Ae Puttar Hattaan Te”, I am overwhelmed by the timelessness of her songs. This one in particular, now reflects the sentiments of grief-stricken mothers of thousands of innocent Pakistanis who are killed in terrorist attacks every day. This woman was fearless and subtlety was not her thing. Her bold make-up and clothes made her stand out but she still managed to look graceful. As not just a playback singer, but a great actress too, Jehan blew life into works of Pakistani poets and many Pakistani films for over 35 years. Her spectacular performances managed to bag her the President’s Award in 1957, and very deservedly so. Many have tried to adopt Madam’s style but have failed miserably. The very feminine quivering lip, voluminous hairstyles and shiny satin saris topped with matching scarves around her neck best suited only her. She was not just a woman but a phenomenon who Pakistan owes a huge chunk of its good popularity too. Congratulations to Pakistan on the birth anniversary of an unmatchable superstar. A legend like Madam need not be born again because she will live forever in film and chime in frequencies of radios all across Pakistan and the rest of the world. Read more by Imaan here or follow her on Twitter @SheikhImaan Join us on Facebook for blog updates and more!

I knew I was going to miss Pakistan; I had a feeling I’d crave the food, yearn for cricket, mope after the people and just generally be homesick after spending some time abroad. Coming to the US for college was, however, my personal choice and being here has been nothing short of amazing. The homesickness kicked in, but it is very different from what I thought it would be. It is hard to explain the ways in which I miss Pakistan. I miss the daily drive to and from school and the topsy-turvy hills I would stare at along the motorway. (Photo: Nostalgic's Photography) The different shapes the clouds would form and the amazing scenery when it used to rain. (Photo: Aalee Photography) I miss meeting the people I met in school—even if I didn’t stop to chat, I knew that there were a tonne of people in the same building who knew who I am and who cared about me. I miss hearing Urdu being spoken, I miss swearing in Punjabi. (Photo: Maansal Studios) I miss the general feeling of waking up and hearing the crazy birds chirping continuously outside my window, knowing that I was starting another day in the place I felt myself to be a part of. I miss being part of a bleeding, torn, horror-struck community that got shot down every single day and yet learned to pick itself up overnight to greet another sunrise with the same gritty courage that nobody expected it to possess. (Photo: Sheikh Danish Ejaz) I miss looking at the faces in the street, seeing everyone sinking into the same pit I found myself in, but knowing that they would not, under any circumstances, give up. (Photo: Nostalgic’s Photography) Giving up was never a choice in Pakistan. I miss how the air of resignation would shimmer, twist and coalesce into jubilation over the slightest of joys, be it a cricket victory or a hockey miracle or even a random Pakistani doing some form of good in the world. I haven’t been discriminated against. I have met some of the most talented, amazing and open-minded people I have ever come across; people who know enough about Pakistan to empathise with me and understand where I’m coming from. What I miss, however, are the unsaid, unseen and untold parts of Pakistan. The way all our eyes would pour out the same sentiments and our voices would all contribute to the discordant symphony that rules our lives in our crazy little South Asian heaven. (Photo: INP) I’m very content with what I have here. This country and its people have much to teach me, but I’m not quite sure that I managed to bring all of myself over the Atlantic. There’s a part of me eating tikkas at Monal, looking out over Islamabad and breathing in its somewhat hypocritical beauty. (Photo: Asif Nawaz) There’s a part of me still looking over the fields in Attock, over the towns which are hopelessly lagging behind the times. There’s a part of me still swearing and sweating in a load-shedding struck room, cursing at the government and wishing things would get better. (Photo: Farah Kamal) I mourn every death that happens in Pakistan every single day. My life stood still when I learnt of the fire. (Photo: AFP) Being physically apart, being busy, being overwhelmed by a new country are all very real threats to my connection with Pakistan, but for now I don’t even feel in the slightest like a stranger to what it represents. (Photo: AFP) For now, home is where the edible, halal food is. Home is where Zardari reigns supreme (however unfortunately). Home is a scary place, but it’s there and it’ll be waiting for me come December. (Photo: AFP) I can’t wait to be back! Join us on Facebook and Twitter for blog updates and more! 

I begin with the disclaimer that this blog is not for three kinds of people: 1. Those who have an issue with the sweeping generalisations I am about to make in the spirit of fun, though parts will be definitely based on truth and years of research-based observation. 2. Ladies who are non-Punjabi and take the title as a jibe against themselves, and say to themselves “what does she mean? Don’t men like non-Punjabi women? She doesn’t know what she’s talking about! I know my husband would never be able to do with a Punjabi woman... they’re so loud!” 3. Punjabi women who, well, have ended up with the “non-Karachiite-type” thaith (pure), purely Punjoo men. Ok so, it just me or do you see it all around you? Out of the inter-provincial, inter-cultural marriages, engagements and other stuff, as a Karachiite I have always seen non-Punjabi men falling for Punjabi women. I, on purpose, used the term “Karachiite-type” men, but to be more specific, we can use the term “Urdu-Speaking” men. So why do Urdu-speaking men keep falling for Punjabi women? Especially considering the fact that many stereo-typical terms are associated with Punjabi women: Loud, tacky, dominating, laraaki (ready to fight), big in size and again, loud. We seem to forget, generally, the beautiful, slender, groomed and talented Punjabi girls who are quite the norm. It seems like the image that comes to our mind when we say “Punjabi girl” is a large-sized female in a colourful laacha, helping irrigate Pakistan’s agricultural lands by jumping in the fields trying to entertain a disinterested man, or eating a huge paratha dripping with ghee and yelling loud enough to make her lungs fall off on GT Road, screaming,

“Mere naal bakwaas na keeta kar naeen te tera bootha tor diyaan gee”. (“Don’t talk rubbish with me or I’ll break your face!”)

“All my life”, said a friend when he was choosing a girl to marry at the ripe old age of 23, “I have seen my mom, sisters, cousins, aunts – so proper. They don’t laugh too loud. They talk in aap janaab. They wear light blues, pastel pinks and beige, and I am like that too, the subtle aap janaab type. So somehow, the idea of a colourful lady in red appeals to me. Who laughs to her heart’s desire and speaks her mind. You know, the phuljharee-type (firecracker-type).” “Phuljharee-type?” I asked him to confirm I had heard correctly. “Yes yes. the phuljharee, titlee type (the firecracker, butterfly type). For a change you know,” he affirmed.

“At least with a Punjabi girl, you don’t spend your life wondering what’s under the cool demeanour,” said another anonymous friend. (And yes, it is best that my informants stay unnamed, lest they face consequences at the hands of the non-Punjoo women in their lives!). “She is who she is. Ghussay mein ho ya khush, kam az kam pata to chal jaata hai. (If she’s angry or happy, at least we can tell.) You know how we men are, yaar. We are bad mind-readers and women expect us to be just that. At least this way, you know that it is what it is, in your face. Jo hay wo hay (It is what it is). At least she’ll say it and not keep it in her heart for the next decade,” he said.

“For guys, it’s all about looks and Punjabi girls are mostly good looking. For me that is the single most important factor. As it is, I like her to be not stick thin,” said another informant.

“I’m telling you, the ‘wujood e zann se hai tasweer e kainaat mein rang’ wala shair (in the picture of the universe all the colours are from the female gender)  was written for Punjoo girls,” said one know-it-all, in his second year of a happy engagement with a Punjabi girl, while he himself has ancestors from Lucknow.

We are not a sitar with a single string, and our music takes more than one chord to make. We are a convergence of languages and cultures, all of which are simply too lustrous to be overshadowed by any single one. Yet Urdu is not considered a language; it is an apparatus used to measure patriotism. It is a test that is used to verify one’s allegiance to our green and white flag. Isn’t this an awkward status to have bestowed upon Urdu, considering hardly eight percent of Pakistanis speak it as their mother tongue? On the other hand, Punjabi happens to be the first language of 44% of Pakistanis. It is what they comfortably speaking at home, that is, when they are not busy using Urdu to affirm their ‘Pakistani-ness’ to the rest of the nation. It is this affirmation that we did not receive from our now-separated eastern half, which insisted on speaking Bengali. Although it would be sinfully simplistic to claim that East Pakistan broke off due to a failure to add Bengali to our holy pedestal of official languages, there are very few who say that West Pakistan’s lack of resilience in this matter did not stoke the flames in 1971. Perhaps our fault lies in the fact that we often impart more meaning to a language than is necessary. After all, English has been unofficially dubbed the language of the elite, and many pompously speak it to impress upon the listener the quality of education that they have received. Similarly, a person may speak Urdu to remind us of his love for Pakistan. While there are many who mourn the imagined death of Urdu language and literature, there are few who lament the decimation of Punjabi. Once the wand with which Bulleh Shah cast his culture-enriching magic, Punjabi is now a language of uneducated village folk best known for jugat, or witty banter. The fact that I can even name a few Punjabi poets is heartening, because I do not think that I can even name Bulleh Shah’s counterpart for the Balochi language. God alone knows which dead or dying languages there are in the south, trampled beneath the feet of the giants that are English and Urdu. My sincere gratitude goes out to whichever chirping cricket is offering them company at their death beds. If these dismal metaphors upset you, here is another theory for you to consider. Our languages are not dying - rather, they are evolving. They are flowing into one another, donating words and importing phrases. This adulteration is not an injustice unique to Urdu; it is something that all languages go through. A case in point is the multitude of blogs, articles and newspaper columns criticising the ‘destruction’ of the English language by internet jargon. Yes, Urdu plays a significant role in Pakistan, being the common language which allows a Sindhi and a Pashtun to communicate with words, rather than awkward gestures. However, excessive glorification of Urdu as being symbolic of one’s Pakistani nationality is frankly an insult to the non-Urdu speaking citizens of this country. Questioning their loyalty and ‘desi-ness’, for the perceived crime of improperly pronouncing Urdu words, is simply unacceptable.

Dhaba – a roadside restaurant of sorts – originates from the Indian Punjabi culture. It typically consists of a structure made from mud and wooden planks with charpais and the occasional hookah strewn around.  [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="576"] A dhaba’s tea is always adored among the local Pakistanis. PHOTO: MAANSAL STUDIOS/ FILE[/caption] Desi food and ethnic props give these rickety restaurants their rustic environment. Dhabas are a reminder of a simple way of life that has been lost in the mundane affairs of our materialistic society. The dhaba culture has been prevalent throughout Pakistan, particularly in Karachi. And I have seen a shift in the function and status of dhabas from being an after-work hangout for menial workers to the trendy recreational spot that they have become in recent years. Dhabas in Karachi are now frequented and enjoyed by the rich and poor alike. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="576"] Tea is usually consumed at breakfast, during lunch breaks at the workplace, and in the evening at home. PHOTO: JALAL QURESHI/ EXPRESS[/caption] Just an eating-out place? Although most dhabas attract their clientele with their finger-licking desi cuisine, these cafes have become more than just eating-out places over the last few years. Their patrons frequent them due to their pleasant and homely ambience, delicious food and aromatic chai. People of all ages, social standing and gender have something in particular that they enjoy at the dhaba of their choice. Older people enjoy the comfort and old-school charm while the youth take pleasure in the hookah and chai. For some, a dhaba serves as a place to unwind after a long day’s drudgery while for others it is a place for fun and frolic. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="576"] Hanging out at a dhaba. PHOTO: MAANSAL STUDIOS/ FILE[/caption] Breakfast, lunch or tea? I have always found it interesting how the time of the day affects the kind of patrons to be found at a dhaba. On a Sunday morning, you may see groups of families and friends enjoying fresh halwa puri for breakfast at a dhaba. On any given afternoon, flocks of students may stop by at a dhaba for tea or an inexpensive and quick lunch while working people may prefer to drink doodh patti at the dhaba closest to their office – instead of drinking the dull, watery tea served in most offices. And of course, nothing beats hot, aromatic chai with a layered paratha dripping with desi makhan (desi butter) on a chilly, winter evening. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="576"] A Dhaba's tea is always adored among the local Pakistanis. PHOTO: MAANSAL STUDIOS/ FILE[/caption] Foreigner? You would love our dhaba food! This craze for dhabas is not just limited to our locals. Even one of my cousins who lives in London, prefers to go to a dhaba rather than an expensive restaurant. Even the best restaurants here have little value for those living abroad and they would rather visit a place unique to our culture. What better place to visit than a dhaba for that true ‘taste’ of Karachi? So, one morning we took him to one for some halwa puri for breakfast. While lounging on the charpai and licking his fingers, he said,

“This is so much better than eating at a five-star restaurant. Would I be able to enjoy myself as thoroughly in a restaurant, with their table etiquettes and fastidious rules? Here I not only enjoy my food, I can even express my enjoyment in the most uninhibited way possible. This is my culture. This is home.”

Over the last few weeks, I have been meeting children from different parts of Punjab. They ranged in age between three and five years and included children of my friends and extended family. I was pleasantly surprised to hear these kids speaking in Punjabi. Some of the phrases that I recall hearing them use are,

“Kithay chalay o?” (Where are you off to?) “Aa ki aey?” (What is this?) “Ki karde paye o?” (What are you doing?)

“Meem se murghi.” (‘H’ for hen)

“Meem se kukri” (‘H’ for hen)

 “Why does everyone speak in Punjabi here? I spoke to rickshaw drivers, shopkeepers and a few other people and everyone replied to me in Punjabi!”

“Babu jee, India is so enormous. Mumbai, Agra, Delhi and Bihar are unfathomable in size. Either you take one step or accomplish a hundred, it will take 10 years to traverse from one end of the country to another,” she assured me in her mellifluous Bihari tone.

“Huh, you have seen India, my foot! Woman of no worth,” she shouted out, as mother and I looked at each other, exchanging mental notes on how to manage Nani’s incorrigible distrust of domestic helpers.

“If there were no avenues of recompense in the afterlife for the miseries of this world, what pitiful, indeed, was the human condition”.

“Babu jee, if there is no deliverance for the poor of the world, in the existence beyond, what a tragedy it will be! It should not be the fate of an absolute majority of the world’s populace to be exposed to myriad shades of poverty in these 60 odd years of life while a minuscule segment continue to live in absolute opulence. No Babu jee! It would be so unjust, that a tiny fraction of humanity is afforded all the pleasures and felicities of the world, while the masses wonder about the prospects for the next meal. Such affluence for some and absolute penury for the others is not the way of the universe”.

“We did not come to Pakistan at the onset of the great divide, Babu jee. My father, a postman in the British Raj, had said that we shall not leave this land of our ancestors under any circumstances. However, after his death, things started going downhill. My husband tried to make ends meet but it was very difficult. It became all the more difficult after the 70’s war, when the Biharis started being branded as having shallow loyalty to the state. However, we stuck out through these years. Then, things changed after the Babri Mosque debacle. My eldest son, having just married in the month preceding the disaster, was killed in one of the outbursts of violence in Mumbai. His death changed everything; we lost everything in the ensuing mayhem. Who was to blame? The mullah, the Brahmin, the state? Wherein did the culpability lie? We left in the year after that and came to Karachi”.

“Baji, nothing was different here. In the 90’s, Karachi’s towns and environs became killing fields as the army operation against ‘miscreants’ continued in the city. Many of my family members were rounded up in connection with the ‘Jinnahpur’ controversy. They were put in jail without any evidence, were severely tortured by the white-clad officials of the ‘farishtas’. Two of the eight died in the cell. Sindhis were at war against the Muhajirs here, while the Pakhtun teethed in anger against the Baloch. We had come to Pakistan expecting the situation to be different here. Nothing could have prepared us for the dystopia we witnessed here. Brother was after brother; there were moments of such depravity in those days that I still shudder when I come to think of it,” she answered.

“There was a blast near our katchra kundi (garbage dump) which made us move out from the Landhi area. Nine people were killed in it. It was so close to home, Baji that we decided we had to move out. Baji, if you ask me, life everywhere has the same problems – a concern to satiate the fire of the stomach. The lot of the poor is the same across India and Pakistan and indeed everywhere. The politicians use us to shore up their vote banks, the hypocritical men of religion manipulate our devotion to a set of beliefs, use us as a fodder to swell their ranks. The tiller of the soil continues to search for the never-germinating seeds of material prosperity and the worker at the factory struggles to make ends meet as he opts for ‘overtime’ for that marginal increase in income. The domestic servants (I could not help noticing a minor hint of emphasis here through the amplification of voice), meanwhile, continue to bear abuses of their beliefs and persons,” she told us.

“I will return, indeed, Nani to such a profligate company that you will forget the ‘sweet melody’ I was while I worked under your command. However, now with my tethered wings, I will hatch a plan along with the reprobates of my company, to loot your house in PECHS which remains without a guardian as your son is out of the country and you having to catch the plane soon,” she pronounced the rhapsody, in the tone of Solomon.

Sweltering summers and food-less Ramazans are a rather challenging, patience-testing combination. But not once does it falter the resolve of a believer when it comes to fasting. For people who fast, away from home and, in non-Muslim countries, things are even tougher. The work hours don’t change, meaning even when your energy levels are dwindling and your eyes are droopy due to sleep deprivation, you still need to keep on marching. This also means that the expatriate families hardly have time to prepare the elaborate iftar, which we are accustomed to in Pakistan or any other Muslim country. I personally enjoy a fuss free iftar; a simple meal accompanied by a hydrating drink. But those who can’t settle for a fuss free iftar, prepping ahead is a viable option for them. I am sharing the recipe for ‘Dahi Bhallay’ (as we Punjabis call it). The assembly takes no time at all so I prepare everything in advance and freeze it. I made this for Ammi and my mother-in-law on my last trip to Pakistan, in April this year, and both of them loved it. Phase 1: Make sweet tamarind chutney [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="450"] Photo: Ambreen Malik[/caption] Ingredients: Wet tamarind – 300 grams Water – 3 cups Sugar – ¾ cup Salt – ½ tsp Method:

1. Soak the tamarind overnight in three cups of water.
2. The next morning, mash the tamarind and separate the pulp and seeds. Strain the liquid.
3. Boil the tamarind liquid with salt and sugar till it reduces to about a cup. Cool and refrigerate.

1. Using a liquidiser, make a thick paste of the lentil with all the ingredients. I find it easier to divide the lentil into two or three portions and then grind; this yields a finer paste. Mix all the batches thoroughly.
2. Heat the wok with one to two cups of sunflower oil. Once the oil is boiling hot, add heaped tablespoons of batter each into the wok in quick succession. Do not crowd the wok, as this will result in the oil cooling down faster and in effect, deflating the bhallas. Fry to a gentle golden colour. Once crisp, take them out on a kitchen paper. Repeat the process till all bhallas are fried.
3. Soak the bhallas in boiling hot water for about 15 minutes. Drain the water and leave to cool. Then press each bhalla between the palms of your hands to squeeze the water out. Be careful not to break them. Use about a dozen bhallas for now and put the rest aside. The remaining bhallas can be frozen in a sealed container for later use.

Today is the 14^th death anniversary of Malika-e-Tarannum Madam Noor Jehan. Yes, it’s been 14 long years since South Asia’s queen of melody left us all, after she suffered from a prolonged ailment, at the age of 74. Famous for her silken saris, bold eye make-up, unique hairstyles and glittering diamonds, Noor Jehan’s melodious voice touched millions and created a matchless blend of vocal gestures and emotional expressions, which interpreted feelings in a very surreal way. A legendary singer, all her musical performances have a distinct manipulation and creation of vocal articulation, all done according to the standards of style and genre of every song. Born as Allah Wasai on September 21, 1926, in Kasur, Punjab, Noor Jehan had an extensive career in the history of subcontinent’s film and music industry, spanning seven decades. From film direction and music composition to singing and acting, she did it all. In fact, she was the first female singer in the subcontinent to record a qawwali called Aahen na bharin shikve na kiye, for the movie Zeenat in 1945. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xmhwn7_aahen-na-bharin-shikve-na-kiye-zeenat_shortfilms[/embed] She has sung almost 10,000 songs in diverse languages, including Urdu, Punjabi and Sindhi, and has received numerous awards as well as titles for her performing skills. Some of them include the President’s Award, Tamgha-e-Imtiaz, The Pride of Pakistan, Bulubul-e-Pakistan, The Millennium Singer, and Cultural Ambassador of Pakistan. She was solely responsible for changing the face of the subcontinent’s film music by inducing arousal, feelings, emotions and mood in the music genre. She influenced poets, singers and particularly composers to enhance their compositions and play with creativity. In fact, even Lata Mangeshkar imitated Noor Jehan’s singing style at the beginning of her musical career as a playback singer in Bollywood. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xurppy_chandni-raaten-sab-jug-soye-noor-jahan_music[/embed] While talking about her famous film songs, one cannot ignore classics such as Kuch log rooth kar bhi, Chandni raatein, Sada hon apne piyar, Kala sha kala hai, Chand hanse dunya base roye, Gaey gi dunya geet merey, Hamari sanson mein aaj, Mahi awey ga, Sun wanjli di mithri tan way, Sayyo ni mera mahi, Sone di tavitri and many more. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1s8u9z_noor-jehan-hamari-sanson-mein-aaj-tak-woh-mere-hazoor_music[/embed] [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1s4f3x_noor-jehan-je-main-hundi-dholna-sone-di-taweetri_music[/embed] These melodious compositions, along with her daring and enchanting voice, still creates a trance over her listeners. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x106kox_sayyo-ni-mera-mahi-mere-bhag-jagawan-aa-gaya-noor-jehan-by-aslam-nasir_music[/embed] Each song is a matchless piece of art, and each brings out an unusual sensation in us – this is the most influential aspect about her singing. Her dominant voice portrays what we feel inside, which many of us literally don’t know how to express. Who can forget her mesmerising duets with Mehdi Hassan, Ahmed Rushdi, Masood Rana and Mujeeb Alam? Urdu and Punjabi filmgoers can still recall those songs for their intense exquisiteness; Aap ko bhool jayen from the film Tum Milay Pyaar Mila, Koi yun bhi roothta hai from Aas and Cheti bhori ve tabiba from Tere Ishaq Nachaya are just a few examples. https://soundcloud.com/alvina69capk/aap-ko-bhool-jayen-hum-itne-to [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x19olto_koi-yun-bhi-rothta-hay-noor-jehan-ahmed-rushdi-aas-raja-faiz_music[/embed] She has truly demonstrated that music is not only a source of amusement but also a great way to channel patriotism among the masses. She paid a tribute to the Pakistan army soldiers who embraced martyrdom during the 1965 Indo-Pak war. Ae puttar hattan te nahi wikde, Ae watan ke sajile jawano, Rang laye ga shahedon ka lahu, Mere dhol sipahiya and Mera mahi chail chabeela are some of the unforgettable, poignant war songs wherein her voice promoted morale and emotions. She had the ability to breathe life into her lyrics. https://soundcloud.com/dododeedee/noor-jahan-ae-watan-ke-sajeele-jawano It is the beauty of her accent and expressions that make her stand out as a singer, even today. Listeners can feel her spirit speaking to them through songs like Roshan meri ankhon mein. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1am8dl_roshan-meri-ankhon-me-wafa-k-jo-dye-hain-noor-jahan_music[/embed] She did justice to Allama Iqbal’s thought-provoking poetry, Har lehza hai momin and anyone who listens to her song would feel the unmatched combination of verses and vocals in it. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1a4987_noor-jehan-har-lehza-hai-momin-ki-kalaam-allama-iqbal_music[/embed] With her mesmerising voice, Noor Jahan decked ghazals in her own traits and turned them into something absolutely beautiful. With every poetical message, be it by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Nasir Kazmi, Mustafa Zaidi, Jamiluddin Aali or Bulleh Shah, she was able to create a sophisticated persona around it. Using illustrated expressions and gestures, she was able to add a new dimension to ghazals – and she did it with class. Some of my favourite Noor Jehan melodies include: Mein tere sang kaise chaloon [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x15vwry_mein-tere-sang-kaise-noor-jehan_music[/embed] Dil dharakne ka sabab yaad aya [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x12g0e4_noor-jehan-dil-dharakne-ka-sabab-yaad-aaya_music[/embed] Dil ke afsane [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x12g0yn_noor-jehan-dil-ke-afsane-nighahon-ki-zaban_music[/embed] Jo na mil sake wohi [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1sm0ie_noor-jehan-jo-na-mil-sake-wohe-bewafa_music[/embed] Kabhi kitabon mein phool [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x12g3b6_noor-jehan-live-kabhi-kitabon-mein-phool-rakhna_music[/embed] Mujh se pehli si muhabat [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x12gmto_noor-jehan-live-mujh-se-pehli-si-mohabat_music[/embed] Raat pehli hai tere surmai aanchal ki [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xnt3ez_raat-phaili-hai-tere-surmayi-aanchal-ki-tarha-the-greatest-malika-e-taranum-noor-jehan_music[/embed] I am a big fan of her timeless music and the more I listen to her songs, the more impressed I get. It is absolutely impossible to cover each and every song of hers in a single blog. One would need multiple piles of books to praise her accomplished career. No doubt, she has an undisputed place in South Asia’s music industry. Her powerful melodic voice will continue to enchant hearts of coming generations. Gone, but never forgotten, rest in peace, Malika-e-Tarannum Madam Noor Jehan. You are still missed.

Lahore is the heart of Pakistan.  It is a city impossible to ignore with all its festivities, rich culture, and scrumptious food. Even when the subcontinent’s partition was underway, both Indians and Pakistanis yearned for Lahore’s inclusion in their respective homelands. According to an old, famous Punjabi quote,

“Jinnay Lahore nai whekhya, o jammia nai!” (If you haven’t seen Lahore, you have not been born)

You know me. I am the one whose friendship request you ignored on Facebook. All I wanted was for us to be virtual friends. I could have liked your cover photo, and you could have commented on how deep that Rumi quote was. You know? The one I shared with the image of a tropical sunset? That is the image of the sun of our friendship going down in flames. It is not my fault that I was born to Mr and Ms Princess; my father was ridiculed throughout his school life for that name. My father fought through the adversities of being called ‘Princess’. I mean it was his name, but that does not mean it did not hurt. The story goes like this; my grandparents could not conceive for the longest time. Desperate, they decided to seek the help of a mangal; a mangal is a peer who works on a Tuesday but this is no time to explain jokes to you – try and keep up. The mangal, whose last name was Panday (this is not a reference to the movie of the same name, the mangal’s parents were literally two Punjabi pandas but that is a story for another time) suggested that if my grandparents want a child, they need to consult with the sister of the Prawn King. My grandparents rushed to Sea View, and rushed into the kitchen of the first sea food restaurant they found. Unfortunately, the prawns listed on their menus where actually genetically modified snails. The second restaurant was more ethical, their snails were not genetically modified. However, the third restaurant had actual prawns. Right before the sister of the Prawn King became ‘jumbo king-big-huge-enormous-actually-will-this-fit-on-the-menu prawns,’ it promised them a child, if only they named it after it. My poor non-affluent grandparents could not spell, so instead of writing ‘Prawn Sis’ on the birth certificate, they wrote ‘princess’ when my father was born. Thankfully my grandparents never conceived a child again. They never really quite learnt how to spell either. They thought they were being buried in wooden cats’ kits when they died. This is my history. These are the hardships I have lived in. If all this was not enough, I also now have to face an incessant amount of ridicule on Facebook. Why can all the Sanas, Razias and Anums join Facebook, but an innocent princess cannot? For far too long has the princess family been unnecessarily discriminated against in Pakistan. I have no idea why it was arbitrarily decided that it was illegal for anyone to use the name ‘Princess’ in Pakistan. Is Princess any less of a name than Tariq, Shabbir or Kamal? Why is it that my name is specifically targeted? Why is that we are not allowed to live freely on Facebook? Our founder, and leader, Mark Zuckerberg promised us that Facebook would be a land where everybody would be free to choose their own surnames. Megatron has over a million friends but nobody wants to be friends with an innocent princess. If all the people of the Afridi clan can put Shahid Afridi’s picture as their profile picture, why can I not have Sleeping Beauty as my profile picture? It is the character that I relate to the most as a Pakistani. However, none of this is my fault; you can even say that I am innocent. What am I innocent for? Everything. All the guilt belongs to you, all of you who judge me for my perfectly acceptable name, my beautiful profile picture, and my incessant sharing of Rumi quotes. I am not metaphorically innocent, but also legally. Years ago a writ was filed in the Supreme Court of Pakistan labelling me a fictitious person. The writ claimed that I did not belong to the human kind, and I should be labelled a virtual person. It claimed that my existence was a threat to the public order; it is preposterous to think that an innocent princess like me could ever offend public sensibilities. The Supreme Court rightly found me innocent of any wrong doing. The only charges ever proved against me were an assault of Candy Crush requests, and a battery of Facebook pokes. Everything else, I was innocent of. Finally, my family name was cleared, and I could live freely in Pakistan as an innocent princess. The next time you find an innocent princess like me trying to be friends with you on Facebook, think about what we might have gone through to be able to do that. Do not dismiss us as virtual trolls. Some people have tried to malign us by using our names, just so that they could pretend to be an innocent princess and flirt with other men. This is the only socially acceptable way for men to flirt with men in Pakistan. I do not blame them either but they need to realise that it is not a choice for us to be an innocent princess; one is born an innocent princess. I am an innocent princess, and I am proud to be one. I am going to leave with a Rumi quote, please imagine you are reading this text against the backdrop of a tropical sunset for maximum effect.

“What you seek is seeking you,” Rumi.

In the age of the cloud, things are progressing fast and people are accepting changes coming along with it. The internet has revolutionised not only the way we consume media, but also how the media infiltrates into our lives, and into the lives of the ones who control it. Our music industry is witnessing a positive change, thanks to the internet, and new musicians with their creative music, are showing the world the amount of talent our country has. SomeWhatSuper is one such duo who recently came out with their single ‘Bandook’, a catchy dance track. But here’s the catch, it’s in Punjabi, which makes the track so much more interesting. I recently got a chance to talk to Feroz and Talha, the voice behind SomeWhatSuper, about their experience of releasing and creating the track, and using the uber cool new music platform Patari to take things forth. [embed width="620"]https://soundcloud.com/somewhatsuper/somewhatsuper-bandook-original-mix[/embed] How did you guys come up with the lyrics to the song? What’s the story behind the lyrics? For me, it’s the lyrics which are the really catchy part of the song. What is the girl talking about? I don’t understand the Punjabi bit, so help us understand the song a bit.

The lyrics to the song were not just a random fluke; they were well thought out and were inspired by the research and experiment we did with our kind of music. Two years back, we bought a random sample pack off the internet. This sample pack had bonus vocals that later became the vocals of Bandook. The lyrics, ‘Tureya Tureya janda’ are from ‘Bajra Da Sitta’ whereas ‘Dukhan Di Roti’ is a Sufi poem by Shah Hussain. We call them ‘Tappay’. A typical response to this might be that the lyrics are copied from Badshah, but these are a mix of two very old folk songs that inspired us to give it a twist with a genre of our interest and come up something phenomenal for our listeners out there. Initially, when we started on Bandook, we stopped working on it for a while, but the fact that we often found ourselves mumbling the addictive lyrics and tune gave us a signal to work on it and create something out of it. The lyrics ‘Tureya Tureya Janda’ is where a girl is expressing how fragile her life is and the gun we have on our shoulder, we should be careful with that. The other part is the man, who is responding by saying that this is to feed my sadness, misery, and pain.

Both of us belong to Punjabi families. People who do not belong to Punjabi families, even they are dazzled by the rich culture of Punjab. So the Punjabi background alone was enough to tempt us to work and experiment with Punjabi lyrics. Apart from this, we listen to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan a lot. We listen to him musically and lyrically, and that is what signalled us to fuse (Punjabi and Electronic Dance Music) for good. For us, this is not really dubstep; we call it the Moombahton style. Basically Moombahton can be referred to English bhangra beats, and to easily convert Moombahton to bhangra, the right instruments need to be selected and we did the same for Bandook. The result, although it took quite a while for us to understand the specifics and mechanics, can work for the lyrics we have selected. Besides the Punjabi family background, we wanted to aim for the domestic music industry rather than going for the international industry. Our goal is to bridge the gap between the Pakistani music industry and its listeners, which is slowly dying. The bridging would not only revive it, but also establish a stable platform for others wanting to do the same.

The production process was not a simple one. It was difficult for us, as a team, to work things out and work our way through the lengthy and hectic process of production. The anticipation and interest kept us moving along. We created around 20 demos for Bandook, but somehow failed to get the sound we wanted, until we worked on demo number 21. Even after that, we had to work on three more demos for the final product. We still have two different versions of Bandook. One is for user listening and the other is for us to play during our live performances. We have postponed the releasing of the other version for a while. Things are very unpredictable when one is going through the production phase. You can never be sure how the final track, a demo or changes to a demo will turn out. It was very similar for Bandook too; it took us two years to create the first half whereas the other half was done and finalised within 20 minutes. We knew what we wanted the final sound to be, so it was easier for us to move forward with a clear direction. Producing our own music, when your laptops are your make shift studios is quite difficult, but the journey of Bandook was very stimulating for us.

Being musicians, we appreciate art. It works as an inspiration, it can act as food for the soul or it can even complement the work we do. And that is why SomeWhatSuper and art go hand in hand. For this specific cover, our friends Raza and Amar really helped us put together a fancy and catchy cover art work. We left it at their discretion and the cover took us by surprise. It is not only different and catchy, but completely complements what we have to offer to our listeners. It made our track a complete package, added to the unique element we were banking on, and added vitality to the entire Bandook story.

Aiming for the clubs was never on our list, especially when it comes to Bandook. For Bandook to become the ultimate summer anthem is what we had in our minds; we want people blasting their cars with this song. Many of our listeners and friends have sent us videos and Snapchats of people listening to Bandook in their cars or humming the tune. To take this ahead, we have a lot more to offer but we are very concerned about how we should further progress while keeping the distinctive element people have started associating with SomeWhatSuper and the sounds we work on. Various tracks are in the pipeline right now. There are a lot of demos that need to be revisited and perfected for our listeners.

Initially, it was us who approached and shared our work with the Patari team. We got a response from Khalid Bajwa immediately and he was super excited about Bandook. He pitched a plan to take it forward through his platform of Patari. We left it entirely up to him on how he wants to promote the track. The response and feedback we got through Patari was very insightful and motivating on how we should take this forward from here. It’s been a month or so since the track was launched on Patari, we already have 20,000 hits. We are ranked as number one on their charts. I think we were very lucky to be going live with Bandook the same time Patari is growing too. We hopped on to the bandwagon. As Patari grows, we have a more promising platform to come forward to and we get a chance to grow with it as well. It is an amazing venture for the Pakistani music industry which will further expand the horizon of opportunities for all the music lovers, listeners and musicians out there.

Bandook was not an instantaneous thing; there is no such story behind it to tell. There were instances where it hit us what we want to do to with the track and the production process was steered by us accordingly. We are an electronic group and we don’t really work as a band. Although one of us is a guitarist and the other a drummer, we bring our own specialities and expertise to the table and work together as any other electronic group does. We work from our laptops, collaborate, and keep on polishing it until we like what we hear. During this process, we share the raw demos with a few selected friends, which mostly bring in negative feedback or laughter. We are currently working on four different types of tracks, where two of them are affiliated with one of the biggest names from the music industry. Our next track is completely different from Bandook. We like to experiment with stuff. We will not stick to a single sound or a single genre. Apart from this, SomeWhatSuper is also working on a 30-minute non-stop mix of a kind that has never been done before. This comes out right after Eid, followed by going live with other projects in the pipeline. The year 2015 has already started well for us and going by the plans we have, we see it ending even bigger for us as well as the music industry we cater to.

There is a common narrative that an overwhelming majority of Punjabis are chauvinistic and are always conspiring against the smaller provinces. In fact, it has become sort of a trend, particularly among some of the liberal journalists, to put all the blame on the Punjabis. I can understand the rationale behind it because that is a well-accepted narrative. Moreover, since the smaller provinces have complaints, therefore it becomes difficult to say anything in defence of the Punjabis for the fear of being called a ‘pseudo liberal’ or worst, a closet chauvinist. Some of the journalists just throw the word Punjabi chauvinism without even trying to justify their stance. Mind you, some of the esteemed journalists are also guilty of it. The title ‘liberal’ is perhaps more important than credibility and they just don’t want to be accused of being ethnically biased, no matter even if they are projecting an unsubstantiated opinion. One of the reasons as to why I am offering my two cents is because I think that in an increasingly ethnically charged state, we need to resolve the issues without undue hatred towards each other. Continuous allegations against ordinary Punjabis breeds hatred and at times may manifest in violence. Yes, Punjab is dominant but ordinary Punjabis may not have conscious scheming role as is often projected by some of the people. Whereas I am against this current set up as it causes grievances to smaller provinces, at the same time, I would like to make one thing clear – it is not correct to blame the Punjabi masses. Yes, Punjab’s dominance is not springing from the fact that an ordinary Punjabi is a chauvinist but rather due to the fact that it is the most populous province and our systems of revenue allocation is based on population. Secondly, the quota system which is also based on population and demographics favours Punjab more.  It is this quota system which has escalated to a higher representation of Punjabis in the state institutions. So quota favours Punjab, but do we really want to see the end of the quota system? We all know that in reality, quota works for the advantage of smaller provinces. If you don’t believe me, try repealing it and the strongest protest will come not from Punjab but from other provinces barring the Mohajir community. In fact, the quota system hurts the Urdu speaking community the most. Hence, it is a combination of the quota system and the historical legacy of colonial times that a large chunk of armed forces are drawn from Punjab. We keep on hearing the word Punjabi army and through an over simplistic analysis, we also conclude that this Punjabi army is always trying to ensure Punjab’s interests. Unfortunately, the reality is often not that simple. First of all, the army’s primary interest is not preservation of Punjab’s interests but rather its own institutional interests. It has behaved the same no matter what the ethnicity of its commander in chief was. Whether it was a Sindhi Benazir or a Punjabi Nawaz Sharif, it has intervened whenever it assumed that its interests were being undermined by the ‘bloody civilians’. Army acts as an institution rather than as an agent for a particular province.  Yes, Punjab benefits but not due to conscious and planned efforts of Punjabis or for that matter army itself, but simply due to the fact that a large number of army officers are from Punjab. Even within Punjab, most of the army recruitment has been from merely three districts of Attock, Jhelum and Rawalpindi. The high recruitment from these areas is a legacy of colonial times. Yes there is a spill over effect to other areas as well, but primarily, the economic benefits within Punjab are restricted to these areas. Secondly, it is true that while Punjab gets more benefits due to its higher representation, the army’s interest may or may not be completely synonymous with Punjab’s interests each time. Yes, these may even overlap at times but we need stronger evidence to conclude that the army is a non-elected political institution, solely geared to just ensure Punjab’s hegemony and that too at the behest of the Punjabi populace. Furthermore, then comes the issue of the voting pattern. In this matter as well, it has often been alleged that Punjabi masses are chauvinistic and vote to ensure Punjab’s hegemony. This is also a pervasive point of view often repeated by some of the journalists. Some of them even went to the extent of interpreting a lawyer’s movement as a Punjabi population’s conspiracy to establish its lost electoral advantage. I have several objections to this voting pattern paradigm analysis. First of all, it is idiotic to assume that all Punjabi, or majority of the Punjabis, think and then vote like a monolithic entity. Vote is a one-time exercise and is often influenced by a multitude of factors. To simply assume without any evidence that their sole criterion is ethnicity is stretching it too far and borders on intellectual dishonesty. A deeper analysis would reveal how flawed this assertion is. Rural Punjab has more seats than any other area in Pakistan and all political issues are local and focus on local issues. A candidate is not voted on ideology but on their ability to wield influence on a local level.  This is an evident fact which is simply overlooked. Anatol Lieven in his brilliant book ‘Pakistan: A Hard Country’ has wonderfully articulated as to what politics is all about in Pakistan, particularly rural Punjab.  In his words,

 “Since the kinship group is the most important force in society, the power of kinship is inevitably reflected in the political system.”

“Humne Urdu k saath sautanon wala sulook kara hai aur almiya ye k ye samjhanay k liye bhi aik dusri zubaan ka sahara lena parega.” (We have always treated Urdu as a step-child and the worst part is, in order to fully understand our native language, we seek help from a foreign one.)

“Mujhay dard ho RAHI hai”, is a classic example of many of the sentences I have grown up listening to from friends who proudly state that their Urdu language skills are poor but are the grammar police when it comes to English. I am myself guilty of the latter. However, I am trying to get rid of this habit.

The car paused at a busy signal and as I was fidgeting with my rings, a colourful banner caught my attention. It read ‘goongay Punjab apni zaban mangda’ (the deaf and mute Punjab seeks its language). This statement brought back so many memories. February 21^st is celebrated as the International Mother Language Day. This celebration holds very significant, at the same time, conflicting and tormenting memories in my mind. It started with pain, but eventually evolved into something beautiful. Punjabi is my maa boli (mother tongue) and it was the only language I was taught when I was a child. My father loved his native language and contrary to his contemporaries, he insisted upon teaching us Punjabi as he believed that the rest of the necessary languages would come to us naturally, with the course of time. We resented his decision for a long time and we had our reasons for it as well. When I went for my school interview, I identified the colour white as ‘cheeta’, as I was confused between Urdu, English and Punjabi. Although I was accepted, I still remember the agony I faced when I became the laughing stock in my school. The Principal was amused and understood the dilemma, she granted admission but that day I learned that this has to change, if I am ever going to be taken seriously. My siblings and I were a joke for the family as well.

“See how cute they look, so young and conversing in Punjabi”

Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif was recently put on sale on eBay by one frustrated Pakistani who was sick of all the nuisances cluttering up his life. The move was applauded by many world over but mostly in Pakistan, and it occurred to me that this ‘spring-cleaning’ of our country should continue well beyond the realm of prime ministers that have time and again failed to deliver. Here are ‘for sale’ advertisements for other aspects of Pakistan: 1. The judiciary [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Sindh High Court
Photo: Online[/caption] The corrupt judiciary is only good for long marches and works with a special starter key of either monetary or political clout. The source of entertainment is reliable (even without the key) because the whole thing erupts like a pack of wild animals if disturbed, but be sure to only poke with a long stick or some suitable implement that will keep you at arm’s length because it bites. The product is useless as a guard animal as it’s extremely fickle.  *Starter key not included. 2. Full set of Federal and Provincial Assemblies (*complete attendance not guaranteed) [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Punjab Assembly
Photo: Online[/caption] Here is a special mind blowing offer on all five assemblies. The set has three modes of operation: debates on nonsensical issues, incoherent yelling of foul words in Urdu and every regional language and walkouts. Impossible to select modes at any particular time, but excellent language learning tool for young children (my nephew can now say ‘Wh***’ in Sindhi and Punjabi). It’s not very good for anything else and takes up a lot of closet space. Prayers are an acceptable mode of payment. 3. ‘Dr’Amir Liaqat [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="369"] Sex symbol, Dr Aamir Liaqat Hussain
Photo: Online[/caption] I bought this because the box also contained a really provocative female robot voice, but the voice only knows one sentence and it refuses to flirt with anyone but the good doctor. Hoped that the doctor’s weird clothes would still make a good conversational piece, but he keeps yelling and jumping up and down. Has the tendency to insult people for no good reason. A parrot can do the same, but it’s harder to teach a bird to say “Dr Sahab, ab bas bhi karain” (Doctor, please stop now), with exactly the right inflection. Sexy, female robot voice not sold separately. 4. Cable news [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Politician A accuses Politician B and his party of rampant corruption, mismanagement, theft, coupled with whatever is the soup of the day
Photo: Imaan Shaikh[/caption] Has a knack for emitting a constant stream of frantic yelling and Bollywood music (not sure how that counts as news). My cousin could connect it to a laptop and use some kind of DJ wizardry to combine the music and the yelling into catchy dance beats, but he has moved to Canada now. If you understand how that works then you can have it for all the years of my life that I’m never getting back. 5. The religious right [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Anti-domestic violence law to protect women is un-Islamic, Pakistani advisory group rules
Photo: AFP[/caption] My parents got this to teach us about Islam, morality, tolerance and how to be a good human being, but I think it’s broken because it doesn’t do either of those things. It completely ignores my brother and screeches at me if I so much as move a muscle. Excellent as waste disposal; for example, give it an apple and say “this apple is against Sharia”, then watch it tear the apple apart into a million little pieces. Reason for sale: a paper shredder is less noisy. 6. Morning show hosts [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Morning TV shows are all identical
Photo: File[/caption] This set of 1,000 dolled up women used to be good at keeping irritating viewers occupied, but now they’re giving them far too many stupid ideas (like its okay for an adult to play celebrity guessing games). If you run a mental asylum, you can use it to occupy the patients, since asylum attendants have straitjackets handy if things get too rowdy. 7. Punjab Police [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Those Police officers who were able to reduce waists by two to four inches will be given another chance.
Photo: Online[/caption] This is literally good for nothing. Not one thing. The main reason for selling is that maybe someone else could use it for target practice or to prop up furniture. Willing to exchange for a Doberman or Alsatian. I’d put up more items for sale but once I started digging, the sheer enormity of the dead weight pulling down on our lives broke me. I’ve set everything on fire and am moving to the mountains to live as a hermit. I’ll have Wi-Fi for as long as it takes to sell the above. Let the bidding begin.

Remember how Tony Montana cursed and swore his way into our collective hearts back in the day. I distinctly recall how being an impressionable young teen, watching Scarface (1983) was a life altering experience. Al Pacino playing a cool-ass Cuban gangster had such a profane… ooops!.. profound effect on my susceptible neurons, that I even contemplated becoming a full-time goon (just don’t tell my dad). Anyways, since the aforementioned idea was just a little far-fetched, I settled for the next cool thing by becoming a lean mean cuss machine! (Being a proud Punjabi certainly had a sway). And ever since that fateful day, yours truly is notoriously known for being the pottiest mouth in the East. Now being such a cussword aficionado, I have always found lack of profanities in mainstream Indian cinema a tad upsetting, not to mention highly unnatural too. And then just like that, along came Gangs of Wasseypur with its expletive ridden script and I was over the proverbial moon. To me personally, there is just something orgasmic about celluloid swearing, if done in one’s native tongue. So, naturally, when the uncut version of Udta Punjab, with all its swearputation preceding it, was leaked online, there was no way I was treating my ears to anything else this weekend. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xy9CIpYETs8 And surely, much to my delight it was a gaali-galore and then some! But what it wasn’t, was an entirely effective cinematic piece on the menace of drugs. Once you get past the shock value of hearing Punjabi swear words  on screen repeatedly, you will realise Udta Punjab does not fly as high as its western predecessors. [poll id="618"] There is an effectual way of telling tales about the horrors of substance abuse, an approach that movies like Trainspotting (1996), Traffic (2000) and Requiem for a Dream (2000) have so successfully made use of. But having said that, Udta Punjab is still a creditable fare from an industry that is constantly maturing artistically. Four parallel tracks, that of a nameless Bihari migrant farmhand (Alia Bhatt), a Punjabi rockstar Tommy Singh (Shahid Kapoor), a Sikh cop Sartaj (Diljit Dosanjh) and a doctor moonlighting as journalist, Dr Preet (Kareena Kapoor Khan) play to the backdrop of a dystopic vision of a state that was once India’s bread basket. The quartet follow a three line narco-terror narrative where we are plunged into a frenetically vicious world of rock ‘n’ roll, coke (chitta powder) snorting and  chemical cocktail injecting. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Shahid Kapoor
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Alia Bhatt
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] Udta Punjab takes flight without wasting a second… literally! Somewhere on the Indo-Pak border, we see a heroin pouch being hurled by a discus thrower across a barbed fence. The package worth a huge sum accidentally lands in Jane Doe’s feet who proceeds to steal it when greed gets the better of her. After failing at an attempt to make a fast buck by selling the cache, the peasant girl is captured by the local mafia who go on to make a druggie and sex slave out of her. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Alia Batt
Photo: Udta Punjab Facebook Official[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Alia Bhatt
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] Meanwhile, Tommy Singh, an accidental rockstar known for his abuse-filled songs, and his drug-fuelled lifestyle is forced to re-evaluate his life when police in their zest to show ‘cop power’ put him behind bars for substance abuse. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Shahid Kapoor
Photo: Instagram[/caption] Sartaj Singh on the other hand is a corrupt cop, who is quite happy to turn a blind eye to the drug traffic, till one day it comes too close home. When his younger brother gets hospitalised due to drug overdose, it serves as an eye-opener and he decides to take action. Enter Preet, a doctor who becomes Sartaj’s ally in his battle against narco trade. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Diljit Dosanjh
Photo: Udta Punjab Facebook Official[/caption] What happens when the quadruple converge at critical points in their lives is what forms the rest of the story. Udta Punjab is not just a movie about war against drugs, against political and systemic complicity but also against one’s own self. Expletives fly thick and fast as the action shifts from one protagonist to another. After the unnerving Haider (2014), Shahid Kapoor with his toned and heavily tattooed torso, looks just about perfect for his part as the mercurial Tommy Singh aka Gabru. With all the on-stage swag and the off-stage hysterics, Shahid has nailed the role physically. However it’s what goes on inside of him that we don’t really see enough of, and where he should have done better. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Shahid Kapoor
Photo: Instagram[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Shahid Kapoor
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] Complementing Shahid’s character quirkiness notably is Alia with her own peculiar act as a Bihari field labourer turned junkie in a totally deglamourised and feral avatar. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Alia Bhatt
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] Alia is completely out of her comfort zone in a role like this one and yet, she manages to leave a mark. There are instances when her Bihari accent falters, but the way she channels the pain and the incredible strength of a young woman stuck in a hell-hole is undeniably commendable. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Alia Bhatt
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Alia Bhatt
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] Punjabi cinema’s heartthrob Diljit Dosanjh, in his first role in a Bollywood film is nuanced and carries his ambiguous morality with ease. His effortless boy-next-door charms infuse a certain earthiness to a narrative that’s trying to stick close to its Punjabi roots. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Diljit Dosanjh
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] The drop in acting, sadly, was Kareena Kapoor as she gives a vanilla performance as a doctor running a rehab centre. Dr Preet, is an embodiment of righteousness and hence too perfect to be true. Even though her character was written shoddily, she should still be expected to act slightly mature in certain scenes, considering she is an industry veteran now. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Kareena Kapoor
Photo: Udta Punjab Facebook Official[/caption] One of the things that Udta Punjab can truly boast off is the dialogues, replete with all the expletive-loaded lingo. The lines mostly in Punjabi are earthy and rooted in the soil, which add to the authenticity of the story and the characters that inhabit it. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Shahid Kapoor
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Shahid Kapoor
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Shahid Kapoor
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] The movie is filled with its fair share of flaws too. The curse of the second half strikes and with utter devastation! Whatever hooks you pre-interval (and a lot does), it completely fails to grip you in the second half as the plot turns intermittently farcical and ultimately makes a mockery of the concerns it set out to raise. It is as if a completely different director has taken over post-intermission and the film completely unravels, with its Achilles’ heel proving to be the inexplicable inclusion of forced romantic sub-plots. The cop-doc lovey dovey track as well as the tenuous bond between Tommy and the nameless Bihari chick do seem entirely out of place. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Diljit Dosanjh and Kareena Kapoor
Photo: Twitter[/caption] Also, in order to put Kareena’s star power to some use, she is turned into a sleuth, where she and her cop companion bizarrely spy around a shady factory, tracking down the bad guys. Cheesy Bollywood at its finest! Tommy Singh’s reasons for redemption and later his intent to save Alia’s character are not very convincing either. Furthermore, the director is not able to execute and balance the trippy black humour of the writing to the dark themes in the film. This is especially apparent in the climax, which is the lousiest sequence in the film and comes as a huge let down. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Shahid Kapoor
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Alia Bhatt
Photo: Screenshot[/caption] Plus, the film is just too damn long. It loses steam towards the end and a little snipping during the indulgent and sluggish latter half could’ve surely saved the story. Post-interval faults aside, Udta Punjab is uncompromised cinema, something you rarely get to see from B-Town. The film does manage to take the desi audience on a flight like never before. So like drugs, let’s all join in cursing conventional archaic Bollywood: Potboilers Di Maa Di! [poll id="619"]

If you visit the Tiananmen Square at any given day, you’ll see hoards of people flocking around in large groups. Some can be seen led by a guide, others trying to find an inlet to the tunnels that lead to the main square, turning the entire landmark into a beehive. Besides being the womb of the People’s Republic of China where Mao proclaimed the founding of the People's Republic in 1949, the square also houses the Chairman’s mausoleum. On my 10 day visit to China, I found the Tiananmen Square to be the most religious of all spaces. It was religious in the most conventional sense; a place oozing with ritual, tradition and submission to a higher power – a place where Chinese visitors outnumber tourists during peak seasons. I last saw this sense of commitment and eagerness when I visited different shrines in Pakistan, but here was buried no sufi saint, no Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai, but a political leader whom the Chinese owe their ‘humanness’ to.

“We were all animals, it was Mao who made us into human beings,” is the common notion shared by the Chinese, with those, well-versed in English terming the pre-Mao version of themselves as barbarians.

As Jung would put it “who looks outside dreams, who looks inside awakens.”

“So many habits in my lifestyle come from these three traditions that I can’t tell. And they are so in-synch with my routine and the way I and my family think that I actually don’t know their origin. I am sorry,” he apologised, as if quizzed about a general knowledge question.

“… no one knows anything that can't be found on a shelf in the public library.”