Kafka Kay Nietzsche Kya Hai? articles

The Piss Wanker (Ali Sethi)


At first sight it appears as if somebody’s buttocks have exploded on good quality paper. Look again and you’ll notice it’s just a book written by an upcoming shining star of the Cosa Nostra crowd (Lahore’s answer to the Sicilian Mafia is the Sissy Mafia, which assembles in its most sophisticated attire at a low-key, almost peripheral eatery just off the Main Boulevard). Ali Sethi’s The Wish Maker can accurately be described as Horror-Fiction. Not because the plot is scary, but because of the number of people who have perished in the process of trying to brave this most diabolical tome. Few have survived…but only barely. A relief camp is being organized to help victims who have lost their loved ones to the mind numbing atrociousness of a book that seems to serve no other purpose than to massage the giant commercial organ that almost all Pakistani Anglophone writers are emotionally and financially attached to. If you thought The Mayor of Casterbridge was annoying, wait till you’ve gone through this one. The book’s title, The Wish Maker, is a direct reference to the state of the average reader who dares undertake the dread labor of reading the abomination. Research shows most readers (a.k.a. wish makers) start wishing they had never bought the book by the time they reach page fifteen, or the Threshold Point, as it is known in literary circles. Although research also shows that nobody actually reads this article, nevertheless, it would be inadvisable to quote anything from the book here since statistics provide a strong correlation between accidental exposure to the text in question, and recovering wish makers gouging their eyes out with spoons. It is our policy to hold sacred the welfare of our potential readers lest they turn into…The Wish Maker! (Cue dramatic music).

Now that nearly a year has passed since Mr. Sethi first unleashed his literary hell-hound upon the dreary moors of his readership (presumably to strike fear in the hearts of those who were unfortunate enough to be able to read), the tragic repercussions of his irresponsible behavior are beginning to surface: A final year undergrad student, who wishes to remain anonymous (in case somebody he knows finds out he actually read the book), was assigned the task of wading through the soulless text to write a paper on it. He says, “After the first few chapters, I tried to kill myself by swallowing it. But it was just too long. Four months and seven buckets-full of laxatives later, it’s still coming out… page by page!”
Seemi Chapli, a recently orphaned teenager says, “My mother divorced my father after having read the second chapter of The Wish Maker, the one with the scene where the ridiculous girl discovers in a toilet that she’s a woman now. My mother said she could no longer be with a member of the same gender as the person who wrote that bit. She later committed suicide, ashamed of sharing species with Sethi. Why Ali Bhai?? Why?? Why did you do this to us??”

Why indeed! Ali ‘Bhai’ Sethi claims his motivation for this first novel was to clear up the "American misconception that Pakistan was a Middle Eastern country". Evidently he believes the best way to go about clearing up such geographical errors is not by pointing at a nearby globe, but by pretending he’s a dull Jane Austen on horse tranquilizers. It’s lovely to see how people like Mr. Sethi are taking up the burden of representing Pakistan in the 21st century as a country full of really very boring people who do absolutely nothing for four-hundred pages, and whose fictional loud-mouthed mothers are neurotic hags. There is no doubt that Mr. Sethi spent a very long time, working extremely hard to compile a list of clichés that he could later incorporate in his book so that it would sell well in a post 9/11 world where certain West-approved stereotypes are encouraged. For instance: evil feudal lords, hordes of oppressed but enterprising ‘spirited’ women, girls and boys achieving puberty while Mr. Sethi looks on fondly at them from his disturbingly benevolent and twisted authorial vantage point, the concept of liberality and open-mindedness as features belonging only to people who drink alcohol and have premarital sexual affairs, and religion being a hindrance to all kinds of progress - along with the ever popular sport of Zia-bashing! He even threw in a token homosexuality scene to distance his Pakistan from the Middle-East, and also to strike up a little bit of controversy. Unfortunately nobody here cared because, firstly, Mr. Zardari is the president of our country (that is to say we have bigger problems than what Mr. Sethi scribbles in his spare time), and secondly, Mohammad Hanif had a far better homosexuality scene in his novel: A Case of Exploding Nubiles.

Nevertheless, many people wonder why the book exists. The answer is simple. After 9/11, America suddenly realized there were others on this planet. In order to discover the culture and nature of these hitherto unknown inhabitants, local writers were encouraged to give a general account of life here on the other side of the internet. Established writers like Mohsin Hamid and Kamila Shamsie sprang into action and produced decent and abominable books respectively. Ali Sethi’s father had a lot of money too. So there was ample reason for young master Sethi to give the whole ‘I-know-what-it-feels-like’ a shot.
"Sethi's sharp eye, worthy of being an entomologist's, makes the book a steadily absorbing read, all four-hundered-plus pages of it,” says Time. So now we have two national entomologists in Pakistan: Fasi Zaka, popular among the Costa Nostra crowd for his liberal use of polemical metaphors, and this fellow, whose ‘absorbing’ book sucks you into a vortex of catatonia comparable with the handiwork of a Tsetse fly. And why wouldn’t a boy from Aitchison College who studied at Harvard, and who could afford music lessons from Mehdi Hassan, know exactly how to go about offering the ‘essential fiction of life in modern Pakistan’ in a language most Pakistanis can’t read? His book launching in France went well didn’t it? And who can deny France’s role in shaping Pakistan? If you can’t identify with any of the half-baked characters in this book, the fault is entirely yours, because like father like son, he’s got his finger on the nation’s pulse, and the blood of realism can never escape and flow past that iron clamp of representation. His knowledge is power. This sort of gnosis runs in his genes they say. He probably even knows what I’m thinking right now. After all, he knows exactly how a woman feels. Hence the four-hundred page abortion.




The Learning Disorder

When the principal of Aitchison College Lahore, Pakistan, officially celebrates the Queen of England’s birthday by throwing a tea party on school premises, it becomes evident that the poor man suffers. The nature of his affliction can reasonably be classified either as a morbid identity crisis; a denial of events that culminated in the disbandment of the British Empire; auto-ethnophobia; senile dementia; a tendency to be a shameless toady; chronic constipation, or, as is most likely, all of the above. It is fair to predict that he’ll be handing out College Colours to students who excel in extending their pinkies when sipping tea whilst guffawing pompously at some joke they did not hear in the House of Lords. According to the Fasi Zaka Handbook of Social Entomology this sort of behaviour may or may not merit the label ‘Cockroach’. The Handbook warns the enthusiastic amateur ‘not to apply the label in case of potentially influential persons’, and rather to use it as a general term of address for the ‘impoverished and impotent’ (HSE 23-24).

But this wishy-washy excuse for a man is not the only schizophrenic out there. And this sort of schizophrenia is not an unavoidable genetic mental defect or a result of traumatic domestic or social stressors. Its deep and sturdy root is planted firmly in the bountiful humus that is the national educational system. The word ‘system’ just suffered a mental breakdown: there is nothing systematic in the entire compost heap except perhaps its diabolical agenda to stimulate the efflorescence of brainwashing. As children what we learn in school about our country, its formation, its nature and its enemies becomes a vital part of our identity and worldview. Unfortunately this prejudiced instruction only provides a fragmented and distorted image of reality. For instance, to present a simplistic example, if I never knew that the first national anthem of Pakistan was not composed by a Muslim (Hafiz Jallandhari) in Persian, but a Hindu (Jagan Nath Azad) in Urdu, the problem is an educational system that cleverly eliminates any possibility from within a child’s mind of reconciliation between Hindus and Muslims. In most cases, what you learn at school is not just obsolete by the time you reach a university, it’s just plain wrong! All comfortable assumptions are questioned: was the two-nation theory really as irrefutable as they say or just a part of the greater British strategy to divide and conquer? Did the Quaid want a secular or religious state? Is Nationalism evil? Is Patriotism ignorance? Who really won the wars in 65 and 71? (In school books we lose Bangladesh but not the war!) Are the provinces really equal or is it all just a farce? Quite naturally, those who can, continue the search for truth, but why must they be fed factual inaccuracies to begin with? Meanwhile, others embrace doublethink and extend their pinkies to the matriarch of some other country while sipping their tea in this one.

At the secondary level, the country is divided into two: O’Levels vs. Matriculation or A’Levels vs. Intermediate. The split personality disorder is strengthened with the help of two divergent streams. The average O’levels student (even if said student is not receiving enlightenment under the questionable patronage of the Queen’s Birthday Boy) is usually disconnected from his own country because his education prepares him to leave it at the first possible opportunity. The other stream does its best to stamp out any possibility of creativity from within a student by ensuring everything is learned by rote and assessed accordingly by people who don’t care.
The madness propagated by organized education is not limited to the primary or secondary level or to a particular sector. Public sector and privately run universities both have their own methods, ensuring paranoia and craziness.

Irum Bhaensa, a second year Accounting and Finance student at LUMS explains how the cut-throat relative-grading and student assessment system requires that students be evaluated for class participation for the final grade. The result, she says, is quite similar to a pack of starving wolves, stuck in a cave and staring each other down, waiting to pounce on the one that shows a sign of weakness. “There is no spirit of brotherhood among the class; every individual’s survival is based on the ruin of another. Students sabotage and misinform each other or make temporary alliances; it’s like we’re stuck in season four of The Survivor!! And shyness is a sin!” An educational system that pits man against man in a battle to the death is disconcertingly reminiscent of gladiatorial games in the Roman Empire. I suppose the question here is not a simple one to answer, but is this really the sort of dog-eat-dog mentality we want shaping the future?

Shagoofa Malik, studying Bio-Tech at GCU Lahore explains how the system does not distinguish fairly between hardworking students and those who merely compose volumes upon volumes of inane gibberish. “Extra-sheets! If you want to get a good grade on your exam paper, you’ve got to attach extra-sheets! It doesn’t matter what you say, it doesn’t even matter if you’re writing four words in a line or if those words are in any known language because nobody’s going to read it; if you attach fourteen extra-sheets the examiner will assume you know what you’re doing! It doesn’t matter if you’re attempting a paper on Mathematics or English Lit. Attach extra-sheets!”

Both universities are currently imparting certain survival skills. One wants you to ‘make-it’ in a psychotic capitalistic set-up by demolishing everyone that gets in your way, and the other wants you to be able to fake your way through life by pretending you’re actually doing something. Neither university is empowering you with the tools to think, or even imagine a different system, much less improve the current one. Shagoofa Malik also points out that the GCU’s allegedly illegal Registrar (who apparently also stands accused for sexual harassment) is a prime example of what the university is currently striving to produce: “Regard the man from afar and you will notice a well-dressed, graceful gentleman who could pass off as Foreign Faculty. Strike up a conversation with him and you’ll quickly realize why this quasi-literate embarrassment is poison for the university. What nobody can understand is why the Vice chancellor so set on keeping this man?”

In spite of all this, I would not say that the need of the hour is an educational revolution; one that gives rise to a curriculum that really does aim to empower a student with dignity, respect for the self and for others, a reasonable worldview free from prejudice, and the desire to make a difference by trying to contribute in an effort to fix what is vaguely referred to as ‘the system’, along with the hope that this is in fact possible. No, that would be too idealistic. Let’s put that on hold for a bit. Not everyone can devote an entire life to the cause of education the way Major Langlands did (an ex-British army officer who did not leave Pakistan after the Partition but stayed on to open a school in Chittral where he still works at the age of 92) even though he did not really have a stake in this country and could have gone home. Not everyone can be expected to care so much. Nevertheless what are necessary at the moment are more schools. Good or bad. Some might argue that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but I believe something, in nine cases out of ten, is better than nothing. In other words: support bacteria; they’re the only culture some people can have.




Kafka Kay Nietzsche Kya Hai?

One, a self proclaimed Prophet of the Super Man, immortalized in his sermon proclaiming the Will to Power, and yet destined to live out his short and itchy life in the neurotic throes of a venereal disease; and the other, a disillusioned and disheveled young man who comes to recognize the working class and himself as mere cockroaches in disguise as he relinquishes his life to tuberculosis.

Except for the tuberculosis part - remind you of anyone? Friedrich Nietzsche and Franz Kafka? Close, but not quite. I am talking, of course, about Zaid Hamid and Fasi Zaka, respectively. And to be fair, they are merely archetypes, representatives of a particular mindset (mustn’t judge!). With so many socio-political and economic inconveniences cropping up, let’s for the moment, step away from all that and discuss the reincarnation of two of the most influential German minds of the 20th century. Let us analyze how these two philosopher kings, brought together in the 21st century, work tirelessly for the glory of our nation and the bewilderment of the Facebook Brigade.

Biographically speaking, these two have had almost nothing in common. For instance, one, when he was just a little boy, was given the gift of a special cap, a jaunty beret that stuck to his head and changed colours to reflect the levels of crazy he was currently undergoing; the spectrum ranges from white = ‘Batty’ to bright red = ‘Heil Mein Fuhrer!’. The other was cursed by a gypsy to never be able to bathe and who grew stodgier and more unshaven as his ability to discern between humans and insects diminished.
Today, both have reached their full potential, and they stand in what appears to be total opposition. One is as unkempt as a liberal hippo in the wild, and the other, sporting a red beacon of eternal holy madness on his head, stands far, far to the right of everything sane imaginable. And somewhere in between these two extremes is the average Pakistani watching a tennis match that exists in a bubble manufactured to provide entertainment during difficult times when tomatoes are too expensive and fuel hard to find.

But are these two really all that different? The answer is no. They have more in common than they realize. In fact, only in collusion can they pull off any of the mindless schemes they devise in their spare time. Together they would have the cumulative intelligence of a full set of healthy buttocks able to churn out in between them enough excrement to leave the human mind reeling. Consider how Mr. Hamid has often expressed his personal desire to nuke India and Israel. Israel is a difficult target since we do not recognize its existence and therefore one must appreciate the tactical obstacles that abound in bombing a country one can’t even locate on a map. India on the other hand is quite close-by. We’re on good terms; we know them well enough to wager a nuke or two. Unfortunately, Mr. Hamid fails to see that an international border is merely an imaginary line and that nuking that not-so-far-off region would mean suffering the fallout here as well. This is where Professor Zaka comes in with his smarts. The only way to prevent a radioactive breeze coming hither would be by constructing around Pakistan the Zaka approved Wall of Shame. He says, “We are diseased, rotten to every brain stem, world please make an impenetrable fence around us, keep us all in so we don’t spread it to other people, other countries.” Note the genius with which he innocently claims sympathy for the rest of the planet; whereas, in fact this clever use of reverse psychology is precisely what is needed for world domination. This impenetrable fence is the only item that can successfully help carry out Mr. Hamid’s plan of action to the secret pleasure of Mr. Zaka! Meanwhile, Mr Zaka continues to claim that the degenerate Pakistani middle-class still holds that Osama and the Taliban are basically Robin Hood and his merry men. Although this is technically a fib, it works as a sort of ‘conversational lubricant’, by making it convenient for him to pretend that his target audience (those few who can read English in a country full of underprivileged uneducated peasants) is being benefited by his regular ravings. Neither of the two wants a school built lest Dr Mehboob-ul-Haq’s vision of a South Asian success comes true. Tis easier to point the finger than to preach; if the error be ignorance, why teach?

On the issue of Kashmir, of course, Mr Hamid is persistent and advocates nuking, bed rest, and lots of fluids. His oversight is again clear: decades ago, the famous actress ShamimAra declared that the first soldier to plant the Pakistani flag in Kashmir would be her choice for husband. Naturally, the army decided not to risk it after all. And not just the Pakistani army; Indians too sit with their blood cold in their veins, waiting for someone else to make the first move, and the danger of inescapable matrimony to allay. If only madam takes her words back, a solution would materialize post hate. Mr Zaka, trying to one-up the crazy suggests that people in general should stop boring him with Aafia Siddiqui related protests because such things are basically a form of “catholic guilt”. Contradictory and post-modern to the hilt, he wants you to protest nevertheless (First rule of Roadz Scholar is: I is Smart). And since only he is the one with indubitable sources of intelligence in the world of media, the rest must wait for his signal and dance to his tune. Otherwise, he would whip out his sticker gun and plaster you with the word ‘Cockroach’ in bold print.

Will the dynamic duo comprising the Shaheen-e-Iqbal/Ubermensch and the Roadz Scholar par insectellence succeed in baffling the Facebook Brigade? To protest or not to protest, that is the question on everybody’s twitter page. In the sheer confusion some of their fans have started protesting natural disasters and others are protesting Nietzsche’s views on God. How will it all end? Will Mr. Zaka take a bath now that there’s enough water in the country for even that? Will Mr. Hamid’s head explode exposing the tumultuous rainbow of schizophrenic voices within? The answer is still out there…but the philosophy is just too German.