Respected Sir,
Last week I read a letter to your magazine sent by Mr. Jamal Uddin Haque. It relayed Mr. Jamal’s last bus travel, and explained how he had to stand the entire ride, against all “screaming protests of his seventy-year-old bones”. Mr. Jamal spotted an empty seat when he first got on, but a teenager – who’d boarded with him – pushed him out of the way and hastily occupied the spot. The insolence doesn’t end here; the entire ride, while Mr. Jamal swayed dangerously at every turn and cringed painfully at every bump, the boy merrily lounged in his seat, not bothering to give up his comfort for an old man. Mr. Jamal elaborated himself how he cast ‘that brat’ wary glances, how he noticed his grimaces at the tumultuous ride and how it culminated in him launching into a tirade as he vacated the bus. But alas, the youth remained its impudent self.
The purpose of this letter is to answer the question Jamal Sahab posed in his conclusion, a question I have often faced when I engage in discussions with people much senior than myself. It’s one about the gap between our generations. About the youth of Pakistan, and how it is becoming nothing but, as Mr. Jamal puts it, “a disgrace to our ancestors”.
I’ll start by establishing a very basic point. In the 1960s, thirteen years after we became an independent state, Pakistan’s annual population growth was 2.5-7%, with the population ranging between 45 to 59 million, in the ten year period following 1960. In 2013, Pakistan’s annual population growth rate was 1.6%, with a population of 182.1 million (source: World Bank). Can you imagine? 182.1 million! That amounts to a growth rate of almost 300%! This population boom, combined with 9/11 and the war on terror, the rapid growth of cities and urbanization, globalization, media boom, increasing speed and availability of information, rising corruption and declining mental health all lead to a simple fact: this generation is not the same as yours. We are socially, culturally, technologically, religiously, circumstantially and psychologically, even scientifically different from Jamal Sahab and his generation. So before anything else, this is something that both the youth and the elderly need to understand.
Now onto the main purpose of this epistolary confrontation. Jamal Sahab referred to this ‘teenage angst’ that is ever present in the youth of this country and how it confuses him. What right does this particular section of the population have to be angrier than anyone else? We are all living under the same metaphorical roof of Pakistan, facing the same destitute circumstances, breathing the same fiery air, battling the same evils. The only right the youth has is to be grateful that we were brought into existence in such a resilient nation. To the end, it endures, just like our forefathers. So why are we, generally, not grateful? And why is it so hard for him to understand this? It boils down to my initial point – the generation gap. The Pakistan that he knew in his youth is not the same Pakistan that we have known growing up. He used to leave his doors unlocked at night, take long midnight walks to the Peshawari Icecream with his women and children, run a business without fear of a “Parchi” showing up at his doorstep. Women used to travel in buses, have ten men stand up in defense if one winked at her, fly kites from rooftops till late in the night. Now? The doors are there but locked, Peshawari Icecream is approached in a car, and our business have an added negotiation where we set the wager for our lives. The women may still travel in the buses but with a constant fear trailing along with them – to their markets, their schools, their homes. The men are still there to stand up, only that they don’t. Why? Because the perpetrator may have a gun on him and he won’t think twice before putting bullets into their brain. We have a voice constantly nagging us at the back of our heads to be careful of the plentiful dangers lurking around every corner. It is like Mad-Eye Moody and we are all Potters. Constant vigilance!
This does not explain the usual insolence or anger that one encounters in the young generation. But it does display an enormous difference between their circumstances and that of people like Jamal Sahab. He models his expectations according to the circumstances he encountered while their actions are molded, naturally, by the circumstances they are living in. The anger, however, is certainly present. What I could infer from his account was the common perception that this ever present emotion in us is baseless. We are simply angry because that’s what Holden Caulfield is and we shall all be that. Possibly to the distaste of some (or many?), I’d argue to the contrary. Our anger is not baseless. I can narrate a thousand reasons for it and then I can tell him none. We all have our stories. What I can impart are my observations and experience. When I was in 10th grade, an acquaintance of mine went missing. He was found over a week later, dumped behind the bushes in Karachi’s Phase-8, dead since days. Upon inquiry, it was found that his classmate, another acquaintance and work colleague of mine, had kidnapped and murdered him. I still remember the prayer we did in assembly the first morning after school re-opening. The most evident emotion that I noted in the present population, even more so than grief, was anger. Why my friend? Why my son? Why my brother? Why shouldn’t I go out late? Why should I stay in? Why should I be cautious? For how long do I have to live like this? Why me?
The point of relaying this ‘morbid’ account wasn’t to engender support based on sympathy, but to present a solution: take things into perspective. The events that Mr. Jamal sees on the television are happening very close to home for some people. Many of us are young, not yet exposed to the ‘real’ world. And when our exposure occurs in the manner I have described above, a natural reaction is anger. I have narrated here one instance; there are countless. They have been occurring since the beginning of time, but to this extent, and in this way? I don’t think so, sir. Did Jamal Sahab face such situations when he was young? Probably not. So please, understand where so many of us are coming from.
This country is on fire, and we are choking on the flames. It has been far too long, and this youth is not struggling to put out the fire anymore. Some of us have become inane to the horrors it encounters; other have refused to acknowledge them, while a tiny part is still fighting. But what they all have in common is the frustration, the anger, the bitterness that he so easily termed as ‘teenage angst’. This rancor has been fostering within us since quite a long time. Is it the reason the teenager on the bus behaved disrespectfully? Maybe, maybe not. Many of us have simply become indifferent. I don’t provide the preceding commentary as justification for indifference. In fact, I strongly despise apathy. What I do want to highlight is the fact that all these emotions are never baseless. And despite them, many of us still know our values. I can’t count the number of people I know, including myself, who will give up things much bigger than our seats for our elders. We are still here, among the masses, and it is untrue to say that we’re not visible. Yes, we are. Maybe on that particular bus ride, Jamal Sahab didn’t find anyone courteous enough to give an old man space to sit, but there are so many of us that are still not a disgrace to this country.
The question you, Mr. Jamal, posed in your letter was: “How do you expect your elders to react when this is what you are?” I can’t give you the expectations of the youth, but I can provide you with an approach: the realist approach. Given that now you have some perspective of our side (hopefully!), you may resort to adopting this approach that applies to everyone regardless of age, status, and ethnicity. So next time a teenager rolls their eyes when you clutch your side in pain – smile at them. Offer another elderly man your seat before that boy in the next aisle does – so that he sees the difference. Instead of judging, accosting or simply derailing those kids – smile. It’ll get to them eventually, while you’ll save yourself a lot of agitation. In times like these, we can’t be pessimistic, and I can’t really advocate optimism. Thus, we have William Arthur Ward to the rescue, summing up our solution:
“The pessimist complains about the wind, the optimist waits for it to change, the realist adjusts the sail.”
Be the realist.
