ENGLISH LITERATURE ASSIGNMENT 1

BY: Sumaiya Saleem

2217149 – 4 A

INTRODUCTION

‘Culture is roughly everything we do and monkeys don’t”. As per Somerset’s tongue-in-cheek

definition of culture, it is often perceived as the refined taste for all things beautiful and
lavish; be they music, art or fine dining. From a sociological perspective, however, culture
can be defined as the shared values, beliefs and norms of a particular community or society.
Culture is never static, it is in a constant state of flux: as people change, so do their beliefs
and value systems, ultimately leading to a rapidly evolving culture. Pakistan is no different-
since its creation more than 7 decades ago, Pakistan has witnessed many changes: from the
horse-drawn tongas to cars and express trains; from the chaotic extended family all residing
under one roof to the more insular nuclear family; from aromatic spices laboriously ground
on the ‘sil-batta’ (mortar and pestle) to the infinitely more convenient plethora of Shan and
National spices; from the long epistles sent to distant relatives to family WhatsApp groups-
the changes are too numerous to count. However, the purpose of this article is not merely to
document the myriad changes, but also to identify the whys and wherefores of these
cultural changes: how are our shared values changing and what factors are providing the
most impetus for this change?

RESEARCH METHODOLOGY

For this article, I opted for the qualitative research method, which involves gathering
detailed data from participants. I selected 2 participants from different ethnic and socio-
economic backgrounds. One was my house-maid’s mother, Sajida Baji who is a 50-year-old
Saraiki lady hailing from a village in interior Punjab. The other was my own mother, a
Memon woman of 58 years, who was born and bred in Karachi.

I conducted in-depth, semi-structured interviews with open-ended questions (including the

ones which were suggested in the assignment). Care was taken to keep the interview setting
comfortable and private, and questions were phrased in Urdu to ensure that participants
would feel relaxed. When interviewing Sajida Baji, I asked her daughter to sit in on the
interview so she could translate some of the more complicated questions for her mother
from Urdu to Saraiki. I tried my best to avoid leading questions in order to obtain unbiased
and honest responses which truly reflected the interviewees’ opinions. I also took informed
consent from both participants and disclosed that their names and responses would be
included in the article. I recorded the interviews and then translated them into English,
before paraphrasing and compiling them into proper paragraphs, which are given in the
findings section below.
FINDINGS AND ANALYSIS

“We were a comparatively small family, only seven kids”, Sajida Baji tells me and I try to
figure out if she is being sarcastic. As I blink owlishly at her bizarre comment, she continues
without any hint of irony “Most of our neighbours had at least nine or ten children. It was
the norm, you see, and more children meant that many more hands to plough the fields and
harvest the crops. I guess by city standards we would be considered poor, but we never
thought of ourselves as such: there was always enough food to go around; the one room we
all shared was cosy enough in the winters (and in the summers we would drag our mattress
outside); and plenty of land to play on. We never needed toys- our chief amusement was
playing in the mud and I would often win the mud-pie making contest. I started working in
the fields as soon as I turned 12- I did not have much time to play after that, but that was
our lot in life and I never resented it.

I was married off when I was little more than 15 years old. I was too young to fully
comprehend what that entailed, and all I thought about was the pretty bangles and a
lehenga so heavy that I could barely walk in it. The reality set in only after I was taken to my
new home and I realised that I would be staying here and not going back to my Amma. Then
I started bawling and all my husband’s family members panicked.” Sajida Baji concludes with
a hearty laugh. “But my mother-in-law was a wonderful woman. She took me to my room,
dried my tears and promised I could go to visit Amma the very next day. She was such a
loving, compassionate woman: she treated me like her own daughters and until we lived
with her, I never felt the absence of my mother. She would never let my husband scold or hit
me, although beating women is an accepted part of our village life. Violence seems to be
hardwired in the DNA of Saraiki men, although they are less prone to abusing their wives
nowadays.” “What is the cause for this change?” I ask her, waiting patiently while she
ponders over it. “I think it is because many families have experienced city life. Many people
have come to Karachi for work and when they go back to the villages, they tell their family
members about how both husband and wife work together and try to educate their children
so the children can have a better life. So women are coming to be valued more, where
previously they were regarded as dirt. Also, when people come to work here, they often
escape from toxic in-laws, specially jealous mothers in-law who encourage their son to beat
and insult his wife.”

When asked about what festivals they used to celebrate, she scrunches up her face in
concentration. “I don’t really think festivals were a big part of our life. We did celebrate the
two Eids, of course, but even that was pretty minimalist. There were so many children that
there was often not enough money to buy new clothes and jewellery for the entire family.
And younger children would mostly be attired in hand-me-downs from their elder siblings. I
remember one Eid in particular when my mother opened up a huge box which contained
her trousseau dresses. She unpicked all the stitches from an embroidered peshwaz(frock)
and then made two new dresses for my sister and me. It was the first time I had gotten a
brand new dress- maybe that’s why I remember the incident so vividly. But todays children
are not like that. I have six children and they expect me to get at least two new dresses for
each of them, as well as shoes and other accessories. In fact, my eldest son and daughters
who are married, they also expect me to get at least one suit for all their kids. Children these
days have too many expectations, not like us who understood our parents’ responsibilities
and never demanded anything. Today they all watch these Indian channels and try to
emulate the actors and actresses.”

“So, you think TV is the main culprit for this cultural change?” I ask her. “That, and the
phone that almost everyone has today. In our village, they have phones but no Internet. So
youngsters are not exposed to all this Facebook and Snapchat and TikTok and they have not
changed so much. But those of our community who live in Karachi, most of their kids have
smartphones and they expect their parents to get them dresses they see people wearing on
Snapchat and in TikTok videos.” “How else has the TV and smartphone affected our
culture?” I inquire and she deliberates a long while before replying. “I think the biggest
change is in our marriage customs. In my day, we were introduced to our spouse only during
the wedding ceremony. Today’s young people see these Star Plus dramas and then they all
want to have love marriages. Also, they flirt with strangers on phones and they go on dates
secretly, so when a good marriage proposal comes for them, they tell their parents that they
want to marry their boyfriends or girlfriends and there is a huge outcry. You see, we do not
marry off our children outside our baraadri (community)- intermarriages and watta satta
(exchange marriage) is an integral part of our culture, but children today often refuse
because they’re interested in someone else. For example, when my brother sent his son’s
marriage proposal for my daughter, he stipulated that I would take his daughter for my son
in exchange. Although my son was only 13 at the time, and his prospective bride was 18
years old, he agreed immediately. Now, when I am trying to marry off my youngest
daughter, my younger son refuses to marry the groom’s sister, which is making it very
difficult to find a good match for my daughter. He says he likes some other girl and will marry
only her. It is all the fault of these infernal mobiles which are destroying so much of our
traditional norms.”

“What other cultural values have been impacted by technology?” I question, and her
response is immediate. “The practise of dowry. Dowry has always been an important custom
in our lives. But today, the amount of dowry demanded by in-laws has become simply
ridiculous. You see, we give our daughters only dowry and they do not get a share in the
inheritance. So the groom and his family try to exact as much money as possible from the
bride’s family because they know this is their only chance to gain something. When I got
married, my mother gave me only five suits and two jewellery sets. When my eldest
daughter got married, I had to not only give her clothes and jewellery, but also a full dinner
set and washing machine and three sets of bedding. When the other daughter got married, I
gave her all of the above, as well as bedroom furniture and gold jhumkas (earrings) to her
mother-in-law and sisters in-law. Now all those who send proposals for my youngest
daughter demand a motorbike for the groom as well as furniture and home appliances and
gold sets. I already have so much debt to pay off- all the money I borrowed to purchase my
other daughters’ dowry. I am at my wits end about how I will pay for such an extravagant
dowry once again”. “But how is that related to technology?” I inquire in bafflement. “Oh,
they all watch these Indian dramas where the bride gets so much dowry, and our girls
clamour for all the same things. And there are so many videos of how girls are tortured or
even killed if they do not bring enough dowry, which terrifies parents, and so they try to
avoid that by giving the in-laws all the stuff they demand, which increases their greed even
more. And this is how it forms a vicious cycle”, she concludes gloomily.
My next interviewee was my own mother, who started with an introduction to her family
structure when she was a child. “My father was the eldest of three brothers; they all lived
(along with their wives and children) in a sort of compound, comprising of 3 small buildings
within a single enclosure and a shared garden. it was a highly patriarchal system and all
authority resided with the men of the family, particularly my father. He decided all matters
of importance, such as which marriage proposal to accept, who would study what, and even
which modern conveniences (such as the TV and refrigerator) should be bought for the
family. His say on all matters was final and absolute, and even his brothers did not dare
disobey him. I honestly believe some of his decrees were too draconian, which fostered
resentment among us- such as the time when he bought one TV to be shared among all 3
families, which led to spats among us cousins since we could never unanimously decide
what to watch; or when he arbitrarily decided that a matric education was sufficient for girls
and they should be married off as soon as they had completed the tenth grade. All my elder
cousins and sisters therefore got married at a very young age, and I can never tell you how
profoundly thankful I was when later my chacha (uncle) put his foot down and said he
wanted to educate the younger girls of the family. Had it not been for his insistence, my
cousin Mehmooda and I would never have been able to complete our Bachelors.”

When asked about her childhood, a dreamy smile flits over her face. “Oh, it was a wonderful
time, full of love and laughter and such exuberance as you youngsters with your iPhones and
iPads would never know. We did not have many toys, but then we did not need much: we
were all blessed with a very fertile imagination and we invented most of our own games
with the help of such insignificant props as a piece of old wood, or a stout stick. For example,
we once discovered a block of wood which had nails embedded in it: we pretended that it
was a remote control to detonate bombs and played a make-believe game in which our
cousin Khalid was the Don (the character from the eponymous 1978 movie) and Mehmood
was the Police head, with all the rest of us being relegated to the role of minor characters.
Or the time when we scrounged up all our meager books and set up a small circulating
library: since no one visited us, we forced our friend and neighbor Siraj to borrow books
from us at exorbitant prices. We were very mischievous and I can not recall any sort of
daredevilry we did not engage in; it was a good thing our fathers were too busy- and our
mothers too frightened of their harsh, stern discipline to report us to them- otherwise we
would have been severely punished for all the mischief we got into, ranging from serving
mud laddus to our neighbors to accidentally setting the driver’s clothes on fire.” “How was
your childhood different from that of today?” I ask her, and she candidly replies “very, very
different. For one, it was a very secure, peaceful time: none of these dreadful kidnappings
and shootings and street crimes. I remember, we used to walk to the madrasah after Fajar
prayer and then from there to our school, and I do not recall ever having needed an adult
escort. We used to run through the neighborhood like regular hoydens and there was no
fear of something bad happening to us: the whole neighborhood was like one huge
extended family which looked out for the interest of all the children. We do not have that
sort of sincerity or selflessness nowadays, where its every man for himself and people are
too self-absorbed to look out for someone else’s kids. Also, there was none of this sense of
hurry that we have nowadays, with everyone short of time and people rushing hither and
thither: instead of flying, time seemed to crawl along in a lazy, meandering pattern, and we
had ample time to do everything we wanted. I think it was partly because we did not have
TV or smart phones, and particularly not social media which I personally feel is the biggest
time-sucking vortex.”

When questioned about what festivals they celebrated, the response is, “Just the two Eids.
The elders were usually more focused on Eid-ul Adha because that entailed more
responsibility for them, but the highlight of our year was Eid-ul-Fitr. My father would get two
bolts of fabric: one for the girls and one for the boys. Eid clothes for all us cousins were
made from the same cloth and in the same style.” “Did you not feel disgruntled at the
sameness? I mean, it must have looked like a school uniform.” I interject and she laughs
softly at the question, which is so typical of a generation obsessed by individualism and
uniqueness. “No, it was enough for us that we were getting fancy new clothes. You see, this
concept of individuality and standing out are a relatively recent construct; in my day, parents
did not pander to what they considered unnecessary whims. So, when you are accustomed
since childhood to everyone wearing the same things, you never really question it. Another
reason was that there wasn’t much comparison: today’s youth have a lot more exposure
than us, particularly due to social media. Also, this individualistic culture is caused partially
by western influence; our Asian culture is more collectivist in nature and the motto for most
Asian families has often been ‘what is yours, is ours’. So, the fact that a toddler and a
teenager would be wearing exactly the same dress was never a source of frustration for us:
we were more happy-go-lucky and relaxed about our appearance and attire than the
youngsters of today. “

“What other significant changes do you think have been caused by technological
advancements?” I query and am surprised by her hesitant reply. “You will most probably find
this strange, but I believe that greater awareness and increased exposure has served to
reduce tolerance rather than increasing it. You see, I sometimes feel that we are so focused
on celebrating our differences that we forget to look at the similarities between us; today
the whole world is caught up in this ‘political awareness’ but there is none of that genuine
compassion, empathy and understanding which should underlie our relations with people
who are different from us. We tout religious tolerance and sexual freedom, but how tolerant
we really are is evidenced by our actions. Today we are witnessing more hate crimes than
ever before, sectarian conflicts are more widespread, and hate speech is proliferate under
the guise of freedom of speech. I do not recall that in my time that there was as much
animosity between Shias and Sunnis as there is today, and the Hindu couple who lived
across the street from us was considered a part of our community, without feeling the need
to create a huge fuss about it to let the world know that we think of them as equal and do
not discriminate against them. There seems to be a sort of artificiality to the whole thing
nowadays: we are concentrating so hard on not noticing the differences amongst ourselves
that they appear to be all we can think about. In the past, we honestly did not see these
differences- like we never really questioned why some of our friends went to the church or
mandir rather than the mosque; or why our driver spoke Pashtun, our house-maid Balochi
and our own family Memon. These things just were, and we accepted them as a natural part
of life.”
CONCLUSION:

After conducting the two interviews, and undertaking more research on this topic, one thing
was very clear to me: it is a concrete reality that our culture has altered a lot, and is still
undergoing change. However, the pace of change is not uniform: in rural areas, where
technological developments are few and far between, the rate of change is much slower;
people living in villages are still more connected to their roots and many of their cultural
norms have remained steadily unaltered. In urban areas, however, culture has evolved very
rapidly and the two main causes of change are the television and social media as well as
foreign influences such as westernization and, to a lesser degree, exposure to Indian culture.
While cultural change is inevitable, and in many cases even desirable, it should be a priority
for us to educate our youth on which of our traditions need to be reformed – such as greater
inclusion of women in education and the work force and gender equality - and which should
forever remain unaltered- such as respect for our elders, simplicity and gratitude for what
we have rather than greed and envy. Many of our most precious cultural norms and
traditions are under threat by both social media and westernization, and if we do not strive
to retain them, they will be lost under this onslaught.