JUST back from Sri Lanka where I spent a fortnight on the beach, I have been pretty much cut off from the news. There was no TV at our very basic cabana, and radio reception was poor, except for brief snatches of the BBC.

And despite the country’s high literacy rate, the newspapers there are abysmal. I thought this was only true of the English language press, but my Sri Lankan friends assure me that this observation was just as valid for Sinhalese and Tamil papers.

The lush greenery that is so abundant on the island is a source of constant delight, especially to eyes accustomed to Karachi’s barren cityscape. Looking at the vast expanse of water, the sandy beaches and the forests, I tried to think of other places that had given me as much visual pleasure. Oddly, my early days in Lahore came to mind.

I owned a rickety old car there in the early seventies, and in the height of summer the steering wheel was too hot to touch when I entered the car in the afternoon after work, I made it a point to drive home along the canal. Although I could have taken a shorter route, for me this was one of the loveliest drives anywhere. Under the blazing sun, the trees overhead made a shaded canopy, and the bright yellow amaltas flowers contrasted with the green shrubs. Young men and little boys swam in the cool water of the canal, and large piles of watermelons provided sustenance.

Every now and then, some irate begum would write a letter to the editor of the now defunct Pakistan Times, urging for swimming in the canal to be banned because her sensibility had been offended by the sight of half-clad young men frolicking in the water. Fortunately, better sense prevailed and this tradition has not been disrupted by our heavy-handed morality brigade.

In those days, I wondered why the city government did not organize swimming and rowing races along the canal. This narrow body of water is central to the lives of thousands who cannot afford air-conditioning, or to have access to the city’s few swimming pools. Why can’t Lahore’s canal be the venue of aquatic sports for those who use it the most?

Another fun idea that has long percolated around in my mind for years is the possibility of organizing an annual competition of truck art. For me, our flamboyantly decorated trucks are a wonderful expression of folk art, and should be encouraged. This event could be held on any large ground along the National Highway, and be open to inter-city trucks. The event could be sponsored by companies like PSO, or some other civic-minded petroleum company. Prizes for the most creatively decorated vehicles could be given by truck and tyre manufacturers, and the whole thing could be one huge mela run over a couple of days.

Pakistan’s trucks are unique, and an event like this would attract significant international attention. Durya Kazi, head of Karachi University’s visual arts department, who once organized a mobile exhibition of truck art, could mastermind such an annual show, given some corporate support.

Karachi’s donkey cart races are another fascinating insight into local passions. For those readers who have never witnessed these tiny one-man carts hurtling down the road pulled by specially-bred animals, let me say they have missed a stirring sight. Organized on different roads from one week to the next, these events are generally local affairs. Why cannot they be organized along fixed routes, and become a regular feature of the city’s calendar? Again, sponsors could be found to offer prizes, and championship races could be televized events.

In Sri Lanka, our regular mode of transport were the tuk-tuks, or autorickshaws that chug sedately along the picturesque coastal highway. Actually, these three-wheeled vehicles are a common feature across the subcontinent, and regular rickshaw races could be organized between national teams. A fixed course could be earmarked, and the size of the engines could be specified. A ten-mile race would test driving and mechanical skills, and trophies could again be awarded, together with cash prizes. Again, an annual event like this would draw huge international interest.

Unfortunately, none of these ideas are likely to get off the ground. Our elites would rather watch televized events from around the world than encourage local sports and traditions. The national government stumbles from one crisis to another, and its politicians and officials are too self-important to be seen to encourage people to have fun.

In thirty years of government service, the posting I enjoyed most was as joint secretary in the ministry of culture. Dealing with subjects as diverse as archaeology, film and folk art, I was always depressed by how little funding was made available to our ministry. There was barely enough money to pay salaries and utility bills. Experts in their respective fields, officials in various culture-related departments could not put their skill and knowledge to much use because of the perennial shortage of resources.

Alas, this reflects the priorities of successive governments. So many good ideas and projects have had to be shelved because there has never been enough money for them. Others have been killed for lack of imagination and vision. For instance, years ago, the Japanese government was interested in establishing an institute for Buddhist studies at Taxila, a centre of the magnificent Gandhara culture. The Zia government dithered over the proposal, and finally let it die.

While we are justly proud of the many civilisations that have risen and fallen in the land that today constitutes Pakistan, we need to remember that apart from caring for our archaeological sites, we should also encourage the vibrant local culture that is constantly evolving. Our urban elites have become so out of touch with traditional pastimes and passions that we are rapidly becoming a schizoid nation.

Perhaps the federal and provincial culture ministries and departments need to be re-oriented towards local traditions. Lok Virsa was established in the early seventies for this purpose, and has done excellent work over the years. But it has remained under-funded and under-manned.

Our rulers need to be reminded that despite our backwardness, there remains a fundamental human need to have fun. This impulse should be set free and encouraged.