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“I love your art collection and your F.M. Hussain is to-die-for” (sic), shrieked a voice behind the Birkin as it sashayed into a celebrated designer’s swanky quarters. She had probably heard the legendary art maestro’s name on FM radio. Although airbrushed to bland porcelain perfection, they are unpolished to the point of being carefully sketched smudges.
From the often blonde wind-swept hair that the elements have nothing to do with, to bondage artist eyeliner, hands that seem to make just that odd appearance from a moisture jar, feet that know nothing of earthly pleasures, and a palette that only colours them beige – this is, as a friend puts it, ‘the rising third class’ of the upper class of Karachi and Lahore, whose material power isn’t enough cover for frayed edges.
They are incapable of ascribing any value to another till the middle-name is a brand; be it their attire or their home, neatly sealed with a rock or two. If you brandish your soul, it would be (air) brushed aside as a symbol of self-loathing and an unfulfilled life; or just left to bob in the air. Funnily enough, the uniformity trickles into the home too, but amid wainscoted walls, dimly lit libraries with Chesterfields and bridge tables lies some acquired value for knowledge.
Their shelves are replete with leather-bound, meticulously arranged literary jewels; the cellophane, however, is often a sad reminder of the conflict between impact and interest. In a similar setting, a housewife was overheard giving the ingredients and recipe for a perfect chicken ‘brothel’ to chase away throat and chest infection.
So, they do make for some great spectator sport – for them life is an extended poetic licence which is applied at all levels, from moral to material. But then, behind this farcical existence lies a deeper malaise – this social phenomenon can only boast of its buying power. It buys the same cars, homes, upholstery, clothes as its competition; the problem lies in the area where human associations and courtesies are not free of a bid.
Interestingly, our societal hierarchies have undergone some reversals – until recently it was the lower income groups or middle classes that bore mockery and became the butt of satire. Today, it is the top most wrung that invites both disdain and amusement. And the real clincher is that the more square society has proved itself actually more capable of putting its house in order, than nouveau, hip, rich society.
What is even more ironic is that all these riches don’t seem to have restored any joie de vivre. Greed and acquisitive instincts have neither brought any competition in the arts nor have they served to revive ailing fields such as cinema which would go a long way in securing both, financial gains along with fame.
There was a time when old and equally affluent families would become patrons of the arts and sponsor mushairas and cultural exchanges within the region. Today, such endeavours are far, painful cries simply because of the complexion that (new) money has taken on – it is one of self-absorbed, crass, uneducated materialism. To make such a large section of society functional and relevant again, we need to consider and adapt the European model whereby a reasonably prosperous middle class can shrink the great class divide.
This is hardly possible without contributions from the citizenry supported by relevant democratic policies that, like the West, talk of middle-class individuals as opposed to society. Our times call for a movement that prevents consumers from overshadowing the strengthening of a middle class in order to establish a semblance of equalisation. This scale of change will enable the nation to identify factors that create such vast chasms, which in turn take all power away from the middle class.
At present, our influential classes have limitless capital sans any social capital. An uncomfortable scenario at best. This aside, they appear oblivious of the power of art and culture that also springs from social investment. And only the deprived and significantly marginalised can bring these to life. Undoubtedly, it is this segment that will remove the cellophane to open minds. Like Damascus, a battalion of artists armed with ideals and colour-splattered palettes may seize the day for cerebral and social reform. Let’s unite to cast a dark shadow on the blonde!
