Toronto-based Taimoor Farouk shares tales from the Pakistani diaspora with Dawn.com.
Staring at the Monument to Multiculturalism in Toronto the other day, I remembered a political science lecture that helped me better understand Canada’s multiculturalism soon after I had arrived here a few years ago. My thoughtful gaze did not last long, however, as I was distracted by a desi girl attired in a beautiful shalwar kameez standing steps away.
Seeing her, I couldn’t help but think how nice South Asians look when they wear their cultural clothes. My mother had once aptly made this observation on seeing Pakistani actor Nauman Ijaz wear a black shalwar kameez in one of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s qawwali-turned-pop song videos. But that was a long time ago.
During my stay in Canada, I have seen youngsters, couples, and all sorts of people of Pakistani origin dressing up as they like. I have had my share of amusement at seeing them dress up as one of their favourite characters at Halloween parties and have also asked some women why they wear pink pyjamas – contemporary North American nightwear – for morning university classes?
In a multicultural and secular country such as Canada, where everyone is entitled to be who he/she is, it is ironic that many desis feel the pressure to merge in with the rest of the majority at the expense of deviating from their rich culture. While there are ethnic enclaves such as Gerrard Street in Toronto and Punjabi Market in Vancouver – desi paradises that sell everything ranging from tambakoo-waala paan to embroidered kurtas and Limca soda – these are restricted to a few large metropolitan cities. Desis in these cities tend to form communities, but elsewhere they feel the need to either merge in or else prepare to be looked at differently.
Realizing the difference between merging and mingling, the latter referring to those who are still in touch with their culture, I asked numerous Pakistani-Canadians why they avoid wearing their traditional, cultural clothes. To my amazement, all of them had different stories to tell. While a few pointedly said that ‘they don’t want to be stared at by non-South Asians’, others suggested that they prefer Western wear and feel uncomfortable wearing anything else. However, what came as a surprise to me was the response by a group of desis who bluntly replied that if they wore a shalwar kameez, they would be ‘judged’ by none other than people from their own community!
To sort through these perceptions, I wore a shalwar kameez for three consecutive days. I attended a desi dinner party at which many asked me, ‘Why, of all the clothes you own, have you decided to wear something that does not blend in?’ The second day also passed with smiles from passersby and questions from desis wondering if the only reason I was wearing the outfit was to be looked at differently. The eve of the third night brought a reaction from someone I least expected – one of my university professors.
I walked into his office to submit an essay that I had written on ‘Nazi and Soviet propaganda during the Second World War.’ After his general inspection of the paper had ended, I sensed that it was my time to be examined. Indeed, so was the case. The professor took his time giving my outfit a look that would have easily dealt fatal blows to a Hollywood celebrity’s self esteem, and then asked: ‘Do you know the consequences of plagiarism?’ It was obvious that, having seen my get up, the professor had somehow concluded that I couldn’t have written the essay lying on the table before him. At that point, I decided to leave his office call it a day. Not sure when I’ll next don a shalwar kameez.
