IT was only a matter of time. What began as an exercise in capturing travel highlights or a bit of citizen journalism via social media has taken over every life event. Occasions as sombre as funerals and as mundane as transfers now trend across platforms. Maybe, because the vernacular word borrowed from Arabic for both death and transfer is ‘intiqal’, a transfer of sorts from one world to another.

‘Uzr-Khwahi’, as the condolence wake is called in Sindh, has its roots in the tradition of supporting family and friends during difficult times. Like many customs, it is meant as a socio-emotional coping mechanism, but it is not without its drawbacks. For example, in Sindh, a condolence is never considered too late. The bereaved family must keep the wake going for extended periods to allow mourners to say fateha. This can stretch into weeks, depending on the stature of the deceased.

The tradition is also used to resolve grievances and reconcile with family and friends. It is also employed for political rapprochement and forming alliances. PPP chairman Bilawal Bhutto-Zardari recently visited the residence of former Sindh chief minister Mumtaz Bhutto in Larkana for condolence. The senior Mr Bhutto had passed away about four years ago. No one ever refuses to see opponents or even enemies if the purpose of the visit is to extend condolences.

However, there are limits to how far these traditions can be stretched for politicking. Reportedly, when a former prime minister visited Akbar Bugti along with party acolytes in Quetta, to offer condolences for his son killed in an intra-tribal feud in 1992, the old nawab received them but refused to go along with the attendant rites. He was making the point that they should have made the effort to visit him in Dera Bugti, his hometown, rather than in a location convenient for the entourage. Anyone thinking ‘how can anyone do this to a former and would-be PM’, does not know the late tumandar of the Bugti tribe.

There are limits to how far traditions can be stretched.

Returning to where we began, funerals and condolence gatherings have turned into publicity events thanks to social media. Every visitor is filmed, complete with exaggerated foot-touching, the bhakur (hug), and the traditional folding of hands as a sign of humility. These videos are posted on social media platforms with background music.

These condolence clips are incomplete without the dramatic entry and exit of visitors, resembling a don’s arrival and departure. The camera often zooms in and out to showcase the cavalcade of luxury vehicles bringing the ‘VIP’ visitors; guards leap out of moving escort pickups to open doors for the dignitaries. The clip then turns to slow motion as unfit men wobble out of vehicles ranging from V8s to V12s, owned, borrowed or rented. Not to be left behind, district correspondents of the electronic media are on hand to lend a buzz to the condolence do.

This raises the question: is the couplet attributed to Haider Ali Atish, a lament or a wish? It roughly translates to “Strangers led my funeral prayers; whilst, those I died for, kept to the ablutions.”

Practising traditions and culture is great, and pride in our roots a good thing, but when a society feels it must designate a particular day to celebrate the traditional headgear, Sindhi topi, and makes it mandatory for cultural icons like the ajrak, a block-print textile design dating back to the Indus Valley civilisation, to be a part of something as humble as a vehicle registration plate, it appears a bit affected. I wear a topi and an ajrak year-round. Why should I limit them to a specific day? If ajrak is a symbol of cultural identity, why expose it to soot from vehicle exhaust or slush from the constant potholes in towns, big and small, which are said to ‘compete only internationally’ because there seems to be no national rival to the progress seen in Sindh?

Another troubling trend spiralling out of control in the province is mubarki, or felicitation delegations, that flock to government offices to celebrate transfers and postings of officials. Fortunately, it doesn’t last indefinitely, as the incumbent usually succumbs to transfer, suspension, or kidnapping within six to eight months of this significant event. The next appointment, however, triggers a fresh wave of celebrations. Exchanging topi-ajrak, garlands, photos, and filming the tea ceremony — no less entertaining than the Japanese version — is mandatory. All of this is then posted on social media.

I started with Sindh in the spirit of acknowledging flaws inside my home first. Punjab has equally, if not more, strange and vain trends. More on it some other time.

The writer is a poet. His latest publication is a collection of satire essays titled Rindana.

shahzadsharjeel1@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, October 29th, 2025