The Parade I Couldn’t Quite Understand
So, while doomscrolling, I found an interesting yet queer post — one from a very famous mall that had arranged a parade as a patriotic contribution towards Independence Day Pakistan. Their aim was to showcase our highly esteemed personalities, our national heroes from pre-Independence. Or rather, tried to showcase them.
A lean man with a Quaid-e-Azam kinda look — very, very little resemblance. Another with fake moustaches and a shawl draped around him like a Qawwal was supposed to be Allama Iqbal. And a third person with no resemblance to Fatima Jinnah except the gender, meant to represent the Iron Lady of newborn Pakistan.
I got ambivalent feelings the moment I saw that post.
With time and age, I have learnt one thing very clearly: not to react, but to take a pause and think — or reflect.
I took a deep breath and looked at the pictures again, trying to feel even the tiniest spark of patriotism after seeing their effort to revive the memories of our national heroes from the past.
I peeked in. Checked again. Rechecked.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
Trying to Find the Good in It
Then I tried to redirect my thoughts.
Yes — such efforts do help new generations build a link with our heroes beyond the pages of books. They give people a chance to see them, or at least some version of them, up close.
But that didn’t satisfy me either.
It made me feel more uncomfortable — like the feeling when your toes curl in new shoes, or when you’ve worn the wrong shirt size and you’re trying to breathe calmly, but your armpits are sweating terribly anyway.
That’s how I felt. I wanted to stop the parade and rearrange everything.
Where Was the Respect?
The first thing I would have done — before anything else — is to bring in the element of respect, sensitivity, and a sense of ownership. These are our Mohsins from history. The great leaders of entire generations. They deserved more thought before being dragged from their heroic, living past into the present.
Before staging this kind of national heroes representation at a public event, I would have thought multiple times about who was being chosen — and whether they truly carried the aura, the personality, the look that these figures deserve.
What It Could Have Been
Then I would add the historic literature too — to show my generation how those leaders deserved to be walked through a nasty, random, crowded place with weight and intention behind every step.
How about some real-looking security around them instead of a very low-cost, substandard shadi-bajaa band masquerading as a squad?
It was not even near to a squad. It looked like an oddly planned tableau from a very low-cost school — one whose teachers don’t have the budget or the class to put real respect and thought into what they’re arranging.
And trust me, that mall was not short of any budget. I guarantee ya.
It Could Have Been So Much Better
So, forgive me if I fail to hold back my fury and grudge against that patrol or parade. I wish it doesn’t happen next year. Or, if it happens, it better happen with proper thought and sensitivity towards what it truly deserves.
The heroes under question are not mere common heroes for the short term. These heroes are our lifelines.
When we talk about national heroes representation at any public event — whether in a shopping mall or on a main boulevard — we are talking about the very symbols that gave us a homeland. They are our keys to a liberated life. Our only source of a place called home.
When patriotism and public events come together around Independence Day Pakistan, they carry a responsibility — to honour with dignity, not diminish with carelessness. These figures don’t deserve to be reduced to a naive, underfunded afterthought in a corridor crowd.
They don’t deserve to be represented in such a naive way.
Leave a Reply