Living on a campus that is absolutely cut from the world, yet is a world in itself, can be a great opportunity to explore virtuous sides of you that would never have been obvious otherwise. Of course the vices are almost as tragic and attractive; single occupancy in a dorm meant so little to me initially, but as the years went by it got bigger and better. Missing home was quite natural, but for myself and many others it was more about missing the utilities and comforts of home, such as the TV. At Ghulam Ishaq Khan Institute (GIKI), as far as we know – chat software being the only source of information - we probably live on the local area network (LAN) maintained by the students. Channels dedicated to movies, and TV series that can be copied from someone else’s PC, are privileges one learns to appreciate only after graduating.
Each Thursday night, no matter how exhausted I may be, I dissolve that popular 3 in 1 nestle coffee sachet and sit in the isolation of my room to watch the movie that has been reported as the top of the charts for the week. With more and more movies being made, one tends to leave the conventions of a particular taste and explore more.
‘Cinema Paradisa’, an Italian classic, was one fine experience. Watching it, I could recall my first bicycle, my first academic achievement, very first inspiration, and almost all things that happened in life for the first time. It felt nice to keep in mind the history of myself. All those pseudo-intellectuals who tell you that once you leave your home there are few chances of coming back were perhaps not so pseudo: a spoiled young kid like me found it very unusual to sit alone in the corner of the mess at university and try to eat the spice-free food.
The movie focused on a rich man’s life in retrospect. Wealth being not at all important, Toto (the main character) lives in a world of make believe, movies, adventure. His dreams take him away from the small Sicilian village where he lives with his mother and sister, his father already dead in World War II. Alfredo, a cinema projector technician, becomes a surrogate father for him, and the movie his parallel existence. It is a deceptively simple film, which sweeps you up and carries you along. You never want it to end. And, when it does end, it is with such heartbreaking simplicity, one cannot help being moved to tears. So is it with life.
Looking back is a very easy task; pinning down your flaws back then difficult; deciding whether you would do the same all over again almost impossible. There are very few people in the world who, if they had a rewind button for life, would end up the same. Personally I would keep pressing the button over and over to keep it going on and on.
When your elders tell you rock music and movies were classic only in the 60’s and 70’s you might move your head for an affirmation, but all of us have a sarcastic sentence to follow. My mother trying to keep me home after dinner during vacations, probably needing some time to share things, was let down by my party outings with friends - taking the main gate keys and returning at 4am was absolutely normal. My parents were of course unhappy about it but what could they do with mature children but accept it.
Bridging the generation gap is more about reconciling attitudes between young and old: both the experience of the older generation and the exuberance of the youth are significant in their own right. Pakistani youth have a life that is almost like a shock absorber: every day we get new advice, new and worse scenarios, and a loss of courage to deal with it all. But it is the parent-child relationship which has deteriorated so badly that our values have been put to a completely failing test.
In a country like ours, to have grown up in families where unquestionable obedience to parents is expected, and money and power are the most cherished values, caste and creed have been very important issues and sect and ethnic affiliations are considered a sacred theme. However, young people have seen at least one thing: the obvious contradiction between the principles and practice of the elders.
This has been termed by some sociologists as the ‘institutionalisation of hypocrisy’. But like other sections of society, the youth, too, is divided: some of them are defenders of the status quo; others oppose it and aspire to change. Obviously those young people who are a few years away from enjoying parenthood can take the initiative to revive things; but it should be noted that almost half of what we are today is directly linked to what the old folks at home made us like. They in turn were made by their parents. Everybody wants to be known as a good person; if this is true then why not appreciate and respect the man and woman in your home who made you so.
Many would go on and argue about how abrupt the changes have been in the past ten years relative to the hundred before that, and claim that reversal never takes place. So is it alright for parents to permit their young daughter to wear a mini-micro skirt to her university party? I am sorry, but my out of the box thinking does not help; I would at any time in life prefer sitting in a dark corner of the box.
As Pakistanis, at least theoretically we would never want to end up like Toto; although I know this is exactly where we are all going, coming back home only for the funeral of a dear loved one. If it is in experiences that life’s soul lies, I bet we can eliminate the generation gap by simple morphological decomposition and move to a healthier place for the elderly and ourselves.
