As an immigrant Pakistani, a member of the diaspora, or someone who has chosen to live outside of Pakistan, I have lost many rights.
But I haven’t lost the right to feel the ache of a mohib-e-watan. There is a reason it’s called the motherland. The love one feels transcends, the yearning and conflict of permanent wapsi is always hovering, and fears almost always seem to win the battle.
So what does one do?
One sits on the sidelines, observes, and speaks only when the allowance is there. Not from a place of moral high ground, or from the judgement of a child that left and lost the right to speak, but instead from the perspective of an emotionally invested narrator who almost always keeps a bird’s eye view.
Now I come to the point, and the wedding that’s on everybody’s mind. And I promise to steer clear of things on the face of it, or if the bride was being overshadowed by a mother, or another.
Instead let’s talk about who and what the bride was wearing.
Last year Pakistan was at war with India. There is no trade between the two countries. Can someone explain to the Pakistani public why the rulers did what they did?
Politicians and world leaders often use their wedding attire to convey messages of national pride and cultural heritage, turning a private ceremony into a public statement of identity. Examples range from the promotion of national textile traditions to highly politicized, thematic outfits, a symbolism of the local top tier fabric and craftsmanship. What we’ve understood is that high-profile individuals, especially politicians, choose designers, colours, outfits, ensemble, keeping in mind representation. Their focus is different from ours. Their clear strategic vision must trump the colloquial current fashion trends, of what is all the rage, of what’s `in,’ and of who is currently the hottest designer – on this, or that side of the border.
As a person in a position of power, you have already arrived and the world knows that. There is nothing left to prove except that you are a better person than we thought you were. There is a term for it too, it’s called Diplomatic Dressing or Central/Core Selection Criteria, and includes choosing domestic designers to bring healthy competition, shining a light on traditional fashion and culture. For example, Pakistani brides traditionally wear ghararas, a floor length shirt paired with a lehnga, sharara, farshi gharara, and definitely not a sari.
Relatability is essential too. Citizens, the middle class should be able to afford something similar to it.
Cost is a factor: to remind everyone, a rich business family, a monarch or a generational landlord are welcome to spend vulgar amounts on wedding outfits.
A politician cannot, must not do the same.
That is an absolute disregard, disconnect and disgrace.
What were they thinking?
Was no one advising them?
Pakistan has the best fabric, from silks, satin, brocade, tissue, muslin, jamawar, cotton, linen, you name it; to handwork in gold, bronze and silver, to embroidery, sitara and sequence, applique, loom to hand weaving. The very art that Muslims have mastered, inheriting the skill generationally from the times of the Delhi Muslim Sultanate to the Mughals, up until today.
Last year Pakistan was at war with India.
There is no trade between the two countries.
While the two designers used by Shanzay Ali Rohail are indeed masters of their craft, Pakistani designers are as brilliant. So, can someone explain to the Pakistani public why the rulers did what they did?
What kind of unfathomable messaging is this?
A question that will remain unanswered like everything else.