THE WAY IT WAS: A helmet is cheaper than your head —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan
It is in the best interest of the country and the society that the brutish
sport, played frequently at public expense, is called off immediately. The
bullies cannot imagine what chaos would be unleashed if the citizens fielded a
team of their own
The best advice I have come across this week is — “Wear a helmet — it is
cheaper than your head!” And it is not only addressed to motorcyclists but to
all citizens. You never know when you may be hit on the head. Wearing a helmet
these days seems more appropriate than the Jinnah Cap. One may initially look a
bit comic wearing a helmet with an achkan or a suit, but within weeks the shock
will wear off.
I am told that the Union of Journalists is demanding a safety kit — a helmet,
a pair of cricket pads and a guard for the crotch — be provided to each of its
members. Additionally, they are demanding a tank for every reporter. However,
the Union leaders are not insisting on a particular make or specifications. The
reader may consider this an exaggeration but I certainly do not find it funny.
No one who has been hit on the head, the knee, the shin or his precious crotch
may be amused.
Had they carried the kit, the journalists accompanying Zardari would have got
off the plane in better humour. They were lucky to have been attacked with
enlightened moderation. All passengers using the airport, visitors to Data Sahib
and those living in the vicinity are best advised never to step out of their
homes without a helmet.
This is not to say that residents of Green Town — which is actually quite
brown — Mecca Colony, Medina Colony, or Jinnah Colony, are any safer. The
safest place these days, I am told, is the small and nice Gujrat Satellite
Society. But considering how fast its foundations are being inundated I
wouldn’t bank on that. As their support thins out, the authorities are losing
their cool and swinging their lead-tipped lances at anything that strays into
sight.
I am reminded here of an anecdote. Once upon a time there was a tyrant who had
his gum pierced by a splinter of bone while chewing on camel meat. Finding the
pain unbearable he ordered that all camels be apprehended and destroyed by the
next sunrise. The camels, as soon as they got wind of the new policy, took off
from towns and cities to seek safety in deserts and secluded places. While they
were stampeding away, one of the camels saw a jackal desperately trying to
overtake him. Greatly intrigued, he enquired, “Hey what’s your problem? What
are you running away from?” The jackal who had known many seasons of
adversity, looked calmly replied, “I am aware that I am not a camel. But are
you sure the king’s men also know that?”
It is always wise to be careful. Meanwhile the judges may continue to preside
over the courts in their white wigs though some seekers of justice feel that it
would be more appropriate if they wore black wigs. That would make them look
younger. There should be no harm in this since traditionally justice is believed
to be blind. Of course, I would hate to face a judge wearing a helmet, even if
it were green and had a crescent and star stamped on it. Aesthetic
considerations aside, we cannot have our judges looking like cabbage.
A thousand cheers for our cricket team. I will not demand “Inzamam for
president” lest he should find himself struck on the head without his helmet.
Facing bouncers is one thing but having to face fleet-footed beamers in
jackboots, considered a martial sport by some, is another matter. Our cricket
team, made up entirely of civilians, has brought honour to the nation. They have
made us all feel proud. The general, who is never tired of counting the failings
of us civilians, has not hesitated for a moment to encroach upon their glory.
The team consists of common civilians — the ‘Urdu medium’ civilians
without the proverbial martial upbringing. I believe initially whenever one of
the team had to receive the man of the match award the others would quietly
chuckle. Receiving the award was considered an ordeal because it involved
answering questions in English. “Buddy, your turn this time” they would
privately smirk. But soon they all got used to the pitch, making playful
innovations. By the time we were playing the one-day final in New Delhi our
players had become so confident that when Inzamam ambled towards the stage to
receive the trophy and was asked by the compere, Ravi Shastri, in Urdu —
obviously trying to be helpful — how he felt about winning the series, Inzi
insisted on replying in his characteristic post-colonial English. That, in
cricket, is called playing on the front foot.
I wonder what would happen if the civilians took up the martial sport where
armed and armoured security personnel carry off truckloads of innocent citizens
after insulting and disabling them. It is in the best interest of the country
and the society that the brutish sport, played frequently at public expense, is
called off immediately. The bullies sporting over-starched collars cannot
imagine what chaos would be unleashed if the citizens took up the wager and
fielded a team of their own. It is more sporting of course if games are played
according to rules and if referees are not blind, partisan or intimidated. It is
only natural for people, if legal recourse to change is obstructed, to consider
other options. Kharbooza kharbooze ko dekh kar rang badalta hai (a melon will
change colour when it sees another one do that).
Carry on Caesar — if you must — but beware of the coalition of the timid.
Prof Ijaz Ul Hassan is a painter, author and political activist. He can be
reached at http://www.ijazulhassan.com