On faking it

Some recent observations

It’s a very brave man indeed who chooses not to laugh at a joke told by the boss. And it doesn’t matter how many times he has heard the boss tell the very same joke. Whether we like it or not, faking it is an important part of the human experience, and we are all guilty of it at one time or another. Although one would imagine it to be otherwise, this art is (sometimes has to be) taken to a whole new level in holy seasons.

It seems it is mandatory on TV shows for the host to shed tears during devotional singing, or narration of some faith-rejuvenating or patriotic story. Indeed, an ability to produce tears on demand seems to be an indispensable one for aspiring hosts. This is never in starker display than in Ramzan. Of a particularly cringe-worthy performance of this sort by a lady host, a shrewd observer of the human experiment (herself a woman) observed, ‘Her tears are as fake as her eyelashes.’ While there are notable exceptions, as a rule men have nothing on women when it comes to faking it on screen – the physiological, psychological, and sociological barriers are just too insurmountable, on screen as in real life.

‘Aap ka roza hai?’ is always very high on the Ramzan FAQ list, despite many people, including those who regularly fast, thinking of it as too personal. For those who are not fasting, a good answer to it just doesn’t exist. Mind you, there can be any number of legitimate reasons not to be fasting. Besides, many are not comfortable to be obliged to offer explanations regarding what is essentially a private matter. For many women it means having to fake fasting in days they aren’t supposed to fast. This may be categorised under ‘eastern values’ and modesty, but there is nothing modest about a man having to resort to desperate, impromptu word play (‘Hamaara roza kahaan! roza to auliya ka hota hai.’) to wiggle out of the tricky situation.

In general, non-fasters voluntarily refrain from eating in public places, so when it comes to the public domain things remain generally under control. But there are important exceptions. Consider two incidents, both taking place this Ramzan in Islamabad:

The first was reported by two very close friends, who were in the Diplomatic Enclave on an excruciatingly hot Friday to collect their passports. Apparently the concerned embassy had bitten more than it could chew, and people with the 10 o’ clock appointments were being asked to come back at 12.  Most visa aspirants that day were Christians – their itinerary centred on meeting the Pope. My friends, like most others, were from out of town, and were not fasting. Consumed by heat and thirst, they went to a nearby shop and bought water; so far so good. But an attempt to open the bottle was met with a curt, ‘Not allowed during the fast!’ by the proprietor. Left with no choice, they came out on the road, only to be told by another man from the shop (who had followed them out), ‘Not allowed outside the shop either.’

The second incident, reported by an acquaintance, took place in Kohsar Market. The afternoon prayer congregation had just broken, and some worshippers passed three Germans having coffee in front of a nearby cafe. One man stopped and said something to the foreigners, upon which they abruptly left. When my acquaintance, who witnessed all this, asked the man about their conversation, he was told that foreigners needed to know better than eating before sunset. When it was pointed out that they weren’t even Muslim, the man demanded, ‘Are you sure you are?’ And for good measure, he added, ‘Do you know Taseer was killed on this very spot?’

The increasing levels of general ‘piety’ in the society and a corresponding increase in the number of chips on shoulders, thus, means that faking it, far from merely being prudent, has much more serious consequences.

An innocuous but patently fake sentiment is often heard on and near Eid. Call it diplomacy, call it assuaging the conscience, this one usually comes from nice, well-meaning people: all of us, that is. It takes many forms. For instance, ‘While celebrating Eid, let’s keep the less privileged in our thoughts.’ The precise location where the less-privileged are to be kept is not specified, although one can make a wild guess. To paraphrase Carlin in the interest of publishability if nothing else, perhaps that place is somewhere between, ‘This boot hurts my toe,’ and, ‘What’s for dessert?’

I will be fairly accused of being overly gloomy if I don’t mention here a billboard that I first noticed half-way into Ramzan. An ad for customer service of an ‘Islamic’ bank, it shows a deathly, grey apple in the process of being painted green (green probably symbolising Islam). The fake vitality is a breath of fresh air if ever there was one, for one will be hard-pressed to come up with a better way of confirming what many people suspected all along – that Islamic banking is actually the same stinking substance in different packaging.  How did it happen – Was it a conscientious ad-man who didn’t want to fool the bank’s customers? Was it some noble higher-up in the bank itself? – I won’t speculate. Suffice it to say that it has revived my dwindling faith in humanity.  All is definitely not lost.