“Their new house looks so gaudy with the pillars and everything,” drawled Shazia*, scornfully surveying the drawing room over the rim of her delicate teacup. “New money, you know. Itnay paindu hein (They are so tacky). You can’t buy class.” I remained silent, which, of course, is a part of the problem; but it is impolite to sour a perfectly lovely Eid lunch with your bitter crusades against social injustice.
“Paindu” is a dynamic word. Technically defined, it refers to a person from the “pind”, or the village, but it has come to mean different things. It can mean “cheap”. It can mean “undignified”. When Shazia* says it, she means “tacky”. One consistent implication, however, is that it is a value judgment. “Paindu” can point to someone with broken English, or to a person that cannot intuitively match their shoes with the color of their shirt.
Universities across Pakistan allow seniors to celebrate ‘Paindu Day’ and ‘Daku (bandit) Day’, when they dress according to their understanding of the spirit of the theme. Students dress in dhotis and lenghas and paranday with bright red tassels braided into their hair. They sport cheap plastic sunglasses with reflective shades, layer graphic t-shirts in Paracetamol pink with ripped jeans, and roam the campus with their collars popped.
Every year, a small number of people raise concerns about these themed days, and every year they are met with the same answers: “it’s harmless”; “it’s funny”; “don’t be so touchy”. Last year when a student refrained from participating, her friend crinkled her nose at her, “Don’t tell me you’re one of those.” However, when we fail to reflect on the implications of our actions, we remain ignorant of their underlying insensitivity.
The word “paindu” is often linked to rural culture and to the style and mannerisms of the working class. Students dress in clothes that shame and ridicule the attire worn by these members of society. This gestures to a deeper, more insidious problem than mere light-hearted jest. It would be harmless fun if people dressed in clothing that they may also wear in a different, un-ironic context. The difference between innocuous mockery and something more sinister lies in the derisive stereotypes reiterated in these actions.
Stereotypes are harmful because they reinforce reductionist, one-dimensional perceptions that remain frozen in time. Dr. Furrukh Khan, an associate professor of Literature and Postcolonial Studies at LUMS, remarked that there is little to no difference between the costumes worn on ‘Paindu Day’ in 2001 and in 2019. Typecasting entire communities of people negates their individual complexity and agency, and almost renders them as inanimate objects that do not exist outside of these limited categories. This makes it possible to pass judgment on someone before you even set your eyes on them, on the sheer basis of perceived differences.
Iqbal Khan *, a security guard who has worked at LUMS for the past 16 years, was asked what he thought of ‘ Paindu Day’. “ Vo theek hai, Paindu Day manaayein. Har elaqay ka apna libaas hai, vo pehanein. Lekin ho sakta hai ke ghareeb aadmi ke paas kuch bhi nahin hai aur bachay us ka mazaak uraatey hein. Ghareeb aadmi kehan se Rs. 5,000 ka khussa ya suit le? Vo kehan se laye ga? Vo khaana khaanay se majboor hai, Rs. 5,000 ka suit kehan se laye ga? Ke phir ye paindu day manaatein hein? Ye bilkul ghalat hai. (It’s fine to celebrate Paindu Day. Every region has its own clothing, and one can wear that. But a poor man may have nothing and these children mock him. How can a poor man spend Rs. 5,000 on a pair of shoes, or on a pair of clothes? Where would he get it from? He has to buy food for himself, how can he spend Rs. 5,000 on clothes? And then these children celebrate Paindu Day? This is absolutely wrong.)”
It is important to remember that the luxury of choice is just that: a luxury. It is a privilege to have “taste”, to be able to express your creativity in an aesthetically pleasing manner. Pigeonholing people is offensive in its creation of a hierarchy, and of a sense of superiority. ” Meray hisaab se ye nahin dekhna chahiye ke paindu jaahil kisam ke log hein (I don’t think ‘ paindu’ and ‘ignorant’ should mean the same thing),” says Salman *, another member of the support staff. “ Dhoti pehan ke, bari bari moochien… jis tarha ke kapray log pehan ke aatey hein, tou lagta hai ke makhsoos tabqay ki dil azaari hai, ke ye log yehan tak hi hein aur us se oopar hum hein. Ye nahin hona chahiye. Sab ko ek nazar se dekhna chahiye ([they sport] dhotis and large moustaches…the kinds of clothes they wear are deeply insulting to people from particular groups. It implies that we are beneath them, and that they are superior. This should not be the case. Everybody should be perceived as equal).”
Dismissing this behavior as harmless or funny is not only deeply insensitive, but it also demonstrates an absence of awareness. You cannot assert that it is all in good fun when the very people that you are mocking feel so strongly against it; laughter at the expense of others is never justified. This either suggests that you have not critically reflected on your behavior, or it implies that you consider the lower class to be sub-human with irrelevant opinions. Most would be uncomfortable with placing themselves in the latter category.
This stereotype is not only associated with rural culture; those that seem or sound excessively desi (brown) are also looked down on. Markers of identity and behavior that betray your class position despite your efforts are also subject to ridicule. The contemptuous appraisal of the nouveau riche is an example of this: “you can’t buy class”. People with new money are not thought to have an intuitive understanding of what appears chic. They might have the means but will never appeal to the refined sensibilities of Shazia* and her friends.
In this way, economic capital is not enough to climb the social ladder, as Pierre Bourdieu has famously argued: social and cultural capital are as, if not more, important than just having money. It’s possible to appear cultured without being very rich; elite private schooling, one’s geographical position, and one’s parentage all play a role in this. Conspicuous consumption makes it possible to manipulate social expectations when you surround yourself with luxury products that demonstrate economic power, even when you may not have much. This allows you to ‘fake it till you make it’, and a closer look at ‘faking it’ gestures to western culture.
Critical reflection requires an understanding of the power dynamics present in the creation of these arbitrary differences. These stereotypes can be traced back to British India, when people were categorized by their race, religion, caste, creed, dress, and even their weight and height. The institutionalization of the caste system is a well-documented example of this.
India’s native population was far too large compared to the number of British settlers for the latter to be able to create an effective system of compliance from scratch. The British found it easier to control people on the basis of existing antagonisms; put simply, it was simpler to divide and rule than to create an entirely new system of governance. “You separate people into groups and make them hate each other so you can run them all,” writes Trevor Noah in Born a Crime, a reflection on South African apartheid with conditions similar to that of British India.
A lot of literature published during that time indicates this. The People of India (1868) is an example of this. This ethnographic collection chronicles physical differences within the indigenous population with meticulous detail, separating them according to distinctions as bizarre as the width of their wrists and the length of their calves. The Martial Races of India (1933) by George MacMunn classifies the Rajputs as a “somewhat cognate Aryan race” and as great, brave warriors. Other works have classified Bengalis as effeminate, Muslims as barbarians, and Brahmans as very cultured.
Creating a system of governance on the basis of imagined, senseless differences creates hierarchies and hostility between groups with varying sets of privileges. This pits the people of India against one another; if they are too busy fighting each other, they won’t have time to fight the British. “Paindu” can mean a number of things, but at the root of the word is a disdain for rural culture. Not very long ago, geography formed the basis of the creation of stereotypes. One’s lineage, their place of origin, and their occupied locality influenced the rights and privileges made available to them. These assumptions were reinforced and cemented over time, and our definition of the word is directly determined by the origin of this perception.
For this reason, classifying certain people as “paindu” is not merely an act of unkindness, but it also indicates a self-hatred. It stems from the colonial construct of the “other”, and proves that their indoctrination has been so successful that it lingers long after their rule has ended. In our willingness to openly shun certain aspects of our native identity, we betray an internalized disgust towards these parts of our history and culture. The “other”, now, takes the form of our own people.
Public mockery yearns for a distance from what is being taunted: I am making fun of this, and therefore it isn’t a part of me…right? This anxiety to separate, however, stems from the fact that it is not very far off from one’s own self. A desire for upward mobility pressurizes the middle and lower-middle class to publicly disassociate with markers of their own identity.
This perception must be challenged, and this can be done in a number of ways. Be less defensive when people offer critique. Open yourself up to change; everybody starts somewhere. Try to remain aware of your own privilege, and of the fact that choice is a function of privilege itself. Stop shaming and ridiculing markers of indigenous culture. You do not have to partake if it is incongruent with your personal style – no one is telling you to wear a dhoti to work – but do not be contemptuous of those that choose to do so.
This also does not mean that universities should not encourage a day that celebrates culture; the support staff at LUMS spoke very positively of the merits of having a national dress day, where students from different communities represent their own people as they please. “Hum chahte hein Paindu Day na ho (We don’t want Paindu Day to happen),” says Aslam*, another member of the support staff. “Us ki jagah jo sikaafti Pakistan ke hein jesay Punjabi hein Punjabi libaas pehanein, Balochi hein Balochi libaas pehanein, hum chah rahey hein ye saara ho. Paindu Day men jo gaaon, humaray dehaat ke log hein, samjhein ke un ki insult karte hein. (Instead of that, everyone can dress according to their own social group: Punjabis can dress like Punjabis, Balochis like Balochis. We want this to happen. Paindu Day is an insult to people from the villages and rural areas).”
After all, the spirit of these days is to reminisce about the joy of one’s time at university. It is to spend these last days making fond, light-hearted memories. Mockery is not a celebration of happiness, but is instead cheap fun at the expense of others. “Khushi manaayein. Lekin tareekay se. Khushi kis liye hoti hai? Jo saath waala saathi hai, takeh vo bhi khush ho (Celebrate happiness, but do it right. Why do we celebrate happiness? So that the people around us can share it),” says Muhammad Junaid*.
LUMS has now rebranded “Paindu Day” to “Desi Day”, and while students still reinforce offensive stereotypes, this is a step in the right direction. Change has to start somewhere. Public derision is not the way. It insinuates a sense of imagined superiority and suggests that their identities mean nothing more than the caricatures they lend to your cruel theatre. Last year, I watched an elderly security guard take in his surroundings with a look of quiet astonishment about his weathered cheeks.
“Is tarha ke kapray tou meray bachay pehantey hein (These are the kinds of clothes my own children wear).”
* Names have been changed to maintain anonymity.
All photo credits go to the Lahore School of Economics.
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