In Pakistan, when the summer months roll around, so does the wheat-harvesting season. From the dust-covered memories of my adolescence, I can garner a few of the rituals that usually accompanied the wheat cultivation. We desis are generous hearted people, you may have noticed how friendly cultural glamor has dimmed in the past decade of the worst socio-economic prospects, but we used to never waste an occasion to celebrate, to dance the ‘bhangra’, to eat good food, rotis slathered with ghee and greens cooked down to a spicy mush, often called saag. That’s how we roll you guys.
I have enjoyed the goods and the perils of urban lifestyle in my soon to be 18 years. The festival related to the ‘gandum’ harvestation was something so scared to the villagers after a hardworking season, that the city dwellers with their snubbed noses never took part. Apparently, work is more important than these little joys of life. Yet several times, I saw the Liberty roundabout done up like a bride by one brand or the other (advertisement or cultural initiation? I do not know). And the flower garlands hanging off the tall structures were a sight to behold. And then the part of the Lahore canal that touches the famous RPGCC Royal Palm Golf & Country Club was always a stage for prestigiously designed models of cultural mimicry by the students of the National College of Arts. I had my share of the ‘little joy’ that Punjabis in the villages did, too.