So today I went to a different party. And every second guest, it seemed, was Spongebob Squarepants. I am staying with Nuscie, an NGO worker and part of the fashion week team. I had no sooner arrived in her home when her cook came in holding a mobile phone out to me. I was invited next door for a bite to eat.
I had barely opened the gate when I was greeted with the high pitched squeal of a CD of children's songs. It's at times like these I realised what a saint my mother was for listening to our crackly cassettes over and over in the car. The thing about playing this music, I thought, is that it's not edifying for anybody. It drives the grown ups into a fit of derangement, which in polite company can only be expressed with the furrow of a brow. The children won't dance to it, interested as they are mainly in stuffing grass in each other's mouths and running around the garden for no particular purpose. They are cajoled into dancing by the parents who insist the pain must be worth something.
Today's party was a Spongebob Squarepants themed bash for a toddler. There were Spongebob banners, Spongebob party hats, a giant Spongebob cream cake. I ate a pile of rice and daal off a Spongebob paper plate. Chatting to the host, I asked if his two year old son liked Spongebob Squarepants. He admitted it was his own penchant that swayed the theme.
"Who doesn't like Spongebob?" he asked sheepishly.
I don't have any particular aversion to a googleyed bath accessory in a pair of trousers if that's what aids children's mental and emotional growth. I was taught the alphabet and days of the week by a giant yellow bird, a furry green thing that lived in a rubbish bin and various other puppets with dementedly large eyes.
But the Spongebob party wasn't for the children who ran around merrily tripping over their small saris. It was for the people who dressed them, the conspicuous consumers: the parents. Using your offspring to keep up with the Joneses is an age-old tool, but children's parties of this opulence and expense can only be rivalled by Spongebob's native land, the U.S..
Such an event, held under the shadow of a deodar tree, highlights the strange and complex relationship between Pakistan and the U.S. The government struggle to demonstrate their allegiance to America while placating the Taliban. Many detest the US for their rough treatment and suspicion of the Pakistani government. But for the aspirational classes, they are the culture to emulate.
For one, they need the business. I did manage to meet some adults at the party, in the form of two designers who run a label called Muse which creates Parisian-style designs (think Zara) with Pakistani-inspired embroidery. They said they had no intention of dominating the Pakistani market. Despite events like Pakistan fashion week, the industry here is too nascent to be of any interest. They advertise their clothes here, they say, because there is no hope of impressing foreign buyers if their garments fail to sell in their own country. But their hope is to crack the Western market because (despite the kind of disposable income lavished on the Spongebob party) that's where the cash, as well as the Kudos really is. Pakistan has come a long way, but not yet far enough to keep its artistic talents from aspiring beyond the border first.
From my window now I can see the last guests leaving: a bunch of men load a giant elephant and a racing car ride onto the back of a lorry. Spongebob is littered all over the floor. I bet they'll be eating that yellow cake for weeks.
Spongebob Squarepants: American ambassador to Pakistan.
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