Dawn.com’s Huma Yusuf complains about the curse of unsolicited SMS messages. There was a time when eating was considered our national pastime. Now, there are some Pakistanis who spend more time sending SMS text messages than chewing. Several people I know would rather exchange up to 20 messages on a topic or to arrange a meeting than place a quick phone call. In my opinion, Pakistanis enjoy texting for the privacy it affords us in lives that are otherwise short on solitude; for the ability to multitask that it extends to us (text on the treadmill! SMS while shopping!); and for the liberty it affords from unnecessary takalluf and gup shup – there’s only so much that can be said in 100 characters.

Increasingly, SMS text messaging has taken on ‘feel good’ proportions – cash aid in Kenya is distributed via mobile phones and needy recipients get a text message when their funds become available; blood donors have been recruited using two-way group text messaging; and students at the base of Mount Kilimanjaro are texting environmentally important information to experts sitting continents away. Indeed, text messaging (and the mobile phones that enable it) is a key tool for contemporary development.

For its convenience and revolutionary potential, I have always enjoyed texting. Lately, however, SMS messages have become the greatest irritant in my life. Two out of every five messages I receive are spam – a gibberish amalgam of symbols and text, an advertisement, a riddle, a prayer or instructions on how to pray, a plug for a television show, a homeopathic remedy, or a solicitation from a political party.

Just yesterday, I received about eight spam text messages. One was a prayer specifically to be read when it rains so that in turn for each raindrop that falls on me I get a blessing (given that it hardly rains in Karachi, I suddenly feel deprived of a shower-worth of blessings). Another SMS invited me to join the Facebook group of the Muttahida Qaumi Movement. And a third related a parable about a sailor stranded on an island: he builds a small hut in which to store food. One day, the hut burns down and the sailor thinks God has forsaken him. The next day, the sailor is rescued and his rescuers say they saw his smoke signal. Moral of the story: “Trust Allah when misfortune happen. His plan r always great than ours.”

Many cellphone-toting Pakistanis have fallen victim to spam SMS. But I only realized the extent of the spammers’ depravity when, after the recent death of a family member, I was obliged to include my mobile phone number in an obituary notice. I expected to spend the day fielding calls from friends, family and well wishers who needed directions to the mosque or graveyard. Instead, I received a host of spam texts – condolence messages on behalf of Altaf Hussain, instructions for prayer, invitations to various dars (religious gathering), and a slew of advertisements for generators, garden furniture, luxury condos, cheap plane tickets, limo services, liposuction, and more. What kind of person trawls obituary notices for cellphone numbers so that they can send out SMS messages?

Sadly, it seems as if text messages are beginning to stand in for the public sphere in Pakistan. We spend less time in markets and on the roads for fear of suicide attacks and shootouts and, as the frequency of theft, kidnapping, and carjacking increases, we’re increasingly suspicious of each other. No wonder then, the screens of our cellphones are standing in for the streets, parks, and other public spaces of our real life. Forget pamphlets or door-to-door sales – just send a text message. Don’t bother chatting up someone – just send an anonymous text message. And certainly don’t bother checking if someone’s religious or political views align with yours before you begin proselytizing – just send a text message.

Just don’t be offended if I don’t text you back.

Dawn.com invites its readers to share some of the funny and frustrating spam SMS messages they have received.