In the week that the nations of India and Pakistan turn 70, I want to share
the story of a week in my life.
That week was about 13 years ago, when I made my first trip
to Pakistan.
A most unexpected and incredible time, a time I look back
upon with affection, fondness and hope.
I invite you to read a description of that week, written
from Pakistan and sent in an email to my friends back home in India, on the 26th
of March, 2004.
---------------------------------
Dear Friends,
I am writing this from Lahore, where I have been for the
last few days.
I am here with my wife, Ipsita. We are two of about 2000
Indians who have come to Pakistan for the one-day cricket matches between India
and Pakistan in March 2004.
Tomorrow morning, we head back to India. At the moment, its
about 11 PM here in Lahore and I am sitting in the study room of a friend who
we have met in Lahore, writing about the events of the last week. The friend
just came in with a cup of tea, and has asked me to wake him up in case I need
more tea or coffee.
It all started with the Pakistan Cricket Board opening up
the sale of a limited number of tickets for the India-Pakistan cricket series.
The moment I saw that news report, I knew i had to do this. This
was not just an opportunity to witness one of sport’s greatest rivalries, it
was a chance to go to Pakistan – the place we as Indians talk so much about,
read so much about, and often, despise so much about.
Tickets were promptly purchased on the internet, and visa
forms filled up. There is no Pakistan consulate in Hyderabad, so we made a trip
to Delhi and stood at 4 AM in the queue of hopefuls outside the Pakistan High
Commission in Chanakyapuri. There were some like us, standing for a visa for
the cricket match. Most others, and that number was in several hundreds, were
people who had relatives in Pakistan and had been trying for many many months
to get a visa, most of the time, unsuccessfully.
“Aap apna passport deposit kar dein, visa lagne par itila di
jayegi”, said the helpful man at the counter, which I reached after about five
hours in the queue. Translated, it meant – Deposit your passport, we will
inform you when your visa is granted.
We returned to Hyderabad and a week later, got the
information that the visa had come through. I have had many visas on my
passport – tourist visa, business visa, visit visa. This one is unique – it
says, ‘Cricket Visa’. It also specifies – Lahore only, as my match tickets were
only for the Lahore matches and the visa forbade me from going any place else. Importantly,
it also says- ‘Exempt from police reporting’, which is otherwise a daily
requirement for Indians visiting Pakistan.
Next step was hospitalityclub.org , one of my favourite
internet sites which provides a platform for members to homestay as a guest at
someone's home. I had hosted and been a host at many places around the world,
but Pakistan, God, this was someplace else, at least in the mind. Was it too
risky, to search for random people in Lahore and ask them for a place to stay ?
I took a leap of faith and narrowed the search string on the website down to
Lahore and wrote to the top host in Lahore telling him of my trip and asking
whether we could stay with him for the week. Promptly, my inbox had a response
– ‘you are welcome’, was the message.
The Delhi-Lahore bus leaves from the Ambedkar Terminal in
Delhi. The bus departure time is 6 AM. We are there at 3.30 AM and notice a
large queue of people already present. There are a large number of people also
there to see them off, easily in a 3:1 ratio. They are not allowed in, and are
outside the large, iron gates to the entrance.
The passengers are a mix of Indians, Pakistanis and others.
There are about twenty odd cricket fans (mostly from Delhi, a few from Panipat
and the two of us from Hyderabad), a woman and her four kids from Karachi, a
man from Lahore returning from Jaipur after getting the 'Jaipur foot' fitted, a
mother-daughter duo from Islamabad, a Dutch lady traveling from India to
Pakistan, two armed security escorts and a liaison officer from Pakistan Tourism
Development Corporation.
The security checks are more stringent than any I have
experienced anywhere in the world.
The people from Pakistan
say their good-byes to relatives who are waving from outside the iron gates of
the terminus. The bus starts off at 6 AM Indian time.
There are two Police
vans with armed guards and lathis (sticks) escorting the bus. One in the front of
the bus, the other in the rear. They are blaring their horns and clearing all
traffic for the bus to pass off uninterrupted.
The bus has three
halts on the way in the Indian territory - for breakfast, tea and lunch respectively.
These halts offer a good opportunity for the passengers to mix together and get
to know each other. There is a pervading spirit of bonhomie, which grows with
time and halts.
Kartarpur is the last
halt before the border. Out there is a signboard showing an Indian and a
Pakistani hugging each other in the backdrop of the Lahore bus. Delhi is written on one side of the signboard and
Lahore on the other, and there is a line written below – it says "Dil ka darwaza khol ke aana, par wapis
jakar humein bhool na jana" (While coming, open the doors of your heart,
but don't forget us when you get back)
Around 1400 hrs, we are nearing the border at Attari and
suddenly, mobile phone signals are blocked.
There are a number of Indians crossing over by foot from Amritsar. From their
looks, it seems most of them are headed for the cricket match. A few
entrepreneurs have put up a well stocked shop selling India t-shirts, Indian
flags and banners. Their USP – this is the last place where you can buy this
stuff. Beyond this, it’s a different world. Prices are moderate, and an Indian
shirt with No. 10 and Tendulkar written on it can be bought for 200 (Indian)
Rupees.
Next is the Customs check-post at Attari (India). Amidst a
lot of confusion and a sea of blue shirt wearing Coolies (porters), our
passports are collected by a couple of stern looking officials. We fill in our
forms and in about two hours, we are checked out of India.
Pakistan is clearly visible a few meters in front, but we
have to wait for our luggage to be loaded back on to the bus (which, necessarily,
is done by the Coolies because the authorities don't allow you to carry your
own luggage). After a few photos with the Indian flag in front of the bus, and
a cold coffee, we are back in the bus.
The next leg of the journey is a few meters of physical
distance, many light years of perceived distance.
After all, this is Pakistan !
The six-and-half foot
tall, well built, BSF (Border Security Force) guard is standing in front of a
huge gate just ahead of our bus. It has ‘INDIA’ written on it in big, bold
letters. The BSF jawan opens the gate, and the bus slowly rolls on to the other
side. Inside the bus, there is huge
applause from the passengers.
For many on board, it’s an emotional moment. I am one of
those.
Being on the others side of the Wagah border meant I am
nearing the place where my parents were born, where they learnt to walk and
take their first steps, where our family used to stay and a lot lot more.
In a few minutes, the bus stops again. This time on the
Pakistan side of the border for the formalities to be completed. Systems here
are relatively more streamlined than at Attari, and the queue moves faster.
Formalities done, we have to get our luggage checked once again. A huge amount
of confusion here too, before it finally gets done.
My mobile phone starts working again. Surprisingly, it is
the Airtel Punjab (India) network that is the strongest, so I make calls to my
parents in India, from Pakistan, on an Indian network.
Just outside the café, some of the porters are asking
passengers if they want to exchange currency. I give them currency notes with
Gandhi’s picture and get back those with Jinnah’s. The Qaid-e-Azam is in his
trademark cap.
The bus passengers are asked to head towards the PTDC (Pakistan
tourism development corporation) cafe, for a complementary tea. The manager of
the PTDC cafe takes control of the operations to meet this sudden spurt of
Indians, and is endeavouring to increase the turnaround time of the cheese
sandwiches.
As we await our sandwich, a framed photo of Md Ali Jinnah
adorns the wall right in front of us. To the side are a few Pakistan Tourism
posters, all of which have the words ‘Visit Pakistan’ firmly written in bold
font.
We get back to the
bus and it starts again. The first thing I see
thereafter, is another entrepreneur, selling Pakistan cricket team
t-shirts, caps and Pakistan flags.
The landscape turns
to green, and boys in Pathani suits are seen playing cricket.
As the bus moves on, there are hundreds of people on the way who are eager to catch a
glimpse of our bus. They are on the roads, in shops, in houses. I wave
incessantly and most people wave back, with a huge smile as a bonus. That makes
my day.
There is a railway
level crossing in front of us, and the gates are closed. The escort of our bus walks
up to the railway cabin, gets the aspect of the signal changed and gets the
gates opened. Our bus passes through. A goods train is seen waiting a few
meters away.
This was amazing. A train was stopped to let a bus pass by.
We head into Lahore in about half an hour, and the roads are
dominated by the Daewoo city buses, some double deckers, Mehran Suzuki cars
(the exact equivalent of India's Maruti Suzuki 800), the three wheelers (called
Rickshaws), Tongas, Chaand gaadi (a six seater vehicle), and dozens of
motorbikes.
We cross Atchison college (where Imran Khan studied, informs
the liaison officer), the Pearl
Continental Hotel (where the cricket teams are put up) and a number of
buildings from the British era.
In some time, we are at Falleti's hotel, another hotel from
the British times, and the bus' final destination.
As we get down, there
are people from the (local Urdu) press clicking photographs. They ask us (who
are in Lahore for the cricket match) to pose with the Indian flag, which we
happily do.
We get down, and in a
few minutes are able to locate the hospitalityclub.org friend. His name is
Naseem. I call him Naseem saab. He takes us home after driving us through the
Mall Road, the High Court, the Post Master general's office and the Secretariat.
While driving, he makes dozens of phone calls to neighbours and relatives and
invites them to his place for the evening.
At Naseem saab’s place, there are scores of people who want
to meet us, talk to us, and express the fact they are extremely happy at our
being here.
Naseem then takes us to another friend’s place, where I
mention that my parents were born in Lahore. The friend whose house he had
taken us to had come from Saharanpur, way back in 1947. The person is thrilled
to bits on seeing us, and he takes off the watch he is wearing and puts it on
my wrist. He takes off the pen in his pocket and gives it to Ipsita.
We are overwhelmed.
The next day, I managed to track down the respective houses
where my father and mother were born. It’s a very special moment for me.
The houses where KL Sapra (on Gurmukh Street, Dev Samaj
Road) and Neerja Sapra (nee Mehta)( 15F, Nisbet Road, near Dyal Singh Library)
were born might be nondescript today amongst the sea of houses in Lahore, for
me they represented places where my parents would have taken their first steps,
played, fallen, walked, talked and learnt to get their first bearings of the
world. These would also be the places where they would have to undergo, as kids
of five and two respectively, the horrific trauma of partition in 1947, leaving
their house and getting away in the lap of parents with fear and frenzy all
around.
On the 21st of March, we are at the Gaddafi
stadium. I am in my Indian-team blue T-shirt. Outside the stadium, there are a
large number of Pakistani fans as well. We wave and smile at each other. Many
many people come up to us, ask us basic questions about India and exchange
pleasantries.
The Police gets us
inside the stadium through a special queue (for Indian visitors). Inside the
stadium, though, its all common enclosures.
There's a college girl who is
wearing a t-shirt saying 'Nothing feels better than kicking Indians'.
Ipsita walks up to her and tells her- “We have come from far
to be here in Pakistan, I am sure you don’t mean what’s written on your shirt”.
The girl turns extremely apologetic. In a few minutes, she’s
good friends with her. In some time, we pose for pictures with our flags.
The cricket match has started. In the stands, though, there
is a lot of fun in the crowd going on.... thousands of flags, banners, musical
instruments. Mexican waves going around the stadium. Flags of USA, Bahrain and
the UK are visible as well. Sikhs in tri-color turbans. A man with a Ronaldo t-shirt.
A guy in Pakistani green jersey gets us two glasses of Pepsi. An elderly person
offers us paan.
Indian ads are all over the stadium. When the screen on the
ground shows the Information Minister of Pakistan, the crowd shouts 'LOTA LOTA' (meaning double sided and
turncoat, commonly used for politicians in Pakistan – could be used anywhere, I
feel).
The crowd does the
‘Lota’ chant for every politician who is shown on the screen. The Pakistani
crowd is good at inveting slogans. The most common slogan is "Match tusi
le lo, Aishwarya saanu de do" (take the match, give us Aishwarya (Rai)).
When the screen shows
Indian actors Sunil Shetty and Mandira Bedi, the crowd cheers like mad.
There is a Pakistani
guy who everyone calls BABA, dressed in all green, waving the flag, who goes
everywhere the Pakistan team plays. He too is cheered whenever the big screen
shows him. He is in the Imran Khan enclosure, adjacent to the Javed Miandad
enclosure where we are.
During the innings break, the public address system plays
popular songs. Many of these are Bollywood. Many in the crowd are dancing and
swaying to the beats. After a while, the song turns to ‘Dil Dil Pakistan’, a
popular pop song (
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dil_Dil_Pakistan ). This one makes the crowd go crazy. There is frenzied dancing
and waving of flags.
People walk up to us and say 'congratulations' and well
played. A person walks up to me and offers his Pakistan flag in exchange for my
Indian one. We pose for a photo. Similarly, another person asks for my blue coloured Indian cap as a souvenir.
I give my address and cards to scores of people. A few of our
fellow spectators take our autographs as well. People are desperate for Indian
souvenirs. I end up giving away all the Indian currency notes that I had in my
pocket – with an autograph on it as well.
I parted with my cap, my money, and finally, even my
t-shirt. In return, what I got was a massive amount of love and affection. It
felt just out of the world.
The next few days after the first match was spent going
around Lahore - the Badshahi mosque, the
Minar-e-pakistan, the Ravi river, Mall Road, Govt College Lahore, the Punjab
University, Kim's gun and Kim's bookshop.
We shopped around Anarkali and went to Lahore Railway
station. My favourite place in any city. It’s train station. Like many large
stations in India, this one also has a loco outside, with the star and crescent
being prominently displayed in front.
We met a number of Coolies (porters), who were very happy to
have a 'mehmaan' from India visit the railway station.
There is a 'Meeting Point' at the station, quite similar to
the ones in many other parts of the world. A big clock is on top of the meeting
point. I buy a platform ticket, which costs Rupees 5 (Pakistani). The platform
is maintained by a private party, and is quite clean.
Two big photos – one
of Md Ali Jinnah, and another of Md Iqbal (creator of the song, Saare
Jahan Se Achcha, Hindustan hamara and pioneer for the demand of a separate
state) adorn the entrance to the platform area.
Samjhauta Express, the train to India, leaves from the far end of Platform No. 1.
This platform also has a McDonalds and a Pizza Hut outlet. There are bookstalls
on every platform, mostly selling Urdu books. English magazines in the
bookstall are very costly, and range from about Rs 70 to Rs 100. English
language newspapers are costly as well, approximately Rs 10-12.
As I went to other platforms, we could see the Khyber Mail.
It goes from Peshawar to Karachi and was on Platform No. 5. We went inside ,
and saw the AC, Economy AC and non-AC coaches.
On the platform, the scene was quite similar - vendors
selling all kind of stuff; the only problem for me, a lover of railway platform
food, was that vegetarian food was hard to find !
The Karrakoram
Express, which is a fully AC train , is the most prestigious train from Lahore.
Quite similar to the Rajdhani Express in India. This train makes Lahore-Karachi
an overnight journey travel, giving the benefit of a working day at both ends.
After the station, I make a second visit to Nisbet Road and
Dev Samaj Road, to the house where my parents were born. There is a lavish
spread for us at both places and the current occupants of the house are over
the moon seeing us. I had heard from my mother that she had fallen close to the
staircase of the house and had a fracture when she was one year old. She said didn’t
remember any of it (which child would remember something that happened to her
at the age of 1), but the constant story telling about the incident from her
elder siblings was what she had narrated.
I tell this story, of my mother’s fracture, to the current occupants.
They say it’s happened to some other children in their family as well. Things didn’t
change in more than 50 years. Children still fall and get injured at the same
spot. We all laughed.
This was one more of the hundreds of times during the week
that I felt connected to a set of unknown people in an inexplicable sort of
way.
Tonight is our last night here in Lahore. In the evening, we
(all our recently acquired friends, and it totals up to around 20) had gone to the
Food Street on Gawal Mandi, in a kind of a farewell dinner.
Although finding
vegetarian food wasn't very easy, people's willingness to do just about
anything for their 'Mehmaan' made it a song.
That’s been the feature of the trip- wherever we have gone,
people are warm and friendly, eager to meet, say Aslaam Walaiyekum, shake hands
and extend hospitality. Most people haven’t accepted money for food, saying it
is their privilege that they have been able to offer food to their guests.
Every time in the last few days, people have felt very happy
to meet someone from India. They have gone out of their way to extend
hospitality.
Many conversations have happened as well. This includes conversations
on contentious issues like Kashmir. Views range from moderate to extreme. None
of these views, no matter how extreme they are, have come in the way of people
taking extraordinary care of their guests and bestowing upon us the most
incredible hospitality that anyone could.
The overwhelming opinion is that Kashmir aside, WE must
increase people-to-people interaction, free restrictions on Visas, allow trade,
allow communication, allow each other to just be.
People say these steps should be taken urgently, and are
really happy that things are looking up between the two countries. Many credit
the Indian Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee for being a visionary statesman
who can bring peace and friendly ties between us.
Many people have relatives in India, and India is very much
on the top of people's agenda. Indian soap operas are extremely popular, and
shape a number of perceptions about India. The only time we noticed
disappointment was when people realised that Indians don’t sleep in kanjivaram
sarees, as some Saas-Bahu soaps seemed to suggest.
In all, the last few days have been an overwhelming,
out-of-this-world experience. It has helped that we were up-front with everyone
about the fact that we come from India and were polite and courteous.
Finally, I would
recommend to all Indians – please visit Pakistan, meet people, talk to them,
interact and get to know this place better. We carry a lot of myths about Pakistan, and it
is only when we interact more, talk more at the people level that we can have a
brighter, less bitter, and more friendly future. The people level interactions
are totally separate from the politics of it all, and has no resemblance
whatsoever to what we read in the papers or watch on TV. There is a huge gap
that exists between perception and reality, on both sides of the Radcliffe line,
an artificial divide.
My visa prohibits me from going out of Lahore, but I hope
there will be a time when I can experience other cities and historical sites as
well. Mohenjodaro, Harappa, Karokoram highway…
For now, I feel fortunate that I have been to Lahore, and as
they say in Lahore, I have been born (Jine Lahore nahin takeya, o jameya nahin
= the person who hasn’t seen Lahore, hasn’t been born)
I hope to be back here soon.
With best wishes,
Deepak
