Amid all the tragic news about floods across Pakistan, Ladakh and China, here's one kind of silver lining: Leh disaster unites India and Pakistan.
All right, so it took a tragedy. Can we hope, through the flood, that both countries will build on this?
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
August 10, 2010
July 21, 2010
Find our own Shiloh
Last week, I was in Bangalore to speak at TEDxGardenCity. It was an interesting day, listening to some thought-provoking lectures and meeting stimulating people. Add a short chat about things tennis with Rohan Bopanna, and what else could a tennis nut like me ask for? (This: later in the week I played some doubles, dragging my respective partners to set losses of 6-0 and 6-4).
Anyway, below is the text of my talk. Some of this may be familiar to all two of you who have read my Roadrunner, it's adapted from a section in there.
Comments welcome.
***
Here's a picture to hold in your mind for a few minutes. I'm up in the hills somewhere in Jammu and Kashmir. There are flowers and birds all around me. It's a beautiful July day, the sun is out but is isn't too warm. In front of me, mounted on elegant stands, are several panels of black granite.
Keep that image, as I said, in your mind.
Three years ago, I visited the Shiloh Military Park in Tennessee in the USA. This is a peaceful, pretty spot on the banks of the Tennessee River, so peaceful and quiet that I found it hard to imagine what had once happened here. Had I been in the same spot a century-and-a-half earlier, one day in April 1862, all around me would have been guns firing and smoke, blood and death.
The idea, in 2007 when I visit, seems almost mad.
There was a battle fought here during the American Civil War, when the states of the South tried to secede from the Union and form what they called the "Confederacy". Thousands of young men fought here, the Southern Armies came close to defeating the Northern or Union Army but were finally defeated, and 24000 men were lost on both sides. It was an important and venerated battle, but only because of the bloodshed. Nothing of any strategic importance was won or lost. All it was, was the bloodiest battle in American history, but only until later battles in the same Civil War.
And the Shiloh Park remembers those fallen men.
There's a monument to the men who came from the state of Iowa to fight on the Union side. It has an elegant lady writing words to commemorate the "loyalty, patriotism and bravery of Iowa's sons who fought to perpetuate the sacred Union of the United States."
Scattered across these fields are several more monuments like this, one for each sate that sent men here. Tennessee, Ohio, Pennsylvania -- every state that fought in this battle, whether for the North or the South.
So here's where I begin to feel just slightly uneasy. In this Park, in this memorial, are monuments from States on *both* sides of this war, North and South. In one memorial Park, remembrances of patriotism of both sides.
The South lost the war, and so there's a melancholy monument representing a "Defeated Victory", the phrase itself a puzzle. It carries these words: "The States of the South sent to Shiloh 79 organizations of infantry and 10 organizations of cavalry. How bravely and how well they fought, let the tablets on this field tell. Let us remember those whose sacrifices hallow this field. Let us stand for patriotism, principle and conviction as they did even unto death."
Who do these words refer to? The South? Well, there are tablets on this field that tell how bravely the Northerners fought too (example: Iowa). They remember patriotism and sacrifice too. And if Iowa's men fought to "perpetuate the sacred Union", why, these men of the South were fighting to secede, to destroy that sacred Union: the very antithesis of patriotism. Yet if the Southerners stood for patriotism, the North must have stamped on it. So I've heard about patriotism.
What's a visitor like me to think? What does this do for my ideas of patriotism?
But then I walked up to the Missouri monument. Listed on it are the Missouri regiments that fought on the Union side. Listed below those are the Missouri regiments that fought on the Confederate side. The same monument. In fact, there's even a "1st Missouri" regiment that fought for the Union, and another "1st Missouri" regiment that fought for the Confederate side.
What happened here? Was Missouri hedging its bets? Being equivocal in its loyalties? Did one 1st Missouri fight the other 1st Missouri?
I mean, here's one monument, one stone face with words on it, that celebrates the patriotism of both sides, of mutual enemies, in this war.
Again, what's a visitor like me to think? What does this do for my ideas of patriotism?
It eventually made sense to me this way: this memorial to these two sides in a brutal fratricidal war may have been the only way a country could rebuild and move on. That could not have happened if the North had refused to pay attention to the emotions of the defeated South. There had to be a rethinking of the idea of the *United* States, to treat vanquished and victor alike.
And yet, wars are for demonizing the enemy, and that must have happened in this war as it does in wars closer to our homes. During the Kargil war in 1999, an AM Sethna wrote this in an article in the Times of India: "We are dealing with a country capable of extreme cruelty. In such hands officers and men may be skinned alive or horribly mutilated before being killed."
I have no doubt Pakistani writers were equally effusive and eloquent about India and Indians. It's what happens during wars. It's as if patriotism demands such rhetoric.
And yet there's Shiloh.
Still, the US reunited and reconstructed after the Civil War, while India and Pakistan remained partitioned after 1947. That's a big difference, right?
Yet you know, there's this similarity: we have war memorials too.
Some years ago, I travelled a long way to see one, somewhere near the Line of Control in J&K. It's called the "Hall of Fame", and there are plenty of monuments there too.
One tower is called "Padinale Po Munnale" (Tamil for "Go Forward, Fourteenth"). It remembers S Shabiyullah and K Balaiah. Another remembers Surjit Singh, Gurprit Singh and Badridan Bharat. I'm telling you their names because I believe all of us should know of these countrymen of ours, from all over India, who die in J&K. There are plenty of these monuments at the Hall of Fame, remembering soldiers killed in our wars of 1999, 1965, 1971 and more.
And there are flowers and birds and -- remember what I asked you to keep in mind? -- several large black granite panels. Each has a year chiselled at the top. Below it, rows of neatly carved names -- the soldiers from this area who were killed in that year. Panels like that for every year till the year before I visited, each with a few dozen names.
And there are several more panels. Empty panels, with no names chiselled on them. Empty panels, waiting to be filled. Waiting for death.
I ask you to think about the implications of that.
As I stood there comprehending it myself, my soldier escort said to me in Tamil: "My name's not there." I could find nothing to say.
We must have been only a few km from the border with Pakistan. I wondered, is there a Hall of Fame on that side, with similar monuments, similar granite panels, similar blank granite panels? It's possible, but being Indian, think of how hard it would be to get there to find out for myself.
But Shiloh made me wonder about something I had never before even imagined. What if there was a joint India-Pakistan memorial here where India remembers Shabiyullah and Surjit and the 14th? What would it mean to our countries that have fought and killed for so long?
Especially in our early wars, it's certain that many soldiers on both sides came from the same roots, likely the same villages. What would it do to us to build a memorial that reminds us that in these parts, neighbour has fought neighbour, maybe even brother has fought brother?
What would it do, to find our own Shiloh?
Anyway, below is the text of my talk. Some of this may be familiar to all two of you who have read my Roadrunner, it's adapted from a section in there.
Comments welcome.
Here's a picture to hold in your mind for a few minutes. I'm up in the hills somewhere in Jammu and Kashmir. There are flowers and birds all around me. It's a beautiful July day, the sun is out but is isn't too warm. In front of me, mounted on elegant stands, are several panels of black granite.
Keep that image, as I said, in your mind.
Three years ago, I visited the Shiloh Military Park in Tennessee in the USA. This is a peaceful, pretty spot on the banks of the Tennessee River, so peaceful and quiet that I found it hard to imagine what had once happened here. Had I been in the same spot a century-and-a-half earlier, one day in April 1862, all around me would have been guns firing and smoke, blood and death.
The idea, in 2007 when I visit, seems almost mad.
There was a battle fought here during the American Civil War, when the states of the South tried to secede from the Union and form what they called the "Confederacy". Thousands of young men fought here, the Southern Armies came close to defeating the Northern or Union Army but were finally defeated, and 24000 men were lost on both sides. It was an important and venerated battle, but only because of the bloodshed. Nothing of any strategic importance was won or lost. All it was, was the bloodiest battle in American history, but only until later battles in the same Civil War.
And the Shiloh Park remembers those fallen men.
There's a monument to the men who came from the state of Iowa to fight on the Union side. It has an elegant lady writing words to commemorate the "loyalty, patriotism and bravery of Iowa's sons who fought to perpetuate the sacred Union of the United States."
Scattered across these fields are several more monuments like this, one for each sate that sent men here. Tennessee, Ohio, Pennsylvania -- every state that fought in this battle, whether for the North or the South.
So here's where I begin to feel just slightly uneasy. In this Park, in this memorial, are monuments from States on *both* sides of this war, North and South. In one memorial Park, remembrances of patriotism of both sides.
The South lost the war, and so there's a melancholy monument representing a "Defeated Victory", the phrase itself a puzzle. It carries these words: "The States of the South sent to Shiloh 79 organizations of infantry and 10 organizations of cavalry. How bravely and how well they fought, let the tablets on this field tell. Let us remember those whose sacrifices hallow this field. Let us stand for patriotism, principle and conviction as they did even unto death."
Who do these words refer to? The South? Well, there are tablets on this field that tell how bravely the Northerners fought too (example: Iowa). They remember patriotism and sacrifice too. And if Iowa's men fought to "perpetuate the sacred Union", why, these men of the South were fighting to secede, to destroy that sacred Union: the very antithesis of patriotism. Yet if the Southerners stood for patriotism, the North must have stamped on it. So I've heard about patriotism.
What's a visitor like me to think? What does this do for my ideas of patriotism?
But then I walked up to the Missouri monument. Listed on it are the Missouri regiments that fought on the Union side. Listed below those are the Missouri regiments that fought on the Confederate side. The same monument. In fact, there's even a "1st Missouri" regiment that fought for the Union, and another "1st Missouri" regiment that fought for the Confederate side.
What happened here? Was Missouri hedging its bets? Being equivocal in its loyalties? Did one 1st Missouri fight the other 1st Missouri?
I mean, here's one monument, one stone face with words on it, that celebrates the patriotism of both sides, of mutual enemies, in this war.
Again, what's a visitor like me to think? What does this do for my ideas of patriotism?
It eventually made sense to me this way: this memorial to these two sides in a brutal fratricidal war may have been the only way a country could rebuild and move on. That could not have happened if the North had refused to pay attention to the emotions of the defeated South. There had to be a rethinking of the idea of the *United* States, to treat vanquished and victor alike.
And yet, wars are for demonizing the enemy, and that must have happened in this war as it does in wars closer to our homes. During the Kargil war in 1999, an AM Sethna wrote this in an article in the Times of India: "We are dealing with a country capable of extreme cruelty. In such hands officers and men may be skinned alive or horribly mutilated before being killed."
I have no doubt Pakistani writers were equally effusive and eloquent about India and Indians. It's what happens during wars. It's as if patriotism demands such rhetoric.
And yet there's Shiloh.
Still, the US reunited and reconstructed after the Civil War, while India and Pakistan remained partitioned after 1947. That's a big difference, right?
Yet you know, there's this similarity: we have war memorials too.
Some years ago, I travelled a long way to see one, somewhere near the Line of Control in J&K. It's called the "Hall of Fame", and there are plenty of monuments there too.
One tower is called "Padinale Po Munnale" (Tamil for "Go Forward, Fourteenth"). It remembers S Shabiyullah and K Balaiah. Another remembers Surjit Singh, Gurprit Singh and Badridan Bharat. I'm telling you their names because I believe all of us should know of these countrymen of ours, from all over India, who die in J&K. There are plenty of these monuments at the Hall of Fame, remembering soldiers killed in our wars of 1999, 1965, 1971 and more.
And there are flowers and birds and -- remember what I asked you to keep in mind? -- several large black granite panels. Each has a year chiselled at the top. Below it, rows of neatly carved names -- the soldiers from this area who were killed in that year. Panels like that for every year till the year before I visited, each with a few dozen names.
And there are several more panels. Empty panels, with no names chiselled on them. Empty panels, waiting to be filled. Waiting for death.
I ask you to think about the implications of that.
As I stood there comprehending it myself, my soldier escort said to me in Tamil: "My name's not there." I could find nothing to say.
We must have been only a few km from the border with Pakistan. I wondered, is there a Hall of Fame on that side, with similar monuments, similar granite panels, similar blank granite panels? It's possible, but being Indian, think of how hard it would be to get there to find out for myself.
But Shiloh made me wonder about something I had never before even imagined. What if there was a joint India-Pakistan memorial here where India remembers Shabiyullah and Surjit and the 14th? What would it mean to our countries that have fought and killed for so long?
Especially in our early wars, it's certain that many soldiers on both sides came from the same roots, likely the same villages. What would it do to us to build a memorial that reminds us that in these parts, neighbour has fought neighbour, maybe even brother has fought brother?
What would it do, to find our own Shiloh?
July 17, 2010
Perceptions, hurt and anger
Another round of India-Pakistan talks, another road that apparently has led nowhere. Me, I'm a believer in the mantra that the road itself is the point. If the alternative is hostility and killing, better to talk, even if the talks only lead to more talks that, it seems to us on the outside, lead to yet more talks that, I'm getting somewhere I think, apparently lead nowhere.
I'm not being facetious. Any talking must take into account the concerns of both sides, or it leads nowhere. I can't tell if that happened or didn't, at this most recent meeting of foreign ministers on both sides. (Probably it didn't, or it might have led somewhere).
Part of the reason for not being able to tell is how the event gets reported.
Today's Times of India has a front page report whose headline reads: "Qureshi Kills Peace Talks".
The Economic Times says: "Failure of talks exposes Pak’s evil designs".
The Hindustan Times accuses Pakistan of "ambush diplomacy": "Pakistan's 'all or nothing' timeline trap broke talks".
Then I looked at some other papers.
The Daily Times says "India remained stuck in modalities".
Dawn says "Deadlock blamed on selective Indian approach".
Kashmir Watch says "India has been using delaying tactics".
As always, what happened is a function of who tells you what happened. Also as always, what you choose to believe about what happened is likely a function of which country you live in. Few of us seem able to consider: by their nature, these failures cannot be the fault only of one or the other side. Possibly lost in all that is a non-partisan account of what happened, that will give us a better understanding of it all.
Overall, an object lesson in how perceptions differ.
Also in the use of words like "kill", "evil", "delaying" and "selective".
***
A less one-sided account is in the Wall Street Journal: "Tempers Flare in India-Pakistan Talks".
***
As an aside, the same Times of India report I mention above refers to "India's hurt and anger at the fact that 26/11 masterminds are ... roaming free in Pakistan ... There can't be any closure on 26/11 until there is justice."
I fully agree.
But all over again, I cannot help wondering: is there "hurt and anger" in India that the masterminds of Delhi 1984, Gujarat 2002, Bombay 1992-93 and more are roaming free in India? (I know plenty of people who are hurt and angry over that). Can there be closure on any of those episodes without justice?
Why won't we deliver justice in those massacres of Indians, if we want it for the 26/11 massacre of Indians? And if we won't or can't deliver justice for those, why do we expect it of Pakistan for 26/11?
I'm not being facetious. Any talking must take into account the concerns of both sides, or it leads nowhere. I can't tell if that happened or didn't, at this most recent meeting of foreign ministers on both sides. (Probably it didn't, or it might have led somewhere).
Part of the reason for not being able to tell is how the event gets reported.
Today's Times of India has a front page report whose headline reads: "Qureshi Kills Peace Talks".
The Economic Times says: "Failure of talks exposes Pak’s evil designs".
The Hindustan Times accuses Pakistan of "ambush diplomacy": "Pakistan's 'all or nothing' timeline trap broke talks".
Then I looked at some other papers.
The Daily Times says "India remained stuck in modalities".
Dawn says "Deadlock blamed on selective Indian approach".
Kashmir Watch says "India has been using delaying tactics".
As always, what happened is a function of who tells you what happened. Also as always, what you choose to believe about what happened is likely a function of which country you live in. Few of us seem able to consider: by their nature, these failures cannot be the fault only of one or the other side. Possibly lost in all that is a non-partisan account of what happened, that will give us a better understanding of it all.
Overall, an object lesson in how perceptions differ.
Also in the use of words like "kill", "evil", "delaying" and "selective".
A less one-sided account is in the Wall Street Journal: "Tempers Flare in India-Pakistan Talks".
As an aside, the same Times of India report I mention above refers to "India's hurt and anger at the fact that 26/11 masterminds are ... roaming free in Pakistan ... There can't be any closure on 26/11 until there is justice."
I fully agree.
But all over again, I cannot help wondering: is there "hurt and anger" in India that the masterminds of Delhi 1984, Gujarat 2002, Bombay 1992-93 and more are roaming free in India? (I know plenty of people who are hurt and angry over that). Can there be closure on any of those episodes without justice?
Why won't we deliver justice in those massacres of Indians, if we want it for the 26/11 massacre of Indians? And if we won't or can't deliver justice for those, why do we expect it of Pakistan for 26/11?
July 09, 2010
Conversations, #15 (and last)
Yet again, I forgot to post the latest instalment of the email conversation Beena Sarwar and I have had over the last few months. This one is #15, and it is our last (for now): The dialogue goes on.
I'm not sure how to tell how many people read our exchange, but judging from some of the reactions I've had here alone, it has been a worthwhile exercise. I urge those of you who have offered your thoughtful comments to attempt your own conversations with someone in Pakistan.
Your thoughts welcome, as always.
Earlier instalments: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, #12, #13, #14.
I'm not sure how to tell how many people read our exchange, but judging from some of the reactions I've had here alone, it has been a worthwhile exercise. I urge those of you who have offered your thoughtful comments to attempt your own conversations with someone in Pakistan.
Your thoughts welcome, as always.
Earlier instalments: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, #12, #13, #14.
June 28, 2010
Conversations, #14
As usual, my scatter-brained state means I didn't pout up a post about the 14th instalment of the conversation between the Pakistani journalist Beena Sarwar and myself. Here it is: Joint narratives, common ground.
Your thoughts welcome. I'll post the 15th and final instalment soon.
Earlier instalments: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, #12, #13.
Your thoughts welcome. I'll post the 15th and final instalment soon.
Earlier instalments: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, #12, #13.
June 18, 2010
Conversations, #13
One measure of the effect of this conversation with Beena Sarwar over the last few months is the anger in some who react to it. (There are other measures, but this is one). Lesson: there should be more of this stuff, not less.
Here's the 13th installment (we're going to 15 and stopping): Meeting point.
Comments welcome. Measures may be taken.
Earlier instalments: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, #12.
Here's the 13th installment (we're going to 15 and stopping): Meeting point.
Comments welcome. Measures may be taken.
Earlier instalments: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, #12.
June 09, 2010
June 03, 2010
Conversations, #11
Still struggling to cope with the absence of my computer that's being repaired. Under warranty, luckily, but it's taking frustratingly forever. Behind on work and a whole lot else, I'm cadging time on another machine to do a little catching up. (Never enough, as always).
One item: my ongoing conversation with Beena Sarwar in Pakistan. The 11th installment went on air a while ago, and here it is: There is more than one truth.
Previous: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10.
One item: my ongoing conversation with Beena Sarwar in Pakistan. The 11th installment went on air a while ago, and here it is: There is more than one truth.
Previous: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10.
May 23, 2010
Conversations, #10
I'm falling behind in posting these! Put it down to the driving trip through the south I'm still on -- nearly 3000 km, and counting. Another 3-4 days before we're done.
Here's the tenth installment of the conversation between Beena Sarwar and me over the last few months: The trust deficit.
Previous: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9.
Here's the tenth installment of the conversation between Beena Sarwar and me over the last few months: The trust deficit.
Previous: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9.
May 14, 2010
Conversations, #9
April 25, 2010
Conversations, #8
We took a week's break, Beena and I. Then the eighth installment of our ongoing conversation went up: Clap with both hands.
Please do give us your thoughts. I mean it. That's an order.
For various reasons, unfortunately there will be another week's break before the next installment.
Our previous efforts: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7.
Please do give us your thoughts. I mean it. That's an order.
For various reasons, unfortunately there will be another week's break before the next installment.
Our previous efforts: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7.
April 13, 2010
Conversations, #7
April 06, 2010
Conversations, #6
The sixth installment of the ongoing conversation Beena Sarwar and I are having by email, here: Push for peace parks.
As always, comments welcome. May I take a moment to say thank you to all of you who have commented on previous installments; I hope they have given each of you things to think about. (I know your comments have given me things to think about).
Speaking of previous installments, here they are: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5.
As always, comments welcome. May I take a moment to say thank you to all of you who have commented on previous installments; I hope they have given each of you things to think about. (I know your comments have given me things to think about).
Speaking of previous installments, here they are: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5.
March 30, 2010
March 20, 2010
Conversations, #4
Here's the 4th installment in my ongoing email exchange with the Pakistani journalist Beena Sarwar: It's about time.
Your thoughts welcome.
Earlier installments: #1, #2, #3.
Your thoughts welcome.
Earlier installments: #1, #2, #3.
March 15, 2010
Rakha, rekha and 62 years
Last October, I travelled to Amritsar and the Wagah border. This is why: Rakha, rekha and 62 years.
Your comments welcome.
Your comments welcome.
Conversations, #3
March 07, 2010
Conversations, #2
The second installment of my email exchange with Beena Sarwar is here.
Comments and thoughts welcome.
(Conversations, #1.)
Comments and thoughts welcome.
(Conversations, #1.)
February 25, 2010
Conversations, #1
Beena Sarwar is one of Pakistan's most thoughtful and diligent journalists. She has recently joined the Jang newspaper group in that country on the Aman ki Asha initiative they are pursuing with the Times of India. As part of Aman ki Asha, she and I have started a weekly exchange of email messages, trying to talk about the issues that divide our countries.
The first installment was published in Pakistan last Saturday. (I'm not sure when it will appear in India). You can find it here.
Your comments, suggestions and thoughts, as always, welcome.
The first installment was published in Pakistan last Saturday. (I'm not sure when it will appear in India). You can find it here.
Your comments, suggestions and thoughts, as always, welcome.
October 06, 2009
62 years
The last time, I went to Wagah as one more of hundreds of tourists from both sides of the border. Every evening, they flood here to watch the elaborately choreographed ritual that is the lowering of the flags and the closing of the border gates. On both sides slogans ring out: "Bharat Mata ki Jai" on our side, and "Pakistan Zindabad" on that. Random folks pick up flags and run up to the gate. Young men lead the crowds in the slogan-shouting.
But it's all done in a cheery, festive mood; and the result is a spectacular spectacle.
This time, I went in the morning. No elaborate ritual, no slogans. Just a huge number of trucks parked on the road and off to the side, packed to the brim with crates. "Those? They're tomatoes going to Pakistan", said my driver, Tony, in the thickly Punjabi-accented Hindi I love listening to. And at the dhabas just before the Customs gate, milling crowds of truck-drivers and blue-uniformed men.
I sit down to wait, I've got at least an hour to wait. Order a chai, then another. Then something to eat, and I am served the fieriest paratha I've ever sampled, luckily with a large dish filled with cool dahi. All around me, the truck drivers sit, chatting and drinking and munching.
Suddenly there's a commotion. Someone has emerged from the gate with a sheet of paper. He's quickly surrounded by a knot of drivers, more joining the knot as he walks over to the gate pillar and sticks the paper there. Some drivers whoop in delight and hare off to their trucks, and there's quickly now a line of them barreling through the gate, some playing who-blinks-first to edge others out. The tomatoes are heading across the border.
Coming across this way, at least an hour later, are the men I'm waiting for. A long-retired Pakistan Army Major and his son. Now 84, the Major grew up in Kapurthala, in now-Indian Punjab. He used to play tennis at the club, and had a good friend in town. The Major left for Pakistan in '47, and has not returned since, being turned down for a visa several times. 62 years that he has not been able to return to his roots.
I'm here because I know someone in his family, and I helped the Major, in a small way, get his visa when he applied last week. So for the first time in 62 years, the Major returned home. I was proud to be there to greet him, happy to accompany him to Kapurthala, moved to see his tears when he saw and embraced his friend for the first time in 62 years too. The friend turned 94 today. It was important that the Major made it today. Both men have felt the pressure of time building against them, against their chances of ever meeting.
But now they've met. May there be many more such meetings, between many more old friends.
(More when I get the time).
But it's all done in a cheery, festive mood; and the result is a spectacular spectacle.
This time, I went in the morning. No elaborate ritual, no slogans. Just a huge number of trucks parked on the road and off to the side, packed to the brim with crates. "Those? They're tomatoes going to Pakistan", said my driver, Tony, in the thickly Punjabi-accented Hindi I love listening to. And at the dhabas just before the Customs gate, milling crowds of truck-drivers and blue-uniformed men.
I sit down to wait, I've got at least an hour to wait. Order a chai, then another. Then something to eat, and I am served the fieriest paratha I've ever sampled, luckily with a large dish filled with cool dahi. All around me, the truck drivers sit, chatting and drinking and munching.
Suddenly there's a commotion. Someone has emerged from the gate with a sheet of paper. He's quickly surrounded by a knot of drivers, more joining the knot as he walks over to the gate pillar and sticks the paper there. Some drivers whoop in delight and hare off to their trucks, and there's quickly now a line of them barreling through the gate, some playing who-blinks-first to edge others out. The tomatoes are heading across the border.
Coming across this way, at least an hour later, are the men I'm waiting for. A long-retired Pakistan Army Major and his son. Now 84, the Major grew up in Kapurthala, in now-Indian Punjab. He used to play tennis at the club, and had a good friend in town. The Major left for Pakistan in '47, and has not returned since, being turned down for a visa several times. 62 years that he has not been able to return to his roots.
I'm here because I know someone in his family, and I helped the Major, in a small way, get his visa when he applied last week. So for the first time in 62 years, the Major returned home. I was proud to be there to greet him, happy to accompany him to Kapurthala, moved to see his tears when he saw and embraced his friend for the first time in 62 years too. The friend turned 94 today. It was important that the Major made it today. Both men have felt the pressure of time building against them, against their chances of ever meeting.
But now they've met. May there be many more such meetings, between many more old friends.
(More when I get the time).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)