Can’t a
Pakistani and Indian live in harmony? We used to…
Like most Pakistani’s, I too experienced an overload of nationalistic fervour when I left Pakistan and
that too for India. India evoked a psychological barrier and conjured the
dreaded feeling of being ‘the other’ even though I had spent my formative years
away from the jingoistic identity formation of the Zia years and had been brought
up with the tolerant outlook of my parents (although my Kashmiri father did
have staunch nationalist ideals).
In hindsight,
it was a sad, instinctive conditioning.
I
remember our Indian neighbours in the UK, where I spent most of my childhood,
and despite the exchange of formal pleasantries between our elders, the
children hardly interacted together. However, both communities ganged up
against the ‘gora’ supremacy, in school and otherwise. It
definitely was not religion that divided us (at least not back then) and I
fondly remember my cousin’s neighbourhood in Karachi that had a healthy
sprinkling of Hindus, Christians and Parsis and we all played together –
completely oblivious to the division of religion.
Rather than
religion, the reticence towards each other was more the result of the
respective national identity building and historical hang-over, both real and
imaginary, that each side bore.
The
first thing that struck me in Delhi was that partition had been as catastrophic for ‘them’ as
it was for ‘us’. It was a mutual wound, yet both sides were unmindful of its
impact on the other, each feeling that they had been violated more. It was akin
to the holocaust when millions were forced to leave their homes, their
livelihoods and their way of life, the only one they knew of, and migrate to an
alien existence. Unlike those who migrated to Pakistan in the pursuit of a new
dawn and hope, these people stepped out into the unknown along with the
insecurities and instabilities that came along.
While the
journey for those migrating to Pakistan had been painful and demanded huge
sacrifices, it was voluntary and the result of a conscious choice, driven by a
zeal for their new homeland. On the other hand, for those migrating in the
opposite direction it was an ugly imposition. Without going into the
ideological and historical events of the division, it was and remains an
emotional tragedy for the migrants to India; a rupture that they have not quite
come to terms with.
Most of the
people that one comes across, in Delhi, have antecedents tracing to Lahore and
hence, along with being the political capital of India, Delhi exhibits the most
rigidity concerning relations with Pakistan, especially in comparison to the
rest of India.
Like
Pakistani’s they too are victims of a one-sided and faulty historical orientation.
The second
thing that struck me was that Indian youth exuded hope, resilience and drive
underlined by pride in their national existence, quite unlike the youth of
Pakistan. Although most of us in Pakistan exhibit the first three
characteristics – an aspect repeatedly verified by the accolades we receive on
various fora internationally – we have somehow failed to associate it with our
national moorings.
Not that we
do not love our country enough. In fact, successive generations seem to have a
heightened sense of awareness and attachment with their national identity but
the failures of successive governments have eroded our hope and failed to evoke
faith and inspiration in our polity.
Now,
compare this to the emerging economic powerhouse that India has been dubbed as,
the ‘soft power’ that it exports through its culture,
the position that it is globally acquiring through its skilled human resource –
be it in the Silicon Valley or the financial empires of the Mittals or
Ambani’s; the literary acknowledgement through the Pulitzer and Booker awards, the academic laurels of
Nobel Memorial prizes or even the titles of international beauty pageants.
There is no
doubt that India flaunts a rising curve.
Although the
cause of much of the euphoria in India was real, much of it was inflated too. I
recall reading a commentary somewhere about how India is like the US; self
-confident and with a brimming sense of self-importance, whereas, Pakistan is
like Britain, self-critical and self-effacing.
Whether real
or imagine, the resultant ‘middle kingdom’ syndrome had however, raised the bar
for India and especially for its youth. On the other hand, we only have
narratives of missed opportunities and false dawns to cling on to. Reflecting
upon the exuberance of the Indian youth, I often found myself wondering if they
could do it, why couldn’t we.
After all,
failures only whet ones appetite for excellence.
It was these
series of seemingly non-descript monologues that went a long way in re-kindling
my own drive as an individual and in my hope as a Pakistani.
It
was in India that I acquired insights into the complex intricacies of human
bonds and identity. Despite the ideological or intellectual barriers I faced in Delhi, I did manage to develop a certain bond with
the city. In spite of seemingly socio-political anomalies of my association
with India, there was a certain association developing. At the core of this new
intimacy lay the relationships and interaction that form the basis of human
existence.
Although
there were a couple of Muslim families in our neighbourhood, they mostly kept
away in apprehension of the fallout of my Pakistani antecedents and my
husband’s Kashmiri roots in an increasingly jittery India. My husband was based
in Kashmir while my kids and I were stationed in Delhi for most of the winters.
Increasingly, I found support in my non-Muslim neighbours and friends.
From facing
day-to-day challenges of settling into a new place, to helping out in times of
crisis like needing medical attention or being stuck in another part of the
city while my child was stranded in school, these neighbours invariably came to
my rescue. It was then that I started understanding that the essence of human
relationships transcends compartmentalised religiosity or even geography, and
is based on basic human instincts of goodness.
I was not
alone in this new-found realisation.
My Hindu
Indian friends also came to know of the shared humanity of people across the
border in spite of the religion they professed. For many of them, I was the
first Muslim and Pakistani that they had met.
Of course,
the regular India-Pakistan wrangling continued, sometimes in the most basic
forms with my kids and their friends not talking to each other every time
Pakistan beat India or vice versa.
However, for
every down I faced, it was redeemed by a high – be it the wishing of
‘Independence Day’ to my kids on August 14 in the school assembly by the
principal, or a fellow Facebook activist profusely apologising to me on behalf
of a Kashmiri Pandit for his untoward remarks as we slugged it out on a
Facebook page ‘promoting’ Kashmiri Muslim and Kashmiri Pandit harmony.
Aside from these
ideological confrontations, I noticed that my kids gravitated the most towards
their Kashmiri Pandit classmates in school. This made me wonder about the place
that culture occupied in one’s identity and especially, what we had made of it
in Pakistan.
Why have we
not been able to construct a more diversified understanding of our identity,
rather than rushing into a homogenised religious interpretation?
Although
religion was one of the essential ingredients of our identity, it was not the
only one. Denying our cultural roots, we thus stood exposed to a cultural
hegemony of which the Bollywood faces on our billboards are just an
optic insinuation.
On a positive
note, however, the Pakistani ‘lawn wars’ have arrived in India, despite all the
obstacles. A manifestation of our ‘soft power’, it represents both the vigour
of our indigenous culture as well as being a preview of what can be in store if
only we have the determination to do so.
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