Lahore diary
I am writing this from Lahore, where I have been for the
last few days.
Lahore!
To most Indians, sounds a little strange, right!
We (my wife, Ipsita, and me) are two of about 2000 Indians
who have descended on
Pakistan for the one-day cricket matches on the 21st and the
24th of March 2004.
I am going to mention some of my experiences so far, from
boarding the Delhi-Lahore bus at Ambedkar terminal, Delhi on Saturday, the 20th
of March.
Before boarding the bus at Delhi
At the Ambedkar terminal, people start queuing up from
3.30 AM onwards.
We are there as well. The passengers are a mix of
Indians, Pakistanis and others; twenty odd cricket fans
(mostly from
Delhi, a few from Panipat and the two of us from Hyderabad),
a woman from Karachi with four kids, a man returning from Jaipur after getting
the 'Jaipur foot' fitted on his brother, a mother-daughter combo from
Islamabad, a Dutch lady traveling from India to Pakistan, two armed security
escorts inside the bus and a liaison officer from Pakistan Tourism Development
Corporation.
The people from Pakistan say their good-byes to
relatives who have gathered outside the iron gates of the
terminus, as
the bus starts off at 6 AM IST.
Two Police vans, one in the front of the bus, the
other in the rear, 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 and
these afford
a good opportunity for the passengers to mix together and
there is a pervading spirit of bonhomie, which grows with
time and the
halts.
At Kartarpur, the last halt, there is a signboard,
showing an Indian and a Pakistani hugging each other in the
backdrop of
the Lahore bus, with Delhi written on one side and Lahore on
the
other, and saying "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 Attari, and suddenly
mobile phone signals start getting blocked. There are a lot
of
Indians crossing over by foot from Amritsar, mostly for the
cricket match,
and a few entrepreneurs have put up a well stocked shop
selling
India t-shirts, Indian flags and banners. Prices are
moderate, and you
can be wearing the Indian shirt with No. 10 and Tendulkar
written on
it for 200 (Indian) Rupees.
At the Customs in Attari (India), amidst a lot of confusion
and a sea
of Coolies (dressed in all blues), our passports are
collected, we fill
in our forms and in about two hours, we are checked out.
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, they 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 for a journey of a few
meters
of physical distance but a (mentally) perceived distance of
many
light years:
After all, to any rational Indian, this is Pakistan !
The huge gates, manned by a six-and-half-foot BSF (Border
security force) jawan with INDIA
written prominently on top, are opened, and as the bus rolls
in, there is a huge applause from the passengers. For many on board, its a very
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 (Lahore), where
they learnt to walk and take their first steps, where all
our family used to stay and a lot lot more.
The bus stops at Wagah, and we are in front of the Pakistan
customs office. Systems at the border are relatively more
streamlined than at Attari, and the queue moves relatively
faster. Formalities done, we have to get our luggage checked, and amidst
confusion there too, we get this done and head towards the PTDC cafe, for a
complementary tea.
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.
The manager of the cafe has taken control of the operations
to meet this sudden spurt of Indians, and is endeavoring to
increase the turnaround time of the cheese sandwiches. A
framed photo of Md Ali Jinnah adorns the wall, and so do a few posters of Visit Pakistan.
We get back to the bus in about 15 minutes, and the first
thing we 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.
There are hundreds of
people who stop in their track (on the roads, in the shops, from houses)
to catch a glimpse of the bus. I wave
incessantly and most people wave back, with a huge smile as a bonus, and that
makes my day.
At a railway level crossing on the outskirts of Lahore, the
escort in front walks up to the cabin, gets the aspect of the
signal changed to red from yellow in about a minute, the
gates open and the bus passes through. A goods train is seen waiting a few
meters down.
This i thought was amazing ! A train 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, a few double deckers, the Mehran Suzuki
cars (the exact equivalent of India's Maruti 800), the three wheelers (called
Rickshaws), Tongas, Chaand gaadi (a six seater vehicle), and dozens of
motorbikes.
We cross Atchison college (where, the Liaison officer
informs me helpfully, Imran Khan studied), 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.
I am put up with a friend, who I made friends with on the
Internet and as he takes us home (after driving us through the Mall
Road, the High Court, the Post Master general's office, the
Secretariat), he calls up his neighbors and relatives to come over to his place
to meet his guests from India.
At home, There are scores of people who want to meet us, and
talk to us, and express the fact they are extremely happy at our being here.
He takes us to a friends place, where I mention that my
parents were from Lahore. His friend had come from Saharanpur, way back in
1947. The gentleman is thrilled to bits on seeing Indians, 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.
I manage to track my father's place, where he was born and
my mother's place as well. Its a very special moment for me. And a realization
of an artificial divide amongst two people who lived together, ate together,
worked together and played together.
On the 21st, 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 about ourselves and exchange pleasantries.
The Police gets us inside the stadium through a special
queue, but inside its all common enclosures. There's a college
girl who is wearing a t-shirt saying 'Nothing feels better
than kicking Indian arse'.
Ipsita walks up to her and says in a soft voice that we have
come from this far to meet you, and this is what you tell us.
The girl turns extremely apologetic. She also gets her
friends with her. In some time, we are all good friends. We pose with our
flags.
Inside, there is a lot of fun in the crowd going on....
thousands of flags, banners etc. Mexican waves going around the stadium, taking
18 seconds to come back to us. Flags of USA, Bahrain and the UK are visible as
well. Sikhs in tricolor turbans. A man with a Ronaldo t-shirt. A guy in
Pakistani greens gets us two glasses of Pepsi. An elderly gentleman offers us
paan.
The cricket has begun, but the crowd is keen on doing its
own thing.
Indian ads are all over the stadium. When the screen on the
ground shows the Information Minister of Pakistan, the crowd
gets into shouts of 'LOTA LOTA' (meaning double sided and
turncoat).
They do the same for every politician who is shown on the
screen.
Slogans get invented. Most common slogan is "Match tusi
le lo, Aishwarya saanu de do" (take the match, give us Aishwarya).
When the screen shows Sunil Shetty and Mandira Bedi, the
crowd cheers like mad.
There is this Pakistani guy who everyone calls BABA, dressed
in all green, waving the flag, who goes everywhere the
Pakistan team plays. He too is cheered. He is in the Imran
Khan enclosure, adjacent to where we are in the Javed Miandad enclosure.
Good shots are cheered for both sides, and as Pakistan
flattered to deceive, the crowd is disappointed, but genuinely
happy for us. People walk up to us and say 'congratulations'
and well played. A guy walks up to me and offers his Pakistan flag in exchange
for my Indian one. We do so and pose for a photo. Similarly, another guy takes
my
Indian cap, and says he would want to keep it as a souvenir.
I give my address and cards to so many people. A few of them
take our autographs as well. Unimaginable !
I lost my flag and my cap, but won a lot of love and
affection. It feels just out of the world.
And the day after that has been 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. Next day, and we shop around Anarkali (my wife buys lawn
cloth salwar suits) and see Lahore Railway station. I also manage a second
visit to Nisbet Road (where my mother was born) and Dev Samaj Road (where my
father took his first steps). At night, we (all our recently acquired friends,
and it totals up to around 20) head for 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.
Everywhere, people have felt very happy to meet someone from
India. They have gone out of their way to extend hospitality. And people talk
about a lot of things, including contentious things like Kashmir. However, all
talk is in a friendly tenor, and the overwhelming opinion is that Kashmir
aside, WE must increase people-to-people interaction, free restrictions on
Visas, allow trade, allow communication.
These steps should be taken urgently, and people are really
happy that things are looking up. Almost
everyone has some relative in India or acquaintance, 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.
We went to a dinner at an acquaintance of our friend's (who
we are staying with), and almost the entire lane was eager to
meet us, say Aslaam Walaiyekum, shake hands and extend
hospitality.
And this has been everywhere. And i really mean EVERYWHERE.
An overwhelming, out-of-this-world experience, with tonnes
of affection and love.
To all Indians, I would recommend coming over to Pakistan,
meeting people, talking to them, interacting and getting to know this
place better. We carry a lot of myths about Pakistan as
Indians, and it is only when we interact more, talk more at the people level
that we can have a brighter, less bitter, and friendly future. My Visa
prohibited me from going out of Lahore, but I hope there will be a time when I
can experience the other cities and historical sites as well, maybe also cycle
down the Karakoram highway some day. But fortunately, I have managed to see
Lahore, and as they say in Lahore, I have been born (Jine Lahore nahin takeya,
o jameya nahin).
Being up-front about the fact that you are Indian, and also
being courteous, makes you experience a sea of affection and hospitality, an
experience that would forever be unforgettable.
I hope to be back soon.
With best regards
Yours Truly
Deepak Sapra
+91 98494 98813