What’s the Taj Mahal like from the inside? And Other Stories

"What is the Taj Mahal like from the inside?” asked the girl in blue.

To be honest, I was terribly nervous. The sweet irony of the situation was that despite coming all the way from Bangalore to Lahore to debate, all six of us at the hall that morning were nervous at the thought of being cross examined by 40 schoolgirls. The principal of Bloomfield School had very kindly invited us to address students from class 3 to class 7 on India. We were ready to role out the usual responses to the usual questions- Kashmir, Bollywood films, Cricket- yet the very first question bowled us over. It got us thinking, how the walls we have build deprived us from sharing so much of our common heritage and culture.
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But wait….the reader is probably confused…who am I.. And what is this essay (dare I call it that, disjointed paragraphs would be a more apt description) is about. I am a student of the National Law School of India University and I am writing this article about my experiences as an Indian visiting Pakistan. Pakistan played a very small part in my consciousness in the first 20 years of my life. Sure..I watched Indo-Pak matches, heard assorted politicians speak about the Foreign Hand in the news (though these days most government references to a foreign hand are aimed at Sonia Gandhi), enjoyed Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and Junoon, watched 1980’s Pakistani serials such as Dhoop Kinarey and Tanhaian with my mother and had even read Benazir Bhutto’s autobiography. But my idea of Pakistan as a nation remained sketchy at best, I had very little idea about Pakistani history, culture and society and had never met any Pakistani’s. Nobody I knew (and that is a wide circle indeed in South Asian families which includes friend’s friend’s, Kishore Mamu’s aunts neighbour’s daughter-in-law and Mrs Khanna’s second cousins nephew’s ex-wife) had ever met anyone from Pakistan.

In August 2003 when we were sending off invitations for our college Debating Championships it suddenly struck a group of us, why not invite teams from Pakistan. The idea was of course, popularly accepted but then we got stuck at the next hurdle, how do we contact teams from across the border. Luckily for us, Sushila, a first year at the University had met Pakistani’s during a Youth Initiative for Peace workshop she had attended. So before we knew it, she had contacted her friends who had contacted their college debating societies and before we knew it the inbox was flooded with acceptance letters. Finally, when 20 guys did manage to brave the Indian High Commission, the bus service and the airplane food and get to Bangalore, the entire college was in a high state of excitement. The students and faculty from Government College, University College and SKANS School of Accounting by just being in college and interacting with students hear managed in a short space of 4 days change entire outlooks of people. Some even acquired sizable fan followings (Ammar Mir are you reading this?).
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In early December, I got the opportunity to visit Karachi as a part of a 250 member Indian delegation to the 6th Joint Conference of the Pakistan India People’s Forum for Peace and Democracy. The PIPFPD was set up in 1994 by a group of Indian and Pakistani citizens who felt that the initiative for building peace had to be taken out of the vested interests of both governments. The PIPFPD has over a period of years been successful in promoting people to people contacts in many fields. The Conference was memorable not just because of the powerful speakers, the vibrant culture activities and the delicious food but because of the really warm welcome we received from our hosts. The image I would always carry back from Karachi was when we arrived at the train station: there were schoolbands playing, young boys doing gymnastics, white doves being let loose, rose petals being showered, the Mayor of Karachi trying his best to delivery a welcome speech and the Punjabis from both sides of the border breaking into an impromptu bhangra to the beat of the Dhol.

On the last day of the Conference, we were divided into thematic discussion groups and I for obvious reasons attended one on Youth. Amongst other things, we had been asked to come up with a short skit. A famous Pakistani thespian and director was given the unenviable task of preparing us. We were an ill assorted bunch with ages spanning 15 to 27. Over much giggling (most the girls), standing around looking embarrassed (most of the guys) and much shouting (everybody) we managed to pull together a short play. It combining bollwood style melodrama and filmi music and depicted the India-Pakistan-Kashmir story as a love triangle, with everyone living happily ever after when Kashmir elopes with Aman (Peace). Yes, it was corny but also great fun. Jaws dropped when after discussing a very serious resolution all of us danced on stage to "Billo di Ghar" (song by Abrar Ul Haq, not for the faint hearted). We also did have a serious discussion and present a youth action plan for peace. (I am attaching a copy of that along with this essay).

The last night before we left, the 25 odd people involved in the play spend hours sitting at Damscus discussing the state of the world, music, love affairs, cricket, Aishwarya Rai, Palestine, college admissions, Unreal Tournament, corruption, George Bush and a hazaar other things over shawarma and sheesha. We came from cities across the subcontinent, came from diametrically backgrounds and were brought up in completely different environments, we would probably not see each other again. Yet for those few hours it seemed that all of us were at home. Home not being a geographical location, but a shared cultural place, where we could talk in a common idiom.

Cultural commonalties obviously exist, in abundance, between Indians and Pakistanis, but at the same time discrepancies cannot be evaded. They have to be confronted with candour, beyond ‘we are all the same’ mindset. In intellectual tradition the “meaning-making”, of “reality”, or “knowing” is encouraged, as cross categorical ways of understanding, where each reality is “true” from the perspective of the “other”. We need to develop the maturity of respecting and owning the differences between communities and nations — a recognition of unique identities beyond the homogenous macro picture. There is no point in shying away from these ‘contrarieties’, otherwise there would always be an undercurrent ready to erupt to sweep away human comity and dignity.

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I didn’t think I would return to Pakistan again. But opportunity presented itself when I was selected to be a part of the University debate team that was going to compete at the Shahjiwana Challenge hosted by the University College, Lahore.

Our journey to Pakistan like that of many others of my countrymen began at a shady tree lined avenue in Chanakyapuri, New Delhi’s diplomatic enclave. Dominating Shantipath (the Path of Peace) is the massive blue domed Pakistan High Commission, surrounded by a high cement wall topped with shards of broken glass. Hundreds of visa applicants, mostly poor villagers queuing up to visit relatives in Pakistan spend days standing outside two small windows, pushing in documents through the grilled window like supplicants at a shrine. (my friend’s tell me a similar scene is enacted outside the Indian High Commission in Islamabad). With the 13 of us calling up every single connection we had, we managed to bypass the line and send in our applications directly to the Visa Officer. Two weeks went pass with the High Commission informing us, politely but firmly, "Sorry no clearance, yet".

It seemed that we would not be able to go, with the High Commission just sitting on our visas when suddenly on Saturday the 14th, I get a call from a highly excited Sandipto (I had to hold the phone away from my ear to avoid the shattering of ear drums) who said our visas hadn’t been done.

This time I went not as a delegate to a peace conference but as a student going for a student fest. Perhaps one of the defining moments of each journey for me has been crossing the border at Wagah. Traffic on the border has increased since the SAARC Summit we were informed, though apart from a few Scandinavian backpackers the 13 of us were the only ones at the Attari check post that morning. The customs officials were surprised to hear that we were going for a debate. (Some of them even asked us whether we were the Indian Kabbaddi team) On explaining to a guard what the debate was going to be like, he looked amused and said, To aap log Pakistan behes karne ja rahe ho?

Then after an agonizingly long wait at customs we were on the border, the narrow strip of no man’s land that separated two nations. Both the gates had 50 years of independence emblazoned on it, and the visitors gallery on the Pakistani side was packed with a group of tourists from Sindh. Thanks to our hosts, we were able to sail through the Pakistani customs formalities and before we knew it we were on the road to Lahore. The scenery had’nt changed across the border, wide open mustard fields lined the roads. "Women’s clothes are brighter, men’s clothes are more sober and the signboards are in urdu", said one of my teammates quickly summarizing the difference between the two Punjabs.

The road to Wagah which was free of traffic today must have been swamped with people in 1947. It hit me while we were midway to Lahore that thousands of people had been uprooted and traveled on this very road in search of security, trying to rebuild their lives anew.

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It would be fairly accurate to say that Karachi is to Mumbai what Lahore is to Delhi. (Of course, this would be Delhi minus the number of cars, the traffic jams and the flyovers). Even the arguments between Lahori’s and Karachiwallahs, like one I overheard while I was in Karachi sounded suspiciously similar to Mumbaikar’s disdain for Delhi (The only culture in Delhi, is agriculture!) and the Dilliwallah’s contempt for Mumbai (Crowds, crime and more crowds).

Lahore is known for its Mughal architecture, bustling markets and lush greenery. Yet, the one thing that stands out about when I think about Lahore is FOOD. In fact, all we primarily did in my two trips to Pakistan is eat or decide where we primarily going to eat. All our promises to our parents about not touching chicken due to the bird flu scare went out of the window once we saw the tender chicken kebabs grilled delicately to perfection. Our hosts pandered to our every need, and every day was defined by a new gastronomic experience, from mutton at Gawalmandi, to nihari at Muhammadi’s, to the amazing keema parathas at Dr Assad’s house.
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I know I am ending this abruptly, I could write so much more. I could have written about driving around Karachi in the early hours of the morning, sitting on Cukoo’s den and gazing out at the Badshahi mosque lit up at night, haggling at Clifton’s Sunday market, watching Junoon play live, convincing the security at GCU to let in women at night so that all of us could see how beautiful the campus looked with the buildings floodlit, my first experience with sheesha, discovering that all Pakistani women are not always veiled ……but then I remember that I have a word limit.

At some level I wanted this piece to be about peace (please excuse the pun!!) but it became one about my personal experiences. But I guess that is what peace means to me, the ability to look across the border and find you staring at yourself.