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Wednesday, February 19, 2014

By Salman Rashid

The story behind

a poem by a
young woman
about a time
long before she
was born, when
people were
maddened by
hate

visited my ancestral Jalandhar for the first time in

March 2008. Until then, my family did not know what had become of my grandparents (paternal), two aunts, a great
grandfather, the familys servant
and his wife and five children.
My grandfather had not
thought it necessary to leave
hearth and home and move the
family to Pakistan. But they did
not remain in Jalandhar either, as
my uncle learnt in September
1947 when, as an intern at Irvin
Hospital, Delhi, he volunteered to serve in the refugee
camps of Jalandhar.
The Settlement Commissioner told him that no Muslims remained in Jalandhar. My uncle did
not have the courage to check out
the home in Railway Road that was
named after him. He never found
out what had happened.
In 2008, I went to Habib Manzil
in Bhagat Singh Chowk, Jalandhar.
I introduced myself to the man
minding his hardware store. His
name was Iqbal Singh. We spent
some time together. At one point,
he suddenly asked me if my grandfather was a doctor. Then he said he
had heard what befell my family. It
took Iqbal three days to remember
who had mentioned that dreadful
event to him. And so by a unique
quirk of fate I met Mahindra Pratab
Sehgal.
That is the story I recounted, invited by Prof. Rajmohan Gandhi, on
the fourth day of a conference on
Making Democracy Real that my
wife Shabnam and I attended last
month in Panchgani, a blissfully
peaceful hill station in the southern
state of Maharashtra, east of
bustling Pune. The session was titled Memory, Justice, Healing.
Before a hall full of people from
around the world, I talked about my

Panchgani, 2014:
Rhea with Shabnam and Salman Rashid
Jalandhar, 2008: Salman Rashid in the
courtyard of his grandfathers home,
with Mahindra Pratab Sehgal
experience of meeting Mahindra
Pratab whose father had led the
mob that killed my family in August
1947. I told the story as Mahindra
Pratab Sehgal had narrated it to me
in March 2008.
Having heard it again and again
from a repentant father, he was not
only like an eyewitness but had also
inherited the murderers remorse.
Listening to him it was clear that he
wanted to talk to someone from the
family that had been wronged in
order to wash his guilt away.
His father had taken this guilt to
his pyre four decades earlier. To
know that the elder Sehgal was remorseful for his deeds and that he
bore his remorse to the last day of
his life shows that he was very

human even if
he was momentarily
swept
away in the tide
of politically
generated
communal hatred.
I
dont
know
how
much
the
talking of that distant event helped
Mahindra Pratab, but his willingness to unload showed me that the
catharsis did him good. When he
passed away in March 2011, I felt a
deep sense of personal loss, as my
last connection to that past was
now gone.
Although the foul deed could

Its all about the couple

How they met

By Laaleen Khan

Dont compare
differences between
the two countries; focus
on how much similarity
remains. Its all about
the couple. People,
society, even parents
will acquiesce to your
desires eventually.

ollege sweethearts Shermeen

and Udit first met as undergraduate students at Bentley
University in 1994. The couple patiently maintained a
seven-year long distance relationship
until they got married in 2002. After that,
the couple lived first in Toronto and then
in Singapore, where Shermeen worked at
RBC Capital Markets and the Bank of
Nova Scotia. They now live in Singapore.
Shermeen is from Karachi where she

Shermeen: We were both students at

Bentley. Introduced by common friends,
we became friends immediately. After few
months of socialising, we realized that we
were attracted to each other, maybe because we had similar tastes and interests.
It was quite funny - Udit used to throw
hints at me and I conveniently ignored
them until I finally gave in. I guess from
there on our story began a sweet
courtship whilst in our fantasy college
world!
Udit: I first met Shermeen in the
Bentley cafeteria within a month of
starting college. We met again a few
times and became good friends. I asked
her out in April 1995 and she accepted
after a few days, giving me a card that
only said Yes! She is my best friend,
my conscience and has actually become
the correct side of my
brain. We
kept the relationship
going longdistance,
meeting once or twice annually after I
graduated in 1998 and returned to
Delhi. Shed graduated and returned to
Karachi in 1997. It was a bit hard to
communicate via telephone between
Pakistan and India, but we managed. I
left for the US for employment. Her parents had never received confirmation of
their suspicions, but my parents knew
all about us. So in 2001, we decided to
take things to the next stage and Shermeen discussed it with her family.

tion staff at the consulates.

Udit: We never lived in India or Pakistan together, but there were challenges:
religion, practices, political tension between our countries. None were insurmountable or such that they could not be
laughed off. Weve had our ups and
downs but because of evolving personalities, lives, roles, and responsibilities
rather than our ethnic backgrounds. India
takes forever to give my wife a visa and
insists on processing her Pakistani passport instead of her Canadian one. I advise
couples to beg and plead at the embassy;
if you get angry, you re doomed.

B R I E F S

Being human

never be undone, for

me the knowledge that the perpetrators had repented was wages
enough for the grief the surviving
family members -- my father, uncle
and aunt -- had borne with exceptional and unbroken fortitude all
their lives. It was another thing that

Tehrik-e-Niswan
in India
he Cultural Action Group of the
Karachi-based activist organisation Tehrik e Niswan is visiting
India, with Kathak, Bharatnatyam and
Odissi dances based on the poetry of
Rabindranath Tagore, Faiz Ahmed
Faiz, Sarojini Naidu, Amir Khusro and
Maqdoom Mohiuddin.
After three performances in Hyderabad, the group performed at the
India Habitat Centre in New Delhi.
Last performance: KC Open Air Theater, JNU, New Delhi, Feb 19, 9 pm.

I was too late. Those who had directly been wronged were no longer
around to know that someone was
sorry for what had happened.
I dont know how long it took
me to finish my story, but I know
that of the two hundred odd people
in the hall, it was a rare person with
a dry eye. I also dont know how I
kept my emotions from running
away. I almost broke down when I
said my last sentence, We [the people of India and Pakistan] are, after
all, brothers.
After the session many participants came up to speak with me. An
hour later I noticed Rhea DSouza
from Mumbai leaning against a
doorjamb, waiting for me to finish.
I realised she had been there since
the end of the session. Shabnam and
I had already befriended this delightful, profoundly sensitive young
woman who wrote poetry. We had
spent a good deal of time with her.
With an emotion-choked voice Rhea
said she had something to say to
me. Taking me by the hand, she led
me back into the now empty hall.
Taking a deep breath, looking
into my eyes with tears glinting in
hers, she said, I am very sorry.
Then a sob broke through and like
a wave swept away her self-control. She wept. I held her
and she sobbed repeating again and again, Im
very sorry. She wept so
uncontrollably that she
made me cry with her.
For five minutes, perhaps
more, we clung to each
other letting the tears flow.
The next morning at
breakfast Rhea gave me a
slip of paper. She said she
had written a poem
shortly after waking up,
and titled it The White
Trail. The title, she said,
came from the white lines
left by her tears as she wept
herself to sleep. The poem
is about the story I told,
about a time long before Rhea
was born, before I was born,
when in one moment a nation of
people was maddened by hate.
This poem is about being human
and feeling the pain of a fellow
human. I share it here.

The White trail

The white - that was not so pure
Rough coarse
Almost invisible
Trying to camouflage
But definite.
Its path.
On a rampage
It corroded everything
The carefree hearts
The innocent smiles
The trusting hugs
The dreams..
Of Colourful wooden tops
Left its taste
In the mouth
Of the future
The White of anger
Of Blind righteousness
Of Absence
Of Loss
Of Hopelessness
Of the void &
Of displacement
Of tears
Unshed
I look up
Taste the salt on my lips
I am surprised
By the intensity of pain
It s not mine
Or maybe,
It is.
The white trail
Has found its way to me
Across the Borders
After all.
A deep realisation
A coming Home
A Finding
I am just another you.
A Silent Prayer
Escapes.
Dear God let me never forget
this.
Rhea DSouza
Jan 11, 2014

India Show in Lahore

uyers and visitors thronged to the highly successful three-day India
Show that concluded in Lahore on Sunday. Over a hundred Indian
companies displayed their products at around 130 stalls, many of
them manned by woman entrepreneurs, at Lahores Expo Centre.
Many appreciated the Pakistan governments gesture of allowing several Indian products from Negative list to be included.

Misconceptions
Shermeen: I never really came across
any silly questions or comments about
Udit or his background. In fact, my family
and friends were immensely excited that
they would get to travel
to India. Bollywood
plays a big part for us
in keeping track of Indian culture.
Udit: Conservatives, fundamentalists,
non-drinkers, sexists, India-haters are
all stereotypes that Indians are fed about
Pakistanis. One must go to Pakistan and
see how similar we are. Yes, there are
pockets of extremists but these exist in
every country.

Uniting in Bhangra
How a group of Indian and Pakistani students came
together in the Land of the Rising Sun

Lingo
Shermeen: Vaila! and haanji!
Udit: Masla, ya Ali-madad. I am
consequently better able to articulate
things to my Pakistani colleagues at
work!

Cricket loyalties
Shermeen: Pakistan.
Udit: Always India!

In retrospect

worked as a banker and trader after graduating from college. She continued her
banking career after their children, a
daughter and son, were born. In her
spare time, she pursues photography.
Hailing from New Delhi, Udit balances
his corporate life in finance with volunteer work for Habitat for Humanity; he
has raised funds for the CARE Foundation India and Pakistans flood victims.
Udit isnt the only one in his family who
found love across the border; his sister
Gaurika also has a Pakistani spouse,
Faisal Sherwani.

Challenges
Shermeen: Udit and I got engaged
and married during severe geopolitical issues - the bombing of the Indian Parliament, Kargil and 9/11, visa issues, no
flights between India and Pakistan. Yet we
survived and managed to have a wonderful, memorable wedding. It is still an extremely long process for me to get an Indian visa. I have to apply on my Pakistani
passport, even though I travel everywhere else on my Canadian passport. So
whichever city we move to, we make sure
we get familiar with the Indian visa sec-

Shermeen: Weve grown up with

each other. Looking back, maybe I
wouldve gotten married a bit later. My
advice to couples is, you are different
from each other, but always be fair and
tolerant.
Udit: Given the chance again, I would
have stayed and started my career sooner.
Id advise people to have faith in themselves, not in fate. Dont compare differences between the two countries; focus
on how much similarity remains. People,
society, even parents will acquiesce to
your desires eventually. And yeah please
never discuss Kashmir!
Dont compare differences between
the two countries; focus on how much
similarity remains. Its all about the couple. People, society, even parents will acquiesce to your desires eventually.
Laaleen is an Islamabad based
writer. Twitter @laaleen;
Email: laaleen@gmail.com
This piece is adapted from her
series When Hari Met Saleeha
in Libas International, 2013

By Ahmed Nadeem

t was at while boarding

Shinkansen, the famous Japanese bullet
train, in Japan, that a
group of Indian and
Pakistani students first encountered each other. An
awkward silence prevailed.
We stood facing each other,
silently waiting for the train to
arrive. Three days later we
broke the ice somewhat at a
football match against each
other. But what really brought

us together was the cultural

night.
There were 22 of us, students from Aitcheson College.
The Indian students were
from Chennai and Mumbai.
We were attending the SAARC
Nation JENESYS *(JapanEast Asia Network of Exchange for Students and
Youths), 2.0 Programme, an
initiative aimed at exposing
teenagers from South Asia to
Japanese culture.
At the cultural night, we
were apprehensive. Unlike
delegates from other countries, we hadnt prepared anything. I gave the Indian group
an idea they liked. I got the
music and passed it on to the
coordinator. We Pakistanis
and Indians held a small
meeting to discuss the plan.
Moments later, our countries were called out. I went
on stage. I could see that my

Indian counterpart was also

tense. But looking at each
other, we found hope and determination. The music
started. We began to move.
Soon, the entire hall was
screaming, carried away by
Abrar-ul-Haqs catchy song.
We stepped it up and joined
our feet. Hands in the air and
feet everywhere, this was
bhangra.
Students from Bhutan,
Nepal and even the Japanese
joined us. It was a sight to
see. Pakistanis and Indians,
shoulder to shoulder, coordinating our moves, we formed
a moving line. It was like
childhood friends dancing together. With hands on each
other s shoulders, we got off

stage and circled the hall.

There was an electric feeling
of happiness in the air. We received a standing ovation.
At dinner, for the first
time, we Indians and Pakistanis joined our tables together.
A rather witty fellow from
Mumbai convinced the coordinator to play the music
again. As the beat started,
food was forgotten.
On the last day, we found
it difficult to part. With a
heavy heart, we bid our
friends from India farewell.
Our interaction remains a reminder of the love we have
inside for each other. If a
group of students who had
never met before could do it,
we all can.

The writer is an A-level student at Aitchison College, Lahore.

NOTE: Ahmed Nadeem also wrote Crossing that white
painted line, published in this page on Feb 12, 2014. His byline was inadvertently omitted from the print edition.7

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