I had often heard people saying “Pakistan is our enemy” and so getting visas is very difficult. And then “Pakistan is terrorist hub, an orthodox Muslim country” and hence if you once travel to Pakistan America doesn’t give you visa, especially if you are a Muslim.” Similar stories started making rounds, once we had got the invitation from GC University, Lahore to participate in the Second Pak-India Drama Festival. I was quite clear though that I would go on the tour, but initially my parents were apprehensive due to recent political turmoil in the neighbouring country. Thanks to everyone, the teachers of our Department who reluctantly allowed us to bunk classes for rehearsals; Jamia Administrations, especially Registrar and DSW; officials in the Passport office; and last but not the least the Pakistan’s High Commission. The tour happened finally due to them, although till the last week we were not sure of it. The way we have been brought up, I would generally support any cricket teem but Pakistan. And so when an ‘enemy’ invited us for a ‘friendly’ cause, though full of prejudices, I wanted to visit them and see if everything is “upside down” there.
Before we actually crossed the border, the hospitality of a Sikh family had already bowled us in Amritsar. One of our juniors and the Sutrdhar of our Drama team happen to be from Amritsar. And their hospitality, both while going and coming back, left us wordless. Crossing border “on foot” was bound to be emotional. Something inside me made me feel proud of the nation and I saluted our founding fathers facing the “Gate” of India on Vagha. But as we walked in towards Pakistan side, everything appeared the same- the roads on that side too were made of coal tar and cheap stones, the sky too was blue, flora and fauna all seemed so much the same. Even the people appeared identical in similar dresses. I remember everyone joking in the Bus about every dirty lanes and broken roads or buildings by identifying them with similar locations in Delhi. So we could locate Batla House, Tikona Park, and slowly moved towards the New Friends Colony. Everything seemd so much the same and yet it was not. One of our Group members broke out “ My goodness! Its all the same…we are daughters of the same mother.” Oh yes they are, but they got separated like our Bollywood movies in the Kumbh, never to meet again. As we were moving towards our hotel, I would see banners of Benazir Bhutto and Nawaz Sharif and signboards in Urdu.
We were really overwhelmed by the kind of hospitality that we were greeted with. About twenty-five volunteers were always with the entire Indian delegates, comprising of about ninety people from India from seven colleges. Some of them have become good phone/mail pals. Naming few would mean ignoring some other really good friends, but they are so good natured that they will happily forgive me- Daniyal or DT, Ali, Tehreem, Asad Sb , Sherry, and friends from other Universities of Pakistan, Usman, and Basheer, the list just goes on. I still miss that night when I along iwht some new friends were sitting in an icecram parlour talking about India, Pakistan, girls, and about everything.
And how could I forget the hostel staffs. I specially remember Ali Bhai, who came one day to my room, while I was watching news on the Dawn, he said pathani style Urdu “Uthapa baot acha khel raha hai, aap match nahi dekte”. I was surprised that he followed even India-Australia match. I do find some Pakistani cricket fans in India, but most them are narrow-minded Muslims. He went on to explain that he likes Sachin and Sehwag a lot.
The meeting with Abid Hassan Minto, a renowned spreme court advocate in Pakistan and nephew of the famous (but controversial in Pak) writer Manto is also worth remembering. Though a busy man otherwise, he stayed with us for than an hour and even got us dropped in his personal car, when some disturbances began in Lahore.
I cannot help myself from telling my experience of the famous Anarkali market of Lahore. I, along with one of my Indian friend was tired and thirsty. So we went to have juice. After looking at the menu we ordered for two strawberry juices, which was Rs 40 each in Paksitani currency. When I went to pay the money, the person sitting on the counter noticed the I-card that we were provided with by the GC University. He was strangely happy and said “Aap India se ho…mere kuch rishtedaar hain Nagpur ke paas”. He asked me the purpose of our visit and then said “sirf pachaas do..aap mehman ho hamare.
Then one evning, while we were sitting in our Hotel room chatting, a stranger knocked at our door. He introduced himself as Khalid Riaz, a businessman from Bhawalpur, a Paksitani town. He told us that he was on a business tour and when he came to know that Indian students are staying in the same Hotel, he came to talk to us. He even gave me his visiting card and invited me to come to Pakistan sometimese, and especially to Bhawalpur.
Cherished memories of the eight days tour would take at least eight days and nights to record. All I can say is the imprints of this tour will remain in my heart forever. I purposely did not say anything about festival, for though that was the reason of our visit, and my first international performance, the experience that I had made everything secondary. And for this if I am not given a visa of America, well I am not interested.
