Okay..let us begin. What is a common thread between these things: Cricket, Food, Border, Kashmir.. I don't think any more items need to be added to that list. It's the P word - Pakistan! What I want to go through this post is a chronology of sorts that ties my emotion with our western neighbor - ubiquitous in its presence, annoying in its pace bowling resources, and unfortunately enough - needling India with wounds big and small every time we recover from a previous one. It's a feeling that has yo-yo-ed in my mind over time, and I just thought chronicling it is one way to take it out of my mind and put it down in a tangible manner.
My family traditionally hails from the southern part of India, so in a way we don't have a history that is marred by the partition of India. Pakistan was never a part of household conversations growing up. So the first and almost obvious introduction to this neighboring nation was - cricket. Go figure. Sharjah, Fridays, Bollywood celebrities, hype - followed by a "drubbing" by the men in Green. It was infuriating that as a nation, we showed up on these Fridays with hope - especially with the likes to Harvinder Singh, Bhupinder Singh and Atul Bedade over time and season as part of the playing XI, going up against the likes of Wasim Akram, Waqar Younis, Aquib Javed, Salim Malik, Basit Ali - or anyone in their playing XI that just showed up on the day, whacked or bowled the be-jeesus out of us and romped to a win, and also to a likely shower of gifts and/or more from the likes of India's most wanted criminal. Even the '92-'93 Mumbai blasts in my mind were homegrown, my young mind not having the maturity to ingest fully the proxy role played from across the border.
But as I grew up and consumed more pop-culture with the opening up of India's economy in the 90s, a different, more acceptable version of our neighbor entered my consciousness. It likely started with Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and "Afreen". Lisa Ray and the accompanying visuals not withstanding, it was the music that struck a chord. If Nusrat Saab was traditional with his qawwali style, the first Zee Cine Awards show gave us something that we hadn't even bargained for - not another senseless awards show but Junoon. Pop music and Pakistan? Electric Guitar and Tabla? What sorcery was this? What went in through the ear exploded like a kaleidoscope in the brain and kept us yearning for more. 1997 came, 50 years of Independence for both nations and a coming together of Nusrat saab and our own Mozart from Madras - A.R. Rahman. It truly was music for the soul and heart alike. (So did Saeed Anwar in our Independence Cup and scored 194 in an ODI match in Chennai but - sigh!!) In this midst of a few years of multiple PMs in Delhi but generally good vibes from across the border, the newly minted teenager in me started sowing some liberal tendencies in the form of these influences. The first videos I saw of the border guards retreat ceremony at Attari ( I will come back to this specifically ), the sense of pride and happiness I felt watching PM Vajpayee cross the border in a bus with Kapil Dev and Dev Anand in tow, the warm embrace he pulled Pak PM Sharif upon disembarking from the bus, all this led to the adolescence mind to accept to love thy neighbor. I had heard by then that we can't choose our neighbors, only co-exist with them. And I was beginning to think this might not be too bad after all. I even conjured up images of me crossing the line someday to experience the warmth and hospitality that was extolled by every person who had experienced it in person.
Then came a series of events that pulled me back into harsh ground reality. Maybe it also coincided with the emergence of all-day news channels and visual story-telling moments soon after an event occurred. The Kargil insurgency of May '99 followed up with the hijacking saga of IC-814 as we awaited the dawn of a new millennium reigned back the bitter truth that there would always be elements that sought to puncture the fragile peace between the two nations. Meanwhile, Bangalore '96, Manchester '99 and Centurion in 2003 somehow made me keep the faith that for all that was perpetrated from across the border, India beating Pakistan in a WC match was somehow justifiable. The ultimate stamp of that Cricketing-God bestowed justice came at the Wanderers in October 2007 when Misbah's scoop found Sreesanth off Joginder Sharma. (Even in this case, if you look at the names I took, it seems that Misbah >>> Sree+Jog but thankfully gravity was in our favor). The cricketing tours of Pakistan with victories there seemed to suggest that the waters were calm and normalization of relations was maybe an eventuality..
That calm was shattered and how! I was in the US in November 2008. But my heart still resided (as it does in 2023 and counting) in Mumbai. It always will. It bloody always must. It is my city! The place that gave me my identity. It nurtured, protected and cradled me for 22 of my formative years. I remember tearing up a week into family vacations as a young kid wanting to go back home. The sense of relief almost that feasted my eyes when I saw a glimpse of the first local train after Karjat only heightened that awareness and rushing through the stations between Kalyan leading up to Dadar was like getting engulfed in the warm embrace of a loved one. Mumbai is beyond an emotion for me. If I sound and seem emotional, it is probably because that place is at the top of the list of things that matter to me. Heck! Even today, I feel like a host welcoming guests to play on our turf whenever a cricket match is held at Wankhede stadium. It feels like the backyard of my childhood home. Everytime I fly away from India, I want to fly to the west and close the windows as soon as the aircraft leaves the ground as watching my city being left behind is a difficult emotion for me to handle. Also west because I don't want to fly over India for an hour or more while leaving her shores. Its just one of those idiosyncrasies that are best left unexplained. And it was this city, this emotion and this feeling that was - dare I say - violated on November 26, 2008. How dare you!! How dare you take a frigging boat from 100s of kilometers away and come to my city to spread carnage. How dare you step foot on the soil of my country and rain bullets upon the most iconic places. How dare this endeavor of yours last 3 days! I prayed, I wept, I felt humiliated. And all those years of liberal tendencies towards the western neighbor fell off a cliff, crashed and burned to shreds. I felt my inner-self turning to the right of center, uncontrollably and specifically related to one topic - Pakistan. That feeling of wanting to experience it in person someday dissolved in my tears. It was the ultimate backlash in the form of a knee-jerk reaction. You stay where you are! Let us be where we are. Don't you dare violate us like this again. One could argue that its a bit selfish on my part to isolate this one instance almost as a justification of the means my mind adopted. But some things are closer to the heart, where it pains so much more that you can't avoid but react.
Time passed by, life took over but from the back of my head and corner of my eye, I took heart every time India got one up on Pakistan. Cricket mostly but also smaller diplomatic victories like getting consular access to Kulbhushan Yadav (though why individuals from either country should languish in each others jails is beyond humanly fathomable to me), IPL being a galaxy apart from whatever league they have, and just the fact that India, being itself without unnecessary distractions from across the border forged ahead and frankly ceased to being bothered by the parasite that clings to the western arm (a strong reference no doubt but something I've reviewed a lot before keeping it in the post). A new government came to power in 2014, and not unsurprisingly, given their natural tendencies developed a more hardline stance. Coupled with increased influence in a world wide stage, the gap just widened. Case in point the whole Attari-Wagah retreat ceremony that is performed every evening. It is reciprocal so one doesn't know who started and who followed but circumstantially, given the economics, I'm inclined to think that we did and they followed. A big flagpole, a monstrous viewing gallery that has no qualms trying to dwarf the other side, blaring patriotic music and slogans from loudspeakers whose primary focus is to drown out chants of the crowd on the other side. What earlier, atleast to me was a coming together of the two countries, is now clearly marketed and exhibited as a show that takes place where they end and we begin. Forget Pakistan, I don't think I'd want to go witness the ceremony at Attari if I ever get a chance to visit Amritsar. In due course of time, Uri, Pathankot, finally a WC win happened (sorry to list these together) but my now right-of-center heart was okay that India considered Pakistan an almost non-entity. This coupled with political and economic turbulence within their own borders just meant it was best we kept our hands and feet out of this muck. It was quiet, but it was also dark in my heart vis-a-vis the neighbor. Whatever love that had resided was long gone but I didn't miss it all that much.
One of the most inspiring and favorite lines of mine in the English language reads "The darkest hour of the night only signals the impending arrival of dawn..". I would say I am far from heading into a full-blown sunrise when it comes to Pakistan but there have been some snippets of what I have consumed on social media that still flutters some light in an otherwise empty, darkish corner of my heart. Not unsurprisingly, it involves music - why it does what it does to me is inexplicable. Especially because I never took on the onus to learn a musical instrument or sing so I can do it just as much to myself if not perform for others. Coke Studio once again found a medium that somehow has no barriers to entry into the mind. So much so that I think we should keep music away from this topic. It is almost an exception to the norm. Pakistani music has a soulfulness that emerges from a very deep-rooted tradition that exists within the land there, maybe much more deep-rooted compared to their distaste for India in some circles which resides in their minds, so no surprise that's it manifests itself to be consumed more easily.
And then comes this latest "salvo" from across the Radcliffe line, via Dubai as must be the case now. I have been following a couple of moto-vloggers on YouTube for sometime now. It started with Mumbiker Nikhil, well, simply because he is a Mumbaikar. Case closed. And then sometime last year, I stumbled upon Wildlens by Abrar. It was his post about riding into Pakistan from Iran which caught my eye. That he had to actually be escorted by security across Balochistan province was in equal measures eye-opening and a bit unfortunate. I haven't kept up with all of his vlogs but I do know he couldn't cross over into India due to visa issues. He decided to take a ride to Saudi Arabia and I caught most of his vlogs, skipping some parts and keenly observing others. What drove me to his content was the language. All said and done, through urdu, although not understood everywhere across the middle east, I was atleast able to follow his narration and his experiences. Borders have always fascinated me in all his videos. It is a place that pops up out of nowhere in some terrain, you go through the rigors of paper work, stamps, time and effort.. and emerge riding out a couple of kilometers down on what is essentially an extension of the same road in a new country. Also, unsurprisingly, during his middle-east travels, Abrar-bhai came across Indian origin people at multiple locations and they were some of the most helpful towards him. The language and common factors between people of these two countries lends itself to a natural gravitation in foreign lands. Pakistani restaurant owners across the US advertise their establishments as serving Indo-Pak cuisine. The few days I spent in Dubai during my trip there last year, you see folks interspersed everywhere. The pathani suits and the more westernized Indian t-shirt/jeans combo coexists, as colleagues, as friends, as customer and service provider... everywhere. But these same set of people when in their respective countries, can't help feeding off the media and the politically infused language that drives a wedge in between. Yes, I can't fault the average Pakistani for Kasab and co., but in some ways, its a bit easier to ride over that thought overseas than when in the subcontinent.
Back to Abrar-bhai ( calling him bhai just seems natural out of the respect that comes when you think you know someone even though its only through their social media lens ), I hadn't kept up with his latest middle-eastern series through Oman and UAE but trust YouTube's algorithm to try and capture my attention the moment he uploaded the video that he was going to be riding in India. That Wankhede like feeling somehow came back to me. Here was someone who I knew of who was coming to India, my India. I was curious to see how he would experience the land and its variances. Those of us who grew up in India have come to accept that it is vast, varied, complex and mystical. As compared to the vast desert landscapes of the middle east, India will be very different for a biker. And God bless Abrar-bhai for a couple of decisions he took, with or without guidance one doesnt know but he is better for it all the same. Firstly, he didn't ride alone. I think this was a mix of a few factors. The Pakistani in him may have been a bit nervous riding alone in India. Or that he had knowledge of his following within India, it just made it logical to have someone local which may not be the case in the middle east. Secondly, he started in the south. A place that traditionally is not hindi speaking, his co-rider being a south Indian could help him navigate those places comfortably. Karthikeyan, who despite being camera shy is getting a lot of name and fame on social media, was an able companion on this quest. I will post a link to the vlog at the end of this post, but seeing the warmth that Abrar-bhai was received with everywhere he went swelled my heart. To see the number of people who have come to meet him at short notice in public spaces, on the sides of highways, and the connect that people have with him is so evidently warm. That this whole meetup and hospitality was at a different level in Mumbai is probably an understatement coming from me. He uploads videos almost a month later so he has completed his India ride (he only had a 30-day visa) but I think the power of social media and the proliferation of his channel should help him get another visa soon to explore our beautiful country is beyond doubt.
To conclude this post, I'll go back to the impromptu meetups he had on two evenings with a few Mumbaikars. Yes these are normal working class people who consume content on their phone and wanted to meet the person creating it. But for me, sitting afar with my lens focused on things back home that connect with me, it somehow brought a sense of closure. My city, which unwelcomingly was ravaged by those 10 terrorists that came aboard her shores via the sea, had the heart to openly embrace and welcome this well-meaning gentleman from the same land. It's not so much about forgetting or forgiving, as it is about accepting newer realities as and when you come across them. Hoping Abrar-bhai takes in the best of what India has to offer to its guests. And through his lens if I can view all of this, I am just as if not richer for that experience, both visually and emotionally.
Some links:
Afreen music video
Sayonee by Junoon
Coke Studio (Pakistan)
Coke Studio (India)
Wagah border ceremony from a few years ago
Wagah border ceremony from recent times
