Across border, not everyone a foe

Ranbir Parmar

Eleven years ago, my wife and I travelled to Pakistan and witnessed an incredible spectacle at the Multan cricket stadium. The Indian team was visiting Pakistan under Rahul Dravid and visa windows had been opened for cricket enthusiasts. It was a an opportunity for a number of reasons: the curiosity to see the land and people of a country which seemed to be at 'perpetual war' with us; the love of cricket, to name a few. I persuaded my wife to accompany me and roped in a colleague with his spouse for the trip. 

A half-an-hour bus ride from Amritsar brought us to the Wagah border. After passing through the Bab-e-Azadi gate, we set foot on Pakistani soil. As we were walking out of the customs, I spotted a colleague returning after seeing the ODI at Lahore the previous day. He was carrying a folded Tricolour, which he handed to us: ‘We won at Lahore, take this flag and make us win at Multan also!’

We had a three-day visa and  decided to first explore Lahore. We visited some tourist attractions. A charming burqa-clad woman buttonholed us in Anarkali Bazar. She hugged our women like a long lost sister and talked in accented Punjabi. Lahore was similar to any other city of ‘our’ Punjab in greenery, language, uncleanliness and crowds. The only special features were the loudly decorated trucks and lavish food streets which sprang up from nowhere at night.

The same night we travelled to Multan by train. The stadium was located in the suburbs. We found seats in the centre of the pavilion with local people sitting around us. My colleague looked apprehensively towards the Tricolour in my hand and sat a few seats away. The Pakistan team was batting and about 10 overs had already been bowled. I asked a young man sitting next to me for the score. ‘Two of the batsmen are already back in the pavilion and Inzamam is going to be out any moment now!’

Almost instantly, the outspoken young man grew intimate with us. He was an MBA from a Lahore university and was working with a local firm. His mother was hooked to Indian serials. Waving the Tricolour with us, he loudly cheered Indian players. During the break, he took our flag with him to the open space below the stairs, where local boys were dancing with Pakistan flags. A few moments later, we saw an unbelievable sight — the Multan boy was dancing on the shoulders of his friends, fluttering the Tricolour,  surrounded by Pakistani crowd. People around us were enjoying his antics without any sign of rancour. There was a mood of lighthearted banter and bonhomie. We met a young girl who was a diehard fan of Zahir Khan. She said her day would be made if she got a glimpse of her favourite cricketer as he was not in the day’s playing 11.

That moment is etched in my memory. Sometimes, I wonder whether the hostility between the people of the two countries is real or simply a myth created by the media and self-serving politicians, like the rulers of Orwellian dystopia in ‘Nineteen Eighty Four’!