Beyond a boundary

Fans display a message of love and harmony between the two countries. — AFP file

In March 2004 India’s cricket team was travelling to Pakistan for a full series for the first time in 15 years. Back then I was a faint-hearted 25-year-old who failed to smile after my boss offered me a chance to be a part of history!

I quivered at the very thought of going to Pakistan — even though I was to cover only the last two Test matches of the series. But it was an offer too tempting to resist. There was simply too much at stake. Such was the euphoria that they called it the ‘Friendship Series’. Even Atal Bihari Vajpayee, India’s then Prime Minister, sent a beautiful message to Sourav Ganguly’s team: ‘Khel hi nahin, dil bhi jitiye (Don’t just win games, win hearts too). All of which remarkably failed to calm my nerves!

But I had the time to relax. The one-day series was to be played before the Test series. More than 150 Indian journalists had already reached there. The cricket itself got off to a cracking start with an epic high-scoring thriller in Karachi that ended in a last-ball win for India. But it wasn’t cricket that I was reading in the Indian papers. They were full of delightful stories: How Karachi looks like Mumbai and how Lahore is a mirror image of Delhi. The reporters loved the food, the warmth of the people and there were stories about how some cabbies even refused to take money from Indian journalists! I found it hard to believe and thought some of the reporters might have spiced up their stories to play along the spirit of the moment.

Rumours were true

The one-day series and the first Test had just been played; India were on top and the time had arrived for me to fly into Lahore, the venue of the second Test. The 45-minute Indian Airlines flight from Delhi was pleasant. As dusk was descending, I saw the twinkling lights of the city from high above. Lahore looked like a poet’s dream from the skies. The spirit of Bob Marley embraced me and I felt like humming “Don’t worry about a thing, ‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right... Rise up this mornin’..Smile with the risin’ sun..Three little birds..Each by my doorstep…Singin’ sweet songs… Of melodies pure and true…Sayin’..This is my message to you-ou-ou..”

Pakistan reminded me of one of my maternal uncles I feared. A strict school teacher known for his great discipline, every minute seemed like an examination in front of him. It was only later when I reached my late teens that I finally discovered the soft heart that hid beneath that tough exterior. You could see that only when you opened up to him. Pakistan was no different.

I realised the Indian newspapers were not spreading rumours when I roamed the beautiful streets of Lahore, interacted with the auto drivers, shopkeepers and even the pedestrians. Everyone made you feel special. “Aap toh mehman hain (You are a guest),” they would say with a smile! They would even stop you to ask if you have liked their country and if you have faced any problem. They seemed genuinely ready to help if you needed any.

However, the first warm welcome that I received was not from a commoner.

A day after I had arrived, I went to the Gaddafi Stadium to cover the practice sessions of both teams where I befriended two Pakistani journalists. After losing the one-day series and the first Test in Multan, the pressure was immense on Pakistan to level the Test series in Lahore.

I was mainly talking about the cricket with the two Pakistani journalists when the most elegant Pakistan batsman in recent years — Mohammad Yousuf (he was Yousuf Youhana then) — greeted them and began a light conversation. He seemed to know both the journalists pretty well. Then he realised there was a third person standing there. So he approached me, shook my hands and politely asked: “Aur janab, shab theek hain? (Hello bro, everything’s fine?)”

I was stunned! Here was Pakistan’s top batsman making somebody he didn’t know feel at home. Did I ever get the same treatment from even the fringe cricketers like Pathiv Patel and Aashish Nehra in my own country? Never.

Later when I came back to my room at the gorgeous Lahore Gymkhana Guest House and told my room partner how things turned out to be exactly opposite of what I feared, he had his own sweet tale to tell.

One day during the first Test in Multan, he was coming back to the hotel in the evening from the stadium. “I was alone that day. The ones I was hanging out with had already left. But I felt fine since everyone was so pleasant here.

“I got into an auto. The driver noticed my accreditation card and asked me if I was a journalist. When I said yes, he began talking about cricket and then maybe because of my accent he realised I was from India. He looked at me through the central mirror and stopped the auto. It was the first time I felt uneasy in Pakistan. Why did he suddenly stop the vehicle? It was strange. Before things became too uncomfortable, he asked me if I could wait for a few minutes as his house was nearby and he had to bring something. ‘It would just take a few minutes,’ he said. I didn’t know what to say. All I knew that I was beginning to feel nervous. But I nodded anyway and soon his lean frame disappeared into a narrow lane.

“He emerged from the dark moments later holding a bag and gave it to me. I was surprised. He said it was Multani Halwa (a delicious Pakistani sweet dish), a gift from his family to mine in India. He hugged me and said he would be very hurt if I didn’t accept it. I was almost moved to tears…”

Well, Pakistan did win the second Test in Lahore, thanks to a sumptuous hundred from the ‘Man from Multan’ — Inzamam-ul-Haq. The stage was set for the decider in Rawalpindi. It was time for me to meet new people and see new places.

Rawalpindi looked like those dusty North Indian cities. Congested roads, unruly drivers offered quite a contrast to the serene settings of Islamabad, which was just a stone’s throw away. One day before the start of the third Test, the great Waqar Younis announced his decision to hang up his boots. In his honour, the Pakistan Cricket Board threw a big party at the hotel where both the teams and journalists were invited.

But it was not the night I remember most fondly. That came later when the third Test was under way. I went out with few of my Indian friends to the Jinnah Market in Islamabad. We hired a cab to get back to our hotel after dinner. I was in the front seat besides the driver.

My conversations with my friends were mostly restricted to cricket. The driver — a burly Pathan — suddenly asked me: “Aap log India se hain? (Are you guys from India?)” When I said yes, he gave me a frightening stare. Then he looked ahead and asked his next question that was even more awkward than that haunting stare.

“Why does your country keep fighting with mine all the time?”

You could have heard a pin drop inside the car once his robust voice fell silent. But somehow I managed to gather some courage to speak up. “Bhai Jan (brother), this is politics. It’s the game the politicians play. I don’t think the common men in both countries are too worried about the tensions between the two countries. They are worried about their own lives, own struggles!”

Finally, there was a slight hint of a smile on his face. “So when did you arrive in Pakistan,” he asked. “It’s been about 15 days now,” I replied. He then wanted to know if I met anybody there that I didn’t like in those 15 days. I told him all my beautiful experiences with people and how my friends also had some unbelievable stories. “See, that’s the beauty of Pakistan,” he said, beaming with pride. “Here people have big hearts. They love to make the guests feel at home,” he explained.

When we finally reached our hotel, he was offended when we asked him about the fare and almost shouted at me. “Didn’t I tell you that you are a guest in my country? How could I take money from you?”

We told him that we were truly overwhelmed by his generosity but we would be hurt if he didn’t let us pay our respects to his livelihood. He then hugged each one of us and accepted the money before disappearing into the dark of the night!

Team India shone through on the cricket field to win the third Test, adding the Test series honours to the one-day series triumph. India was euphoric. There were plans to give the team a heroes’ welcome.

But in the post-match Press conference in Rawalpindi, Saurav Ganguly, the Indian captain, preferred to reflect on his time in Pakistan. He spoke eloquently on how much his team enjoyed playing there and what he felt his rival team should do to become a champion side again; thanked the people of Pakistan for making the series so memorable and colourful and revealed his admiration for the old world charm of Lahore. Each word of his was so spontaneous and profound that he left to a standing ovation from the Pakistani journalists.

For me it all started with a presser in Delhi and ended with another one on the other side of the boundary — a boundary that ironically didn’t seem to exist in the hearts!— rituraj@khaleejtimes.com