The life and times of two Indians in Pakistan

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I came across this blogsite a few days back...its quite interesting to know how 2 indians spend their lives in islamabad....The life and times of two Indians in Pakistan

I say everybody should read the articles both indians and pakistanis

here are a few of 'em which drew my attention:

Tapping our phones....
It is obviously not a good feeling to know that someone is listening to your phone conversations, yet I have had my fun moments in Pakistan where our phones are routinely tapped.

Friends and family have learnt to say “namaste” to “bhais” tapping phones and often hold imaginary conversations with them. “Bhai please go easy on her….,” a friend acknowledged Bhai’s presence recently.

Another friend has named "phone-Bhai" – Kabeer.

“Is he good looking?” she joked one day. Since I said “yes”, she started talking to K-Bhai. “Kabeer, are you listening? Kabeer, I am willing to relocate. Kabeer, I am single and ready to mingle….” she guffawed.

However, we are not the only ones having fun. Bhais have their moments too. Once when I called my sister from my husband’s mobile phone I heard a man’s voice. “Who are you?” I asked. “You tell me who you are…” K-Bhai was flirting. I passed the phone to my husband.

A friend heard her phone-Bhai laughing really hard because she was trying to gently remind her young daughter that their phone was tapped!

I'd be lying if I'd say that tapping doesn't affect my conversations. Sometimes my talk tends to be coded because it feels odd to spell out everything. “Are the payments done?” I keep checking with my sister. My sister, too, quickly retorts with a “yes” or a “no” and blurts the amount – both foolishly thinking that we have outsmarted Bhai who has never heard of LIC!

Then there are times when I want people to take hints and codes to work --but no! My aunt loves breaking into a monologue about how unsafe Pakistan is and how she would like to have me back in India and I suddenly become hugely conscious of K-Bhai's presence. Or worse, her favourite query which makes me cringe --- how is your health NOW? She perhaps remembers my typhoid many years ago, but I would seriously love to know what Bhai makes of that.

Every so often I think that having heard all my friends’ and family’s collective problems K-Bhai should offer some solutions. Or at least tell us why a man with a Pashtu accent answers my husband’s number when I call or when my phone rings late into the night why is the display number mine!

It takes a while to get over K-Bhai, but I don't think I can ever check him out of my consciousness. Just one moment of regret though. I wish I hadn’t stopped myself from crying on my mother’s first death anniversary -- because I was so very conscious of K-Bhai!

We've got hate mail!
We often get hate mail. We've been called "dogs" and "pigs" several times in the past year. When we blogged about the Taseer sisters being our new poster girls earlier this year we got anonymous messages asking us to leave Pakistan!

And now an ardent Shahida Ahmed fan has called us "Indian bastard" suggesting that we go back to our "poverty stricken ******* country" and blog about that.

Shahida Ahmed is a topline restaurant owner who runs a commercial kitchen from our next door house. In India, we Indians would not have allowed this to happen at an urban address.

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You mother ******! How dare you write such insulting posts time and time again about a hard working woman such as Shahida Ahmad! Rather than being a whiney ***** why don't you move out of the neighborhood! Better yet why don't you move back to India, "I am sure you can more than afford it" and I'm sure the cows and pigs residing all over India would make better neighbors for someone like you. You practically are one of them after all!
By Anonymous on We are your mehman, Mrs Ahmed! on 7/24/11
Publish | Spam | Delete

You Indian bastard, go back to your poverty stricken ******* country and blog about that!
By Anonymous on Move them out Shahida Ahmed!! on 7/24/11
Publish | Spam | Delete

Do you honestly have nothing better to do with your time other than crib and complain about her! Or am I sensing the green eyed monster of jealousy coming out!
By Anonymous on Move them out Shahida Ahmed!! on 7/24/11

Pakistani yogini...

This is Aisha Chapra. A young Pakistani woman who is trying to bring peace in the life of woman prisoners in Karachi by teaching them yoga.

I have never met Aisha, only spoken to her on the phone and exchanged emails, but I am thoroughly impressed with her work.

It was Aisha’s idea to approach authorities to let her teach woman prisoners. Fortunately for her it was smooth sail and she is doing her bit to help them live. In the past two years, she has taught 30 to 40 prisoners in the age group of 20 to 40 and some prisoners’ children too.

It is optional for prisoners to join her class. She teaches these women for free, but their “warmth and genuine happiness recharges her battery”.

Chapra discovered yoga as she was trying to tide over a bad patch. She was, as she puts it, depressed, disoriented and directionless and it was yoga that gave her peace.

Her first class in prison wasn’t easy but her experience as a social worker helped her pull through. She had scores of women and children watching her, some ridiculing her and few participating. However, as the days passed, she became friends with the prisoners by listening to their stories and even massaging their sore muscles. “Soon I was their friend, listening to their woes and counseling them,” she says.

Chapra's stint at the jail has been a great lesson in life. “I get as much from them as I give them. I admire them for being strong and having faith, despite their circumstances.”

For Chapra, the connection with these women is special. “It is this desire to access freedom from within, to liberate in a way that inspires, moves and lifts me outside of myself. I know it is their strength, their incredible compassion that I feel at the end of the class.”

“Weeks and months have gone by and now these women and their children have become a part of my life. A part of the answer which I was so desperately searching for. And every week they give me something to smile about, a new story to share, and a new lesson to learn, while giving me a consistent dose of inspiration,” Aisha posted on her blog.

But women will always be women and they can't stop nagging Aisha about this: how do get rid of the flab on the stomach!!


Being Indian in Pakistan....
It is not easy to ignore ordinary people's warmth in Pakistan and despite myself I have befriended plenty of locals -- cabbies, shopkeepers, little boys who play cricket in the neighbourhood and a little girl who races boys on her brother's bicycle.


My little Pakistani friends...
The talking point has almost always been our 11 cats and now a puppy, the newest addition to the family.

The little girl, who lives in our neighbour's servant quarter, shyly says "hello" to me when I go past her house. Her brother, who is just a year older, is sort of our official rescuer when our cats get stuck on a tree.

Bilal, an expert at climbing trees, with his pet
Some time ago, the little girl asked me if she could accompany me to the market. I said "yes" and on our way we chatted about her bicycle, which she hardly ever gets to ride now because her brother returns home late.

Since all our cats are rescues and, therefore, no fancy breeds, the older kids in the neighbourhood tell us to keep a "Persian" or a "Siamese". We let that pass because we have given up on people who think rescues are "junglies". Incidentally, all are cats are Pakistani rescues or "honorary Indians" as we jokingly call them. The cabbies, too, always stop to inquire about our pets' health.

Our Indianness has never been an issue with anyone.

So I was rather surprised when I walked into a shop in the neighbourhood market to buy cat food. The shopkeeper, a very friendly chap, passed me a tin of expired cat food. I told him that I could not feed my cats expired food and he should get rid of it.

"These are Pakistani cats.....they can eat everything....they will not die," he joked for the hundredth time and reached for the cans that he stocks especially for me.

Suddenly I heard the "I" word from behind me. "Arrey yeh kahan kee hain pehley yeh to pata karo... (first find out where is she from)..."

"Yeh Indian hai bhai INDIAN..." someone was saying very accusingly from behind.

I turned and saw a well-built man looking down at me. I had never seen him before, but obviously he knew who I was. Others at the shop also started scanning me. I looked at the shopkepeer and then at his boys, they were all avoiding eye contact. I paid my bill and exited.

The incident left a bad taste in my mouth. It haunted me for quite a while. I was mad at myself for not checkmating that man. I was also mad at the shopkeeper for not speaking up.

I decided not go to his shop again.

However, two days later, I was there again because he is the only one in the neighbourhood who stocks cat food. The shopkeeper was around, but he did not talk to me much. I, too, did not make an attempt to speak.

The day after I was at the shop again. I asked one of his boys to give me something. The shopkeeper was busy with another customer. I saw him signalling at me from a far corner. I ignored him.

Then he came near where I was standing and passed me the expired cat food can again. "Yeh hamari Pakistani billiyan hain....yeh nahin marti...inhain aap yeh expired food hi khilayeye (These are Pakistani cats..they will not die if you feed them expired food..." he guffawed.

"Feed this to your dog too!"

I laughed and retorted: "Doctor ke paas aap lejayenge (will you take the dog to the vet then?)"

"Which doctor do you go to?" he asked, ignoring other customers. I told him.

"I am going to feed these expired cans to OUR Pakistani cats....for FREE," he laughed some more.

It was obvious that he was going the extra mile to make up for that day. "I am going to order more cat food for you tomorrow! Is that okay?" he asked.

Long after I returned home, I was still smiling.

 

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Bhai, bhai na raha.....
There is nothing official about this Bhai – therefore he is more officious than the official Bhai-brigade and my personal favourite!!!!

In the near three years we have spent in our present house, Aslam Bhai has clocked over 20,000 hours keeping an eye on us in his unofficial capacity as Tommy (apologies to all Tommies, you know that I love you all more than most humans!).

This Bhai is a chowkidaar at a bakery-cum-kitchen which is being illegally run from the dirtiest address in a residential sector of Islamabad (Thank you Tiramisu!!) He was roped in by the official Bhai brigade and he takes this job very, very seriously!

Aslam Bhai
The bakery-cum-kitchen also houses about a dozen baker boys, all of whom will be missed much when I am back, but Aslam Bhai is a cut above the rest because of his excessively uncultured ways and his passion and dedication to keep an unfriendly eye on his friendly neighbours from an "enemy" country.

Aslam Bhai seems to be getting better with his unfriendly acts by the day. This winter he acquired a new quilt which has "ARE YOU THINKING OF ME, DARLING?" written in bold and is always hung on the terrace wall facing our house.



...and his quilt!
Aslam Bhai, can I return the favour by dedicating this song to you from our hugely popular Bollywood?


I am a kaafir...
We have a Pakistani Hindu family living in our neighbourhood. The first time I heard about them was when they refused to let out their servant quarter to someone I had known. “Woh log bhi aapke India sai hain,” I was told.

It was unusual for us not to know an Indian family living on the same street as us. Even then I checked with the small Indian community in Islamabad, but nobody seemed to have a clue.

Few weeks later, I learnt that the “Indian” family owned a handicraft shop in an upscale Isloo market. Everything fell into place. Our neighbours were Hindus from Sindh who owned one of the biggest handicraft shops in the federal capital and that the locals referred to them as “Indians”.

Once I was giving my address to a shopkeeper, who knew I was Indian. He heard me out and said, “Ek aur Indian ka ghar bhi toh hai wahan…” I told the shopkeeper that he got the address right but the family he was referring to was not “Indian”. “Par woh Hindu hain na…,” he tailed.

I was reminded of the shopkeeper’s remark when a young Hindu man’s coffin was marked “kaafir” (infidel) in black and then highlighted with red.

Prem Chand was among the 152 people killed when an airliner crashed into the majestic Margalla Hills last week. Prem Chand, 25, was a bright spark and was a member of the Youth Parliament. He was flying along with five other parliamentarians to Islamabad to attend a session.

I was struck when Pakistanis expressed disgust and said the way Prem Chand’s coffin was treated was a “national disgrace” and some even apologized to the minority Hindu community. Prem Chand’s friends were quick to remove the marking before his relatives saw the coffin and wrote “We love you – from the Youth Parliament” over the word "kaafir".

I was touched to see Pakistanis floating a page in Prem Chand's memory and a member suggesting that a “kaafir day” be celebrated in Pakistan to stop “such acts of religious bigotry”.

Prem Chand described himself as a social worker. His last status update on Facebook made me shiver: “Comments can make a person and comments can break a person. So be careful and ethical while giving comments for someone.”

---------- Post added at 01:46 PM ---------- Previous post was at 01:44 PM ----------

Indians on Pakistanis…
Sometimes it is difficult to explain to fellow citizens, who know little about Pakistan, what I/we are doing on the other side of Indus.

Here are some of their reactions:

You mean you didn’t marry there?
So this is like a punishment posting… Oh my God! How long before you get out?
After being briefed about the nature of the posting and that it is not quite a punishment: But what exactly do you do there?
Have you met the Taliban? Has your neighbourhood been bombed?
Do you know where Dawood Ibrahim is?
Do you wear the burqa there? Are women allowed to step out? What language do you speak?
We’ve heard that Indians have shadows? Is that right? Do they trouble you?
If you invite friends/relatives to Pakistan: Are you crazy? Do you want us killed?
You must be getting awfully bored there.
The food must be awesome! Right?
Pakistanis are a very hospitable people.
Shopkeepers give away things for free to their Indian ‘mehman’
Will I be in trouble if we connect on Facebook/phone/stay in touch?
You better return fast. I will pray for you.
…………….

This is why, when in India, I usually do not give away our current location to strangers because it is quite cumbersome to answer the same questions over and over again.

I was at an eye specialist’s in Delhi and he was annoyingly gregarious. He asked me to return in two weeks for a follow-up. I told him I couldn’t because I didn’t live in that city. The doctor was not in a mood to give up: “Where?” I surprised myself by saying “South Africa”.

Another time I had a nagging co-passenger in transit. “So you belong here?” he asked. I said, “No”. He pressed, “Oh so you must be from…” I walked off to get myself a cup of coffee.

Of course, with friends and relatives I am more than patient because I seriously want to dispel the many myths we have about each other’s countries. I also humour them with stories from Pakistan. Like the ones about our tails.

And yes, it feels rather strange not to have “Daku Bhai” tailing us or that I can just pick up the phone and whine about anything under the sun without having to worry about another Bhai trying to decode my conversation.

PS: Coming up next – Pakistanis on Indians


Pakistanis on Indians…
Have you met Shahrukh Khan? Isn’t he cute?
(If the questioner is older, substitute SRK with Amitabh Bachchan.)

You don’t watch StarPlus?!! (read saas-bahu sagas)

We love going to India. Great place to shop.

You mean you haven’t been to the massage/spa centres down south yet?

We speak the same language, share the same history, it’s our governments who do not want us to interact. I hope things change for the better…

You are our “mehman”…hope you are enjoying your stay.

You don’t drink?

Overheard: Are there mosques in India?

You don’t look Muslim. Did you marry and become Muslim? That's the trend there – right?

We feel bad for the Muslims in India. Look at Gujarat…

You mean Muslims are not treated unfairly in your country?

When India-Pakistan talks were suspended in the wake of the Mumbai attacks: Why don’t you want to talk to us? You’ve just seen one Mumbai. We see Mumbais every day.

We wish Indian media would stop perpetuating stereotypes about Pakistan and its people.

Why are you stealing our water?

Of course, you are creating trouble in Balochistan!

And the latest addition: Walk like an Egyptian, eat like an American, shoot like an Afghan, plot like a **** – but think like an Indian (courtesy Wajahat S Khan)

 

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An open letter to Bhai…

Bhai on his trusted mobike


Dear Bhai,

Hope all is well with you.

Forgive me for communicating with you in this manner – I did train a pigeon but it took off when it figured I was an Indian in Pakistan.

First things first. Thank you so much for keeping track of this blog and reading all posts – not just once, but over and over again, all the time, from all kinds of locations. I really do appreciate your interest in my interests.

I am truly indebted to you for this and so much more that you do for me all the time. If only I could return the many favours…

Bhai, I feel so special and so cared for each time I step out of the house and you try and match footsteps with me. The other day when you followed me into the superstore and kept me company when I was shopping for groceries, I was so moved.

I noticed that you asked the store supervisor and other shop helps too to take good care of me. It felt so good being the cynosure of all eyes – including the customers’. And you looked so cute making a mental note of which pulses I eat and which brand of flour I buy. Ah! I so wish I could tell you so.

I also spotted you carrying a packet of Ariel washing powder. You remembered to shop for Bhabhi even on duty? She must be one happy woman!

I was delighted when you and another Bhai walked into a laboratory with me where I had gone to collect medical reports. Of course, as you would have gathered, the reports weren’t mine but my maid’s. Yet the fact that you care makes me feel so nice.

I felt honoured when you walked into the upholstery store with me. Because of your presence the sales guy helped me make up my mind in record time. I figured how possessive you were about me when you pulled up a museum guide for talking to me too much.

I also loved the way you spent time with me in that teeny-weeny jewellery shop some time ago. There was barely enough space for the two of us, yet you did not deprive me of your company even for a second. It was nice of you to take interest in the kind of designs and gems I like. Ditto when I checked out Pakistani handicraft and you tried to get details of my likes and dislikes from the salesmen after I had walked out of the store.

Did you know that I like that smile on your face when you look at me and when you take a sharp U-turn on your red Yamaha to announce that you are there for me – always. I feel so thrilled when you follow me on foot when I decide to go for a walk.

I love the way you hang around under that tree in front of my house with your pals (you know, the chowkidars and guards) and keep a careful eye on my house. I am positive that if it wasn’t for your special job you would have attained Moksha by now. I don’t know the Urdu equivalent of Moksha, but in English its “salvation”. Familiar? Did they teach you about “salvation” at your madrassa?

I want to put on record that the chowkidars and guards are doing a brilliant job of filling in for you while you are away. I would even recommend a raise for them and, if I may say so, a weekly off. Of course, I’ll miss them tremendously – not to mention their “meow-meows” (when they see me with my cats) and their comments when I play badminton – but then you know I am all for good working conditions.

Thank you again for making my stay so comfortable in your country. I will try and write as often as I can to you. I know you’d love to write back, but then don’t worry your silence is worth a million words. And, of course, you can continue to pay/repay me in kind for writing to you.

My salam to bhabhi/bhabhis (as the case may be) and muah muahs to the chunnu-munnus.

Best,
Your pyari behan