Lines That We Drew

As the clinking sound of vessels from the kitchen was turning into a jarring orchestra of forcefully thrown utensils, Sameer realized that it was time to propose a pack up. He was the host and hence it would have sounded too rude if he did that abruptly. But he slowly withdrew himself from the passionate debate going on amongst the friends. It was their usual once in a month Friday evening gathering.  He had a new guest today who had joined their circle. Venkat had come down to Denmark recently from India, on a long term onsite posting.  He was now part of this gang of six Indian friends, who have been living in Copenhagen for some time now and had formed this informal club of likeminded Indians.

The friends were discussing the India-Pakistan cricket match that happened over the week. For any Indian or Pakistani, this match was the high point of the tournament. Whether they win the tournament or not, this one match was the most critical match of the tournament for both the sides.  As Sameer expressed his softness towards his favourite batsman from the Pakistan side, the entire gang turned hostile towards him. The discussion turned towards politics, towards the unprovoked Pakistani firing on the border, towards terrorism and towards the inhuman treatment of captured Indian soldiers. As the emotions were flying high, the allegations and insinuations turned generic towards Pakistanis as a whole. And then the kitchen got noisy. Sameer knew, at that point, that it was time to break off.

Sameer came to Copenhagen about 5 years back. At that time, he worked for an Indian software company and was deputed here at a Bank to maintain their legacy computer systems. Over a period, he established a stellar reputation for himself and was offered a plum offer to join the Bank.  He accepted the offer with the intent to settle down in this country. But it was not that straight.  He had also developed a good friendship with a Bank employee and that perhaps was a more compelling reason for him to switch over from his software company to this Bank.

Nycredit was one of the largest Banks in the Nordic region and employed people from various nationalities.  This was a rare international exposure that Sameer got and enjoyed interacting with people from such diverse nationalities. Some of these were Indians that he could make out from their looks and over the years, he had developed some acquaintance with many of them. About 3 years back, he came across one such girl in the Bank.  She had those typical Indian looks that he would not mistake for any other nationality. She used to work for the Treasury department. Sameer’s company had no role to play in the Treasury applications of the Bank.  Sameer came across this girl often at the lunch time.  She came to the canteen along with her other colleagues around the same time. She was stunningly beautiful – at least that is what Sameer thought. She often wore a combination of Indian and western outfits. But beyond exchanging a smile, it took him quite some time to start talking to this girl.

Nasreen had been working for the Bank for about a year. She stayed in Copenhagen with her uncle, who had settled down in this country many years back.  As Sameer started interacting more frequently with Nasreen, they started exchanging some personal details. Only at that point of time Sameer got to know that Nasreen was not an Indian and was in fact from Pakistan. She had come from Pakistan about 3 years back, completed her management studies at Copenhagen and joined this Bank.  Her uncle was settled in Copenhagen for more than 30 years and had a well-established Asian restaurant in the town. The Curry King was a very famous joint for the lovers of spicy Asian food.

“No, I am not from India. I am from Bahawalpur in Pakistan,” Nasreen responded to a query from Sameer as he tried to ascertain as to which part of India she came from.  Sameer was taken aback and perhaps Nasreen noticed that as well. She smiled with a question mark on her face. Sameer quickly collected himself and extended the conversation further. On one hand he was a bit upset that she was not an Indian and on the other he saw a little ray of hope. His grandfather actually hailed from this place called Bahawalpur and so he had a reason to feel happy about.

“So, do you speak Saraiki?” And now it was Nasreen’s turn to be surprised. It was showing on her face. She was indeed pleasantly surprised. Saraiki was a little known dialect spoken in that region of Pakistan and very few outside of this limited circle would even know about its existence.  This was a dying language and the native speakers of this language were concerned about the impending death of a rich cultural legacy. Sameer gave a big smile that confused Nasreen further. She was keen to know more. Is he a genius who knows so much about the world or is he stalking her and has actually done some background check already?

After a few minutes of guessing game, Sameer opened up. He told Nasreen about his grandfather’s lineage.  His grandfather was from Bahawalpur and migrated to India at the time of partition. Nasreen felt relieved. At least someone was not stalking her without her knowledge and she was elated to know about Sameer’s background as well.  She liked talking to him as they had many common topics to discuss. They often spoke about Bollywood, their favourite actors, they spoke about sports, they spoke about TV serials and now there was one more topic. She surely knew more about Bahawalpur and was happy to talk about that nostalgically.

Though Sameer was disappointed to know that she was from Pakistan, he had moved way ahead in his liking for Nasreen.  He found most of her tastes matched with his own. She was intelligent, she was good looking. She spoke his language. She shared his hobbies. Sameer was keen to know her more and was looking forward to further this friendship.  Back in India, many of his cousins had married outside of his community. Cross-region marriages made a fashion statement amongst the urban populace. Inter-religion marriages were also growing.  His family had seen a few inter-religion marriages but none had married a Muslim thus far. Having known Nasreen closely, he did not see a reason why there would be any compatibility issues, in case he got to marry her.

Back to school days, Sameer recalled how his school bus driver was a hero amongst the boys. Ram Singh was an ex-army man and used to proudly flaunt a few bullet marks on his legs. He fought the 1971 war with Pakistan and was injured. While driving back home from school, Ram Singh would share stories of bravery from his army days and boys would be all ears with awe. Sameer and his friends would then dream of joining the armed forces someday to show the same valour that Ram Singh used to narrate. And talking of war, the only opponent they could ever think of was their unfriendly neighborhood – Pakistan. Sameer remembered how on the Independence Day, the shopkeepers at the big road junction behind his house would play popular songs from the famous Bollywood war movies, on loud speakers. These were all made after the 1965 or 1971 war with Pakistan. He would stand there for hours listening to those inspiring songs that would give him goosebumps.

After seeing off his friends, Sameer came back to his apartment. Nasreen was still busy in the kitchen or was pretending to be busy.  He knew something had hurt her deep – yet again. He wanted to change the topic and lighten the atmosphere. “How is ‘Mamu’ now? Did you speak to him?” That was a polite enquiry about her uncle – that is how she addressed him. Nasreen responded only in monosyllables. He had faced these situations in the past and had found it very difficult to handle. Nasreen had otherwise gelled very well with Sameer’s friends circle. She had understood the Indian culture and practices well and had tried to adapt herself to many of them.  If they were visiting her uncle’s house on a Tuesday, she made sure that there was only vegetarian spread on the dining table. If Sameer took two steps of adjustment, she moved four.

His run-up to the marriage with Nasreen was not easy either. As he disclosed the news of his love for a girl from Pakistan, all hell broke loose. He was expecting some resistance at home but never realized it would turn out to be an emotional spectacle. His parents and even his grandfather were not so averse to his marrying a Muslim. It was her Pakistani descent that was the bone of contention.

“Do you even realize what we went through in 1947? They threw us out of our dwellings. We lost all of our life-time savings, our properties, our belongings and above all, our birth-place. They came in mobs to our houses and killed our family and friends. We ran for our lives leaving all that behind. How can I forget all that? Do you know that we got a train full of dead bodies from Pakistan? Bodies of men, women, small children, old people. They did not spare any one. And you expect us to welcome a girl, to our family, who is a descendant of that lineage?”

Sameer was shaken by that outburst from his ‘Dadoo’ – that is how he fondly addressed his grandfather. And when his grandfather spoke on this subject, no other family member intervened. This was coming from his heart. An emotion suppressed for many years under the thick layers of those painful memories.

But a reasonable debate was always encouraged in this household. Sameer gathered all his courage and started talking. “Dadoo! What all this has got to do with Nasreen. She had not done all this. While she doesn’t come from a migrant family but you know that there were many Muslims who were uprooted from this part of the land to the other. They could have also gone through the same pain and the same agony. Why punish her for a deed that she has nothing to do with. You loved that land, you loved that language, and you fondly remember your childhood friends. What if Nasreen turns out to be a granddaughter of your childhood friend Habib Ahmed – you remembered him so often.” Dadoo kept looking at the roof for a long time. Sameer was not sure whether he was listening to his arguments or was lost in his own thoughts of the dreadful days of partition. After a while he stood up from his rocking chair looked at Sameer and just said –“we will speak about this later” – and retired into his room.

The weekly chores took away most of the Saturday.  There was limited conversation between Sameer and Nasreen. Most of it was again in monosyllables. This was not new, they have had such emotional clashes in the past which lasted 12 to 24 hours often.  But this one was getting into a drag. Those typical signs of retreat were not visible. Sameer remembered when he took her to India for the first time after marriage. He was mentally prepared for some of the bureaucratic hurdles that he was aware of.  He once had a client visiting him from a Bank in Dubai and who incidentally happened to be of Pakistani origin. While the other client team members from Dubai had no restrictions, this gentleman had a location specific visa. So, during their visit to India, Sameer had not planned for any adventurous outings to Taj Mahal – which he would have recommended to anyone visiting India for the first time. But he had no grievances. He understood the sensitivity and the need for such a vigilance that had to be followed by the Government agencies. He knew he would have to find another occasion and another trip for her tryst with the Taj. And when all of his mother’s friends came visiting to meet the new bride, the conversation remained very guarded. There was an element of inhibition and unease that Nasreen could also gauge. Culturally, both Indians and Pakistanis will have a lot of fun when a new bride comes home. Nasreen was aware of that – thanks to the Bollywood movies. But there was none of that gay abandon associated with such occasions. The conversations were measured, the visits were short and with a punch line here and there.

Sameer did not take any offence to that. He recalled how he and his friends had reacted when Sania Mirza decided to marry a Pakistani cricketer. She was one of the most beautiful sportsperson in the country and there were so many handsome sportsmen in our own country. All of us, the eligible bachelors, felt let down. We had no problems when an India girl married an American or a Brit or a French. This one marrying a Pakistani was like stabbing on our back. But now Sameer was on the same plane. He had lost his heart to a Pakistani and no such logic could ever convince him to change his decision. Nasreen was not too perturbed though. She would have seen the same sentiment in her own country and therefore was able to discount much of that.  If an Indian or a Pakistani married another foreigner, their families would flaunt the new addition to the family but this was different if that foreigner happened to be an Indian in Pakistan or a Pakistani in India.  Both Sameer and Nasreen were on the same side as far as this debate was concerned and beyond a point of view, it really did not matter to them much. They understood each other well and they knew the other person appreciated the constraints of this alliance.

In the afternoon, Sameer proposed to Nasreen, “Let us go to the Nyhavn.” He was a bit skeptical whether Nasreen would agree. He thought she would make some excuse. But she readily agreed. Again, just a nod. No words spoken. That was one good personal philosophy that Nasreen believed in. She never liked status quo in such situations. She will continue to do things to move out of an impasse.

Nyhavn is a popular tourist spot alongside a canal. The long sunny stretch has many restaurants where people spend their afternoons enjoying the canal route to the harbour. Many colourful tourist boats pass by spreading happiness and joy in the whole atmosphere. Sameer and Nasreen had spent many evenings here talking for hours. The place had a very soothing impact, with vibrant mansions on the side and cheerful tourists sailing along the stream.

Sameer picked up 2 cups of cappuccino and they sat over a large stone along the stream. It was evening time but quite shiny still.  They sat in silence for a while and then Nasreen broke the silence. “How can your friends be so rude? That was hitting below the belt. Here I am, serving you hot snacks so that you can enjoy your drinks and you are questioning my integrity?” Sameer did not want to stop her. The volcano within had to erupt – for the good of both of them. The ranting went on for a while.  “Why don’t you speak something?” snarled Nasreen. That is your problem. You behave as if nothing has happened. You like to put things under the carpet and stay happy. “He is a new guy in the group and he doesn’t know our background. I am sure, someone would have spoken to him already “– Sameer responded for the first time. Nasreen kept quiet for a while and then looked at him on his face – “And what about you. Are you also waiting for someone to speak to you? You have not found time to speak to me on this since last night. Or you don’t feel the need for it at all. You may again call it a ‘reassurance’. Yes, I need a reassurance, if it is that. I know you well but you cannot understand a woman’s predicaments. To be precise, an Asian woman’s predicament. We may come here and settle down for good but somewhere inside we remain the same innate Asians. We need to be assured of our space. We need to be told that we do exist and our emotions do matter.”

Sameer was taken aback by this outburst. He had often been accused of keeping silent when there was a need to speak. He has not been able to master this art of assuaging the feelings by speaking. He always felt it was enough to be around and to be nice and not to watch football or cricket and to do some help in chores. He thought that was enough signal that he wanted truce. That he cared. And that he wanted her to become normal. Well, Men are from Mars after all. He waited for a pause amidst the barrage of words flowing from Nasreen and said, “Let me get some more coffee” and moved towards the café across the walkway.

With 2 cups of coffee in his hands, Sameer came back and sat next to Nasreen again. This time he sat a little more close. The Sun had almost set and he could feel the chill in the air. He handed over one cup to Nasreen and then held her hand tightly. Nasreen was still looking at the far end. Towards the lights on the windows of a few townhouses lined up on the other side of the canal. The hustle bustle of the evening had slowed down. A few children were still playing around. A few boats were still plying, ferrying back the tourists to their destination.

Sameer cleared his throat giving an indication that he wanted to speak. She looked at him as if she was eager to hear. The connect was made. She was in a listening mode now. Sameer always felt that it was futile to interrupt her when she was in full flow. It was best to allow her to vent out her feelings and then put across his viewpoints. That time was now. Sameer started – “I believe in destiny and I believe in conspiracies of the nature.  But it is a dichotomy that I also believe in ‘Karma’. I strongly believe in that famous quote - We are defined by the choices we make. It was just happenstance that I had to come down to Copenhagen for this project 5 years back. I was scheduled to go to Moscow for another project but my visa got delayed and then there was an immediate need for my skills here. So, it was a fortunate stroke of serendipity that my Russian visa got delayed and that a new demand came up from this project and that I met you here. At the same time, when it came to a point of decision. When it came to making a choice, I consciously took my decision – a decision that was not easy but a decision that I took consciously and a decision that I will never regret.” Sameer was in full flow. Nasreen was just looking at his face. At his eyes which were intently focused on the small waves hitting the big boulders along the canal. She liked it when Sameer was in this meditative mode. Sameer continued – “Have you ever noticed why all the shops and restaurants are on this northern side of the canal and the other side is used for parking of vehicles? This side stays sunnier all through the day and while people sit and enjoy the sun, the restaurants make a brisk business. The other side stays shady all through the day and is best used for parking of vehicles. So, having a sun-bathed street is a matter of providence but setting up their business here is a considered choice that they have made.”

“Look Nasreen. We have had such occasions in the past and we will continue to have in future as well. When I had proposed to you, I was aware that I would never be able to go back and settle down in India. At least for the political reasons, we will not be able to lead an easy life either in India or in Pakistan. That is a reality and we have to accept that.  Since childhood, I was against people settling down abroad. But as I grew, I had the professional need to travel around. I liked some of those places but never thought of making any of those countries my home. I was still a true son of the soil. And then you came into my life. I knew well that after marrying you, we will be happier staying away in a third country. But I had made up my mind. I realized you were made for me and that I wanted to marry you.”

“I am also aware of the anxiety that you had gone through on our trip to India. This is not about your religion and this is not about you as a person. My parents and my grandfather liked you very much. But there is a huge chasm between our two countries. My grandfather has been a victim of partition. He has gone through immense pain. The pain of uprooting, the pain of losing all his belongings, the pain of starting afresh on life, from the scratch, after having a settled life. And our politicians on both the sides will never let the wounds heal. This one is their trump card. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is a quid pro quo between the leaders on the two sides. Whenever they need to arouse nationalistic passions for their own reasons, the other one will oblige”.

“I respect your love for your nation and for its people. And I am sure you appreciate the same sentiment from my side. Both the countries have had their share of pains during partition. This sense of victimization has been ingrained into our psyche right from the childhood. I am sure, none of your school history books would talk about the sacrifices made by the leaders on the Indian side and I have also not read much about your national heroes. All I am told from childhood is that there were many great Muslim leaders who believed in secularism and stayed back in India. And we have adorned them as much as any other Hindu leader. I am not sure how this is portrayed in your books. But I firmly believe in innate goodness of the people and therefore I do believe that there would be sane voices on your side of the land as well. We cannot paint a region, a country or a set of people with the same colour.”  

“We used to draw our country’s map in Geography lessons at school. We used to take pride in its shape of a human body. Of a broad forehead, a set of wide shoulders, two extended arms inviting you with love and a sleek lower part. Much later did we realize that the broad forehead has been deceitfully occupied by the neighbouring country.  We remember drawing thick dark lines depicting the national boundary. The states continued to have the dotted lines. As we grew up, we realized that those thick dark lines were no more in our area. And that bred the thoughts around illegitimacy of a neighbour.”

“It is not that those dotted lines always ensured bonhomie. There have been disputes across those states. There have been water flow issues, there have been power sharing disputes and the linguistic realignment demands. States have been split based on local sentiments. Many of my married friends realized that their traditional family-arranged marriage had suddenly turned into an inter-state alliance as the birth places of their respective spouses became part of another state. These issues have raised passions but these were of different kinds. These were intra-family skirmishes.  The disputes across the dotted lines.  But the same disputes, when they happen across the thick dark lines, they acquire a different colour. The colour of nationalistic fervor. To soft pedal on these disputes can ruin a politicians career at the least and a philosophy of renunciation on these matters can brand an individual as a separatist. I am sure this is applicable on both sides of the border.”

“Therefore, we should not get perturbed by these provocations – intentional or otherwise. We have decided to make a world of our own that will not have these thick dark lines. We trust in each other and we have faith in each other’s religious beliefs. For us, our own space is supreme – whatever the countries may decide, to seize or to secede the land space to redraw the lines. Our lines will not be between us. Our lines are drawn around us and those are the thick dark ones. That is our combined aura and we will not let anyone break through that.”

Sameer was holding her hand all this while and somewhere, during this conversation, Nasreen’s grip of the hand became tighter. Sameer looked at his watch and got up. “You will be late for your evening prayer. Let us go home.”

Nasreen got up with a renewed vigour and matched her steps with those of Sameer.  She wanted to reach home quickly. There was so much to share with Sameer – the regular stuff, the gossips and the office politics – some lighter ones and a few on serious note. She had lost half of the weekend and wanted to make up for that. 

Serendipity

Twenty years back, I was dating a colleague of mine while working for a Bank in Delhi.  The context of dating was much different in those days, no mobile phones, no texting, and no whatsapp. I am really wondering, despite such a limitation of communication channels, the intensity of relationship was no lesser.

One summer morning, she was informed that there was an urgent training on a new software and that she had to travel to Bangalore for 3 days immediately. Those days, the only airline was Indian Airlines – with very limited capacity to serve only the elite, there was no ‘Tatkal’ in trains either. The bookings in summer holidays were done 60 days in advance.

So, there she was, completely confused. She did not want to lose this opportunity but had never traveled alone. With some patronage, she could get an exception approval for one-way onward air travel. So, she haggled with a local travel agent, who got her only a second class return ticket by train. But the thought of traveling two days on a second class train trip in the heat of May was beyond her comfort.

As it happens during any courtship, I was overly concerned and wanted to do anything to ease her distress. The cost of flying was beyond my means so I too caught hold of an agent and managed a waitlisted second class train ticket to Hyderabad and then took an overnight bus to Bangalore to be able to reach just before the return trip.  We did not have the fleet of Volvo buses that we see now and I was pure lucky to have got one last seat in a Government bus from Hyderabad to Bangalore.

In those days, such dates and affairs were always kept under wraps.  Therefore, though I had friends in the same office, I could not have gone to the office. But I could send across the message through a common local friend, assuring her of my arrival.

As our tickets were booked separately, she was in coach S-2 and I got my seat in coach S-8. We were wondering how we will make it work with 6 coaches and a pantry car between us.  As we settled down in our respective seats, one gentleman approached me with a request. They were two persons traveling together but had their seats allotted in two different coaches – one in S-2 and the other in S-8. This was a God-sent moment for me and I was thrilled with ecstasy.  So, I obliged the gentleman and moved to coach S-2 thanking this fortunate stroke of serendipity.

Now that colleague is my wife for 20 years and whenever we have some low moments, we remember those small Godly interventions and start believing in what Paulo Coelho expressed beautifully in ‘The Alchemist’ and later Shahrukh Khan rendered it romantically in one of his blockbusters - When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person to realize his dream.  

Erasing the Boundaries

The other day, I received a marriage invitation of a nephew, who was marrying a Bengali girl in Chennai. And that moved my memory pointer to many long years back, when I got married.

“Punjabi?” – I assume, that would have been the reaction when I broke the news of my love for a girl in Delhi.  I hailed from an orthodox Tamil Brahmin family but since we were settled in Kanpur, the outlook of my parents was more liberal. Nevertheless, this one, coming from their most obedient, understanding and compliant son was a bit of a shocker for them.

For many years people, on either side of the Vindhyas had carried misconceptions. So, it took me some time to explain to my parents that the girl was not a ‘Punjabi’ but was actually a ‘Bahawalpuri’ – which was a princely state bordering Sindh, Punjab and Multan states of the current day Pakistan.  Similarly, my wife had to explain to her relatives that I was not just a ‘Madrasi’ but was a Tamilian. And that I was not a nerdy but was as fun-loving, witty and normal human being like them.

During the post-marriage receptions, a common question that haunted us was on our honeymoon plans. While I told her relatives that we were heading for the Nilgiris, my wife shared only the plans of Madurai Meenakshi Temple with my relatives.  So that was the start – and I was sure we had not only understood each other but also the constituency that both of us needed to take care.

The initial days, moving in her family circles was a cultural shock for me - when drinks flowed on any occasion, be it a marriage or a small kid’s birthday.  I was not a teetotaler but never had such family sessions.  So, I had my anxious moments in the beginning but soon adjusted to the openness of this society well. 

My wife, on the other hand, has become more pious.   The walls and the curio at home are full of Ganesha and Nataraja idols.  She keeps close track of the ‘Nombu’ festival, when she religiously changes the sacred yellow thread around her neck.  And she doesn’t forget to light a lamp every evening in a corner of her kitchen. My daughters, however, did go through some dilemma in their early school days.  In their school forms, they wrote their surname as ‘Iyer’ and the mother-tongue as ‘Hindi’ and that left their teachers bemused. 

But I continue to have one grievance –  I had anticipated stuffed ‘Parathas’ for my breakfast every morning but my wife turned out to be a health freak. Leave aside the ‘Parathas’, I even lost a Tamilian’s birth right of a spoonful of ghee on my sambar-rice.   Nevertheless, we have well adapted to each other’s native lifestyles over the years. And there is little doubt that she makes the best ‘Upma’ for my break-fast and I can toss the best Omelet ever made on earth.