Tales of torturous times

The Partition of the subcontinent in 1947, which resulted in the creation of Pakistan and India, forced millions to leave their homes and head towards an unknown destination. It is the largest mass migration recorded in history with billions crossing the line that divided the two states, while more than half a million lost their lives in the aftermath of hostilities. Tales of Two Cities is a reflection on those torturous times. Two leading journalists, Kuldip Nayar from India and Asif Noorani from Pakistan, attempt to give a personal perspective on the tragedy.

Both men and their families were uprooted from their homes in the events that followed Partition. Kuldip Nayar, who was 24 at the time, was forced to flee his native Sialkot suddenly "leaving the food on the table untouched." Being politically conscious, Nayar's recollections present a detailed picture of not only the leaders and politics of the day but also personal vignettes that elucidate the fear felt by an entire people.

Asif Noorani, on the other hand, was only eight when Partition affected his family. His family moved from Mumbai (Bombay then), three years after Partition, and was shielded from the communal carnage that broke out during those times. He retains his sense of humour throughout the narrative and manages to find a tune from Bollywood – his true vocation being a film and music journalist – to add to his unique description of events.

Nayar, a verteran journalist, was separated from his family while fleeing to the Indian Punjab and vividly describes the pangs of uncertainty separation and felt by him, as if "crushing beneath one's shoes the embers of memory." He experienced the cold brutality of the times first-hand as trains turned into abattoirs and a "story of brutal murder or gang rape did not move me any more."

Noorani had a comparatively safe passage aboard a steamer that docked off Bombay, while he looked forward to the new land with a child's excitement. His essay dwells more on his revisits to India after Partition; the problems faced by Pakistanis traveling to India and vice versa and the reception that he received.

An interesting snippet from one of his visits was during the 1965 war, when the young Bollywood aficionado enjoys the cinema in Bombay while his family back home fears that he might be a prisoner of war. During the visit, he befriends an Indian intelligence officer, Takle (roughly translated into Baldie), and the episode establishes further the latent goodwill that still exists between the two people.

The writers also talk about the metamorphosis of their adopted cities. Both Delhi and Karachi have turned into megacities – a far cry from half a century ago when they were small cities with limited opportunities; however, as both writers point out, the cities were clean back then and did not face so many environmental problems.

The Delhi that Nayar migrated to was inundated by Punjabis, and saw a pre-dominance of the "crudeness and indiscipline" of Punjabi culture over the "dainty, decent culture of Delhi". With population growth, Delhi has experienced infrastructural problems as it grows without any planning; the malls and skyscrapers, in Nayar's words, are destroying the soul of Delhi.

Noorani also fondly remembers the Karachi of yore and its people, especially the rousing reception given to Indian Premier Jawaharlal Nehru when he visited the then capital to sign the Indus Water Treaty.

He celebrates Karachi's cosmopolitanism and pays tributes to the various people and organisations working for its betterment. He acknowledges Karachi's multi-faceted problems, but makes a frank confession through Milton's quote, "With all they faults, I love thee still", a sentiment shared by many other Karachiites.

The two writers – both life-long campaigners for better relations between the two countries and its people – also point out the problems faced by Pakistanis and Indians alike to travel to the other country and make suggestions for the same. Nayar could only visit Sialkot after being elected to the Indian Parliament.

Also included in the book is Nayar's revealing interview with Sir Cyril Radcliffe, the man in-charge of drawing the boundary between the two countries. The resources at Radcliffe's disposal and the time-frame in which he delivered are a telling indictment of Britain's attitude in deciding the fate of the subcontinent.

In most Indo-Pak collaborations, one comes across divergent views. While this book also highlights different points of views, the authors are joined together by similar concerns. Both lament with equal measure the state of Urdu. Nayar contends that Urdu lost its case with Partition, and has been its biggest victim.

He bemoans the fact that chaste Urdu is no longer heard in Delhi. Noorani's concern has more to do with the new breed that tries to flaunt its English at the expense of Urdu.

Both the essays, part of a single book edited by David Page, is the fourth in a series that attempts to establish cross-border dialogue. Other titles include Diplomatic Divide, Divided by Democracy and Fault Lines of Nationhood.

The two stories, which unravel in essay form, flow like gentle tales narrated by two wise old men; and serve as an apt reminder of the pain and agony suffered by our forefathers for the deliverance of the Promised Land.

Book : Tales of Two Cities

Author : Kuldip Nayar & Asif Noorani

Karachi Diary -- Meri ball do!

Violence has been an existential reality for our city. The waves of violence are etched in most memories, whether it be the ethnic clashes of the 80s and 90s, the sectarian clashes of mid and late 90s, or the spill over from the ‘War against terror’ of the last decade.

However, back in the 90s, when I was a zealous teenager, cricket was a religious ritual that commenced at 4.30pm each day – during mild winters and excruciating summers – regardless of the city’s law and order situation.

Playing cricket on the streets and dreams of emulating the Imran Khan’s cornered tigers (of 1992 World Cup fame) was a dream everyone nurtured irrespective of skill and ability. The greatest threat, then, was an irate uncle or aunty who would try to clear us off in order to enjoy the siesta; or those rare loathsome grouches who would refuse to return the tennis ball if it landed in their house or apartment. But they were a minority, and our cricket teams often had local patrons who would finance our equipment; a few lucky teams even had their portable set of stumps with bails.

It was unheard of back then to think twice before stepping out of the house and walking unconcerned towards the de facto cricket pitch that was usually in one of the lanes, with at least one boundary stretching upto the main road.

Maybe it was because there were no cellular phones back then, and we only had enough money to get us a drink or the tape for the ball.

Nowadays, stepping out requires certain considerations. Duration and mode of travel, kind of location (whether main road or lane) and the time at which he step out are variables that have to be considered to ensure that no untoward incident takes place. Paranoia also features as those who have had been held-up often believe that they are being followed.

The fear of the unknown has crept into our collective psyche; we are forever wary of the ‘other’.

Even playing cricket with the same people on the same streets is no longer the same. Back then, the setting of the sun would end our cricket, but the teams would usually cool off at the local general store and discuss matches against teams from other areas.

Now, wrapping up begins just before sunset as everyone prefers to be off the streets even before darkness begins its descent.

In the 90s, the threat of ethnic and sectarian violence was much closer. Every couple of months, there would be a funeral in the area in which the person had either been a victim of target killing for his beliefs, or ‘collateral damage’ during an upsurge in violence.
Such developments, however, would not disrupt our routine for more than a day. In present times, the violence is often far-off; and pitched battles are fought in the peripheral localities of the city. But fear has gripped everyone.

While cricket continues to thrive on the streets, especially on holidays, there has been a change in approach: one has to be on the look-out at all times.

The worst reaction has been of the elders. Their solution for all problems is to stay at home. Those residing in the vicinity, too, have turned against street cricketers; and the most common point of conflict comes when a ball now lands inside someone else’s residence. Invariably, the response is ‘go away’; whether this is due to the fear that those asking for the ball could be ‘someone else’ or it is part of a new philosophy of ‘minimum interaction’ remain moot points, but one thing is clearly established: the balls would not be returned no more.

Karachi Diary - I

Surveillance begins at home

The culture of bribery has sometimes been justified – by those brazenly demanding it – as a consequence of the poor pay-scales prevalent in the police force. However, former Inspector General (IG) Sindh Police Niaz Ahmed Siddiqui unequivocally stated that the incidentals of serving in the police force – which includes residence, utilities, education and health care for the entire household – make up more than enough for the pitiful salaries, especially of the lower cadres.

Despite that, it has been confirmed through multiple sources that no effort is spared by the police, including maltreatment, intimidation and even torture, to coerce complainants into making illegitimate payments for even registering a First Information Report (FIR).

For the majority of citizens, the police apparatus is a hostile body and suggest that one should only venture into a police station if one enjoys any political influence or has the right connections. Only then is one treated in an appropriate manner. Seeking assistance from the police is often written off as hopeless but being the upholders of law, one is left with no choice but to approach them; which raises the question whether there is any solution that can remedy the behavior and performance of the forces.

And there is a solution: Surveillance. It implies installation of security cameras at various vantage points inside the police station to monitor the behavior of the officers and the events taking place inside. Considering the current state of the force, many think it is only through vigilance can the reformation of these vigilantes brought about.

The incumbent Capital City Police Officer for Karachi, Mr Waseem Ahmed, welcomed the suggestion – along with the review board formed of members of civil society – and stated that it would surely enhance the efficacy and performance of police stations provided the government provides the finances to implement such a system.

While former IG Mr Siddiqui agreed that the idea would help improve the performance and efficiency of the police force, he opined that 'surveillance' was a misnomer and 'in-house supervision' was a more appropriate term. He was also opposed to the idea of a separate body serving as a watchdog and suggested that the central or main police station should review the footage. He insisted that the objective of any such exercise should be to help the police and to bridge gaps between the local community and the police force, removing malfunctioning and malpractices rather than to create a body that could in anyway compromise the authority of the police force.

While the top tier of the force has acknowledged the possibility of such a project, a sub-inspector expressed reservations over the possible benefits of such a project. Chaudhry Muhammad Atta, Sub-Inspector posted at the Artillery Maidan police station, contented that the resources could be put to better use for the benefit of the

forces rather than creating an unnecessary supervisory body that would have little impact on performance.

But do we have the resources and wherewithal to implement such a system? Mr Muhammad Faheem Qureshi, whose firm GCS has installed cameras across various routes of the city for the City District Government Karachi, says that such a project could be implemented; he also pointed out that the technology also provides the option of on-site recording or recording at a dedicated central location, which in this instance could be the main police station or any other location as per the modalities of the project.

Ordinary citizens also say that it could drastically alter the treatment meted out at police stations. Qasim, a university student, said he would be willing to champion the idea on his university campus if such a need arises. His fellow students, too, welcomed the idea and said it should be implemented at the earliest. Furqan, a lawyer, opined that it would save a lot of time and trouble for citizens as policemen would be aware that their actions are under scrutiny. Qurut-ul-Ain, a journalist, while calling it a step in the right direction, said that more than surveillance is required to improve service at police stations. Mehreen, a developmental worker, emphasized the need for a transparent supervisory body and said that if the project is effective, it could be replicated at other public sector offices as well.

The private sector has benefited through surveillance in terms of efficiency and also as a superficial archive of employee behavior and performance. Surveillance cameras at police stations, irrespective of locality, can result in a modicum of respectability and hope for aggrieved citizens. While enterprising soldiers would surely find corners to carry out their misdemeanors, complainants will at least know that Closed Circuit Television (CCTV) will serve as a repository of visual evidence against any unnecessary demands made or problems created by the officers on duty.

While it is foolish to expect an overhaul of the system, such an implementation would be testimony of the willingness of those in power that they desire positive change. And it is not necessary to plant cameras in stations across the city. The experiment could be started with a few stations: the best and the worst performing ones. If there is any improvement in performance, then the proposed solution can be implemented further until the entire city's force is under scrutiny.

Obviously, such an undertaking requires a huge budget overlay. But many believe it would be a worthwhile investment and one which could have a possible ripple effect; and eventually result in the transformation and possible reformation of the entire public sector – and cameras under the table.

Karachi Diary -- More

Hand it all over!


Karachi is justifiably notorious for street crimes. My peers and I have had frequent encounters of hold-ups, while every few days someone at the workplace narrates a harrowing-yet-quick ordeal which left them without a cellular phone or without a car for a night or two after which the car would be found minus the speakers and music system, the CNG kit and other removables.

While I have heard the most outlandish of robbery stories, nothing braced me for what was in store. Recently, a friend had told my group of how a couple sat in his car and made him drive around while they had alcohol. They left off my friend after having made him drive around for three hours and hitting him not so hard once with the pistol’s butt. There were other stories, too, in which invariably the cellular phone was taken away.

Having heard the story, I was being overly cautious while driving, especially in comparatively deserted streets. It was a summer evening, and I was in Defence Phase VI, turning on a street off Khayaban-e-Mujahid, when I was hit from behind by a silver Cultus. I cursed myself for ignoring my driving in trying to be vigilant against robbers. Two seemingly apologetic young-men got off from the car and I was about to get off when they suddenly got in my car and showed me the gun.

I acquiesced. They asked me to hand over the wallet and then drive around. They extracted my two debit cards and directed me towards the closest ATM. I did their bidding. Gently, they relieved me of my limit of Rs.10,000 each from both the cards, took my cellular phone and took possession of my removable music system. Out of generosity, they let me have the Rs200 lying in my wallet.

I was asked to drive back towards a commercial area. As soon as we reached the market in Defence Phase VI, they directed me into various lanes. There were a couple of cars waiting at the turn ahead and they coolly ordered me to follow a blue car driven by a single female. Once we reached a comparatively deserted route, they asked me to bump in the car ahead of me in the same manner as they had bumped into my car.

With so much already lost, I was not going to protest for the well-being of my car’s front bumper. I bumped into her car. My two tormentors got off with the same seemingly apologetic smile, as the other driver turned around and I was given an exasperated look.

I noticed her expression change to that of bewilderment first and then horror as she drove off with my two erstwhile passengers. I shrugged and drove off to my initial destination.

Karachi Diary

The valley of brutes

On a scorching hot afternoon, I was headed towards work after having lunch with a friend who resides in Bath Island. While I was taking a left as I emerged at the ‘Do Talwar’ roundabout, the signal opened for the cars coming from the direction of Schon Circle’s underpass.

A new Honda Civic screeched and raced forward. The sound made me instinctively turn, and what I witnessed in that milli-second defied logic. The car crashed into a lady who had started crossing the road from in-front of me as she came out of Hilal-e-Ahmer hospital and headed towards Chartered Accountants avenue, but the white Civic did not offer her much opportunity and knocked her out before she could even finish crossing the first half of the road.

On impact, the lady flew straight up around 8-10 feet and landed back on the car’s bonnet. A traffic sergeant was at the location and I, from my position that had become static due to the shock, could see him haranguing the car owner.

I was about to get off to go help the lady, who seemed to be in her late forties, when she got up and walked to the pavement that divides the road into two. Simultaneously, the Civic was allowed to go by the traffic sergeant.

What transpired between the sergeant and the Civic driver would remain a mystery, but my eyes keenly followed the wobbly movement of the lady as she shakily sat down on the pavement to regain her wits. I could not understand how she managed to stand up and walk even such a short distance after the battering her legs must have had felt on impact. Plus, she flew up and then landed on the car’s bonnet. While her landing did not appear awkward, it was still a major fall and she must have broken a few ribs.

Kudos to that woman who got her bearings in order, made sure her chador continued to cover her and walk with dignity to the closest place to offer some respite. I drove off thinking the same when I caught up with the same Civic on the Clifton Bridge.

Indignant as I was, I decided to glare at the callous driver who had driven off after possibly paying off the sergeant. Expecting to see an unruly teenager, I was shocked even further to see a woman in her late-20s driving the car – something in her reminded me of the suburban SUV driving football moms that have emerged of late in US popular culture.

However, I was still appalled by her decision to not stay behind and check with the lady if she had any serious injuries. Despite being of the gentler sex, this woman chose to save herself from the hassle of hospitals, police stations, insurance etc., albeit at cost of another person.

I can only assume that there is something alienating in being type-cast as a ‘driver’ on the roads of Karachi that turns the most kind of creatures into complete brutes.

The Protesting Hypocrites

Over the last few days, the moribund civil society has sprung into action; clamoring support for and expressing solidarity with the people of Palestine. They have taken the admirable step of abandoning cushy arm-chairs and even brought their parakeets onto the streets.

In all likelihood, a befitting culmination to hours of fulmination against Zionist aggression; and the modest turn-out a reflection of the penetration of the electronic medium – the organizers relied on facebook, mass e-mailing and sms-es to gather support.

In a snapshot review of the protest march in the words of the organizer reproduced verbatim: “The streets of downtown Karachi reverberated on Saturday with slogans condemning Israeli brutalities in the Gaza Strip and the international community’s double standards, especially those of the United States, which have already claimed hundreds of innocent Palestinian lives in the besieged territory.

A large number of peace and human rights activists, political party leaders, trade union leaders, lawyers, doctors, journalists, show-business personalities, students and teachers of all genders and age groups, carrying Palestinian flags and banners and placards condemning Israeli brutalities and the US’s alleged abetment in the crime, marched from the Karachi Press Club to Regal Chowk, Empress Market and back to the KPC…”

And so on. Pakistanis have shown a tremendous spirit in recent times for exhibiting a global conscience; and exposing double standards which is the flipside of international diplomacy. However, it is in the side-stepping of their own glaring double-standards that they manifest a hitherto unknown spirit. While a catastrophe of the magnitude as is unfolding in Gaza right now would split asunder the conscience of even the brutally heartless, what belies belief is that the atrocities being perpetuated in the Northern Areas, particularly in Swat, no longer seem to prick the conscience of the concerned gentry.

Collective amnesia has for long been the malady of choice of our thinking citizenry, but Swat – a battleground for nearly 2 years now – appears to have been consciously expunged from memory. In the world of hackneyed clichés, it was the ‘Switzerland of Pakitsan’, the tourist destination of choice of all those who could not afford going abroad and those rarities who find in nature the serenity that consumerist life cannot procure.

Other than in op-ed pieces, this tourist haven has vanished completely from the drawing-room discourse of these social revolutionaries; barring a digression on those rare occasions when wall chalkings threatening Talibanisation are spotted from the arm-chair vantage point.
While numerous welfare funds for the Gaza residents have been established over-night, a blanket or two donated for the nearing a hundred-thousand homeless in the numbing winter of Swat would be a pleasant surprise.

Online portals and unsuspecting inboxes have been inundated in efforts to gather support against Israeli actions, while Swat does not even have a functioning online petition on the famous website of the same name.

Going as far as terming such demonstrations (against Israel) an exercise in futility I will leave to the cynics, no matter how miniscule or negligible an impact it has or none at all. What gets me riled up is that these bastions of civility remain unperturbed by the atrocities being committed in our own backyard. While Kashmir was in arms and street protests were in full sway, there was merely a sound from these self-proclaimed practitioners of universal rights. While Baluchistan has burned and smelted over the course of Pakistan’s existence, they had no qualms in using up its natural gas; never sparing a thought for its ramshackle infrastructure and non-existent educational set-up.

They protest because protests are going on the world over. It fits into their philosophy of jumping on the band-wagon of popular dissent.

Another case in point, which says a lot about the hypocrisy of these patrons of civilised society, was the readiness with which students at Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS), Pakistan’s premier humanities university, joined hands with the protesting lawyers. Scions of connected families, these protesters were safe in the knowledge that the invisible hand would come to their rescue if they were ever to end up in the fists of the law. However, the region of Swat and the scenic Malam Jabba, visited twice annually by LUMS students, did not elicit even a word of protest from these future leaders of ours. Despite having a much stronger link with the Northern Areas, which hordes of students visit come the time of the quarter break, all ties were forgotten once it was in the claws of obscurantism.

No groups – from among students or the civil society – have stepped forward with ideas or policies that would in some way ameliorate the plight of the nearly one-third of the 1.5 million of Swat who have rendered homeless. No suggestions have been made for setting up of refugee camps and girl schools nearly 200 of which have been clamped upon and closed down.

Let alone present any creative or even practical solution for the misery-addled residents of Swat, our civilised society cannot even streamline its effort – even when it would further their own cause.

Separated by only a couple of days from the protest against Israeli atrocities of the self-proclaimed silent suave intellectually endowed minority, which goes by the sobriquet of civil society, was another protest against the same Israeli brutality. Students associated with Jamaat-e-Islami also expressed solidarity with their Palestinian brethren.

While reluctance on part of the two groups to synergise their efforts is understandable, if not quite rational, but it was the uncanny similarity in the modus operandi of protesting of these two groups that blows to smithereens the pretence of difference that the civil society clings on to.

The intensity of anger, the sloganeering, the haphazard nature of the procession, the clubbing together of Israel and the United States, blaming it all on a Zionist agenda left one with a feeling of déjà vu. The burning of the Israeli flag proved beyond doubt that no matter how different the social, economic and educational backgrounds are but when it comes to venting anger against their favorite punching bag, we are all the same.

Giving a literary spin to this debate, Big Brother of Orwellian fame appears to be watching; pulling the strings of earthly minions – civil society included. However, there is another similarly somber view of the totalitarian nature of modern reality espoused by Aldous Huxley in ‘Brave New World’. While Orwell feared that modes of information and knowledge will be controlled and stifled such that people will no longer know what the pressing issues of the day are, Huxley prognosticated that there will be such a glut of information that people will fail to discern the relevant from the frivolous; that the level of mass information will reach such a level that the real issues will be buried in the mass of trivialities.

As protests against Israeli aggression gather steam, now a regular feature in major metropolises across Pakistan, while Swat, Northern Areas, Baluchistan, Kashmir and other issues that plague our society lie forgotten or placed on the back-burner, it is Huxley who stands vindicated. The age of mass information lays bare the superficial expression of concern of the civil gentry, if they must be absolved of their hypocrisy.