1

Mastarmoshai Sudhir Chanda releasing the first issue of HINDOL

on 22nd August, 2009 at a special session of Ohetuk Adda
held at Netaji Subash Hall, Chittaranjan Park Kali Mandir, New Delhi.

Holding the audience spell-bound for over an hour in a sterling

performance, Mastarmoshai gave a wonderful lecture
demonstration on the unique Rabindra Gayaki developed by
Tagore. He elaborated upon how Tagore drew from the
traditional cadence and musical styles of Bengals Baul and
Kirtan, as also from the classical Hindustani ragas. His talk
was peppered with numerous examples, which he sang without
any accompaniment. Mastarmoshai left us with memories which
we will treasure all our lives.

M, 1416

Dear Editor,
Hindol comes across with a freshness, as a little magazine packing
in big dreams. It is by no means an easy job to indulge in literary
pursuits in todays fast changing world, and it is even more difficult
to involve a steady readership into this process. As a reader I wish
you all success.
The cover design, including the back cover is aesthetically
appealing, the sketches and line drawings in the midst of text enhances
the look. The quote from poet Satyendranath Duttas Hindol Bilas,
from where presumably comes the name of this publication, just shows
how much thought has gone into the process of bringing out this
magazine and is no flash in the pan, one hopes.
Yet, there is no denying the fact that Hindol has to overcome many
roadblocks. Literary language has to evolve continuously. But Bengali
writers living outside Bengal still cling to the old tradition of a
bookish style. Hindol faces a conflict between this pure written words
which is Poshaki (heavily adorned) language and the atpoure(of
day to day life) language of verbal use. It has to choose its own niche
to address a wide readership. Holding writers workshops may help
in this direction.
The current issue is full of promises though. Jayanti
Chattopadhayas Nabinar Simana is an interesting piece. It also shows
that Tagore is never out of fashion. I wish the write up on popular
Bengali author Sunil Gangopadhyay had been a bit more in-depth
study. Incidentally, one of the attractions of Sunil Gangopadhyays
work is his flowing writing style that has taken Bengali language of
daily conversation to an artistic height.
Reading is fun, whether in Bengali or in English and language
should not be a barrier, it should just communicate. Hindols attempt
to do this by being bi-lingual is laudable. Let us all hope it is able to
turn reading fashionable in its own way.
Sumita Sengupta
Kailash Colony

M, 1416

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6-7
8-19
20-31
32-36
37-50
51-54
55-61
62-69
73-75
76-81
82
83-88
Contents

Debabrata Ghosh

Poetry

6-7

Debasish Bagchi

Essay

8-19

Jayanti Chattopadhyay

Essay

20-31

Malabika Majumdar

Essay

32-36

Mimi Radhakrishnan

Story

37-50

Chittaranjan Pakrashi

Essay

51-54

Maitrayee Sem

Essay

55-61

Gopa Dey

Essay

62-69

Manoj Joshi

Going Places

73-75

Monojit Lahiri

Creative Spaces

76-81

Kritika Kirty

Poetry

Gaiutam Das

Going Places

M, 1416

82
83-88

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M, 1416

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life is to cultivate to domestic affection, to minister to the comfort

and happiness of her husband, to look and tend her children....

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M, 1416

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'To ask you, Swami, for your credentials is like asking the sun about
its right to shine'.

58

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11 I 10 Z Art Institute
of Chicago- , ,
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- , ...amongst them all it was the young man who
represented nothing - and everything, the man belonging to no sect,
but rather to India as a whole, who drew the glance of the assembled
thousands... by his fascinating face, his noble stature and the gorgeous
apparel.'

M d
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of America...

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M, 1416

59

0
15 I, Z 'Why we disagree' q
G
I will tell you a little story. You have heard the eloquent speaker, who
has just finished, say, Let us cease from abusing each other, and he
was very sorry that there should be always some variance.
But I think I should tell you a story which would illustrate the cause
of this variance. A frog lived in a well. It had lived there for a long
time. It was born there and brought up there and yet it was a little
frog. In this way it went on and became a little sleek and fat. Well,
one day another frog that lived in the sea came and fell into the well.
Where are you from?
I am from the sea.
The sea! How big is that? Is it as big as my well? and he took a leap
from one side of the well to the other.
My friend, said the frog of the sea, how do you compare the sea
with your little well?
Then the frog took another leap and asked, Is your sea so big?
What nonsense you speak, to compare the sea with your well!
Well, then, said the frog of the well, nothing can be bigger than
my well; there can be nothing bigger than this; this fellow is a liar, so
turn him out.
That has been the difficulty all the while.
I am a Hindu. I am sitting in my own little well and thinking that the
whole world is my little well. The Christian sits in his little well and
thinks the whole world is his well. The Mohammedan sits in his little
well and thinks that is the whole world. I have to thank you of America
for the great attempt you are making to break down the barriers of
this little world of ours, and hope that in the future, the lord will help
you to accomplish your purpose.

? :
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M, 1416

he began to speak it was of the religious ideas of the Hindus but when
he ended, Hinduism had been created.'

19 I
'Paper on Hinduism' - g , ... 'When

60

,
..if there is ever to be a universal religion, it must be one which
will have no location in place or time; which will be infinite like the
God it will preach, and whose sun will shine upon the followers of
Krishna and of Christ, on saints and sinners alike; which will not be
Brahminic or Buddhistic, Christian or Mohammedan, but the sum
total of all these, and still have infinite space for development, which
in its catholicity will embrace in infinite arms, and find a place for,
every human being

1012 R
g -
The crying need in the East is not religion they have religion enough
but it is bread that the suffering millions of burning India cry out
for, with parched throats. They ask us for bread, but we give them
stones. It is an insult to a starving people to offer them religion; it is
an insult to a starving man to teach him metaphysics.

Much has been said on the common ground of religious unity.
But if anyone here hopes that this unity will come by the triumph of
any one of the religions and the destruction of the others, to him I say,
Brother, yours is an impossible hope. Do I wish that the Christian
would become Hindu? God forbid. Do I wish that the Hindu or
Buddhist would become Christian? God forbid.
The seed is put in the ground, and earth and air and water are placed
around it. Does the seed become the earth; or the air or the water?
No. It becomes a plant, it develops after the law of its own growth,
assimilates the air, the earth, and the water, converts them into plant
substance, and grows into a plant.
Similar is the case with religion. The Christian is not to become a
Hindu or a Buddhist, nor a Hindu or a Buddhist to become a Christian.
But each must assimilate the spirit of the others and yet preserve his
individuality and grow according to his own law of growth.

M, 1416

61

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receving a thrill through my body like an electric shock. And what
shocks, what transports must have been produced when in burning
words thay issued from the lips of the hero!'

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M, 1416

62

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M, 1416

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M, 1416

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66

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M, 1416

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M, 1416

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70

With Best Wishes

to
Hindol

SUMITA SENGUPTA
&
SUJIT SENGUPTA

M, 1416

71

With Best Wishes

to
Hindol

SNIGDHA DUTTA
&
DILIP KISHORE DUTTA

M, 1416

72

With Best Wishes

to
Hindol

CHANDRIMA CHAKRAVERTY
&
ANIRUDDHA CHAKRAVERTY

M, 1416

73

Manoj Joshi
Kailash Colony
New Delhi

M, 1416

Though Samsung, LG and Hyundai may have become household

names for the Indian middle class, their land of origin, the Republic of
Korea, remains only a hazy presence in their minds. A brief visit to the
country in early September 2009, coming on a slightly longer one some
years ago, jogged my memory banks with the perceptions of this
incredible country with its enormous manufacturing prowess, its eversmiling hard-working people and its spectacular cuisine.
Among the many Asian cuisines, perhaps the least known, at least
in India, is the food of Korea. A recent visit to Seoul provided an alltoo-brief experience of the varied cuisine. The basic ingredients of the
cuisine are rice, noodles, tofu, vegetables and meat. No meal can be
without the trade-mark kimchi, a fermented spicy Chinese cabbage, a
side dish which goes with every meal. The food is accompanied by a
variety of seasoning - sesame oil, doenjang or fermented soyabean paste,
soya sauce, salt, garlic, ginger, gochujang or red pepper oil. Soups of
several varieties are considered parts of the meal rather than preceding
or coming at the end of a meal.
There are dozens of restaurants across Seoul that cater to a variety
of foods, each specializing in one or the other aspect of Korean cuisine.
Gogung in the Myeongdong district located in central Seoul is renowned
for its Jeonju bibimbap (steamed rice with assorted beef and vegetables).
Another well known area is the Bukchang-dong near the Namdaemun
market and large corporate buildings housing, among others, Samsung
and Hyundai. The restaurants, now quite famous even though they may

Going Places

Jeonju, Japchae
and Kimchi

74

Going Places

Jeonju, Japchae and Kimchi

have a shabby exterior, came up to service the office workers.

Seoul is a great place for Chinese Cuisine and I had a good
experience in the very hotel I was staying in at the Palsun restaurant.
The decor was minimalist, as was the menu. But the food was exquisite.
I was told that the restaurants food was what is called Korean-Chinese
something like Punjabi Chinese of India - which is strongly
influenced by northern Chinese cuisine.
My favourite experience was at a restaurant whose name I do not
remember, but one which our Korean hosts said was expensive-some
$75 per head, minus the booze. We had what is called a hanjeongsik
(traditional full-course Korean meal) designed for foreign customers.
Some ten of us were seated on a long and narrow table with a round
cavity at about six feet. Into this, the staff brought ovens looking like
flowerpots with red-hot coal. Since this is summer, there was a touch
of discomfort, till the top of the flower pot was covered by a brass
dome which was perforated to let in the heat. Chunks of marinated
beef were now put on this inverted platter and grilled with the juices
flowing into a trough around the edge of the grill. Then the staff got
two kinds of large leaves into which the grilled beef was wrapped and
eaten. Then came the galbi or ribbed beef which unfolded like a long
banner across the brass dome and after it was grilled, it was chopped
into rectangular pieces and distributed. Along with this came japchae
(special noodles, mixed vegetables and sliced meat), jeon (assorted
pan-fried delicacies), and fish, with various side dishes, and stews.
There was of course, steamed rice and kimchi (hot, spicy pickled chinese
cabbage containing red chili, garlic, ginger and green onions). There
are many varieties of kimchi which the Koreans associate with as many
benefits as they ascribe to ginseng.
If you have had enough of Korean cuisine, you can go to Itaewon
district where you can try cuisine from other parts of Asia, Europe and
America. In any case a lot of the Korean food in Seoul caters to
foreigners. There are more exotic dishes such as pigs trotters and dogs
which only the hardiest non-Korean may venture to taste. The dogs are
not your pet variety, but specially bred for the purpose.
As the India experience shows, Koreans are intrepid travelers and
traders. So, Seoul is not an insular society. Language is, of course, a
problem. Foreigners tend to stick together and many Koreans dont

M, 1416

Jeonju, Japchae and Kimchi

75

speak good English, though it is the language of business and of hotels.

The Hongdae area which is near the Hongik University has 24-hour
eating places along with bars, clubs and nightlife of the western kind.
Another perspective is visible in Seorae Village which is the French
sector because of the concentration of French nationals and Frenchspeaking people in the area. Though intensely nationalistic you only
see Korean-made cars and mobile phones aroundthey are open to
foreign ideas and influences. Apropos a similar debate in India : the
Seoul National University is going to hire 19 professors for the coming
semester, amounting to some 32 per cent of the total hires for the year,
Yonsei University is hiring 15, which is a staggering 44 per cent. Some
universities are hiring even more.
Travel to Seoul is reasonably easy. The most direct is by an Asiana
flight that takes just seven hours flying over the Chinese heartland to
arrive over Shanghai from where it turns north to Seoul. As usual, it is
crammed with Indian travellers going onwards to North America.

Although the emphasis of this group is on Bengali culture, the

propagation of multi-sectoral efforts for synergising people of different
cultures and languages in an atmosphere of mutual trust, respect,
advantage and harmony is one of our declared objectives.

M, 1416

Our e-mail :
ohetuk.sabha@gmail.com
ohetuk.adda@gmail.com

Going Places

(The author is a journalist, editor and an expert

on security and foreign policy.)

76

Creative Spaces

Has Consumerism
Overtaken Creativity
in NewAge Kolkata?

a MONOJIT LAHIRI
interaction

Once upon a time maybe till the end-seventies, even early

eighties Kolkata and Creativity were the made-for-each-other blend!
More than any other city, it loved, admired, respected, revered,
fostered, nurtured, protected and celebrated its creative community as
no other. Kolkata may not have had Delhis power or Mumbais
glamour but the magic and mystique, clout and charisma of its creative
quotient invariably worked as a magnet to anyone, anywhere, blessed
by the spirit of creativity. Actor, Writer, Painter, Poet, Singer, Dancer,
Musician, Critic anyone intellectually or culturally-driven was
saluted and instantly assigned a special place. It was the era of the
muse NOT mammon; the age of deep feelings NOT pockets
In Kolkata 2009, does the creative person still enjoy the same kind
of recognition and respect or have the compulsions of globalisation
and consumerism forced a cultural shift, creating an environment
where the only brand of creativity embraced is the one that has the
stamp of commercial success?
Actor, musician, film-maker Anjan Dutta [Bong Connection, Bow
Barracks Forever, Chalo Lets Go] is first off the block. When
compared to cities like Mumbai, Delhi or Bangalore, generally
speaking, Kolkata is definitely more creativity-friendly. However, the
young generation increasingly appears to be attracted to people who
represent success rather than hard-core intellectual/cultural excellence.
Today creativity is seen as a product and needs to be promoted,
marketed and sold like an FMCG. Hence the young people are
completely focused on both their craft as well as the commercial
response they aspire to attract. Also, the earlier sense of guilt,
abstinence and being apologetic if one was wealthy, never daring to
flaunt it for fear of being perceived as cheap and vulgar, is clearly a
thing of the past. In this scheme of things, creativity per se, is definitely
under siege.

M, 1416

M, 1416

Creative Spaces

Kunal Basu, the Oxford-based academician [who leads an

exciting double life by teaching Management while continuing to
pursue writing as a calling with stuff like the brilliant The Japanese
Wife] says that for a long time he proudly boasted to his friends in
the West that Kolkata was one city that still had her heart in the right
place. He elaborates. During an adda with pals, if a millionaire friend
or a Fortune 500 CEO buddy dropped in, he would be greeted with
nothing more than a casual hi. However, if it was a Poet, Painter or
Musician there would be general and genuine excitement. However,
Basu confesses all is not lost. Kolkata is still less consumer-driven
than a Mumbai or a Delhi and if one went into the interiors, even today,
one can find a wonderfully sensitive and receptive constituency everwilling and ready to connect.
Writer, author and film-maker Joyobroto Chatterjee [Kekasha,
Lovesongs] chooses to look at it differently. The creative animal you
talk about is not dead. Its just that he is smart enough to have reinvented himself to rock in this new-age environment. Chatterjee
believes that unlike the turbulent sixties; when the raging creative fires
were ignited by a fiery political atmosphere, the present scene
defined by globalisation has been coloured by a re-configuration to
meet the demands of the day. Kolkata remains the ultimate
chameleon, changing and adapting with the times and in the process,
re-affirming its deathless creative spirit, everyday!
Distinguished and respected social scientist and commentator
Ashish Nandy refuses to believe that Kolkata has either abdicated or
disowned its umbilical connect with creativity. The Kolkata Book Fair
is the best proof. Until couple of years ago when it played in the
Maidan it attracted an audience [over 3 lacs everyday] that was a
hundred times more than the ones at either Frankfurt or Paris! I have
seen over a hundred fans follow Tasleema Nasreen because she was
perceived as a literary star. Would that happen in a Delhi or Mumbai?
What has happened is that other professions have emerged and there
is a pressure to re-prioritize the status factor. However, it does not take
away the conscious (or latent) admiration that continues to reside in
the Bhadraloks mindspace.
Up next is Bengals iconic film maker Aparna Sen. A sad and
resigned smile plays around the talented film-maker s [36

77

Has Consumerism Overtaken Creativity

78

Creative Spaces

Has Consumerism Overtaken Creativity

Chowringhee Lane, Mr. & Mrs. Iyer, 15 Park Avenue and the soonto-be released The Japanese Wife] mouth. Lets face it. We live in a
totally media-driven era. Having worked closely with both a
Publication house and a TV channel, I can tell you that media is in
constant need of fodder to survive and therefore does something which
would have been considered both shocking and vulgar in an earlier
era manufacture its own band of celebrities! The result is nonentities and talented people are often thrown together in the same space
sending out highly confusing signals but who cares? The respect
for an artists endeavour is not the reason for his/her being a celebrity.
The ability to successfully fill TV space or splash out in the colour
supplement of a popular mainline publication is. This has led to a
frightening celebration of mediocrity. Sen however concedes that
there is a positive flip side. Earlier, the Creative person, while being
hugely admired and respected was hardly paid a pittance for his work
and had to struggle to make two ends meet. Today thanks to the
twinforces of media and consumerism he is comfortable.
Respected Editor, Publisher, Film & Theatre Critic Samik
Bandopadhaya provides his very own, evolved take. The media
for its own vested interest continues to create, project and glamourise
a particular consitutency, which, it believes, are the people who matter.
They are the stars; they are the celebrities. But while there will always
be the tabloid-hooked, sensation-seeking crowd, there continues to be
an entire and vast minority who disagree. Incidentally, these people
are not all Kolkata-based but spread across West Bengal, in small
towns, schools, colleges and universities. At the Kolkata Book Fair
and World Book Day, the sheer number of Little Magazines that hire
stalls and sell their stuff what does that denote? Every single day of
the year in Kolkata, there is a well-attended cultural event in terms of
a performance, screening, talk, panel-discussion, whatever .. what does
it signify? Hence, it is not the popular perception, but only the
perception aggressively projected by the media that is being consumed
by a section of the people, that we are talking about.
Media & PR Consultant Rita Bhimani vehemently asserts that
the creative spirit is scorching the public space of the city and lighting
up the marquee as never before. Lets put things in perspective. Page
3 has a life of its own and the glamour quotient that comes with that

M, 1416

M, 1416

Creative Spaces

territory has nothing to do with the killing of creativity. The creative

fabric of the city remains very strong and is brilliantly reflected in
art, music, cinema, theatre, literature or just good old adda. There are
new Theatre Groups and Bands emerging each day. Books continue
to enjoy a massive market. Agreed, authors are sometimes marketed
by publishing houses through book reading promos and glittering
launches in Crossword and Oxford but I dont see that as a negative.
Its a sign of the times, as is Supper Theatre targeting a very special
clientele. Different strokes for different folks, I guess!
Ratnottama Sengupta, unfortunately, doesnt share Ms.
Bhimanis high. The respected art curator and media critic believes
social transformation (post liberalization) has placed visibility
center-stage. Body seems to have become more important than the
mind. She argues that in the Kolkata of the sixties, seventies, even
eighties, accomplishment, per se, was enough to earn respect and
admiration. If you wrote a good poem or painted a fine picture or
sang well, you were immediately held in high esteem within your
circle. Today, unless your poems are published in celeb anthology,
painting splashed in a well-known gallery, song captured in a Reality
Show or a well-marketed CD of an established music company, you
are mud! In short, the action has moved from private space to public
domain echoing the terrifying sentiments brilliantly reflected in the
Mumbai showbiz phrase Jo dikhta hai, woh bikta hai; jo bikta hai,
woh dikhta hai!
The revered grand old man of Creative Writing for generations
of students in Kolkata, Professor P. Lall, elegantly blows away all
arguments, providing his own scholastic viewpoint. Malls, pubs,
flyovers, Infosys, Wipro are indeed facts we confront every day but
the bigger reality is something which most Bengalis seem to forget,
ignore, overlook or remain sadly unaware of Kolkata is the only
place on earth which enjoys a curious mythic, cultural, social,
psychological connect with Mother Goddess! No other place or people
except the Bengali has that. Durga Puja is the definitive celebration
of the mother-goddess cult and the values that emanate, hence, are
feminine-driven. Both Tagore and Rays representations of women
were special and strong, remember? The elevating qualities that emerge
from this culture are sensitivity, gentleness, family bonding, callings,

79

Has Consumerism Overtaken Creativity

80

Creative Spaces

Has Consumerism Overtaken Creativity

pursuits and vocations that are artistically, culturally and intellectually

rich. He cites the example of his own life, sixty years of which he
has spent in Kolkata pursuing and teaching literature, presiding over
the celebrated Writers Workshop and working on the Mahabharata.
Would this be possible in any other city? I doubt it. Book-binders
Hindus and Muslims continue to work for me at rates that are
unbelievable. Why? During my TV recordings of Mahabharata, lightboys appear mesmerized and sometimes miss a critical cue. Why? The
spirit of artistic, cultural and intellectual enquiry is a part of the citys
DNA something that is not there anywhere.
Film-maker Gautam Ghose (Paar, Antarjali Jatra, Abar Aranye,
Kaalbela) is pragmatic. It really has to do with the new economic
order that has come to occupy our life and times in the last decade
and a half. Consumerism is its public face. This has totally de-valued
and rendered irrelevant anything that cannot be sold or marketed. My
friends father, a humble schoolteacher, who knew seven languages
[driven by the spirit of wanting to read literature in the original script
and not through translation] today would be considered a quaint
weirdo! In this day and age, money and connections brings glamour
and respectability which media [read: Page 3] puts on a trapeze and
swings to another stratosphere! Ghose agrees with Ratnottama that
visibility has taken on alarming dimensions and that not all creative
people are comfortable with it. It is an acknowledged fact the world
over that many really brilliant creative minds shy away from publicity
and the public eye, preferring to function in the shadows. Problem is
that with a dumbed-down media and sensationalist audience/viewer
base, talent is often sacrificed at the altar of mediocrity. Market-forces
be it controlling the editorial content or aggressively championing
the cause of selling seems to be the dominant force in this fast-paced,
competitive times.
Bengals celebrity film-maker Rituparno Ghosh winds up the
debate in characteristic fashion. I think everyone will agree that art
and culture has, traditionally, existed and thrived on patronage. Once
it was royalty. Today in whatever form [editorial, corporate house]
its the Sponsors. There was a definite spirit of altruism that drove
the earlier generation. They were not necessarily painters, poets,
dancers or musicians but they genuinely wanted to further the cause

M, 1416

of creativity and arts, in their own way. That has changed. Ghosh
believes technology is the biggest cause. Today, people with zero
sense or knowledge of design believe they are perfectly capable of
producing a poster. All they need to do is go to Photoshop, scan a
few fonts and pictures, play around with colours and hey, the poster
is ready! Earlier, explains the maker of Chokher Bali and Khela,
personalised skills were respected. Today, thanks to software, it is in
the public space and within easy access of one and all. He also points
to consumerism as a major factor in this tilting of the scene. When
commodities are transformed and glamourised to brands, suddenly a
status factor comes into play. I dont want any biscuit I want
Britannia. I dont want any shoe it has to be Nike or Reebok. I dont
want to eat at any old place it has to be Sonar Bangla, Taj Bengal
or Oberoi By the same token [whether I understand its nuances or
not] I must have a Bikash Bhattacharjee, Hussain, Souza, Raza or
Anjali Menon painting on my wall. It is not only important to look
and admire a Jamini Roy, but to possess it. Unadulterated appreciation
of beauty is considered old-fashioned. The Sponsors and Galleries keep
saying that this is their way of popularising art, but the point is to
whom? He also attributes it to the craze of instant-stardom that
envelops todays young generation. The earlier idea of the gurushishya parampara, spending hours and years learning and polishing
your craft and skills before even daring to perform before the public
is a joke. All you need to be a star is a good physique, cut-away vest
and a tattoo! I get a zillion CDs every week from kids wanting to
hit the Reality Shows or movies. Earlier, the fact that you were trained
at Santiniketan or Dakshini was enough today it is the
disproportionate stardom, assigned to a mediocre talent that has
trivialised creativity
Whats your response, valued reader?

(Monojit Lahiri is a Media & Communication practitioner

for more than three decades. Monojit lives in Alaknanda, New Delhi)

81

Creative Spaces

Has Consumerism Overtaken Creativity

M, 1416

82

Yesterday
A crisp shirt and a natty blue tie
There are no rules I care to defy
I feel I am living my life in grey
Every now and then ....
The garage practices and the rock band
The words of angst and the fiery songs
Have blurred into half forgotten facts
And half remembered fiction.
Yet the music haunts me,
Every now and then ...
In a crowded room faking a smile
I sometimes pause for a while
And think of you.
And as my heart calls out your name
I yearn for all that I cannot reclaim
Every now and then ...
Kritika Kirty
Dwarka, New Delhi

M, 1416

83

Gautam Das
Greater Kailash I
New Delhi

Welcome to Pakistan!

M, 1416

My wife was not in town. I was home alone, and leaving alone.
For Pakistan. My wife, who was then living in Bombay, was not
amused. Leaving for Pakistan in the first week of December 2008,
soon after the 26 th November terrorist attack on Bombay was
worrisome. I was living in Delhi, which further complicated matters.
I wont be able to look after Rani [our dog, living with me in Delhi]
in case you get thrown into jail, and I wont be able to run around
and try to get you released either, she warned on the telephone. I
assured her I would do my utmost to avoid giving offense of any kind
and landing myself in a Pakistani jail.
Buying gifts for people included bottles of after-shave lotion (what
does one buy for men who by and large have everything they need?)
The security staff would have none of it. You cannot take liquids more
than 100 ml on a flight. But these are sealed bottles of after-shave
lotion in their original packings; you can open them and check if you
want, I said. A grudging All right; if PIA (Pakistan International
Airlines) allows it: but we will have to record them, and then hand
them over to PIA. and I was on my way.
Entering the PIA Boeing 737-300 all passengers were being
received at the entrance by two young Pakistani air-hostesses wearing

Going Places

(The author, a retired army officer, had made a social visit to

Pakistan shortly after 26/11. Here he describes his departure for and
arrival at Lahore.)

84

Going Places

Welcome to Pakistan!

shiny creamy-fawn silky-type salwar-kameez suits and broad smiles.

They, or maybe one of them, actually looked me in the eye with her
Salaam aleikum. Hmm; still a backward country, I thought,
deciding to draw inferences from the very first impression; they
havent yet found out about the plastic stick-on-peel-off smiles and
are actually wasting time and energy looking passengers in the eye.
Soon the air-hostesses were dishing out smallish printed forms for
passengers to fill up before landing at Lahore. The disembarkation
forms, I guessed. Most passengers in our Row No 28 got one. I didnt.
I caught the next air-hostess that was passing by. Excuse, me, I said
in English, following it with Hindustani, Aapne mujhe woh form
nahin diya. Smile. Yeh aapke lye nahin hai, she said, smile still
switched on. Yeh sirf Indians aur foreigners ke liye hai, she
concluded, with a slight air of triumph, like a primary school teacher
who has just explained a new basic concept to a slow child. Aah, now
I understood. I switched on my own smile, Koi baat nahin; tab bhi
mujhe aap ek form de hi dijiye. Touch. Momentary confusion.
Embarrassed little laugh, very fetchingly girlish. I got my form.
Welcome to Pakistan: from PIA, I thought; this is going to be an
interesting trip.
And no; my fawn cord jeans and beat-up travel coat werent
specifically Paki-looking, and many Indians sported my somewhat
prominent nose. Inference No. 2. Its hard to tell Indians and Pakistanis
apart, even for PIA air-hostesses.
It was something Id always wanted to do, visit Pakistan. And here
I was visiting Pakistan, or at least one small part of it. In this case,
Islamabad, the capital. But there is no Delhi-Islamabad direct flight,
and so I was to be picked up at Lahore and driven to Islamabad that
very evening. Or, in case it appeared that there was going to be thick
fog between Lahore and Islamabad that night, there would be a night
halt in somebodys house in Lahore, and an early start the next
morning.
Part of the reason was the fascination for a country so much like
ours, geographically part of our own sub-continent, and places so very
much a part of our own history: Lahore, Peshawar, the Khyber Pass;
places wed been hearing about since childhood, probably more so
because my father was in the Army, and wed lived in places like

M, 1416

M, 1416

Going Places

Ferozepur, Pathankot, and Srinagar. Another part of course was the

fascination of forbidden fruit: that of it not being possible to go there.
Id been in the Army since 1968, and there was no way the Pakistan
Government would have given me a tourist visa, and nor would our
Army allow me to go, even if it was theoretically possible.
And then suddenly it seemed to become possible, out of the blue.
Id been out of the Army since end-1991 after taking voluntary
premature retirement. Life had been a roller-coaster ride thereafter,
in the civil commercial world, with income the major concern and
bringing up and educating our two children a very serious
consideration. Pakistan, though naturally present in my mind, went
on to the back burner. In May 2008, at the instance of an old Army
acquaintance, I attended a Track-2 diplomacy event in Bombay; retired
Indian military officers of the India-Pakistan Soldiers Initiative for
Peace (IPSI) hosting a group of visiting retired Pakistani military
officers who were also members of IPSI. Over a red wine-and-fish
dinner at Mahesh Lunch Home in Juhu, Brig. Zahid Zaman (Retd.),
like me an infantry officer, invited me to come for his sons marriage
in December. I mentioned the visa problem, which he was well aware
of, and he said hed fix that. Just come, he said.
Invitations and hospitality are serious formalities for Pathans, I
knew, and yet I was a little hesitant. E-mail contact later in the year
had him renewing the invitation, now with dates. Okay; I thought, so
he really means it. I explained to him, on e-mail and telephone, that
I had a small condition, if he didnt mind. I have a bit of family in
Islamabad, a cousin whose parents had remained behind at my
grandparents house, our old joint-family home, when East Bengal
became East Pakistan. She had eventually married into the Pakistan
Civil Service, my jamaibabu having been the Deputy Commissioner
of the District. Jamaibabu was a Delhi-ite Muslim, and a pre-Partition
Stephenian. His family had been caught stranded in Karachi, where
theyd gone to see his sister off to Oxford, when riots broke out in
Delhi. They couldnt come back then, and became Pakistanis. We had
met a number of times, on their various visits to India, in Delhi or in
Kolkata, and they had often invited me to visit them. This was
impossible while I was in the Army, but suddenly seemed possible
now. I told Brig Zahid, who lives in Rawalpindi, that I would love to

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Welcome to Pakistan!

attend his sons marriage, provided he did not mind my staying with
my didi in nearby Islamabad. It was a done deal; the visa materialized
easily, thanks to a phone call from someone in Islamabad to the
Pakistani High Commissioner in Delhi. I declared my past military
service, as the visa application form demanded, and duly received a
visa, naming the places of my visit, ie, Lahore, Islamabad, and
Rawalpindi, boldly rubber-stamped Not Valid for Cantt. Area.
And then along came the Bombay jihadi terrorist attack on 26th
November. Slowly-mounting tension as the evidence began to point
towards Pakistan as the place of origin of the attackers. Should I go
or not? An e-mail to Brig. Zahid about the conditions there and any
possible problems for Indian travellers elicited the brief reply that
everything was all right, and that things on the ground were not as it
might seem from the media coverage. Everyone said Dont go; its
too dangerous. Phone call to Brig Zahid: he was understanding but
sounded as if he was being let down by unnecessary cowardice on
my part. A hint that the so-called possible danger was unreal, and
that not taking his recommendation to go would be unsoldierly on
my part. I decided I had to go. The die was cast. And now here I was
in a PIA plane, about to land at Lahore, the cultural capital of the
Punjab, the fabled city now in Pakistan, with which it seemed about
half of Delhis louder citizenry claimed affinity.
Lahores international airport, much like any other in terms of
layout; distinctly smaller than Delhis, felt like one in of our mid-size
cities in terms of size. I toddled along to join the queue at the
Immigration counter for arriving foreigners, drinking in my
surroundings, looking unconsciously for cultural differences, I
suppose. Not too long a queue at the counter, since it was now obvious
that most of the passengers had been returning Pakistanis, who were
quickly surrounding the baggage carousel slightly further beyond.
There were two Immigration counters, each manned by, if that is the
right word, a smartly-turned-out young lady Immigration Officer in a
mazri [blue-gray material, also known as militia] police-type salwarkameez uniform, with the black uniform dupatta covering her head,
the way Punjabi ladies of our mothers generation wore the dupatta
outside the home. On her shoulder straps she wore the two stars of
an Inspector of Police. I found myself last at the operating Immigration

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Going Places

counter, behind two small family groups. The first was of a smart
young lady with two small children and an intriguing mixture of
passports: Indian (hers, or so it seemed), Pakistani (her childrens) and
Nepali (the servants). English-and-Hindustani instructions to the
restless kids of the No beta; dont do that. Yahan waise nahin kartekind. Very much the smarter set-type from Delhi or Chandigarh. Indian
wife of Pakistani diplomat? The kids were restless because there
seemed to be some sort of a hold-up at the counter. I had taken it to
be the multiplicity of nationalities confusing either the officer or the
computer. But no; it seemed that after the last person I saw leaving
the counter, the computer had hung. We waited. The kids grew more
restless.
A man in PIA uniform approached the queue, now just a knot of
people in front of the counter. Which of you is Gautam Das? I owned
up. The man looked greatly relieved. Your package is at the PIA office
near the exit. We were worried that you may have left without it.
The after-shave lotion bomb threat having passed when he saw me,
he informed me that he would give it to me as I came past.
I exchanged pleasantries in Hindustani with the uniformed young
lady at our counter, the uniform and smart turn-out being a pleasant
change from the shabbily and heterogeneously dressed functionaries
at the Immigration counters at Delhis Indira Gandhi International. The
computer came back to life, and the increasingly-harassed young
mother, during whose processing the computer had hung, finally left.
The second group was a twosome of a middle-aged evidently Bengali
mullah with a Bangladeshi passport accompanied by a boy in his teens,
the ward also with a Bangladeshi passport. A huge communication
problem was delaying progress even though now the computer was
willing. The Immigration Officer could not understand his rudimentary
English, delivered in a broad Bangaal accent, and he could not follow
her chaste Urdu-Hindustani. The mullah, who was dressed in what is
now seemingly de riguer for the Bongo-mullah fraternity (Ive seen
this in my last two trips to Bangladesh in the period 2000-2005; it
wasnt there in December 1971-January 1972 when I was there prior
to these last trips) in a sort of Bongo-Arabic-Islamic style which has
loud colours, predominantly bottle-green and purple, in shiny materials
with a waistcoat and semi-Pathanic kulla-and-puggree headgear, was

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now getting increasingly flustered. The lady officer was beginning to

lose her cool. I began to pay attention to whatever the problem might
have been. It seems he did not, or could not, fill up all details in the
requisite form, which wanted to know which Foreigners' Registration
Office or some such similar police institution, would be the nearest
to his place of stay in Pakistan. This was an obscure rural mosque in
a district of the Punjab some distance away from Lahore, in some other
district. I offered to help, realizing my being suitably trilingual might
speed up matters. He was so flustered he didnt even realize I was
speaking to him in Bengali. The boy, did. He tugged at the mullahs
kurta-sleeve to get his attention to this perhaps helpful fact, but was
shrugged off. A policeman was called in. Fortunately he had heard of
the tehsil in which the village was, whose mosque was their
destination, and came up with the solution: just write Police Station
- - - (name of tehsil headquarters town). Finally, my turn at the
counter. The young lady seemed quite relieved that I was the last, and
that my form, passport, visa and associated document produced no
surprises. We both smiled relieved smiles. It looked as if she might
have said Welcome to Pakistan if she hadnt just been through a
hassly experience.
Onwards towards the exit. The PIA official had become even more
helpful and had actually collected my two baggage items from the
carousel, having found the matching numbers from his computer
documentation, I suppose. He handed me my packet of after-shave
lotions, and I was out the door. A worried-looking didi, jamaibabu and
his nephew Salman, whom Id met before on one of their visits to
India, awaited me. Eito Gautam. We thought you may not have come
after all. I assured them that I would definitely have informed them
on the phone if I were cancelling my trip. Welcome to Pakistan, they
said, Well drive home tonight to Islamabad on the motorway.
And there I was in Pakistan, on my way to Islamabad, the city of
bureaucrats, boulevards, and bores, as our former High Commissioner
there, Mr. G. Parthasarthy, described it.
(Gautam Das has authored several books
on military history and strategy.)

Going Places

Welcome to Pakistan!

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