Sadia Dehlvi

Contrary to popular belief India can learn a thing or two from Pakistan, writes Sadia Dehlvi

Musician Rakae, Noor Zehra, Arman and Ali Hamza

I don’t ever leave Delhi, without saying goodbye to Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. This time, after the dargah visit we went to the Hazrat Nizamuddin railway station, a few yards away from my flat. My son Arman Ali, cook Sabir and I, excitedly boarded the Golden Temple Express train for Amritsar. Pakistan seemed so near and yet so far. We arrived at 7AM in Amritsar, hopped on to one of those large rickshaws and went straight to the Golden temple. With the Wagah border opening at 10Am, we spent some time absorbing the beauty of the Golden temple, the foundation of which was laid by Mian Mir, a Qadri Sufi. It took less than an hour to reach the border.

The authorities informed me that on an average, just around a hundred people cross the border on foot.  Such a pity, as it is the easiest way to get to Lahore from Delhi. We and the other few people at the immigration were administered polio drops. You look at the lines separating India and Pakistan, the two gates and wonder about the hostilities. Born in Karachi of a Pakistani father, my musician son is a romantic and despises politics and all forms of nationalistic rhetoric and divisions. As we wheeled our bags across the two gates, Arman looked at the fleet of birds in the sky, ‘Lucky birds. They laugh at us as we go through these long immigration drills.’

LUMS with Mr. and Mrs Babar Ali

Sabir seemed dazed at the experience of crossing over to a foreign country, having used his passport for the first time.  We took another auto rickshaw to my friend’s house in Lahore. A Nawaz Sharif fan, the driver updated us on the development in Punjab, particularly the roads. As a fist impression, Sabir did not think Lahore looked much different from Delhi, except that there was less traffic on the roads and that the signboards were in Urdu.

I last travelled to Lahore as part of the media along with then Prime Minister Vajpayee, with the hope of better relations. Since then, Lahore has grown into a burgeoning metropolis, the flowerbeds along the canal giving it vibrant colours. My hosts Ahmad Haroon Khan, a designer and his wife Sofiya were thrilled at our arrival. Having stayed with me in Delhi for more than a decade, they had been waiting all these years to show me around.

In Daata ki Nagri, the first evening had to be at Daata’s Durbar. The premises were clean, the marble additions making the courtyard even more beautiful. Acknowledging Daata’s greatness, Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti of Ajmer had undergone a forty-day meditation retreat on these premises. Daata’s book Kashf ul Mahjub, “Unveiling of the Veils”, the first Persian treatise on Sufism remains a classic and a personal favourite.

At Baba Farid’s

My friends then took me to the food street, transporting me from the world of spirituality to the world of gastronomy. As we marveled at the artistic façade of the havelis, the breathtaking view of the Badshahi mosque and the Minar e Pakistan; the live band at the terrace restaurant sang Bollywood songs. I thought we could learn lessons from Lahore and create something similar in Delhi’s old city.

I introduced Arman to famed lawyer Raza Kazim, at whose house we spent hours listening to music. Raza’s house, a music museum and workshop of sorts has the most fabulous music archives. Arman’s dream to meet with his elegant daughter Noor Zehra and touch her feet came true. Noor Apa plays the Sur Sagar Veena and Arman believes that all Veena players are touched by God. This particular Veena has taken forty years for Raza to create, both father and daughter still working to perfect it. Arman later spent some time hanging out with Noor Apa’s musician boys, Ali Hamza and Ali Noor who are a rage with young Indians. Raza Kazim and Sabir had much to share, since they both come from near Bahraich in UP.

Friends at LUMS roped me into giving a talk on Sufism to the students. The red brick sleek, modern and green campus reminded me of London universities. I presented my documentary on Ajmer Sharif, pleased to see students demonstrate openness in understanding Islamic pluralistic traditions. The evening ended with Arman singing some verses of Baba Farid while strumming a guitar.

My Pakistan trip has been about meeting friends, relatives and visiting Sufi courtyards. I spent an enchanting evening at the dargah of Mian Mir, and thought of the Sufi princess Jehanara who built the mausoleum. I often visit her grave at the dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin. The experience of the ziyarat, ‘Bibiyan Pak Daman’, said to be the resting place of Hazrat Ali’s daughter Ruqayya and her lady companions still resonates.

I spent two days with Khala Zubaida, one of my mother’s sisters in Gulberg, catching up on family gossip. Khala relived her childhood days in Ballimaran in the Delhi’s old city and lamented that women like her did not know how and why they landed in Pakistan. The husbands making the decisions, they were never given a choice.

Khala Rabia in Delhi has not seen her two Pakistani sisters for more than thirty-five years

Ammi has two sisters in Pakistan and one in Delhi. Well into their late seventies and eighties, the four sisters have never been together since partition. Every few years, Ammi visits Pakistan, but the others just find visa drills impossible. Khala Rabia in Delhi has not seen her two Pakistani sisters for more than thirty-five years.

Khala Zubaida and I had a great time strolling in and around Gulberg markets in the evenings, relishing the shavarmas and fruit juices. Khala helped me shop for fancy footwear, fabrics and music. I bought mostly ready-made kurtas from Al Karam, Khadi and Generation showrooms. The quality of Pakistani cotton and styles is truly amazing.

At Bibyan Pak Daman

The haazri at Ajodhan, now called Pakpatan, will remain amongst the most joyous moments in my life. For years I have wept with longing to visit Baba Farid. As I stood in front of him on a late Thursday evening, tears of joy moistened my face. Amidst the cool night breeze, Arman and I spent the whole night at the dargah praying, meditating and listening to Punjabi Qawaalis.

We stayed till fajr prayers and returned to Lahore after the jummah prayers, feeling spiritually renewed by Babaji’s reassuring presence.

The quality of Pakistani cotton and styles is truly amazing

We took the impressive Daewoo Express service to Islamabad. The motorway is wonderful and India has nothing quite like it. Our highways are congested and the traffic is chaotic. Midway, the bus stopped at Bhaira, a place my ancestors came from centuries ago before they made Delhi their home. I respectfully touched the soil of Bhaira and thought of exploring it on some other trip. The family legend says that the entire community of Dilli Saudagaaan, to which I belong, embraced Islam at the hands of the Sufi Shams Tabrez of Multan. Someday, I hope to obtain a visa for Multan and visit his mazaar.

Sabir thought Islamabad looked like those foreign countries he sees on television

I was in Islamabad after twenty-three years and noticed much change. The capital city seemed larger with new sectors, mosques, malls, trees and parks. For the two days I was there, I went for evening walks in the Fatima Jinnah Park and loved it. Our hosts treated Arman, Sabir and me to the Monal dining experience, where the view is spectacular. Even though it was mid April, we were freezing on the hill, grateful for the heaters atop the sofas. It was the sole place I saw white-skinned foreigners during my entire trip. Sabir thought Islamabad looked like those foreign countries he sees on television.

Islamabad would not be complete without a visit to Bari Imam’s dargah. Since it was under construction and could only get to his deputy’s mausoleum. During my visits to Sufi spaces, I noticed the addition of huge new mosques in old dargah compounds, dwarfing the importance, simplicity and magnificence of the dargahs. At Bari Imam’s a detailed replica of the dome of the Prophet’s mosque at Medina is being made. It disturbed me to notice several similar replicas in Karachi and Lahore. I believe there should and is only one green dome in the universe.

Back in Lahore, I met friends including Madiha Gauhar, Nuscie Jamil and Ali Sethi. I missed my Sufi soul mate Raza Rumi for we had planned on doing so much together. However, I remain comforted by the fact that he is alive and well.

My friend Sumaira, director of the Lahore Museum gave me a personal guided tour. The coin collection there is awesome and so were the Buddha statues. The experience of seeing coins from the BC era, to those of the Mughal period and British era with running commentary from Naushaba the museum expert on coins, transported one through the corridors of history.

The statue of the fasting Buddha is amongst the most unusual and finest I have ever looked at. I silently prayed that they remain safe, never going the Bamiyan way. The miniature paintings on ivory of the British period are other treasures in this museum. Sumaira ordered haleem for lunch, and I was horrified to learn that Lahoris eat it with rotis. For us Dilliwalas, that is almost blasphemous!

At the museum parking, I noticed a car with, ‘Al Bakistan’ inscribed on the number plate. It was the first of the many I saw in the coming days. It saddened me to see such attempts to align culturally with Saudi Arabia. Urdu is the language of my beloved Delhi that got a burial for the reason that Pakistan adopted it as its official language. I hope the language of my forefathers survives with the Ps, Cheys, and other phonetic sounds of the subcontinent’s composite culture!

Sabir, Arman and i took the Business train from Lahore to Karachi. The train is swanky and looked better than any Indian train. Luckily, there were no other passengers and we had the compartment to ourselves. Otherwise, the six to a compartment would have been rather squashed. The train arrived three hours late, but my relatives who came to pick me up said that it was good timing for Pakistani trains. We got further delayed at the station because the lock of the luggage bogey had to be broken, since the key had been left behind in Lahore.

I spent most of the time visiting Badi Khala and dozens of relatives. I stayed away from the larger circle of friends, for it meant more time, more parties and more meat, which I did not even wish to look at any more! Even tea comes in with kebabs and chicken samosas. With a lack of cultural events, I thought there is too much emphasis on food. Restaurants like Kolachi, Munal and Barbeque Tonight cater to thousands at a time. Eateries with such large seating capacities do not exist in India.

I found young nephews had grown beards, their wives and sisters now in hijab. Some frowned upon Arman’s choice to be a musician. Yet, they knew more about Katrina Kaif, Kareena Kapoor and Shahrukh Khan than me. And of course, my ‘Khudahafiz’, always returned with the now politically correct, ‘Allah Hafiz’.

My Pir, Shah Muhammad Farooq Rahmani’s mazaar sharif is in Gurumandir. I went there daily, despite Mahinder, my driver in Karachi constantly reminding me that the area was not safe. Mahinder, the sole Hindu I met this time was more thorough with the five kalimas than me. This trip I discovered the dargah of Misri Shah in Defence, said to be the brother of Abdullah Shah Ghazi of Clifton.

Dr. Mehdi Kazim hosted a small dinner for our common friends including Bahri Mian and Humaira Jamil. Sabir cooked Dilli style Aloo gosht and Biryani for us. Sabir then spent the next few days at my friend Mehreen Ilahi’s home who took him to the beach and other Karachi must-sees. When asked what he liked most in Pakistan, Sabir says, ‘log bahut badiya hain. Bas yeh dhamaka aur bandook ka jo main suna hoon, yeh theek nahin’.

Readying to have my mobile snatched, I tucked away the smart phone and fed Karachi numbers in a basic cheap model. At every traffic light, mugging paranoia gripped me. Fearful of carrying cash around, I didn’t shop in Karachi. The stories of guns to the head and the bomb explosion in Gizri that Sabir just missed while shopping nearby unnerved him and me. Used to visiting Karachi, Arman remained unaffected and stayed on with his two brothers.

I returned to Lahore earlier than planned, since it offered a feeling of security. Once again, Sabir and I took the overnight Business. We shared the compartment with a young woman accountant and a student from Hyderabad, Sindh, with whom we exchanged India-Pakistan stories. Both co-passengers were convinced that India used witchcraft as a means to win cricket matches! The lady from Punjab was returning from a visit to her Pathan fiancé, who did not share her Sufi beliefs. A mobile shop owner, he escorted her to Abdullah Shah Ghazi’s mazaar, but refrained from going into the dargah. She pined for Ajmer Sharif, convinced that Gharib Nawaz would bring her husband around to the Sufi way.

In the morning, we learnt of missing the blast on the railway tracks that detonated on another train’s engine. Having raised Arman since he was a young child, Sabir called him up and insisted that he fly back to Lahore.

Dr. Mehdi arrived for a day in Lahore before I left for Delhi. We went to Daata Sahab with Pir Zahir, from Baba Farid’s family.  It was a special occasion as Pir Zahir was carrying the huge blessed chadar from Pakpatan that goes to Ajmer Sharif each year for the Urs of Khwaja Gharib Nawaz. As customary, it is first taken to Daata Sahab.

Unfortunately, Pakistani visas for Ajmer had been cancelled so Pir Zahir requested that we carry the chadar to Ajmer Sharif. I already had train bookings from Delhi for Khwaja’s Urs. I saw this blessing as a gift from Baba Farid and carried the suitcase containing the chadar across the border. Taking the afternoon Shatabdi train from Amritsar to Delhi, the three of us reached home around midnight. At six in the morning, I left for Ajmer and on reaching handed over the chadar to the dargah authorities. After enjoying love, respect, generosity and legendary Pakistani hospitality, there could be no better farewell from Pakistan.