Yoginder Sikand

Yoginder Sikand's travel account of his first trip to Pakistan is called, somewhat prosaically, "An Indian in Pakistan." But behind this seemingly mundane title is nearly a century of grief and upheaval.

Sikand, a freelance writer/journalist with an interest in interfaith relations, was set on his path as a young boy when he heard stories his grandmother told of how her family had to flee their village north of Lahore in social unrest and riots that inevitably occurred in the aftermath of The Partition -- that moment in history when the powers that be decided that Muslims and Hindus were "two nations" that required a border between them. That border, which placed the Punjab and the whole of the Indus river basin in Pakistan, left thousands of people on "the wrong side" -- Hindus in the new Islamic state, and Muslims in India -- despite the fact that their families had lived in those villages for generations. In the chaos that followed thousands of refugees fled their homes for the other side of the new border. Those who didn't flee found themselves suddenly second-class citizens, culturally at odds with the new order. Muslims on the India side of the border viewed with suspicion and contempt by the Hindus. Hindus on the Pakistan side regarded as infidels and enemies of Allah and the Islamic State.

Sikand's book is a kind of portrait of the legacy of that original devastating split. His own curiosity and desire to understand the rift began with a chance remark by his grandmother, that when her family fled their homes after the Partition, one part of the family stayed behind, converting to Islam to avoid persecution and be able to remain in their homes. The two sides of the family lost contact and had not spoken to each other in fifty years. Sikand, then school aged, tracks down a long-lost great aunt in Pakistan with the help of business man friend of his father, and the two -- young man and old woman -- become pen pals. It becomes one of the defining friendships of his life, which makes it all the more poignant when he describes how one day "Aunty Mohini" pays his family a surprise visit. He is overjoyed to see her waiting in a cab below his bedroom window. He rushes down to greet her, and then into the kitchen to tell his Nani her long-lost cousin is at the door.

His Nani won't even let her in. "She's become a Musalmani" she spits. "She isn't welcome in my house." Sikand is heartbroken as he turns back to Aunty Mohini, and she is clearly devastated as well. "If that's how she wants it, what can we do?" she tells him.

"What can we do?" seems to have become the driving force behind Sikand's life. He would go on to study social work but quickly became frustrated with the corrupt nature of welfare programs more interested in converting people or making them dependent on charity than helping them to achieve their own dignity. He moves on to become a journalist, covering human rights issues and especially interfaith topics. He makes periodic attempts to visit Pakistan, but is thwarted by circumstance or bureaucracy, so that it is not until his career is well established that he finally is able to secure a visa to visit the country for the purposes of writing a book. The official in the Pakistani embassy that approves the visit makes it very clear to Sikand what kind of book he should write. (He is destined to be disappointed.)

Sikand's travels up and down Pakistan are awash in accounts of the capriciousness of bureaucracy, the lurking fear of being deemed an enemy of the state, and the unquenchable good-heartedness of people. He is generally appalled by the crumbling or nonexistent infrastructure of the Islamic State -- bus rides are a misery, public restrooms better not mentioned at all -- and the abject poverty of much of the population (whom he points out would not fare better under a Hindu caste system). But he enjoys the cafes and the parks, visits what holy sites he can (his visa restricts his movements to a few approved places and he is not inclined to tempt fate by straying), and generally loves to talk to anyone who will talk to him. His most common observation is his feeling not of the strangeness of a foreign land, but of the familiarity of a well-known one. Pakistani culture, despite the implacable nature of Islamic law, is at its heart much like his own. In fact, Sikand is frequently mistaken for Pakistani himself, so much so that he takes to carrying around a book printed visibly in Hindustani, to make it clear to others he is a tourist. It works. People invariably come up to talk to him and ask if he is Indian. Just as invariably, they will then glance nervously around the cafe and suggest going somewhere else "more private" to talk. Many of Sikand's conversations take place strolling through parks, out of earshot of possible cultural policing.

Sikand stays with a female friend in Lahore during his visit, a woman named Sheila he describes as a "leftist activist" he first "met" in an online discussion group. Sheila is a remarkable character in her own right, inclined to proselytize on behalf of women's and workers rights, but also someone who goes above and beyond to help Sikand see her country -- even acting as witness in places where he has to deal with military or police authority. Her relative freedom is partly because she managed to become financially self sufficient, partly due to the fact that her family is old feudal royalty in the Punjab, and such even now family ties carry a hefty amount of automatic respect, regardless of religious principles. Sheila introduces Sikand to the progressives of Pakistan, but he also spends time with many other people in other cities, including one very conservative family that support the Taliban. Despite his fears that he may end up causing some offense that will end up getting him arrested, it turns out that the family -- especially the old imam -- is among the most thoughtful and intellectually challenging people he meets, unlike Shiela's casual slogan-spouting, Bollywood-obsessed leftist friends. It is the imam, also, who takes care to provide Sikand with vegetarian meals, unasked. Vegetarianism unheard of in Pakistan and for his entire trip Sikand has been living on a lot of salad.

All in all, Sikand's book is a portrait of a country that is hardly the homogeneic picture those of us in the west tend to get. Instead it is a confused and cobbled-together mix of Islamic principles and Two Nation ideology laid over cultural beliefs that have never really changed over hundreds of years. A humanist at his core, he sees both the relentless repression of Islamic rule but also the sort of universal kindness that people who regard hospitality as sacred will give to the strangers in their midst. And while the book is dominated by discussions of religion, he moves among many different kinds of beliefs and believers with a generally open and accepting attitude. Sikand is something of an expert at avoiding direct questions about his own faith, which is undefined, neither Hindu nor Muslim, but he draws out what people find meaningful in theirs. Most often among the cab drivers and the porters and the cafe owners and the market vendors, it is a variation on the Hadith of the prophet:

"He is not a believer whose stomach is full while his neighbor is hungry."… (mer)