When we met for the first time, both of us had lived most of part of our lives in different times and a world apart. She was in her late 40s and I was in my mid 20s. She was a politician and quite used to living in the glare of media eye. I was an activist and was, frankly, quite wary of politicians’ expedient approach to most problems of the world. She was calm, having time-tested acumen and penchant to find common grounds and readiness to give an inch in order to gain few inches in the longer run. I was restless, an unapologetic idealist, an ambitious young woman who wanted to change the world through adherence to her ideals.
Those ideals included socialism and secularism. Both of which featured little in her political choices at that time. At least, that’s how it looked from Pakistan. In our memories, the Babri Masjid tragedy was still fresh. Both of us loved our respective countries, which had been at loggerheads for more than fifty years then. The dushman desh, so to say. But then, we met.
Apparently, nothing connected Sushma Swaraj and me. But when she saw me, it changed.
Sisterhood and Motherhood Connected Me and Sushma Swaraj
It was in Lahore in early days of 1999. She was there with a large multi-party delegation of Indian parliamentarians who had gathered there for the 1st Indo-Pak Parliamentarians conference hosted by Pakistani newspaper, The News. Imtiaz Alam, a senior colleague and friend who as Editor Current Affairs was in-charge of the show. Within hours of giving birth to my daughter, Rwail Sirmed, I had to give leave of absence to Sirmed, my husband. He was Assistant Editor, The News and was helping Imtiaz sahib with the conference arrangements.
Tired of waiting for him at home, I picked up my just-born Rwail and landed at the conference venue. Sushant, a senior Indian journalist and my dearest friend, introduced me to Sushma ji as ‘Sirmed ki wife’. We were barely exchanging pleasantries when she picked up Rwail from the pram, took her in her lap, grabbed a chair and started playing with her. While cuddling her lovingly, she said, “ye tau khargosh hay. Mera chhota sa khargosh” and kissed her with such motherly affection that media persons around us mistook Rwail for her daughter. “aap mujhay deedi bula sakti ho”, she had said. There…. That connected us. Sisterhood, and motherhood!
That was the beginning of an ineffable relationship. Rapidly passing years could only make it irreversible.
‘Lahore’s Daughter’ Became a Celebrity in Pakistan
Back in 1999, people of both countries were connected through not only films and TV drama serials, but also private news channels of India. This phenomenon was unheard of in Pakistan because of the fact that only state-owned TV channel was allowed to broadcast news or current affairs programs.
Thanks to these vibrant Indian news channels, firebrand politicians—that Sushma deedi was—became household names in at least urban areas where Indian channels could be seen. When Sirmed took her to Anarkali Bazar for ‘qulfa falooda’ an irresistible Lahori dessert, she relished it. When he asked for check, the shopkeeper refused to take money. “Lahore di dhi aai aye ustad ji” (Lahore’s daughter has come sir), Lahories don’t take money from daughters. Her parents hailed from Dharampura, Lahore and had good terms with Sir Sikander Hayat’s family, former Prime Minister of Punjab.
She became instant attraction for people in Liberty Market. She was not very eager to shop for herself, but wanted to find kurtis for her daughter. In Pakistan, kurtis had not made their way yet. That made her really anxious. She wanted to quickly sift through stalls (she wouldn’t buy expensive stuff) on sidewalks, but people would not let her move an inch. There were women and young girls who wanted to hug her. Families would run to find a camera (back then, the age of selfies had not arrived yet) to get a picture with her. “Lo aaj main bhi paida ho gai” she said with her signature smile, in response to the adage that once is not born if one hasn’t visited Lahore.
Real Reason Why the Peace Delegation Overstayed By a Day in Pakistan
During the same visit, there came a time when the organizers thought their effort had been sabotaged. Just two hours before the flight to Delhi on which Indian parliamentarians were flying back home, they found out that someone had played a cruel joke by cancelling their seats. All of the seats. One senior MP from Congress party (the one who has been a peace activist since long) became furious. He started speaking out really loudly and asked Sushma deedi to call Delhi and arrange a special flight instead of waiting for ‘these Pakistanis’. It was just days before Atal Bihari Vajpayee sahib’s Bus yatra.
Sushma deedi understood the importance of keeping the temperature down. She roared this leader’s name at the top of her voice, and the entire room went silent. “What message do you want to send back home?”. She strongly admonished him for being the irritant in an unprecedented peace effort, and asked all parliamentarians to tell the media that the delegation had extended the trip for one more day. “We have come here on a regular flight, we’ll go back the same way”, she said decisively. And that’s what eventually happened. This is probably the first time the real reason for that ‘extending the trip’ is out!
We Disagreed on Kashmir
Not that we never disagreed politically. Mostly our point of difference was Kashmir. My position clashed the state positions of both India and Pakistan. She was a very committed believer of ‘atoot ang’. “Come to India and I will take you to Srinagar. See for yourself” was her usual retort to Sirmed’s “why are lakhs of troops stationed in Kashmir if there’s no problem there?” Kashmir, she said, was like a rope full of knots. “We must keep untangling these knots one by one starting from the easier ones.”
We never allowed these political differences come in the way of our relations – at very basic human level. She sent her condolence message when over a hundred children were brutally massacred by terrorists in Army Public School Peshawar. I sent her mine whenever terrorist attacks happened in India. That was not a ritual. That was heartfelt sentiment of two mothers exchanging their concern for the future of our kids, and resolve to play our part to change the things ailing this world that belongs to our children.
In 2015, when I was invited to an event in Mumbai university on the eve of International Women’s Day, I had ended my speech with: “I’m sure we can work together to make our beautiful subcontinent a place where you could say ‘Jay Hind’ and I could say ‘Pakistan Zindabad’ and we could still breath same air, share a smile and carry on loving our respective countries but not killing each other”. Someone tweeted it, which was seen by Sushma deedi. She sent me the message quoting that tweet: “I wish!”
Why Should Almighty Kindle Affection for People Living in the Dushman Desh!
Our last communication was about Rwail’s college admission in USA.
“Your khargosh is grown up now Sushma deedi.”
“Time flies”, her response.
Once in 2017, I complained to her about my repeatedly rejected visas to travel to India. “Dheeraj, It will happen soon” was her reply when I asked her “will there be a time when we meet ever again?” Now that she has gone, Sirmed and I are sitting here in our living room, condoling each other. We can’t participate in her final journey. It is next to impossible to get that damn visa. Times like these make me really wonder, why should Almighty kindle affection in us for people living in the dushman desh?
Adieu, daughter of Lahore, adieu!
(Marvi Sirmed is a Pakistani journalist and activist. She tweets @marvisirmed.This is a personal blog and the views expressed above are the author’s own.The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)
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