Tales Of Two Cities is the fourth volume in the series Cross-Border Talks, in which eminent Indians and Pakistanis discuss issues that divide them. The volumes are published simultaneously in both countries to encourage discussion at the same time. The first three volumes dealt with high politics (the role of democracy and nationalism in shaping the history of two countries since 1947 and Indo-Pak diplomacy since the Shimla Agreement).
The volume under review offers the personal perspectives of two respected journalists on the events of 1947 and their profound consequences for the subcontinent. Ever since Urvashi Butalia's The Other Side of Silence shifted the historiographical focus of Partition studies to the narratives and experiences of ordinary people, there has been an outpouring of books on the fateful events of 1947 and their aftermath seen 'from the bottom up', evidence of the belief in both countries that the wounds of the past can only be healed by fostering personal contact, increased communication and travel, and cultural exchange.
The two cities here are Delhi and Karachi. Much like Paris and London in Dickens's novel about revolutionary France, the capital cities of the two new nations also held out great hopes for the future, but the new beginnings were accompanied by brutality, upheaval, violence, and loss on a colossal scale.
Kuldip Nayar, one of India's most eminent journalists, was 24 years old in 1947, a law graduate and politically active. His family in Sialkot, Punjab, where his father practised medicine, had initially decided to remain in Pakistan after independence, mainly on the assurances given to minorities by Jinnah. But on 14 August, the Hindus were suddenly overcome by fear and fled, abandoning half-eaten meals and leaving almost everything they owned. In his essay 'Sialkot To Delhi', Nayar describes the extraordinary scenes in Punjab, when harmony and trust between neighbours was replaced by hatred and suspicion. But the migrants on their perilous journey across the Punjab plains still exhibited sympathy, not fear; refugees on both sides recognised 'a spontaneous kinship, of hurt, loss and helplessness'.
As Nayar recounts the transformation of Delhi into a Punjabi city, Asif Noorani, a noted Pakistani journalist and film critic, in his essay 'Bombay To Karachi' describes how this Sindhi city became an outpost of UP culture, where Mohajirs from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar made Urdu the lingua franca, displacing Sindhi and other languages.
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Noorani was only five years old in 1947 but he still recalls his childhood in Bombay. The family remained in Bombay for another three years before his father decided to move to Pakistan in search of work. They left in 1950 by steamer for Karachi, but the family first spent a few years in Lahore, eventually settling in Karachi. The city burgeoned as new residential areas sprung up to accommodate the refugees.
As believers in cooperation, not confrontation, both men have actively maintained links with friends and relatives across the border. For Nayar, the break from the past was particularly painful. A brief visit to Sialkot in 1972 proved to be a desolate experience, a painful reminder that his feelings for his birthplace had changed forever. On the other hand, for Noorani, who continued to visit Bombay to see relatives, watch Hindi films (he edited a film magazine), and travel to other parts of India, the links with the past remained unbroken. On the love–hate relationship between India and Pakistan, Noorani notes wryly that in the 1960s and 1970s, and even later, whenever he advocated friendship between the two countries he was dubbed an Indian agent.
Nayar fears that succeeding generations of Indians and Pakistanis are not likely to cherish a common allegiance to the shared culture of undivided India, especially knowledge of Urdu among Punjabis. But Noorani is more optimistic that cultural continuities, symbolized in a love of Hindi films, will transcend political divisions. His argument that language is a great bond, perhaps even greater than religion, find support in the enduring popularity of Bollywood films across South Asia and elsewhere, with their star casts representing every community and speaking a popular form of Urdu that is more appealing than the highly evolved national languages.
In the decades since 1947, Karachi and Delhi have exploded into megacities, battling problems of overcrowding, crime, infrastructural collapse, poor governance, pollution and environmental degradation. In Karachi, the political dominance of Mohajirs is being weakened by migrants from other parts of Pakistan. Similarly, the post-partition Punjabi dominance of Delhi is being diluted as the city expands and people from other parts of the country flood in.
These personal narratives — with their evocative descriptions of a vanished world and lost ancestral homes — make for compelling reading. But the nostalgia is tempered with the recognition that the present, not the past, has a far greater claim on the attention of the living. Although they may look back fondly to Sialkot and Bombay as their birthplaces, both men now owe allegiance to their adopted cities. As Noorani concludes, "If I am asked to choose between Mumbai and Karachi my vote will go to Karachi. In fact, after more than 50 years as a resident, I have come to feel about Karachi in much the same way as Milton wrote about England — 'With all thy faults, I love thee still.'"
Malini Sood
Tales of Two Cities is published by Roli (2008, Pages: 295 Price: Rs 136)
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