Am I happy or Am I happy!
The Indo-Pakistan agreement on the gradual withdrawal of their troops to peacetime positions is the best thing that has happened so far this year. Some newspapers in Pakistan were determined to take the two countries to war merely to gain circulation and in so doing, had grossly misused the freedom of expression to national detriment.
A few prophets of doom had gone to the extent of forecasting that the Gonsalves-Sattar talks would fail in Delhi . They can now put their piffle in their pipes and smoke it.
Whenever I saw Rajiv Gandhi talking to his people on television, I found it impossible to believe that he would take his country to a wholly needless war. Whenever I thought that there was a man of the pedigree of Kunwar Natwar Singh at South block, I could not bring myself to believe that India would go to war with Pakistan or with any other country for that matter.
Whenever I thought of the real problems facing the two countries, I could not bring myself to believe that they would be mad enough to go to war with each other. Whenever I thought of people living in shantytowns or sleeping on the pavements in urban slums on both sides of the border, I could not bring myself to believe that anything except peace could improve their lot.
When I saw the packed Chidambaram stadium giving a standing ovation to Imran Khan on his hundred on Wednesday, I could not bring myself to believe that the people of India wanted war with Pakistan . More magnificent than the Imran's century was the Madras crowd that day.
When I thought of India , I could not bring myself to believe that the people of Pakistan could ever want to go to war with a country whose Rashtrapita was Mahatma Gandhi . Whenever I thought of Pakistan, I thought it difficult to believe that Rabindranath Tagore's country would want anything but peace and friendship with Faiz Ahmad Faiz's land.
Talking of Gandhi and Tagore reminds me of the latter's immortal story, "The Kabuliwallah." Let us all read it again. There are millions of daughters across South Asia , awaiting their fathers' return from far away places where they have gone in search of a living.
A few days ago, I bought The Writing of Gandhi , a selection edited by Ronald Duncan . Gandhiji wrote in his Delhi Diary on Sept 26, 1947, weeks after partition: "There was a time when India listened to me. Today, I am a back number. I have been told I have no place in the new order, where we want machines, navy, air force and what not. I can never be a party to that. If you can have the courage to say that you will retain freedom with the help of the same force with which you have won it, I am your man."
Is there a leader in India or in Pakistan who can champion these sentiments? He is the man we need.
Again, said the Mahatma in the same diary: "Pakistan can never destroy Hindustan . The Hindus alone can destroy themselves and their faith. Similarly, if Islam is destroyed, it will be destroyed by the Muslims in Pakistan; not by the Hindus in Hindustan." Is this not precisely what is happening 40 years after these words were written?
Among the last words he wrote, Mahatma Gandhi said on January 26, 1948, four days before his assassination: "I wonder if we can remain free from the fever of power politics or the bid for power which afflicts the political world, the East and the West. . . Let us permit ourselves to hope that though geographically and politically India is divided into two, at heart we shall ever be friends and brothers helping and respecting one another and be one for the outside world."
I do not want to go into the whys and wherefores of the issue, but the fact remains that had India and Pakistan been "one to the outside world," they would have saved themselves 40 years of bitterness and would, by now have become "friends and brothers helping and respecting one another." Even today, it is not an unattainable ideal and both Rajiv Gandhi and Mohammad Khan Junejo are young enough to make the attempt to achieve it.
And while one is on the subject of peace and amity between neighbours, can one hope that one good thing will lead to another? If the Delhi dialogue can succeed, would it be too extravagant to hope that the stalemate at the Afghan-Pakistan Geneva proximity talks will break?
I hope to goodness that it will, contrary to what some pessimistic political pundits predict. I live on hope and not on the analyses and appraisals of self-inebriated men with subnormal intelligence quotients.
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The Pakistan Times , my professional alma mater, celebrated its 40th birthday on Feb. 4. Many happy returns, P.T. The event was marked by a reception organised by the PPL Workers Union, which became quite an occasion; because Mr. Mazhar Ali Khan , one of the founding fathers of the paper, graced it.
My entry into the profession coincided with the promulgation of the Press and Publications Ordinance and I have been careful ever since. A newspaper office is not made of bricks and mortar and machines, but of men in constant interaction with each other.
It was my privilege to serve with some of the most prominent newsmen of our time at P.T. And of them, the man who has been the most abiding influence on my life is Mr. I. A. Rehman , both as a teacher and as a friend. To my great good fortune, the association has continued beyond our ex-P.T. days, he has allowed me to sit at his feet for countless hours, and there has never been a dull moment with him.
For me The Pakistan Times has meant I. A. Rehman who has given me of his compassion beyond measure, of A. T. Chaudhri who always thought that he could entice me into work with a cup of tea, of K. M. Asaf who presided over the paper longer than anyone else and sat in the editor's room "like my grandsire cut in alabaster," of Hamid Sheikh , the Prince of storytellers and chronicler par excellence of the city he loved, of Tahir Mirza with whom I shared a cubicle for years together and who took to the pipe because he found in me an in-sufferable cigarette scrounger but who loved me nonetheless, and of Mohammad Idrees whom I have been trying to bring down to earth ever since.
And who can forget Iqbal Jafri who still nurses the vain ambition of getting the better of me in an exchange of expletives. And who ever saw a more loyal friend or a more sporting team man than J. K. Plair?
There are, of course, many other friends and if I haven't talked about them here, it doesn't mean that I have forgotten them or that I can ever forget them. All friends at The Pakistan Times have a special niche in my heart. In fact, I could do a novel on my years with that paper but for the time being, here's wishing P.T. Many happy returns once again. Or should I have said happier?
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A senior colleague (and the only favour I can do him is to withhold his name) came to see me the other day, his eyes gleaming with pride.
"Here, see this," he said, pushing a colour photograph across the desk to me. The picture showed a nice looking young man with his lovely bride.
"The boy is my son. I spent exactly Rs. 400 on his wedding because that is all I could spare. And that is how it should be. You should do a piece on it," said my senior.
I was delighted, of course, and congratulated him. Here was a man who was priding himself on how little and not how much he had spent on his son's wedding.
When will people learn to avoid ostentatious living? When will people realise that there is honour in austerity and not in vulgar, needless extravagance?
I asked myself. I told my senior colleague that I would give him the widest publicity and there were many handshakes before he left.
When he had gone, I looked at the picture again. The groom was dressed simply enough but the bride was all bejewelled ,and suddenly the thought came to me that while my colleague might have spent Rs. 400 on the Valima reception, the girl's parents must have lost a fortune on the occasion. Perhaps, they are very rich or perhaps they had to borrow the money they needed.
It was, I thought, a case of one-sided austerity. Was there dowry; apart from the ornaments the girls was wearing? I decided my senior colleague was a self-righteous old goat. Had he cut down on the Valima reception out of poverty or on principle? I came to the conclusion that he was making a virtue out of necessity. Had it not been so, he should have seen to it that the girl's parent spent even less than he had.
