As I feel thoughtful about the past and future of Pakistan, 75 years after its independence, a video of a 90-old woman returning to Rawalpindi to find her old home pops up on my Facebook timeline.
Reena Varma returned to Rawalpindi, the city of her birth, 75 years after her family left the new country among the chaos of partition. She made her way back to the home she grew up in, thanks to a Facebook group called the India-Pakistan Heritage Club. Videos of Reena’s joyous return to Rawalpindi flooded the social media timelines and brought a smile to many faces, as the tiny white-haired woman, joyously floats through the narrow streets of old Rawalpindi, flanked by excited neighbours who share her joy. They shower her with rose petals, they pick her up and carry her when her frail feet falter, they dance along with her to the beat of the dhol… the whole neighbourhood celebrates return of their own.
Like Reena’s family, my great grandparents left their home in Meerut, India, 75 years ago to come to Rawalpindi, Pakistan. Aftab Omar and his wife, Ashfaq Jehan, known to us as Bee, left home with two suitcases, a handbag, and a briefcase. They gave the keys to their trusted gardener Pirbhu who lived in grounds of the house with his family. They told him to take good care of the house while they were away. They said they would be back soon to the home where they got married, where Aftab Omar built a flourishing legal practice, where Bee ran a tight domestic ship, where they lived and laughed, raised three children, and then buried and mourned one too.
Unfortunately, Omars could never return to Meerut. They would die and be buried in Rawalpindi without ever experiencing the joy of returning to places and people they once loved.
Fuelled by a sense of adventure, my cousin Ammar and I made a trip to India to find Aftab Manzil in 2004. We found the house and we also found Pirbhu’s daughter. Her family had built homes and shops on what had once been grounds of the house. A school and a government pharmacy occupied other parts of the house. Pirbhu’s dauther, an ancient and wrinkled old woman, gathered her many sons, daughters and grandchildren into the courtyard. As we stood there she described to me how bitterly her father wept when Aftab Omar and his wife had left, and how he had waited till his dying day for them to return. She walked us around what remained of the house. It was strange to be walking with this woman whom I had never met before but who spoke of my family as her own. She cried when I told her that my grandparents had died. She had played with them when she was a child. And as she cried remembering her childhood friends, I couldn’t help but cry too. We cried and we hugged like we shared a deep bond. Ammar scolded me for my dramatics and reminded me that we were not in a Bollywood film. But the tears wouldn’t stop.
I left Meerut with a heart full of love and a great story to tell. I left with the hope that the human spirit would eventually triumph and the love that existed between people would one day triumph to heal the deep divides left behind by a hasty and thoughtless partition of the subcontinent.
Eighteen years after that visit that filled my heart with hope, the chances of revisiting that old house, meeting Pirbhu’s family and reviving my dwindling faith in humanity are almost non-existent.
The divide between India and Pakistan is now wider than ever before. There are no opportunities for people to meet and learn to know and love each other beyond hateful stereotypes. It seems we are doomed to live like hostile strangers despite being neighbours. But then someone sends me that cute little video of Reena Verma being carried through the streets of Rawalpindi and the optimist in me cannot help but hope that virtual spaces might still allow people to connect over shared histories, hobbies and other loves. While many of these spaces will mirror the animosity that exists at a national level, some of these spaces will also create opportunities for people to connect and collaborate.
Reena Varma returned to Rawalpindi, the city of her birth, 75 years after her family left the new country among the chaos of partition. She made her way back to the home she grew up in, thanks to a Facebook group called the India-Pakistan Heritage Club. Videos of Reena’s joyous return to Rawalpindi flooded the social media timelines and brought a smile to many faces, as the tiny white-haired woman, joyously floats through the narrow streets of old Rawalpindi, flanked by excited neighbours who share her joy. They shower her with rose petals, they pick her up and carry her when her frail feet falter, they dance along with her to the beat of the dhol… the whole neighbourhood celebrates return of their own.
Like Reena’s family, my great grandparents left their home in Meerut, India, 75 years ago to come to Rawalpindi, Pakistan. Aftab Omar and his wife, Ashfaq Jehan, known to us as Bee, left home with two suitcases, a handbag, and a briefcase. They gave the keys to their trusted gardener Pirbhu who lived in grounds of the house with his family. They told him to take good care of the house while they were away. They said they would be back soon to the home where they got married, where Aftab Omar built a flourishing legal practice, where Bee ran a tight domestic ship, where they lived and laughed, raised three children, and then buried and mourned one too.
Unfortunately, Omars could never return to Meerut. They would die and be buried in Rawalpindi without ever experiencing the joy of returning to places and people they once loved.
Eighteen years after that visit that filled my heart with hope, the chances of revisiting that old house, meeting Pirbhu’s family and reviving my dwindling faith in humanity are almost non-existent.
Fuelled by a sense of adventure, my cousin Ammar and I made a trip to India to find Aftab Manzil in 2004. We found the house and we also found Pirbhu’s daughter. Her family had built homes and shops on what had once been grounds of the house. A school and a government pharmacy occupied other parts of the house. Pirbhu’s dauther, an ancient and wrinkled old woman, gathered her many sons, daughters and grandchildren into the courtyard. As we stood there she described to me how bitterly her father wept when Aftab Omar and his wife had left, and how he had waited till his dying day for them to return. She walked us around what remained of the house. It was strange to be walking with this woman whom I had never met before but who spoke of my family as her own. She cried when I told her that my grandparents had died. She had played with them when she was a child. And as she cried remembering her childhood friends, I couldn’t help but cry too. We cried and we hugged like we shared a deep bond. Ammar scolded me for my dramatics and reminded me that we were not in a Bollywood film. But the tears wouldn’t stop.
I left Meerut with a heart full of love and a great story to tell. I left with the hope that the human spirit would eventually triumph and the love that existed between people would one day triumph to heal the deep divides left behind by a hasty and thoughtless partition of the subcontinent.
Eighteen years after that visit that filled my heart with hope, the chances of revisiting that old house, meeting Pirbhu’s family and reviving my dwindling faith in humanity are almost non-existent.
The divide between India and Pakistan is now wider than ever before. There are no opportunities for people to meet and learn to know and love each other beyond hateful stereotypes. It seems we are doomed to live like hostile strangers despite being neighbours. But then someone sends me that cute little video of Reena Verma being carried through the streets of Rawalpindi and the optimist in me cannot help but hope that virtual spaces might still allow people to connect over shared histories, hobbies and other loves. While many of these spaces will mirror the animosity that exists at a national level, some of these spaces will also create opportunities for people to connect and collaborate.