SHIBBOLETH

(Ind vs Pak 2011) Vs (Ind Vs Pak 1971)

I was walking with her in the suburbs of Mumbai. I met her in the Blue Frog pub yesterday night and was with her the whole night. I don’t remember her name now. May be that was not important as I may not meet her again, but why did I come all way with her to her home? Before reaching her home, I asked her, can I make a leave and she agreed. I started walking back. Only thing I can recollect about her was that she works for an IT firm in a Middle management role. The hot sun has made me very thirsty. I got into the nearest restaurant. It was written “Nair Tea Shop”. Great I’m in a mallu restaurant. Even if they make it to a star hotel, they will name it “5 star Tea Shop”. What the hell is gong on? The restaurant is whole empty. I just got a strange feeling now. The roads were also not crowded and there was no auto or taxi that’s why we were walking to her home. What is happening? The answer was simple and the TV in the tea shop told me the reason. It’s Ind Vs Pak Semi-final Match in ICC world Cup. Oh shit! How could I forget the high voltage game? I moved to a table which gave me the best view of the TV. There was an old man already sitting there and reading newspaper. He was not interested in the whole WC thing. Curiosity was the only reason that, I started conversing with him. Uncle, are you not interested in Ind Vs Pak high Voltage clash? This is almost like a war uncle, how can you not watch this match? Do you call this a war? His voice was strong and clear. He picked up his words slowly but put it forth in great confidence and comfort. War was what I experienced in 1971. He started narrating a story from his memories. I was not at all interested and was looking at the screen and was catching the action live. Some how his story started creating interest in me and I completely forgot I was watching India Vs Pakistan SF.

Story narrated by him in his own words was as below.

I was in my college when I experienced one of the shortest wars in the world History. Those 13 days was like 13 long years. I still could recollect every moment of those days. Mumbai the financial capital of the nation was on high alert. Everything in the city suddenly took a back seat. This city which never slept suddenly adjusted to a blackout as soon as the sun sets. It was not just the condition of Mumbai, but every other city in the nation. We were provided with black paints to paint our window panes black so as that the enemy fighter planes have no clue about the city. That was a horrible black out, not the one hour earth hour we celebrate now-a-days. We were really tensed to the core of our bones. No one dared to even switch on a single bulb whose light could be seen from outside. I remember the army men knocking my, door in the night because I switched on the light when I went for a loo break. They were just yelling at me to close the light or black out the glasses of my bathroom. They were not even sleeping and patrolling all night to see everything is right. It was really horrifying.

Most horrifying day of the war was when we where all pushed to a basement by the army. I just don’t know who all were with me in the basement. It was totally dark out there. The army people just pushed as all inside the basement as there was a bomb threat that night. We were all terrified and were not even talking to each other. Our eyes got adjusted to the lights and now we could see all those shadow images. There were about 50 of us. There were kids, mothers, dads, brothers, sisters and many more. They were not even speaking a word, or are they were all strangers brought together under a roof. I had no idea, but some how a pregnant women caught my attention. She was wearing a scarf over her head, but even in the dark I could figure out she was beautiful. Tension was building up in everybody’s head. No one was talking anything. We could hear the marching boots of army persons on the road. We have no idea how much time we would have sat there speechless, may be 30 min or so. It was too much for me. I was feeling suffocated in the closed basement with 50 terrified people around me. I stood up and asked anyone wants water and everyone started looking at me as if I asked them they wanted Rat Poison. After a brief pause of about 20 seconds the pregnant woman raised her hand and signalled she wanted water. I went out of the basement to get water. While I was going out to get water I could read everyone’s eyes even in the darkness. Their eyes were telling me not to go out, but everyone was so terrified that no words came out of their mouths.

I drank some water and bought some for the lady and helped her drink. She said thank you, which was the first human voice I’ve heard in last 30-40 mins. May be to make the situation better, I started small talks with her. She told her name was Sabeena and was a Mallu and came to Mumbai with her Abba Jan 5 years back. She was married to a trader. We both were talking, but everyone present was listening to us. Even though she was speaking in lowest of her voice, due to the pin drop silence, everyone could hear her. Our conversation was cut short by a blast noise which made everyone one of us close their ears and eyes. Still in the shock of the blast noise, I heard something horrible spoken by Sabeena. “ Ya Alla Dilli mai bomb girade lakin Lahore ko bacalo“ (Oh! God, let the bombs be dropped in Delhi but save Lahore). Till now I was enjoying her company and making small talks with her and suddenly I wanted to kill her. I wanted to throw her out of the basement. I would have done that if she was not pregnant. She repeated the sentence again and again. Like me everyone in the basement was angry with her and would have ripped her apart if she was not carrying. It was too much for everyone when she repeated it again. Everyone shouted at her and made her silent. I had a tough time in controlling my anger towards her as well as controlling the angry crowd.

I slowly went near her and sat with her. I asked her, why she was making such stupid statement. This is a war and Pak is our enemy. Why the hell does u want Lahore to be saved? If you think, Pak is the country of your religion, why didn’t you guys migrate during independence? Now be loyal to the nation that feeds you. She started crying. I didn’t want much trouble in the basement and started consoling her. She was sobbing over my shoulder and told me her husband is a Pak national and is staying in Lahore. I love my nation, but I’m also a mother. I don’t want to give birth to a fatherless child. My husband has been with me for hardly one week and went back to Pakistan. He never returned back. I still couldn’t understand the logic behind her words. May be I cannot understand a woman who is a wife and a mother to be. What ever happens, I’ll never forget that night and those words spoken by her.

I was in contact with her after that and she raised her child as a single mother. She had no idea about her husband. Was he killed in the war or he never returned. That remained a question unanswered. Her son grew to a handsome looking young man and joined Indian army and went on to fight his father’s nation in Kargil war. May be he did that for those words spoken by her mom on 1975 war. God was not kind to him and took one of his legs. It was a sacrifice by the brave son of the soil for the words spoken by his mother many years back when he was inside her womb.

He was going on and on, speaking his mind out. Then I noticed the cashier of the restaurant coming out of counter, limping with the help of a stick. I looked at the old man who was narrating the story to me. He just looked at me and told you guessed it right and started sipping his tea and went back to his newspaper. By the time the first innings got over and I rushed out to my home to catch the 2^nd innings. On my way back to home, I was thinking about the horrifying experience of one of the smallest war in the world history. Now I know what it would mean to be a war.

May be because of my MBA background, some thing strange struck my mind. Whose Tea shop was that? Does it belong to the man who narrated the story to me or does it belong to Sabeena’s son? Was it a business tactics to give a Hindu name to a Muslim owned restaurant? May be a great idea to capitalize on the customer segment he caters to. I’m sure, will be going back to that place again in search of many answers.