The ties that bind Bangladesh and Pakistan

After my father’s death in 2019, I came across an old tattered file amongst his papers. There was a paper meticulously filed inside. It pertained to Abba’s life in East Pakistan when he was posted there during his Civil Service training. At that time, there was a policy to post officers from West Pakistan in East Pakistan and vice versa.

Abba was posted in the district of Dinajpur and the file was filled with his neat inked attempts to learn the mellifluous Bangla language alongside English translations. Opening the file brought back vivid memories of our conversations about the time he had spent in the then eastern wing of Pakistan.

The lessons from wars may be difficult, but they must be imbibed in order to move forward. Great nations face their past so that they can move forward. Otherwise, they risk being mired in quicksand.

“Those who cannot learn from their history are doomed to repeat it.” George Santayana

Unfortunately, we tend to brush under the carpet anything that requires us to step outside our comfort zone, hence our school textbooks generally gloss over what happened on 16 December 1971. As a result, we grow up clueless about our history.

Whatever I learnt about Bangladesh was gleaned from my father’s fond memories of the time he had spent there in the early days of his bureaucratic career. He used to reminisce about his brilliant colleagues and the stimulating work environment, the green and fertile land, the warmth and hospitality of the people, the beautiful music and lilting melodies. He would marvel at how even the fishermen, who would cast their nets at sea, sang the most beautiful songs.

Abba’s stint in East Pakistan was a memorable and hypnotizing time for him when he forged friendships and learnt about the rich cultural traditions of the land. However, the 1971 war and the tumultuous developments afterwards were a source of great pain for him, because he was unable to visit his friends and East Pakistan gradually retreated from his life. But he never forgot the place and its surreal magic.

When I visited Bangladesh, I was curious and apprehensive about the feelings of the people there towards Pakistanis considering what had taken place decades ago. Surely there would be some bad blood or hostility? But I was in for a surprise.

Far from being surrounded by toxic vibes, I was overwhelmed by the warm welcome and generosity of spirit displayed by Bangladeshis. As soon as they heard I was from Pakistan, people would flock to me to say, “welcome to Bangladesh!”

A smiling waiter paused serving pizza to tell me, “I wish that our countries had not been torn apart, because together we would have been so much stronger! Bangladesh and Pakistan are brothers.”

While shopping at a famous clothing outlet, the manager at the counter mentioned a whopping discount offer, but sadly I was not eligible. While I was debating whether I should spend my scanty takas on the fashionable sweater, he asked where I was from. As soon as I said Pakistan, he asked, “but why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Then he presented me with the bill after applying the elusive discount.

“But I thought you said I wasn’t eligible?” I asked, to which he smiled and placed his hand on his heart.

“You are from Pakistan,” he said simply.

My shalwar kameez ensemble attracted a lot of attention while exhibitions by Pakistani retailers like Bareeze were a knockout success. When Strings and Rahat Fateh Ali visited Bangladesh, they found the crowd at their packed concerts singing along and dancing with abandon to their songs.

At the mesmerising annual Dhaka International Folk Fest at the Bangladesh Army Stadium, my friend and I wanted to double the pleasure of our lyrical journey as soul stirring music blasted from the stage. We went to the food stalls in search of a good cup of tea. The boy at the tea stall broke into a smile when he realised we were from Pakistan. When I leaned forward to pay for the tea, he stepped back and shook his head. “It’s my small gift for you, because you have come from Pakistan,” he said.

Once more, I realised the indescribable depth of feeling that the people of Bangladesh have for Pakistan which is evident in these gestures of love and respect.

When it comes to our artistes, Atif Aslam and Fawad Khan are perennial favourites. An elderly refined lady in a spectacular jamdani sari cornered me and spoke at great length about the trendsetter drama Humsafar and the length of the eyelashes of the lead actor, Fawad Khan. She fanned herself and sighed deeply. She ended with the plea: “please tell your directors not to cast him opposite ugly heroines. Look at him, he is too handsome, why don’t you people find a girl to match him in looks?”

It is often said that there is music in the soil of Bangladesh. Even the monsoons have a lyrical quality as the breeze slyly picks up, the trees start swaying, the window panes reverberate, the clouds darken and swell before scurrying hither and thither, the sky darkens ominously, the heavens seem to be holding its breath and then, in a twinkling, the sky relents and opens up to the persistent knocking of the rain. As the water gushes forth like a fountain, the wind that billows along with the sheets of rain feels like a cool caress on the fevered brow even as it blows away curtains and rattles windows and doors.

Scholarly, articulate and well read, the Bangladeshi people are a talented and multifaceted people. The song recitals of their great poets like Nazrul Islam and Rabrindranath Tagore are melodious and contain a foot tapping rhythm. The dances are vivid and full of imagery as the smiling artistes preen like peacocks and stamp out a melody which casts its own spell.

Every home has a harmonium and tabla, with children as well as adults taking lessons and playing instruments. After having dinner, it is a practice to take out the harmonium and sing along to wonderful melodies. Unlike Pakistan, where every time someone claims to sing and opens their mouth one has to brace for the harmful impact to one’s auditory senses, in Bangladesh there is sweetness and beauty in every voice. What makes the experience more delightful is their humility in response to praise for possessing such a stunning vocal range.

The folk singers are a class apart, with Baul singers carving their own path. They are famous for the spontaneity of their mystical songs. The Bauls are a striking people infused with an eagerness bordering on ecstasy for a spiritual life, where a person can realise his union with the beloved: the Moner Manush (the person of the heart). In 2005, the Baul tradition of Bangladesh was included in UNESCO’s list of Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity.

Artistes like Runa Laila, Shehnaz Begum, Shabnam and Robin Ghosh have proved to be almost as popular in Pakistan as in Bangladesh while famed singer Alamgir is still the king of hearts in Pakistan. Recently, a rumour that Alamgir had passed away made people anxious in Pakistan, but they heaved a sigh of relief when it turned out to be a rumour.

Bangladesh and Pakistan have a shared love for cricket and they are almost as vociferous supporters of our team as their own. Every Pakistan versus India match is met with great enthusiasm and engaging commentary. Naturally, they make no bones about extending their support to us and every single victory is met with unabashed joy. The icing on the cake is whenever Pakistan defeats India and the spirited celebrations continue well into the night. On the other hand, whenever the Pakistani team lose a match, the Bangladeshis share our anxiety and are almost as outraged at the lacklustre performance and pepper us with questions as to why our cricketers are playing so badly.

The recent tour of Bangladesh by the Pakistan cricket team brought many of these diehard fans out on to the streets where they showered the team with rose petals and goodwill as they made their way in coasters. A cricket fan’s video went viral where he pulled up his Bangladeshi team shirt to reveal the Pakistani team shirt below. In essence, he was cheering for both teams at the match.

But life is not a bed of roses, as they say. It would not be realistic to expect that the ghosts of the war do not make their presence felt at times. An elegant lady at a soiree told me how her father and uncle were taken away from home in Dhaka in 1971, never to be seen again. She said she knew they were dead, but she wished that they could at least have got their bodies back so the family could have buried them and got some kind of closure. When I said I was sorry about what had happened to her family, she reached out to me, touched my hand and replied gently: “It’s all right. These things happen in war time, don’t they?”

My father managed to visit Dhaka decades after the separation of East Pakistan and he was touched by the grand welcome given to him by his former batch mates. I lost count of the many fiestas hosted by his delighted friends where they exchanged hugs andsat side by side on the sofa. In every house, the children and grandchildren of Abba’s friends were present as he was introduced as a long awaited comrade. They asked each other for news of long lost friends and animatedly discussed the bureaucracy, politics, the economy, literature and the vagaries of life. They tucked into sumptuous dinners and laughed the night away.

At one grand dinner, I saw a glossy book on the mahogany coffee table and, being a bookworm, I could not resist taking a peek. Inside were pictures of the war and the mayhem of 1971. The pages of the book told an eye opening story and it was like being in a parallel universe.

It was difficult to reconcile the contradictory images: on one side, my parents surrounded by camaraderie and bonhomie in that lovely home and, on the other side, evidence of all that had gone wrong between the two parts of the country that they hailed from.

And yet. Abba and his colleagues interacted and held hands as the passage of years melted away in a jiffy. They met as men on the cusp of youth and now they were reunited on the last leg of the marathon of life. The Bangladeshi friends welcomed us into their homes with open arms and my parents extended invitations to them to visit us in Pakistan.

Despite the sad history and the futility of war, the past did not cast its long shadow on the present or dim the unbreakable ties forged when the country was whole.

The writer is Oped Editor, Bol News