Changing face of Pakistan in some other nicer ways too - Love flowing out all over and the respect for the guests ingrained in society at large - Layer by layer, mostly when you least expect it, the difference begins to unfold. Therein lies a great thrill. The charm is in two-way discovery – when the locals find out that you are Indian before you find out their reaction. Whether it is a security guard outside the Bagh-e-Jinnah, or a shopkeeper at Liberty Market, there is a certain joy in introduction.
Foreign?
Posted by Siddhartha Vaidyanathan 14 hours, 16 minutes ago in India in Pakistan 2005-06
It’s been over 24 hours since IC 845 landed in Lahore. Five days in Delhi, prior to take off, had groomed one for the Lahore experience – a shivering chill, broad roads, Punjabi attires, grassy footpaths, the Pakistan High commission ...
Usually, while visiting any country, the contrast immediately splashes on your face the moment one exits the airport. In Lahore, one looks first for the similarities and spots them pretty easily. Then occasionally, often unexpectedly, sometimes overwhelmingly, the difference strikes.
When do you actually realise that you're in a foreign land? The moment currency notes don’t fit in your wallet; the moment you don’t fit in the auto rickshaws; the moment you act really polite, as you instinctively do while in another country, and get gaping stares from the locals, who have not a clue that you are a foreigner; the moment the locals learn you are an Indian and numb you with their hospitality ...
Layer by layer, mostly when you least expect it, the difference begins to unfold. Therein lies a great thrill. The charm is in two-way discovery – when the locals find out that you are Indian before you find out their reaction. Whether it is a security guard outside the Bagh-e-Jinnah, or a shopkeeper at Liberty Market, there is a certain joy in introduction.
Some bits are overwhelming. Like Munna's gesture. An auto-driver who likes to call himself after Sanjay Dutt's character in a Bollywood hit, Munna understood my SIM card problem - being a foreigner, I couldn't get one in the market-place and needed to visit the main office of the cellular provider. But Eid was approaching and all offices were closed; my SIM card would need to wait.
Munna would have none of it. "We will get it easily," he said. "All we need is my ID card from home." Driving at a furious speed through the narrowest of lanes, he reached his place in Gawalmandi, collected his ID, went to the nearest store and got a card. Embarrassingly, he refused money, adding, "This is my duty towards a guest sir, please accept it."
At that point, the freezing weather didn't make a jot of a difference. Munna had managed what three layers of woollens couldn't.
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