3

A Lady, A School and
My Favourite Ice-cream

 

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Thapar?” The young girl said as she approached me. She was smiling and I could hardly refuse. I stopped and waited.

“I read a lot of the stuff you write and what I want to know is simple.” She then paused as if to suggest it was a problem that had long troubled her. “What sort of people do you admire? I can’t seem to tell from your writings.”

It wasn’t a simple question and when I tried to answer, I realised I wasn’t sure what to say. It’s the sort of thing you believe you know but when it comes to expressing yourself, you realise how uncertain your views are. At the time, I struggled to sound convincing but I fear I failed. I don’t even think I was able to convince myself.

That night, however, I found part of the answer. It was a bit like a discovery but when it happened, I knew it was what I was looking for. It had the ring of truth. Admittedly not all of it, not by any means, but still a significant portion of it.

I had been invited by the Pakistani Political Counsellor to dinner. Tasnim Aslam has spent four years in India and is due to return home next month. The evening was planned as a farewell. I showed up late and found the other guests sitting in her garden in neat rows facing a low platform.

On it, were a few musicians and at their centre, beside another lady, was Tasnim. The two were deep in song.

My instinctive response was to head for the bar. I pretend to like Indian classical music but, to be honest, I don’t or, at least, I don’t understand it. That night, I did not feel like acting. A drink seemed more inviting.

“Isn’t it amazing?” said the lady by the bar. I had assumed that, like me, she was avoiding the music. I was wrong. Standing by the bar afforded her a clearer view and she was listening intently.

“Ummm.” I muttered, not at all sure what she was referring to. I tried to make it sound as if it could be both yes and no.

“Do you realise what Tasnim is singing?” The lady had seen through me and her question made that obvious.

“No, sorry. I am afraid not.”

“She’s singing a Ram bhajan. Just think of it? A Pakistani diplomat, in the present state of relations between the two countries, singing a Ram bhajan in Delhi and in public!”

The expression on her face said the rest. This wasn’t just difficult to believe — and if I hadn’t heard it myself I certainly wouldn’t have believed it. It was also an act of incredible courage and of great respect. Tasnim was defying conventional politics. She was also, through her simple human gesture, bridging the divide. On that cool October night, silhouetted against the black still sky, lost in her bhajan,Tasnim symbolised a rare moment of hope for India and Pakistan.

I turned to hear her more attentively. The entire party was absorbed in her music and I think the same thought passed through every mind. Suddenly, I knew I had the answer to the morning’s question. I admire people like Tasnim because they have the courage to be themselves despite politics and prejudice. But I admire Tasnim for another reason as well. She has the strength of character to rise above the pettiness of public opinion and show the rest of us — particularly politicians on both sides — how narrow and limited we have become.

As her soft voice floated over the garden I found myself wishing Tasnim could stay longer. We need to meet more Pakistanis like her.