A dear friend from Karachi

Chitvan Singh Dhillon

THIS is a story of friendship. Nothing more, nothing less. Friendships have no religion, no nationality, no language, no pre-requisites. A few years ago, my father was in Delhi for the international trade fair when he first met her. She was Pakistan’s top fashion designer there for an exhibit. Father dearest, a lousy shopper but a caring, devoted husband was looking for something for my mother. He only showed Mama’s picture to the designer and she handed out an assortment of different suits — one better than the other. It was the usual buyer-seller relationship. On the sidelines, my father offered her an invite to visit us in Chandigarh. 

Life’s like that. The following year, she came to Chandigarh for an exhibition. This time she accepted our invitation for dinner and came along with her daughter. Warm conversations, delightful Indo-Pak banter, sumptuous food, wine and Urdu poetry flowed. We all got along like a house on fire. We realised we were no different, the similarities outnumbered our differences.

We bade farewell, until next time. A few months later, Mom received a call from her. She wanted to come over for the India versus Pakistan ODI at Mohali. We were more than happy to host them as our guests, yet again. This time she came with her husband. The match was an absolute riot — what fun we had! Pakistan lost and India won. But that didn’t affect our high tea and the dinner that followed. Sportsmanship was at its absolute best. 

The following year, we received a wedding invite from Karachi. It was her daughter’s wedding. Owing to unavoidable circumstances, we had to give it a miss. But my mother presented her with a fine Chanderi silk sari. The same winter she visited Ludhiana and then Amritsar for another round of exhibitions. This time around, she was duped by her business partner in Ludhiana. She called my mother for help, crying over the phone. She was roughed up by her partner’s goons. My mother didn’t think twice and booked a cab and rushed to the hotel in Ludhiana where she was putting up. She helped her and made them pay for the damage and indemnities.  

Many winters have come and gone. We don’t forget to exchange birthday, anniversary, Id, Diwali, Gurpurb and other festive greetings. Our little story of friendship is reflective of the strength of people-to-people contacts. Sadly, in today’s noxious and rabid rhetoric, cultural diplomacy is being rubbished as an instrument of soft power. In reality, its outreach is underestimated.  

In times like these, one can only find hope in what the Mahatma said, ‘An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.’