Pakistani yogini...

This is Aisha Chapra. A young Pakistani woman who is trying to bring peace in the life of woman prisoners in Karachi by teaching them yoga.

I have never met Aisha, only spoken to her on the phone and exchanged emails, but I am thoroughly impressed with her work.

It was Aisha’s idea to approach authorities to let her teach woman prisoners. Fortunately for her it was smooth sail and she is doing her bit to help them live. In the past two years, she has taught 30 to 40 prisoners in the age group of 20 to 40 and some prisoners’ children too.

It is optional for prisoners to join her class. She teaches these women for free, but their “warmth and genuine happiness recharges her battery”.

Chapra discovered yoga as she was trying to tide over a bad patch. She was, as she puts it, depressed, disoriented and directionless and it was yoga that gave her peace.

Her first class in prison wasn’t easy but her experience as a social worker helped her pull through. She had scores of women and children watching her, some ridiculing her and few participating.  However, as the days passed, she became friends with the prisoners by listening to their stories and even massaging their sore muscles. “Soon I was their friend, listening to their woes and counseling them,” she says.

Chapra's stint at the jail has been a great lesson in life. “I get as much from them as I give them. I admire them for being strong and having faith, despite their circumstances.”

For Chapra, the connection with these women is special. “It is this desire to access freedom from within, to liberate in a way that inspires, moves and lifts me outside of myself.  I know it is their strength, their incredible compassion that I feel at the end of the class.”

“Weeks and months have gone by and now these women and their children have become a part of my life. A part of the answer which I was so desperately searching for.  And every week they give me something to smile about, a new story to share, and a new lesson to learn, while giving me a consistent dose of inspiration,” Aisha posted on her blog.

But women will always be women and they can't stop nagging Aisha about this: how do get rid of the flab on the stomach!! 

Tapping our phones....

It is obviously not a good feeling to know that someone is listening to your phone conversations, yet I have had my fun moments in Pakistan where our phones are routinely tapped.

Friends and family have learnt to say “namaste” to “bhais” tapping phones and often hold imaginary conversations with them. “Bhai please go easy on her….,” a friend acknowledged Bhai’s presence recently.

Another friend has named "phone-Bhai" – Kabeer. 

“Is he good looking?” she joked one day. Since I said “yes”, she started talking to K-Bhai. “Kabeer, are you listening? Kabeer, I am willing to relocate. Kabeer, I am single and ready to mingle….” she guffawed. 

However, we are not the only ones having fun. Bhais have their moments too. Once when I called my sister from my husband’s mobile phone I heard a man’s voice. “Who are you?” I asked. “You tell me who you are…” K-Bhai was flirting. I passed the phone to my husband.

A friend heard her phone-Bhai laughing really hard because she was trying to gently remind her young daughter that their phone was tapped!

I'd be lying if I'd say that tapping doesn't affect my conversations. Sometimes my talk tends to be coded because it feels odd to spell out everything. “Are the payments done?” I keep checking with my sister. My sister, too, quickly retorts with a “yes” or a “no” and blurts the amount – both foolishly thinking that we have outsmarted Bhai who has never heard of LIC!   

Then there are times when I want people to take hints and codes to work --but no! My aunt loves breaking into a monologue about how unsafe Pakistan is and how she would like to have me back in India and I suddenly become hugely conscious of K-Bhai's presence. Or worse, her favourite query which makes me cringe --- how is your health NOW? She perhaps remembers my typhoid many years ago, but I would seriously love to know what Bhai makes of that.

Every so often I think that having heard all my friends’ and family’s collective problems K-Bhai should offer some solutions. Or at least tell us why a man with a Pashtu accent answers my husband’s number when I call or when my phone rings late into the night why is the display number mine!

It takes a while to get over K-Bhai, but I don't think I can ever check him out of my consciousness. Just one moment of regret though. I wish I hadn’t stopped myself from crying on my mother’s first death anniversary -- because I was so very conscious of K-Bhai! 

Being Indian in Pakistan....

It is not easy to ignore ordinary people's warmth in Pakistan and despite myself I have befriended plenty of locals -- cabbies, shopkeepers, little boys who play cricket in the neighbourhood and a little girl who races boys on her brother's bicycle.

My little Pakistani friends... 

The talking point has almost always been our 11 cats and now a puppy, the newest addition to the family. 

The little girl, who lives in our neighbour's servant quarter, shyly says "hello" to me when I go past her house. Her brother, who is just a year older, is sort of our official rescuer when our cats get stuck on a tree. 

Bilal, an expert at climbing trees, with his pet 

Some time ago, the little girl asked me if she could accompany me to the market. I said "yes" and on our way we chatted about her bicycle, which she hardly ever gets to ride now because her brother returns home late.   

Since all our cats are rescues and, therefore, no fancy breeds, the older kids in the neighbourhood tell us to keep a "Persian" or a "Siamese". We let that pass because we have given up on people who think rescues are "junglies". Incidentally, all are cats are Pakistani rescues or "honorary Indians" as we jokingly call them. The cabbies, too, always stop to inquire about our pets' health.    

Our Indianness has never been an issue with anyone. 

So I was rather surprised when I walked into a shop in the neighbourhood market to buy cat food. The shopkeeper, a very friendly chap, passed me a tin of expired cat food. I told him that I could not feed my cats expired food and he should get rid of it. 

"These are Pakistani cats.....they can eat everything....they will not die," he joked for the hundredth time and reached for the cans that he stocks especially for me.

Suddenly I heard the "I" word from behind me. "Arrey yeh kahan kee hain pehley yeh to pata karo... (first find out where is she from)..." 

"Yeh Indian hai bhai INDIAN..." someone was saying very accusingly from behind.

I turned and saw a well-built man looking down at me. I had never seen him before, but obviously he knew who I was. Others at the shop also started scanning me. I looked at the shopkepeer and then at his boys, they were all avoiding eye contact. I paid my bill and exited.

The incident left a bad taste in my mouth. It haunted me for quite a while. I was mad at myself for not checkmating that man. I was also mad at the shopkeeper for not speaking up. 

I decided not go to his shop again. 

However, two days later, I was there again because he is the only one in the neighbourhood  who stocks cat food. The shopkeeper was around, but  he did not talk to me much. I, too, did not make an attempt to speak.

The day after I was at the shop again. I asked one of his boys to give me something. The shopkeeper was busy with another customer. I saw him signalling at me from a far corner. I ignored him.

Then he came near where I was standing and passed me the expired cat food can again. "Yeh hamari Pakistani billiyan hain....yeh nahin marti...inhain aap yeh expired food hi khilayeye (These are Pakistani cats..they will not die if you feed them expired food..." he guffawed. 

"Feed this to your dog too!"   

I laughed and retorted: "Doctor ke paas aap lejayenge (will you take the dog to the vet then?)" 

"Which doctor do you go to?" he asked, ignoring other customers. I told him. 

"I am going to feed these expired cans to OUR Pakistani cats....for FREE," he laughed some more.    

It was obvious that he was going the extra mile to make up for that day. "I am going to order more cat food for you tomorrow! Is that okay?" he asked. 

Long after I returned home, I was still smiling. 

Bhai, bhai na raha.....

There is nothing official about this Bhai – therefore he is more officious than the official Bhai-brigade and my personal favourite!!!!

In the near three years we have spent in our present house, Aslam Bhai has clocked over 20,000 hours keeping an eye on us in his unofficial capacity as Tommy (apologies to all Tommies, you know that I love you all more than most humans!).

This Bhai is a chowkidaar at a bakery-cum-kitchen which is being illegally run from the dirtiest address in a residential sector of Islamabad (Thank you Tiramisu!!) He was roped in by the official Bhai brigade and he takes this job very, very seriously!

Aslam Bhai

The bakery-cum-kitchen also houses about a dozen baker boys, all of whom will be missed much when I am back, but Aslam Bhai is a cut above the rest because of his excessively uncultured ways and his passion and dedication to keep an unfriendly eye on his friendly neighbours from an "enemy" country.

  

Aslam Bhai seems to be getting better with his unfriendly acts by the day. This winter he acquired a new quilt which has "ARE YOU THINKING OF ME, DARLING?" written in bold and is always hung on the terrace wall facing our house.  

...and his quilt!

Aslam Bhai, can I return the favour by dedicating this song to you from our hugely popular Bollywood? 

The clash…

I have never been a big fan of cricket, but with seemingly everyone in India and Pakistan eating and sleeping cricket over the impending clash at Mohali on March 30, I surprised myself by wearing my India-inscribed T-shirt to a friendly India-Pakistan match at an Islamabad stadium on Sunday.

I enjoyed the looks that came my way for flaunting my Indian credentials – first, of course, by the esteemed Bhai brigade – and then the TV camera crews, who far outnumbered the cheerleaders. On another occasion, I would have attributed their full attendance to the sumptuous lunch that was to follow the match; but in this case the tempestuous assignment at hand was certainly equally mouth-watering.

When the Indian High Commission arranged the friendly cricket match with the Lahore Chamber of Commerce and Industry, it had no idea it would become the cynosure of all eyes because of the build-up for the India-Pakistan semi-final in the World Cup.

Suddenly it was all important to win.

While the Indian team waited and waited (and waited) for the Pakistani team’s arrival, some of India’s finest and yet not-so-young officers practised on the ground under the majestic Margalla hills.

Two hours later, the Pakistani side had an easy win with its youngish and very much-in shape team (apparently comprising professional players roped in by the Chamber of Commerce and Industry). Cameras rolled in and there was a lot of sloganeering for the sake of the burping TV crews who had seen the Pakistani team win between hurried bites of kebabs and biryani. All Pakistanis on the ground were in celebration mode and did their best to rub in their win.

I recently read a compilation of comments by a Pakistani blogger on how Indians were conspiring to win: a) Indians are good at black magic; just see how their Pundits put an amulet under the Mohali pitch; b) The Mohali pitch has been developed to assist the Indian players; c) Pakistanis will lose the match because they know Indian crowd will beat the hell out of our players if they win the game; d) RAW conspiring to use Indian bookies to bring down Pakistani team.

And they say the game of cricket is a winner!