Chapter 41: The Mirror Cracked
October 25, 2000 Media Monitoring Cell, Islamabad 20:00 Hours
The cricket matches were happening in the background, but the real game was being played on the streets.
We had issued 50,000 "Cricket Visas" in a single month. It was a security nightmare, but a sociological miracle.
I sat with Shaukat Aziz and General Mahmood, watching a compilation of news clips from across the border.
"Look at this," I pointed to the screen. "We spent fifty years building walls. The people are tearing them down in five days."
The View from Lahore: The Lady from Bihar
The screen showed a talk show on PTV. The host was interviewing an Indian family from Patna, Bihar. They looked middle-class, conservative. The mother, Mrs. Sinha, wearing a simple cotton sari, held the microphone. She was crying.
Host: "Mrs. Sinha, you were afraid to come to Pakistan?"
Mrs. Sinha: "I was terrified. My neighbors told me, 'Where are you going? They are enemies. They kill Hindus.' I came only because my son wanted to see the match."
She wiped her eyes, her voice trembling with emotion.
Mrs. Sinha: "But yesterday, I went to Anarkali Bazaar. I lost my way. A rickshaw driver saw me. He saw my bindi. He knew I was Indian."
Host: "And what happened?"
Mrs. Sinha: "He didn't ask for money. He said, 'Mata-ji (Mother), you are a guest in my home. How can I charge you?' He took me to my hotel. He bought juice for my son."
She looked directly into the camera.
Mrs. Sinha: "We hear about bombs. We hear about hate. But I have only seen Tehzeb (etiquette). The men here... they lower their gaze when they talk to a woman. They call me 'Apa' (Sister). I feel safer in Lahore than I do in Delhi. This is not the Pakistan I was told about."
General Mahmood shifted in his chair. Even the hard-bitten spy chief was touched.
"She destroys the 'Barbarian' narrative in one interview," Mahmood muttered.
The View from Mumbai: The Girl from Lahore
I flipped the channel to an Indian news network, Star Plus.
They were interviewing a group of young Pakistani students from Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS) who had traveled to Mumbai for the match.
The camera focused on a young woman, Sadia. She was wearing jeans and a kurta, her hair blowing in the wind of Marine Drive.
Interviewer: "Sadia, this is your first time in India. How is Mumbai treating you?"
Sadia: "It is... intoxicating."
She laughed, looking at the lights of the Queen's Necklace.
Sadia: "In Lahore, we have culture. We have food. But here? There is a different kind of energy. I walked on Colaba Causeway at 1:00 AM. There were girls in skirts, boys with guitars, temples next to mosques."
Interviewer: "Do you feel like an outsider?"
Sadia: "No. I feel... liberated. In Pakistan, we are often told that 'Modernity' means losing your religion. But here, I see women leading corporations, I see a co-existence that is chaotic but beautiful. No one stares at me. No one judges me. I feel like I can breathe."
She paused, searching for the right words.
Sadia: "Lahore is my heart. But Mumbai? Mumbai feels like the future."
The Synthesis
I turned off the TV.
"Do you see what is happening?" I asked the room.
"The Indian sees our Tehzeb—our traditional hospitality—and realizes we are not monsters," I analyzed. "The Pakistani sees Indian Liberalism—their economic vibrancy and social freedom—and realizes they are not godless heathens."
"They are seeing the best of each other," Shaukat noted. "Instead of the worst."
"Exactly," I leaned back. "For fifty years, the Pakistani identity was defined by 'Not being Indian'. And the Indian identity was defined by 'Not being Pakistani'. We just broke that mirror."
The Realization
"Sir," General Mahmood said, his voice low. "This is dangerous."
"Why?"
"Because if they like each other this much," Mahmood warned, "how will we ever convince them to fight a war again? If a Lahori boy falls in love with a Mumbai lifestyle, and a Bihari mother falls in love with Pashtun hospitality... the 'Enemy Image' collapses."
"That is the point, Mahmood," I said, standing up to look at the map of the subcontinent.
"I don't want to fight a war with guns anymore. I want to fight a war of influence."
"Let the Pakistanis want to be as rich as Mumbai. Let the Indians want to be as cultured as Lahore. Let them compete on who is better, not who can kill more."
I picked up a file marked 'Visa Protocol 2001'.
"Expand the program," I ordered. "Student exchanges. Medical visas. Artist residencies. Open the floodgates."
"If we can't unite them by law," I smiled, "we will unite them by envy and admiration."
"Now," I checked my watch. "The Final is in three days. Karachi vs Mumbai. The ultimate clash."
"Let's see if the friendship survives a last-over finish."