THE WAY IT WAS: Honourable Vs pompous Indians
Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan
The rich are thrifty in parting with money as well as in having a sense of
honour. The common citizen scarcely has any money so he prizes honour. The hotel
would not accept our travellers’ cheques because we were from a hostile
country. A small shopkeeper from a small Indian town would not have our dignity
compromised
It was late at night when our Toyota failed us on the journey back from Bombay
to Delhi. It was the summer of 1968. We managed to drive on for some distance
but soon realised that it wouldn’t take us to Jaipur, our next stop.
Fortunately there was a shop still open in a small town, about 40 kilometres
short of Jaipur, and we stopped there to enquire for help.
There was no way we could have got a replacement for the malfunctioned clutch
assembly from this small rural location or for that matter from anywhere else in
the country, because India insisted on manufacturing its own things and did not
allow imports from abroad. But we were hoping a local mechanic could somehow fix
the fault so we could move on. The shopkeeper, an amiable man of about 30, gave
us an encouraging smile when he saw our somewhat worried and distressed forms
approach him.
On learning that we were Pakistanis, he quickly rose from his padded seat and
effusively bade us welcome and speedily brought out a few chairs for us to sit
in. Would we have tea? He insisted that we must and before we could even blink,
a barefooted lad was rushed off to his house to fetch a pot. Someone else was
hailed and sent off to get the Mistri who presumably must have been snoring in
his bed. While we anxiously waited for the mechanic we were courteously kept
engaged in small conversation, politely avoiding contentious issues.
It has been a long time and I don’t remember exactly the many topics
pleasantly discussed, but I do remember a sense of mutual embarrassment floating
about us at having been to war against each other. There was a visible
hesitation to look each other in the eye when the subject did crop up. It is
amazing and, not least, tragic that people face to face are cordial and kind,
whereas governments back to back are hostile and aggressive. People all over the
world are uncomplicated. They are warm and helpful and wish to be left alone to
live their lives in peace.
The tea arrived neatly, in a tray covered by hand-embroidered linen, which
obviously was the work of the lady of the house. The qawah was poured out and
served with sugar and milk to our individual preference. We were halfway through
sipping our tea, when the mechanic arrived with bloated eyes, in a rather
dishevelled state. He was quickly poured a cup, which helped to restore him to
full awareness of what he was required to accomplish. I must say, our mistris
are quite brilliant, the way they can scan and assemble things by just feeling
them with their fingers.
I once took our black and white television for repair to the Gulberg main
market. It was some years ago when the colour television had not come to Lahore
yet. I was made to wait a while before the engineer arrived wielding a
screwdriver. The television was disembowelled and prodded with the screwdriver,
at its various sensitive points. He seemed to be well acquainted with
acupuncture. A small tubular gadget was clipped off and discarded in the
process. Several screws were tightened and others unscrewed and put in a
container. Finally, everything was reassembled with his magic hands. The
television worked. This was accomplished with the help of a mere screwdriver.
What a feat!
But it worried me that a plateful of screws and other small items of curious
shapes and demeanour were left out, including the tubular part, which had been
clipped off. The “engineer”, as he was called, assured me that I need not
worry, because the leftovers were quite useless and that the Japanese had put
them in just for the heck of it. In spite of the fact that the television
worked, it took some time before I could allay my doubts and drove back home
technologically a wiser person. What do the Japanese know? After all we fought
the crusades, not them!
I remember the occasion when my friend Humayun was invited for dinner at the
college high table and was seated next to Prof. Arbry. Humayun who was reading
economics at Cambridge had no idea that this chap Arbry had rendered the Holy
Quran in English verse. The moment Prof Arbry learnt that Humayun was a Muslim
student from Pakistan and expressed interest in its Islamic heritage my friend
took upon himself to educate the Englishman about Islam and the essentials of
the Holy Quran. Needless to say that Prof. Arbry expressed keen interest in all
the young scholar was saying on the subject, spasmodically nodding to encourage
him on. It was only the following morning that Humayun discovered the faux pas
he had made when he proudly informed his friends, much to their merriment, about
his conversation with Mr Arbry.
Our Indian automobile mechanic was a genius. He scraped the worn-out bushes off
the clutch plates and riveted the new Hindustani bushes onto the old plates.
“What a simple, sensible thing to do!” I thought. He assured us that these
would safely take us to Delhi. In fact the clutch plates fabricated by him on
the spur of a moment, brought us back to Lahore without a jerk or jolt.
We complimented the mechanic profusely on his mechanical skills but on reaching
into our pockets for money, we realised that we did not have sufficient Indian
currency to pay him. We offered travellers’ cheques instead, which were to our
dismay politely declined. At this point our friend the shopkeeper intervened and
begged us not to worry about the payment. But when we insisted, he rejoined that
the money could be sent to him on reaching Delhi. At this we felt greatly
relieved and with many apologies and expression of thanks recommenced our
journey.
We checked in at the Jaipur Palace Hotel, well after midnight. We were up
relatively early and ordered our usual breakfast, in the dining hall for a
change, comprising omelette and toast with butter and marmalade. My wife
preferred to have a glass of orange juice for a starter while I helped myself to
sliced melons and an assortment of diced fruit. The management sternly refused
to accept our travellers’ cheques and insisted that they be paid in cash. We
were taken aback and quite baffled at their conduct. A small Indian shopkeeper
had asked us to send the payment, which was not an inconsiderable amount, on
reaching Delhi. Here we were stuck with the establishment owned by no one less
than the Maharaja of Jaipur himself, which refused to accept our travellers’
cheques despite the fact that they had the facility to accept them, unlike the
small rural town.
We suspected that we were being differently treated for being Pakistanis because
similar travellers’ cheques were being accepted at the hotel counter from
tourists of other countries. A desperate search was conducted by us to collect
the required money. Musarrat went through all the pockets of her purse. Sohail
roughly rummaged through his clothes looking in his trouser and kurta pockets. I
did the same, not forgetting to investigate the glove compartment of the car.
When all the small coins and stray currency notes added up, we were overjoyed to
find that we had just made it, with some change to spare for the tips.
The rich are thrifty in parting with money as well as in having a sense of
honour. They prize money more and have little value for honour. The common
citizen on the other hand scarcely has any money so instead he prizes honour,
which costs personal sacrifice but not money. The Royal Jaipur Hotel would not
accept our travellers’ cheques because we were from a hostile country. We
would be difficult to track down if the travellers’ cheques were forged or
faked. A small shopkeeper from a small Indian town only about 40 kilometres down
the road would not have our dignity compromised. The money could be sent later
at our convenience.
Whenever I think of India, this incident comes alive in my memory. It seems as
though it was only yesterday that we sipped tea with this gracious Hindu
shopkeeper who came to our help in our hour of need. It makes me feel indebted
to the common citizens of India, whom he represented. I have been to Bharat on
innumerable occasions and have made many great friends and can report
innumerable episodes where people have behaved in a manner that endeared them to
me. I have also come across scores of pompous and arrogant asses.
During one of these visits while chatting with a Delhi intellectual, I pleaded
that if India were to unilaterally reduce the size of its armed forces our
military set-up, logically speaking, would have to be proportionately reduced.
The savings could be invested in health, education and employment and so on. Was
there reason for India to feel insecure and justify such a mammoth war machine,
I humbly asked? My Indian friend stared at me in disbelief.
How could I be so stupid he seemed to wonder and finally blurted out with
visible arrogance: “Please understand our military’s size is not determined
by you. We have wider concerns in the region far beyond our national borders.”
But I think little of these creatures. They are like many of my own countrymen
cast in a similar mould, only wearing different caps.
Prof Ijaz-ul-Hassan is a painter, author and a political activist