“I have no colour prejudices nor caste prejudices nor creed prejudices. All I care to know is that a man is a human being; he can’t be any worse” ― Mark Twain.
…and here I was talking to an elderly Sikh lady, who incidentally happened to be close to me. I always found her intriguing. She had witnessed history unfold before her very eyes. Hardly of eight, she and her family had migrated from Pakistan. As we chatted through the noon, I judiciously brought up the topic of partition and I waited not certain if she would open up. She looked at me as one would at a naïve child. And I waited as a child would, for the sealed tap to twirl and watch with anticipation the restrained waters gush out, leaving it drenched and yet instinctively thirsting for more. She looked at her palms, the criss cross lines very much like barbed wire fences did not permit her to dig the past.
Would an oral narrative be any different, I wondered. Probably be more personal, more intimate and a lot more intrusive. How many books, authors and equal number of films had I read and watched, the horrors of partition. Khushwant Singh, Saadat Hasan Manto, Taslima Nasrin, they wrenched your heart while Tamas, Pinjar, Train to Pakistan, welled the eyes repeatedly. These creative minds took a toll, their works invariably always succeeded in leaving me in a disturbed state of mind, sometimes for days and at times weeks together.
And yet I would go on punishing myself, drawing sadistic pleasure, or was it that I felt guilty of leading a good life while my own brethren not many decades ago had faced untold trauma, assault, rape, violence and death, some wantonly, others accidentally. Those far off tales of hawaelis, azaans and langars, the undulating green fields running miles and miles together to kiss the horizon. The fresh frothing lassi and piping hot missi roti, chaana chaats, kebaabs. They sounded familiar to me, whipping an unbearable poignancy and a desire to know more.
By now it was late evening, I got up to take her leave. She beckoned me, looked me in the eyes and asked – do you nurture hatred for any community, any religion, any State? She looked right into my soul, leaving me perturbed, surprised and in a way naked. I had not expected her to ask me this question. I sat down impulsively, dreading the thought of doing some soul searching and probably embracing my prejudices, my pre judgmental temperament and my irrational beliefs. Just when I was bracing to take up this magnanimous task. She smiled.
There is just one fundamental lesson that life has taught and that is ‘faith in mankind’. Times harden us, yet by default humans want to do good. Let not the fallacious actions of few, define your perception. I have seen disaster, absolute destruction and yet I have seen unconditional support, unwavering kindness from the most unexpected people and unexpected sources. At the age of eight I could hardly discriminate people based on religion or ethnicity and yet I would experience the goodness of mankind. I nurture no grudges, nor do I relive the horrors. Just remember humans are inherently good hearted. That evening I walked away with a mantra that I would always treasure.
