Comedy of errors: India goes into Myanmar; I go to Lahore

A tragedy that assumes ridiculous proportions almost always turns comic. That is the principle I work with when I tell tragic stories.

None substantiates this more than the India-Pakistan story.

It's absolute fun when you are an Indian in Pakistan, especially when there is an ongoing war of words between the two not-so-friendly neighbours. This month I was invited by the Punjab government in Pakistan to be a part of the first Pakistan International Mountain film Festival in Lahore.

Now, I have been to Pakistan before and every single time it’s the same story. It’s like a Sajid Khan film - it’s so bad and repetitive, replete with inert clichés that you actually start to enjoy it for its rib-tickling absurdity.

My trip to Pakistan happened at a very interesting time. India had just completed a “56 inch mission” in Myanmar and was posturing like a mohalla bully and Pakistan was replying to the salvos fired in kind. Much like two school boys making empty threats to each other, “Tujhay dekh lunga, tu jaanta nahi main kaun hoon” - while both wouldn't dare do anything out of the ordinary.

Our minister Colonel Rajyavardhan Rathore said, “Pakistan should be careful now” and in return I am thankful to the Pakistan foreign office for giving us a valuable education in geography: “Pakistan is not Myanmar”.

Actually, the fun starts right at the immigration desk at the Delhi airport.

“Kyun jaa rahe ho Pakistan, woh koi jaane ki jagah hai?”

I was tempted to say, “Training ke liye jaa raha hun”, but I resisted and said I was going for a film festival.

The officer did not lose jingoist focus and asked again, “Filmen toh Mumbai main banti hai, Pakistan main filmon ka kya matlab?” I was left wishing I had one of those fly-zapping racquets in my hand.

I reached Lahore, which is not even an hour away from Delhi, after a 10 hour journey via Dubai – a telling metaphor for our so-near-yet-so-far story. In Lahore, the corridor and lobby of my hotel was swarming with the same suspicious flies. Strange men in shalwar kameez lurked outside my room. They assumed they were inconspicuous, but they all looked the same and they were everywhere.

Friends would come to my room and ask me to switch on the TV and turn up the volume before they could have a conversation. And we all would break into this song I wrote about the Indo-Pak comedy, “Yahan bomb girana asaan hai par visa milna mushqil hai, jamhooriyat sadh rahi jailon main aur sarkaron main qatil hain, bas do families ki chandi hai, yahan Bhutto hai, wahan Gandhi hai… (It's easy to drop a bomb on each other, but it's tougher to get a visa; while democracy languishes locked in prisons, murderers are perched in governments. It’s all about two families, the Bhuttos in Pakistan and the Gandhis in India)”.

Amidst all this fun and singing, no opportunity for making fun of each other was missed. While I asked my Lahori friend to get an AK-47 on discount, he retorted by saying, “Suna hai tumhare yahan ghar wapsi ho rahi hai? Hamen bhi bula lo yaar (I hear there is 'home coming' happening in India, can we also come back?)”.

One policeman, who was assigned to me, asked, “O yaar yeh aapke Modi sahib kya bol rahe hain, Pakistan main ghus jayengay, Pakistaniyon ne kya choodiyan pehan rakhi hain? (What is this Mr Modi saying that he will enter into Pakistan, do you think Pakistanis are wearing bangles?)”

Not for a moment was I overcome by patriotic fervour to defend my country. Instead, I was amused. I told him, I am Sanjay Rajoura, not Modi. But it doesn’t take long for this comedy of terrors to elevate to being a comedy of errors! But by the end of the day, general Pervez Musharraf came with the best lines of the piece. “Humne yeh nuclear weapon Shab-e-baraat main chorne ke liye nahi banaye hain” (We have not made nukes to launch them in celebration during the festival of Shab-e-baraat). I got hold of the policeman and asked him, “Janab yeh Musharaff sahib ki bandookh main abhi bhi kartoos hain? (Sir, does Gen Musharraf still have ammunition left in his smoking gun?)” 

If you are an Indian in Lahore or Karachi, one thing you hear almost everybody saying is, “Hum donon toh ek hi hain bhai mere, yeh to sab siyasat ki karastaniyan hain (we are all the same, it's just the politicians who play games with us)”. You hear this one line at such regular intervals in every conversation that you wonder who is writing it. And why are they so keen to blame the “siyasat daan” as if they are aliens? No! “Hum ek nahi hain” and siyasat daan are not imperialist foreigners. We are the politicians, and the politicians are us. The truth is that we are neighbours, we are two different countries. Let us not romanticise our relationship to such an extent that we become delusional and use it to abdicate our personal responsibility. Almost 70 years have passed and we have not understood that. How long will it take? How long before we cease to be a joke and learn to coexist as good neighbours do (and not fantasise about being best friends and Siamese twins)?

Until that reality seeps into our delusional narratives, just sit back, relax, get your popcorn and enjoy the Sajid Khan comedy! For all you know, it might just turn into a Rs 1,000 crore grosser!