Of Crochets, Cross-stitches and Secret Smiles

I have been lazy. Writing here had taken a backseat, and I was concentrating on Delhi’s winters, shopping, television and parties and sometimes I was just lying around waiting for things to happen. Nothing did, and I had almost given up on this exercise. But today it looks like words haven’t given up on me. Or maybe the story that I have to share is just itching to be told. 

The story of Nazreen Azeez – mother of four, expert embroiderer and a Pakistani. 

Nazreen Azeez – mother of four, expert embroiderer and a Pakistani.

The Indo-Pak border issue has once again made it to the headlines. The last time something like this happened I remember reading the newspaper’s big bold white letters on an ink-black patch that said, ‘War in Kargil’. My mother stocked extra sugar and rice, because the last time India was at war, the kitchen had run out of provisions and shopkeepers sold their stock at outrageous prices. 

Today, once again, Indian TV stations are discussing everything from politics to cricket to LoC on primetime - sometimes a little too loudly. One heated discussion led to another, until my exasperated TV-viewing father-in-law declared that these guys should be taken off air for instigating a war like situation in a nation pre-divided by religion and class. And because he couldn’t possibly do that, he switched off the TV instead and a pregnant silence prevailed until bedtime. 

The next day, I showed up at Dilli Haat on official business. The Dastkari Haat Samiti which is an NGO for craftspeople was having their annual exhibition and this time around, they were collaborating with Pakistan’s Behbud Association. My story was about this collaboration. Five Pakistani women and five Indian women, sat in a circle sharing their craft techniques, styles, stories, smiles and gossip. In the past couple of days they had become fast friends. I noticed that one of them had a playful happy smile. It lingered on her face as she did went on with her daily dose of embroidery. Like she had a secret, one that was too delicious to share and too precious to hide. 

Annual Fair at Dilli Haat

I went about my business - documenting the craftswomen at work, talking to customers who examined, felt and tried on the Pakistani Salwar Suits. Meeting the organisers and going over the story with them, until finally someone introduced me to that woman with the secret smile - Nazreen Azeez. 

This was her first time in India Nazreen said, and even though she had come just a few days ago she felt welcome, like she’d just come to her maternal home. The Indian women, who sat embroidering with her, were now her friends. They all had similar stories - of homes, children, recipes and worries. But, that aside, here in India she had met her actual family, estranged during the partition. 

Yash Chopra's Indo-Pak love story

Like a Yash Chopra movie on 70mm, Nazreen’s story played out in front of my eyes. She was one of the five women chosen by Behbud Association to go on the India trip. Her husband and their four children were worried, for India was not a safe place for a Pakistani woman. Her brothers warned her against making this treacherous journey and her neighbours and friends told her that the ‘Hindu’ nation might not be too kind to her. Nazreen herself was in two minds, but her mother told her that she must go, for it was her last wish. She must go to the country that was once their home. She must climb the steps of Jama Masjid and she must bring back mud from their Karol Bagh home. So Nazreen came. Scared and alarmed by all the stories she had heard about India. Worried how people in this ‘enemy country’ might treat her, but also determined to fulfil her mother’s last wish.

Nazreen’s parents used to live in Karol Bagh. She has only heard stories about that home, for she herself was born in Pakistan. During partition, like many other Muslim families, Nazreen’s parents had made a choice. They moved to the newly formed state, while her father’s brother (Fufa-ji) decided to stay on in India. Over the years the brothers and their wives stayed in touch, first through letters, and then came the telephone and more recently skype and voice chat. The grew older, had children, who in turn married and had children of their own. Everyone spoke about Fufa-ji and his family in India like they knew them personally, but except for blurry internet images, the brothers hadn't seen each other since that fatal day many years ago.

Divided we stand

When Nazreen set off to India, her Fufa-ji’s family was informed about this journey. They now live in Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh about 35 kms from Dilli Haat. The day before I met Nazreen, she had had other visitors. That was her secret smile. For the first time in her life, she met her cousins!

A stitch in time

Her Indian friends and fellow embroiderers later told me that when she spun around to meet them, she took a minute to recognise them and when she did, she cried. They recognised her, and they cried too and soon all of them sitting in the circle, working on their daily dose of embroidery, cried along. Indians and Pakistanis divided by passports but united by raw human emotions and tears. 

Nazreen was given special permission to stay with her family in Ghaziabad. And so, from eight in the night to eight the next day morning she talked, wept, ate, listened, loved and laughed with her newly united family. When she returned to Dilli Haat for another day of crochet and cross-stitches, she smiled to herself in fond memory.  

Like in a dark theatre, I experienced the heart wrenching pain of separation, almost heard the silent tears as they rolled down, held my breath during the climax and sighed in relief at the happy reunion that marked the end of the story. 

Or could this be the beginning of something new and beautiful? 

Dare I dream? 

Dare we hope? 

Dare we hope?