God Bless
Cricket
By Bapsi Sidhwa
Houston, TX
I have been, over different periods of time,
a citizen of Pakistan and India, and now I am
American. As one for whom national borders are
becoming blurred and matters of citizenship disconcertingly
fluid, I feel I belong to these countries simultaneously
rather than sequentially: and whatever happens
in them, whether it’s a celebration or a
disaster, resonates for me and affects me deeply.
I am as jubilant when the Indian Cricket team
beats England as I am when the Pakistani Cricket
team beats Australia; as carried-away by Nusrat
Fate Ali Khan’s impassioned qawalis and
Abida Parveen’s passionate songs as I am
by the extraordinary sweetness and prowess of
Kishori Amolkar and the sensational Rabbi –
whose rendition of Bulla Ki Jaana Main Kaun I
have just transported with me from Delhi. And
I am as dismayed by the poverty that stains both
countries like some insidious rot as I am by the
callous capitalism enveloping India and the stranglehold
of feudalism in Pakistan.
And least you think I have skirted the delicate
issue of Indo-Pak cricket matches let me make
myself clear; I mourn with the loser and rejoice
with the winner - and glory equally in seeing
the unmatchable Tandulkar, Gangooli, Inzaman and
Afridi in action. God bless cricket for fostering
the current goodwill between the people of the
two countries. I have to confess there were exceptions;
Imran Khan’s stunning good looks and ballet-like
grace as a bowler and Gavaskar sensational batting
and compassionate heart had me unabashedly rooting
for their respective teams.
The flip side of this multiplicity of citizenship
– a fluidity which I have come to treasure
- is patriotism. To be patriotic is of necessity
to be at odds with your neighbors – if not
regard them with outright hostility. Some of us
have enough enemies of our own, thank you, and
the last thing we need is to take on the enmity
of nations.
This was not always the case. I remember a time
when I was rabidly patriotic. In the wars between
India and Pakistan I rooted for Pakistan, and
when East Pakistan struggled to gain independence
as Bangladesh I registered only the brutality
of the Mukhti Bahani towards the West Pakistanis
and discounted the tales of butchering and rape
attributed to the Pakistani army. I was in England
in 1971 and the British media’s portrayal
of Pakistani savagery reinforced the sense of
Pakistan being wronged. Patriotism blinds one
to the pain of others. From childhood certain
buttons are painstakingly stitched into our psyches;
buttons of bias, prejudice and false pride that
teach us contempt for people of another faith,
ethnicity or country and brand them as a less
worthy species.
Since I was born in Karachi before Partition,
I was a bona fide citizen of India at birth. Whenever
I apply for a visa to India I fill the column
marked ‘City and Country of birth: Karachi,
India.’ But the authorities who issue visas
will have none of this. I am politely but firmly
told I was born in Pakistan – never mind
that Pakistan was born 8 years after my birth.
Why should this be so? I feel I have as much a
claim to the soil of India as to the soil of Pakistan,
and it is nobodies business but mine where I chose
to belong.
And one feels this sense of ‘belonging’
not only with the countries of which one is a
citizen; one establishes also an affinity with
countries one frequently visits. I have as strong
an affinity with the voluble and passionate people
of Italy as I do with the subtly humorous and
courteous people of Britain, as much admiration
for the extraordinary loyalty of Afghan friends
as I have for the can-do spirit and idealistic
vision of my friends in America.
Take a leap of faith; one is more at ease in the
world as a citizen of the World than one is as
a citizen of any particular country.
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