Home Is about People, Not Soil and Bones
By Aamir Butt
Hull, UK/Lahore, Pakistan
In the article ‘ Many rivers, one dream: Reflections of a wanderer ’, Parvez Sahib is writing in perspective of our shared historical roots that persist even when our identities change with time and politics.
However, he is still living in Pakistan where he was born.
For people like me who have migrated, the issue of identity and belonging becomes even more perplexing.
I once tried to convey this in an article titled ‘Where is my home?’ but it can also be, ‘Who am I?’
Where is my home?
Here’s what I wrote after one of my visits to Lahore:
Waking up this morning, for a few moments, I was not sure if I was in Lahore or Ferriby, UK! However, it soon dawned on me that I was in the house which is now the one I have lived in for the longest period of my life and the bed I have most slept in. I have lived roughly half of my life in England and half in Pakistan, but this house is the single most lived-in house for me.
People like me, first-generation immigrants, spend their lives never sure which place they should call home. For all practical purposes, home is the country where we have a house, where we make a living, where we pay taxes, and most importantly, where our children live. However, we are not like our children who were born in our new country.
We spent our childhood, growing up years, and part of adult life in another country, and while that country still exists, and we visit her, this sense of not being entirely sure where we belong remains.
I had rather a nomadic life when I lived in Pakistan, in the sense that instead of staying in Lahore, where I was born, I moved every few years to different cities before settling in Rawalpindi when I was 18. It was from here that I moved to England in my thirties.
Although, until I moved to the UK, Pakistan was my home, I was not 100% sure in which part of that country was that home! Earlier, when I used to come temporarily to the UK for exams etc., I missed the Rawalpindi-Islamabad area as it was there in those days where my parents and friends were living.
When in those days in England, revising for exams, I used to sit and listen to Faiz Sahib’s poetry, and these lines came up:
دیار غیر میں محرم اگر نہیں کوئی
تو فیضؔ ذکر وطن اپنے روبرو ہی سہی
[dayār-e-ġhair meñ mahram agar nahīñ koī
to ‘faiz’ zikr-e-vatan apne rū-ba-rū hī sahī]
(In the foreign land, if you cannot find a friend, then Faiz talks about your homeland with yourself)
It would be Rawalpindi-Islamabad that would conjure up in my brain.
Today, after I settled in the UK, my mother has moved to Lahore, and it is Lahore where I spend 99% of my time while visiting Pakistan; I think of Lahore as my home in Pakistan. Strange as it sounds, I became a Lahori after migrating to the UK!
The difference between humans and Artificial Intelligence remains the presence or absence of emotions. Emotions we have are attached to other humans, not as it is projected in popular slogans the land itself. We often hear about the bones of ancestors and the fragrance of the native soil. Personally, I feel no shame in declaring that I feel nothing for such dead things. I don’t feel any love for stones and bricks and other non-living items in Pakistan or England.
I am sure someone will be thinking, “So you don’t care about your dead father?” Well, yes, but all my attachments to my father are from the times when he was alive. I have no love for the plot of land where he is buried because he is not there. He is in my heart, his memories are in my brain, and those are the real things, not bones and dust. The memories are what I can carry with me wherever I go.
Our attachment to our land of birth is due to our relationships, the memories of the good times we have spent there, and the love we received and still do, if we are fortunate enough when we visit. The love and longing I have for Pakistan is due to the people whom I love who live there. My mother, my relatives, and my friends are the reasons for my love, not the dust and bones.
I think we have to conclude that first-generation immigrants like me have two homes, one in the country we were born in and the second where we have moved to. This reminds me of lines from Neil Diamond’s song,
‘Well I’m New York City born and raised,
but nowadays
I’m lost between two shores.
L.A.’s fine, but it ain’t home,
New York’s home, but it ain’t mine no more.’
Well, life goes on as long as I am alive and retain cognition, there will be other trips to Lahore and Pakistan. As Sahir Ludhianvi beautifully captured,
چند کلیاں نشاط کی چن کر مدتوں محو یاس رہتا ہوں
تیرا ملنا خوشی کی بات سہی تجھ سے مل کر اداس رہتا ہوں
[Chand kaliyāñ nashāt kī chun kar muddatoñ mahv-e-yās rahtā huuñ
Terā milnā ḳhushī kī baat sahī, tujh se mil kar udās rahtā huuñ]
(After gathering a few moments of happiness, I remain lost in grief for a long time,
Meeting you is a moment of happiness; I don’t know why I become sad)
(Aamir Butt is a writer, retired consultant, and medical academic; Hull, UK / Lahore, Pakistan)
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