I walk into a library, and run into a tall man wearing a beautiful kurta. I compliment him, and ask where he bought it from. I have been looking for cheaper alternatives to Fabindia, and Khaadi, you’d have guessed. Further pleasantries are exchanged and I am asked what I do for a living. I talk about my writing and teaching assignments but also make sure to tell him that I’m involved in peace initiatives between India and Pakistan.
“Going by what’s happening right now, you’re clearly not doing your job well,” he says. I laugh. I’ve heard worse criticism. “Well, this is work that needs to be done continuously. One cannot lay down objectives, get done with the deliverables and walk off,” I say. We return the books we had borrowed. He disappears behind a shelf of books, and I run to the nearest computer. This column has to be filed today, and I cannot risk skipping my deadline.
There is a story from Ambala that I must share. I went there a couple of weeks ago to conduct a peace education workshop with teenage students at Mindtree School. The aim of the workshop was to create a safe space for them to express their own thoughts and feelings related to the India-Pakistan conflict. When journalists and politicians scream so fervently and frequently about how citizens ought to relate to people from the neighbouring country, there is little opportunity for young people to speak up.
I was struck by the diversity of views in the classroom - from an interest in Pakistani food to a fascination with Urdu, from a mistrust of Muslims to a burning desire for cross-border friendships, from an appeal against covert support to terrorist havens to anger against media houses for misleading people and inciting hatred. I wanted to leave them with the feeling that they need not feel defeated by the current situation because they have the potential to imagine creative solutions - something that previous generations have failed at. Some of them spoke of fathers and uncles working in the army. Some mentioned having grandparents who fled Lahore and Rawalpindi in 1947 at the time of Partition.
In order to introduce an element of fun into that sombre session, I gave out sheets of paper with a quiz printed on them. It was titled ‘Know Your Neighbour’, and all the questions were about Pakistan.
If you read these carefully, you will notice that the intention was not to test their knowledge but to cash in on their curiosity, to make them think of the variety of contributions Pakistanis have made in various fields, to get them to look beyond Pakistani politicians and Pakistani terrorists, and to appreciate our interconnectedness.
The answers to questions 7, 9 and 11 were easy for them to figure out. They struggled with the others, and could not come up with the correct responses even after several rounds of guesswork. I hope many of them went home and shared these questions with their friends, siblings, parents and grandparents. I hope some did a Google search, and decided to explore the writings of Allama Iqbal and Bapsi Sidhwa. I don’t expect them to get started with Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai so early. But if they did, I’d be quite thrilled.
I have seen not only students but also teachers in other Indian schools struggle with these questions about Pakistan. To me, this is an indication of how much more we need to learn about our neighbour in order for stereotypes to disappear. If a quiz on India had to be taken by teenage students in a Pakistani classroom, what would qualify as challenging questions? They know way too much about Bollywood. Not that. If you are a Pakistani teacher who wants to try this out in your classroom, please email me at chintangirishmodi@gmail.com
When our workshop was over, a few of the students stayed back, and said, “Sir, autograph please!” I replied, “Sure. But I’m not famous.” They insisted, so I asked, “Would you like me to just sign, or also write a few lines for you?” The tallest girl in the group said, “Sir, write: Best of Luck. God bless you. Everyone writes that.” Aww! You see why I love working with teenagers.
Another said, “Sir, actually I was not interested in India-Pakistan issues at all. I was excited about the fact that you, Sir, have come from Mumbai.” Wow! What was that? I probed further.
“Sir, Mummy ne kahaa ki Mumbai wale log bhi hamaare jaise hi hote hain. Unke koi par nahin hote. Sach kahaa tha, Sir. Aapke par nahin hai.” (Sir, Mummy said that people from Mumbai are just like us. They don’t have wings. That’s true, Sir. You don’t have wings.)
Chintan Girish Modi is our Mumbai-based columnist who loves ajrak and alubukhaaray ki chatni. Tweet to him at @chintan_connect
“Going by what’s happening right now, you’re clearly not doing your job well,” he says. I laugh. I’ve heard worse criticism. “Well, this is work that needs to be done continuously. One cannot lay down objectives, get done with the deliverables and walk off,” I say. We return the books we had borrowed. He disappears behind a shelf of books, and I run to the nearest computer. This column has to be filed today, and I cannot risk skipping my deadline.
You will notice that the intention was not to test their knowledge but to cash in on their curiosity towards Pakistan
There is a story from Ambala that I must share. I went there a couple of weeks ago to conduct a peace education workshop with teenage students at Mindtree School. The aim of the workshop was to create a safe space for them to express their own thoughts and feelings related to the India-Pakistan conflict. When journalists and politicians scream so fervently and frequently about how citizens ought to relate to people from the neighbouring country, there is little opportunity for young people to speak up.
I was struck by the diversity of views in the classroom - from an interest in Pakistani food to a fascination with Urdu, from a mistrust of Muslims to a burning desire for cross-border friendships, from an appeal against covert support to terrorist havens to anger against media houses for misleading people and inciting hatred. I wanted to leave them with the feeling that they need not feel defeated by the current situation because they have the potential to imagine creative solutions - something that previous generations have failed at. Some of them spoke of fathers and uncles working in the army. Some mentioned having grandparents who fled Lahore and Rawalpindi in 1947 at the time of Partition.
In order to introduce an element of fun into that sombre session, I gave out sheets of paper with a quiz printed on them. It was titled ‘Know Your Neighbour’, and all the questions were about Pakistan.
- Which Pakistani filmmaker won the Oscar in 2012 for her documentary film on survivors of acid attacks?
- Which Pakistani scientist has won the Nobel Prize for Physics?
- Which Pakistani lawyer and human rights activist was the inspiration behind Rani Mukherjee’s character in the Hindi film ‘Veer Zaara’?
- Which poet wrote the poem ‘Saare Jahaan Se Achchha Hindustan Hamaara’?
- Which Pakistani city did Shahrukh Khan’s father live in before he moved to New Delhi?
- Which character in the Ramayana is said to be the inspiration behind the naming of the Pakistani city Lahore?
- Which Pakistani teenager from the Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa province was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize?
- Which 17th century Sindhi poet has been called the Shakespeare of Sindh, one of the provinces in Pakistan?
- Which Pakistani cricketer is the husband of Indian sport star Sania Mirza?
- Which Pakistani tennis player, along with Rohan Bopanna, started the ‘Stop War, Start Tennis’ campaign?
- Which place in Pakistan is famous as the birthplace of Guru Nanak?
- Which person of Pakistani heritage is now the mayor of London?
- Which Pakistani writer has authored a novel that describes the Partition of 1947 from the perspective of a little Parsi girl?
- Which Pakistani rock band features in Indian filmmaker Anand Patwardhan’s documentary film ‘War and Peace’?
If you read these carefully, you will notice that the intention was not to test their knowledge but to cash in on their curiosity, to make them think of the variety of contributions Pakistanis have made in various fields, to get them to look beyond Pakistani politicians and Pakistani terrorists, and to appreciate our interconnectedness.
The answers to questions 7, 9 and 11 were easy for them to figure out. They struggled with the others, and could not come up with the correct responses even after several rounds of guesswork. I hope many of them went home and shared these questions with their friends, siblings, parents and grandparents. I hope some did a Google search, and decided to explore the writings of Allama Iqbal and Bapsi Sidhwa. I don’t expect them to get started with Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai so early. But if they did, I’d be quite thrilled.
I have seen not only students but also teachers in other Indian schools struggle with these questions about Pakistan. To me, this is an indication of how much more we need to learn about our neighbour in order for stereotypes to disappear. If a quiz on India had to be taken by teenage students in a Pakistani classroom, what would qualify as challenging questions? They know way too much about Bollywood. Not that. If you are a Pakistani teacher who wants to try this out in your classroom, please email me at chintangirishmodi@gmail.com
When our workshop was over, a few of the students stayed back, and said, “Sir, autograph please!” I replied, “Sure. But I’m not famous.” They insisted, so I asked, “Would you like me to just sign, or also write a few lines for you?” The tallest girl in the group said, “Sir, write: Best of Luck. God bless you. Everyone writes that.” Aww! You see why I love working with teenagers.
Another said, “Sir, actually I was not interested in India-Pakistan issues at all. I was excited about the fact that you, Sir, have come from Mumbai.” Wow! What was that? I probed further.
“Sir, Mummy ne kahaa ki Mumbai wale log bhi hamaare jaise hi hote hain. Unke koi par nahin hote. Sach kahaa tha, Sir. Aapke par nahin hai.” (Sir, Mummy said that people from Mumbai are just like us. They don’t have wings. That’s true, Sir. You don’t have wings.)
Chintan Girish Modi is our Mumbai-based columnist who loves ajrak and alubukhaaray ki chatni. Tweet to him at @chintan_connect