Habib Khan, Quetta: I had planned and failed to visit India three times, but finally I succeeded in 2009 –to attend a EHS Conference in Goa while working for Merck.
In 1980, I had initially planned to visit India with friends Kalandar Khan and Ilyas, obtaining a visa by claiming ties to imaginary relatives in India. However, my father recently released from jail in the Hyderabad conspiracy case, cautioned me: “Son, I’ve never been to India, nor had any contact with anyone there, yet I spent five years in jail. It could have been worse if not for the regime change. Now, you plan to visit India under false pretenses, claiming fake relatives. Consider the consequences, not just for yourself, but for our entire family.”
His words made me reconsider, and I cancelled my trip. My friends, feeling betrayed, departed with bitter feelings towards me.
Then I faced visa denials twice. First, in 1995, while working at Gillette, my Indian visa application was rejected due to my past service in the Pakistan Army.
Again, in 2002 or 2003, during my tenure at Cadbury, my visa application was denied, and since in Cadbury we had our regional headquarters in Mumbai, that left a bad impression on my career, as a manager who can’t even visit the HQ.
Both the times I had submitted my applications personally at the Indian Embassy in Islamabad.
However, in 2009, while working at Merck, and that too just after the Mumbai 26/11 attacks, I unexpectedly received a visa without even visiting the embassy, probably or definitely due to the effort and influence of our visa officer at Merck “Mrs Lira D’Cruz” who was extremely eloquent in English and whenever there was a mention of her I could not stop myself saying, “Lira ka Jahan aor hai, Mira ka jahan aor” –filmstar Mira was famous for her gulabi English).
When I received my visa, it had permission for visiting two cities “Mumbai and Goa” since there were no direct flights to Goa, and the duration was a full week, while our conference in Goa had to end in three days. So I decided to spend the remaining three days until the end of the duration of my visa (against all advice) in Mumbai.
In those days booking hotels online wasn’t common, or at least I wasn’t accustomed to it. A colleague from Merck India reserved a hotel in Dadar, a locality far from my preferred destinations, solely because the owner was Muslim.
This turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as I discovered Mumbai’s commuter trains. The experience became the highlight of my visit. Let me paint the picture of the train stations:
Before a train’s arrival, platforms would be jam-packed. As the train approached, commuters eager to disembark would jump from the slowing train, bumping into waiting passengers. The train would halt for merely 10 seconds, then depart without warning or closing doors.
It was mesmerizing to watch hundreds of people exit, only to be replaced by hundreds more pushing their way in.
It was evident that elderly individuals and children couldn’t travel during Mumbai’s rush hours. For me, every hour seemed like rush hour in this vibrant city.
As an inexperienced older traveler, I felt like an obstacle for others rushing to board and exit trains. During one chaotic moment, a young man exclaimed loudly in frustration, “Ye Boorha kahan se aa gaya hai?” (“Where has this old man come from?”) as I struggled to make my way through.
After that first trip, I asked the hotel receptionist to secure my passport in a locker, citing safety concerns during commuting. However, he advised me to carry it with me at all times, cautioning, “As a Pakistani visitor, without identification, you risk being detained.
I commuted from Dadar to Churchgate, or sometimes Marina Lines, and then strolled along Marine Drive, taking a late train back to my hotel. The train rides reminded me of Karachi’s crowded buses in 1974, when I would ride just for experience sake.
As a young man, I would listen to frustrated commuters’ interactions and chuckle at mischievous distortions of bus instructions. For instance, someone would rub off the “na” (do not) in farsh par na ùthookain” (do not spit on the floors), making it read “Farsh par thookain” (spit on the floors), or “Driver ko fazool baton me lagayen” (divert the driver’s attention in useless talks).
Although Mumbai trains lacked such humorous modifications, I savored the nostalgia drawing comparisons between Mumbai and Karachi. Sometimes, I couldn’t disembark at Dadar due to overcrowding and had to return from the next station, reminiscent of my Karachi bus experiences in 1974.
One day, the hotel management informed me that the police wished to meet me at 11 AM. I requested them to ask the police to come earlier, at 9 AM, as I wanted to make the most of my three-day stay in Mumbai.
To my pleasant surprise, they obliged and arrived promptly at 9 AM. In stark contrast to my experiences with Pakistani police, the meeting with Mumbai police was remarkably cordial.
One officer even warmly remarked, “Aap prakar ke log yahan aane chahiye” (People like you should visit us more often).
As a token of hospitality, I offered them a cup of tea.
When I reached the immigration desk at the airport for departure, the officer looked at my visa and said, “Your visa has just one and a half hour left of validity. Isn’t this too risky?”
I said, “yes sir I loved Mumbai so much that I wanted to enjoy until the last moment”.
But I did realise deep in my heart that yes it was indeed a very risky affair especially in wake of the Mumbai attacks of the previous year.
When I reached Karachi my friend Tila Mohammad had come to receive me and the following song played on his car radio:
Mumbai se aaya mera dost
Dost ko Salam karo
Raat ko Khao pio
Din ko aram karo.
Aram in the day, I could only have seven years later, when I retired from job and today, I am enjoying writing these memories at 5.30 in the morning.
