I am not likely to forget the date, fourth of April, 1979.
I was exiting India by road through the Wagah
Border.
It was a day of Infamy for Pakistan. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, The 9th prime
minister of Pakistan was being executed by hanging.
For me it was Day One of an ordeal that lasted 7
years. I found out what Red Tape in India meant.
The year before I had driven overland to India with
a Carnet de Passage for the car. A carnet is like a passport for a car allowing
it to cross borders and for international insurance coverage.
It is valid for a six month stay in India. Then the
car must leave. I did not know what happed. I was to find out in an agonising
and slow way.
Anyway, my six months was coming to an end, so
dutifully, like a low a biding citizen I existed India at Wagah. My car was
thoroughly checked by customs, what for I don’t know.
All my documents for the car were in order, my
passport was stamped. I drove into
Pakistan.
Two Pakistani tanks were parked in the middle of the
road, the gun barrels lower and aimed at me !
A bunch of machine guns toting Pak Rangers and spoke
in Punjabi. The Pakis speak a very pure and sweet sounding Punjabi. “Sardaar
Ji, Kithe jaa rhe ho?’’
I was
speechless! If just shrugged my shoulders in a helpless gesture.
“Border is closed! You are still in No Mans Land. Another 5 meters and we would have opened
fire! Turn around and leave! “
I did so in double quick time. As in drove past a
ranger, I slow down and asked innocently, what was going on.
“Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was executed this morning. All
borders are closed. Move!’’
An hour after leaving India I was back on Indian
soil. The Indian officials were aghast. What happened? Why did Pakistan refuse
entry?
Questions! Quetions!
What I found amazing was that the Indians officials
had not inkling of what was going on next door, 50 meters from their office.
All my documents were redone. Entries cancelled and
the worst part, my car had overstayed the six months limit. What to do? I
asked.
“Nothing complicated. Apply for an import licence.
Pay the duty and the car is yours! ‘’
That’s simple. Except it took Seven years!
During this period I made dozens of trips to various
government departments, spoke too many more officials. All gave me a warm smile
and comfortable solace, “these things take time.’’
The best advice I got was from Joint Secretary in
the Ministry. “The rules say you must apply for the import license from the
country of your residence. You can go back to Canada and apply from there. We
will give it to you quickly!’’
Fantastic! How helpful is helpful.
This was quite an experience in my life,
exasperating but educative.
What rattled my memory about this episode was a news
item last week.
A bunch of Sikh families have been refugees from
Afghanistan in the Punjab from 1992 due to religious persecution.
The patriarch of the family died leaving behind a
wife and three childrens they were all mentioned in the passport. On the
strengths of this they have an ID card from the United Nation Country for
Refugees and Indian Refugee card. The visa to stay in India is extended
annually which means they have to run from pillar to post, jump through hoops
of fire and waste months. Rules don’t take decency and compassion into
consideration. Why not give them permanent residency. They are not going to
back.
The old man’s passport had been renewed for 28 years
that he had been in India. The Indian Refugee Card and UNHCR Card were good
enough for the Foreigners Regional Registration Office.
This year the Indian Babucrat through a googly.
Renew the old man’s 28 year old Afghan passport.
“But he is dead!’’ Exclaimed his son.
“Go to the Afghan Embassy. They will do it’’.
(Sir Ji the Afghans hate the Sikhs. They will see my
beard and Turban and not do athing. Remember we are refugees.
“Go talk to them’’ Insisted the Babu.
The young man went to the Afghanistan Embassy in New
Delhi.
He may plea for the passport of his dead father to
be resurrected.
“Yes! The Babucrat told him. You will have to go to
Afghanistan to get some official paper on the basis of which the passport can
be renewed!’’
In the meal time the family’s Indian Visa has
expired. The family is neither Afghani nor Indian, just Refugees and stateless
and unloved after 29 years.
There are rules. Then there are principles.
Principles are loved and compassioned and rules must be based on these
principle and natural laws.