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Kargil After Hours

Arthur J Pais

As the two cabs pulled up side by side in mid-Manhattan, the cabbies started chatting about Kargil.

"Don't let anyone tell you that we are forced to pull out," one driver said. "You must remember that we achieved our goal -- the whole world is reminded of the unfinished business in Kashmir. Our mission is accomplished." As the other cabbie, also a Pakistani, endorsed the view, the first driver using a few expletives announced India will never succeed in destroying Pakistan.

Then, suddenly realizing his passenger was an Indian, he smiled meekly. "I am sorry, I am sorry. Nothing personal," he said. "I should not be discussing all this during business hours."

During working hours -- be it in the banks, restaurants, carpet business or at gas stations and newspaper kiosks -- thousands of Pakistanis and Indians work together as if the war never happened.

Even during the height of the Kargil war about a week ago, they worked as if they had not heard of Kargil. But in their private moments, in the evenings and at weekends, the war is very much on their minds. And now that Pakistan has ordered the intruding militants and soldiers to pull back from Kargil, the debate as to who won and who lost is on. But at work places, anecdotally speaking, there seems to have been no war, no Kargil, no Jammu and Kashmir.

"I guess we have learned from the Jewish and Palestinians to forget about the conflict back home while we have to work together," says M Vyas, a layout artist who works in an Indian-owned office in Manhattan with five Indians and three Pakistanis. His views are echoed by many across America -- even the young Indians at Oracle in Silicon Valley who initiated the idea for the Golden Gate bridge protest which drew over 2,000 Indian Americans say they kept away the subcontinent's politics when they worked with their Pakistani counterparts

"We don't discuss politics," Vyas says. But surely, after work hours, when he went home, he would check the Internet to find out about the war, tune in to ethnic and radio stations to get the latest news -- and more importantly, he says, called friends asking them to join the demos against Pakistan in their cities, and contribute to the Indian defense funds.

Even then politics cannot be entirely kept out of the workplace.

One of his co-workers accidentally cut his finger last week.

"This is nothing, this blood is nothing," he muttered. "There is more blood being wasted in Kashmir."

"We pretended we did not hear him," Vyas says.

Indians and Pakistanis working together for an American firm are even more careful not to discuss desi politics.

"As it is many Americans do not like us," says accountant Shaukat Mirza. "They dislike our accent, they dislike our faces, they dislike the fact we are prepared to work hard and someday soon start our own businesses."

"It does not matter to them if I am from Bangladesh, Pakistan or India," Mirza continued. "So why should I or for that matter anyone from the subcontinent give room to Americans to criticize us?"

But after hours, and on the weekends when he is not working, Mirza is like many other people from the subcontinent who want to root for their country, help raise money, and if possible write to their senators or representatives to help either Islamabad or New Delhi.

Friday is a tricky day for cabbie Akhtar Hussein. On the way to the mosque in the upper eastside of Manhattan, he engages in emotional discussion about Kargil and Kashmir. And he continues doing so on the way back to his cab, parked five minutes from the mosque.

"But then many of my friends are from India," he says. "I have to be civil to them. Of course, they know where my heart is. And I surely know where their hearts are."

He admits he was one of those who raised hell at a theater that showed the movie, Border. A couple of shows were cancelled because of protests from Pakistanis. Then, he lost heart -- at least for the protests. He did not protest against Sarfarosh, and he is not going to protest against the forthcoming Hindustan Ki Kasam.

"These movies are seen by Indians," he explains."They are not meant for Americans, they are not trying to change the minds of Americans." He would rather spend his time collecting money for the Pakistanis who died in Kargil.

Hindustan Ki Kasam is due soon in more than 30 movie houses in more than 20 American cities; some theaters, in areas with a heavy Pakistani population, have plans to beef up the security.

Three young Pakistanis passing by the Eros Theater in Jackson Heights, New York, recently stopped by to look at the poster of the film.

"I hate the film, I hate the film," said one. "I will never see an Amitabh film." "I hate Hindustani propaganda films too," said his companion. "But why are we getting angry? There are about one million Pakistanis in America. Why aren't they seeing a film about our heroes? Why hasn't anyone made a film about our victory in Kargil?"

While many people could gloss over Kargil at their work places, the war certainly hurt many friends.

For over five years, Simran has visited Manzoor, her college mate, to tie the rakhi. This year, she is not sure if they will meet.

"We see each other but besides a polite 'hello', he seems to be in a hurry," she says. "A couple of times when I called him, he said he was preoccupied with a lot of things and he will call me back. He did not."

"I know it is Kargil, I know it is the war," Simran says. "We both have been in this country for more than a decade. For all practical purpose, we are second generation South Asians. But when there is a war in our region, we feel our own backyard here is attacked."

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