Zaidi

Bal Anand was born in 1943, in a village about 20 km south of Ludhiana, in a family of saint-scholars who practised Ayurveda. Graduated from DAV College, Jalandhar, and did Master in English Literature from Govt. College, Ludhiana. After a stint for a few years as lecturer, joined the Indian Foreign Service. Served in nine different countries and retired as India's High commissioner to New Zealand. Now reading, reflecting and writing in nest in Delhi, on the East Bank of Yamuna.

Having spent my childhood years in a village and later growing up in a town, both located in the closer vicinity of Malerkotla, the only princely state in the East Punjab ruled for centuries by the Muslim Nawabs, I had started wondering and pondering since long over the harmonies and divides between the Hindus and Muslims.

The small state of Malerkotla had remained comparatively immune from the mindless violence during the Partition of the country. I have a vivid memory of an inscription, intact in 1951 but decimated soon after, of the name of Nawab Iftikhar Ali Khan on the front wall of the Gurudwara in Ahmedgarh for his donation of Rs. 500.00 - it must have been a princely sum in those days! I had instinctively developed a faith in the mutual accommodation among faiths long before I was destined to be an Indian diplomat in Iran, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan and Maldives!

Bal Anand was born in 1943, in a village about 20 km south of Ludhiana, in a family of saint-scholars who practised Ayurveda. Graduated from DAV College, Jalandhar, and did Master in English Literature from Govt. College, Ludhiana. After a stint for a few years as lecturer, joined the Indian Foreign Service. Served in nine different countries and retired as India's High commissioner to New Zealand. Now reading, reflecting and writing in nest in Greater Noida.

On the 15th of August, the day of the anniversary of Independence and the most painful amputation of people in the history of humanity India in 1947 when, in the stirring words of Jawaharlal Nehru, the nation awoke to ‘a tryst with destiny', the heart beats of Indians, Pakistanis - and Bangladeshis too - do feel, in today's lingo, "कुछ, कुछ होता है kuchh, kuchh hota hai ... sensation of something, something."

In my consciousness, the first stirrings of the day were felt in 1951. I was a student of 4th grade in the Mahatma Gandhi Memorial National High School in a grain market town, 20 km from Ludhiana. There was a big Prabhat Pheri - morning procession - by younger activists of local political spectrum of Congressmen in Khadi, the Socialists in several sartorial hues, and the Jan Sanghis in Khaki shorts. They were holding medium size Tirangas - Tricolour Indian flags - shouting "Bharat Mata ki Jai - victory to Mother India" and sometimes "Pakistan, Murdabaad - Death to Pakistan!"