Last week, I got a frantic call from my friend V, who seemed very upset.
“I can’t tell you what I’ve done!” he sobbed over the phone.
“What happened?” I said. “Did you stab someone in murderous rage?”
“No,” he said. “It’s worse.”
“Did you accidentally slap your boss?
“Even worse.”
“Did you forget your anniversary?”
“I allowed a Pakistani to hug me.”
“Oh my god, tell me you didn’t!”
“I did, I did,” he said, and began to wail so loudly I had to hold the phone away from my ears.
I let him wail peacefully for five minutes.
“Okay, enough,” I said. “Sometimes bad things happen to good nationalists.”
“But why me?” he said tearfully. “I’ve hated Pakistan all my life. I’ve been a member of the ABVP since the age of two. What will I do now? With what face will I ask anti-nationals to go to Pakistan? They will laugh at me.”
He blew his nose extensively, which seemed to calm him a bit, but grated on my nerves.
“Look, we all make mistakes,” I said. “What matters is how we make amends.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “I’ll surrender myself to the police. I’ll confess that I was hugged by a Pakistani.”
“But how did this happen?”
He then told me the whole sordid story. Apparently, V, a tax consultant, had attended a conference of tax consultants in the Bahamas, which is a Mecca for tax consultants, and a favourite tax haven of patriotic Indian politicians, some of whom were his clients. One of the conference delegates happened to be from Pakistan, a man named — you guessed it — Khan.
One balmy evening, after a day spent exchanging notes about the global best practices in tax dodging, V was having dinner in an open-air restaurant and generally minding his own business, when the Pakistani sat down at his table and began to make small talk. V, of course, put up a strong resistance.
“Nice weather,” Khan had said.
“Pakistan must be hell,” replied V. “How do you guys manage?”
“I love your shirt,” said the Pakistani.
“What was Kasab like as a friend?”
“I quite enjoyed your presentation.”
“Do you work for the ISI?” V persisted. “How do you juggle tax consultancy and terrorism?”
“India is a beautiful country,” Khan answered. “Indian women are lovely.”
“Really?” V snarled. “Your ‘love jihad’ won’t work any more.”
“India and Pakistan have so much in common,” Khan said. “It would be wonderful if we could visit each other easily.”
“You guys visit us anyway, sneaking across the border once the snow melts.”
“I’ve always condemned cross-border terrorism,” Khan said, helping himself to an olive.
“Do you dodge bullets on your way to work?” V said. “How does it feel to live in a failed state right next to a vibrant democracy like India?”
Khan’s response was sedate. “As a young nation, we have a lot to learn, and we are learning from India too.”
“He was charming like the devil,” V recalled. “He paid for my food, my drink, and even shared a few accounting tricks I didn’t know before.”
“You mean, you actually liked this Pakistani guy?” I said, disbelievingly.
“I... I couldn’t help it,” V stammered. “By the time we were leaving, we’d become such great friends, he gave me a hug. To be honest, I didn’t mind it at the time.”
“That’s utterly shameful,” I said.
“I realise that,” V said. “My biggest fear is, what if every Pakistani turns out to be as likeable as the one I met? What if they are not all devious, evil monsters out to destroy India?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “You are sounding like Arundhati Roy,” I said, which was the worst insult I could think of, and I hung up.
I am sharing this story as a cautionary tale of what could happen to the best of Pakistan-hating patriots if they are not vigilant enough, and if Indians and Pakistanis are allowed to mingle without adequate state supervision.
I just have one piece of advice for all those gullible Indians brainwashed by leftist, pseudo-liberal propaganda that says Pakistanis and Indians are like brothers, etc. It may be true that a tiny minority of Pakistanis are not terrorists and don’t really hate India. But if you happen to bump into them somewhere and find your hatred for Pakistan abating, just remember: they still picked the wrong country to be born in.
