From: The Washington Post
June 14, 1999
Page A18
FOREIGN JOURNAL
Pakistani Villagers Willing to Wait for Passage to India
By Pamela Constable
Islamabad, Pakistan--It is well after dark, and outside the Indian High
Commission clusters of people are settling into makeshift camps for the
night.
Under a tarp strung between two saplings, half a dozen sleeping women are
rolled up like cocoons inside their shawls. Nearby, a group of men sits
up, smoking and murmuring as someone brews tea on a little pile of
charcoal.
The men, cotton farmers from Punjab, have been waiting here for more than
a week for an interview inside the commission, the equivalent of an
embassy. If it goes well, they will emerge with permission to travel to
India.
"We don't mind. We are villagers, so we are used to sleeping outside,"
said Tharia Ram, 24, who said he plans to travel three days by train --
from Islamabad to Lahore, across the Indian border to Amritsar, then on to
New Delhi and Jodhpur -- to visit relatives. "I hope things don't get
worse between India and Pakistan, because then all travel could stop."
Ram and the other campers are Pakistani citizens who have applied for
visas to visit India. Despite the current border conflict between the
neighbors over the disputed Kashmir region, the demand for visas is heavy.
Millions of people in predominantly Muslim Pakistan, which was carved out
of northern India to create a homeland for Muslims when Britain gave both
nations independence in 1947, still have roots and relatives in India.
Relations between the two nations have always been tense, and the border
is sealed except for one spot near Lahore. But the Indian and Pakistani
prime ministers met there in February to inaugurate a bus service to New
Delhi, a symbolic gesture that many people in both countries hoped would
offset the long-standing antagonism that reached new heights when both
nations conducted nuclear tests last year.
The Lahore meeting did not alter the rules for travel to India, but it
inspired and emboldened thousands of Pakistanis to visit, some for the
first time. By last month, the Indian High Commission was flooded with
25,000 personal visa requests, far more than it could handle efficiently.
The crowds grew so large that Indian officials began distributing tokens
by lottery to people who line up each day. Each token bears a date for the
person's visa interview, and in theory each person can simply return on
that day.
The reality, however, is that most of the applicants are poor people who
have traveled long distances, especially from the southern port city of
Karachi, where large numbers of Indian Muslims settled after 1947. They
have little money for hotels or return trips, so they simply remain on the
commission grounds until their interview date arrives.
"I was told to come back on June 17, but I don't have any place to go,"
Abdul Kadeer, 37, who sells used clothing in Karachi, said last week. An
uncle died recently in Delhi, and he wants to pay his respects to the
family.
Resting on a cloth mat beside his small satchel, Abdul Kadeer said he had
applied for a visa last year but it was denied. He speculated
half-jokingly that this was because his name is similar to that of Abdul
Qadeer Khan, the scientist most closely associated with Pakistan's nuclear
weapons development. "On the 17th, I will go and explain to them who I
really am," he said.
By day, the encampment outside the Indian diplomatic compound swells to
hundreds of people. Vendors offer rice and lentil stew from metal pots.
Urdu language newspapers are perused and passed on. A baby wails; a cow
wanders over to investigate a pile of garbage. There is nothing to do but
wait, and some people grow angry and impatient.
"My mother is sick, and my husband can't get a visa to go with me to see
her," fumed a 34-year-old woman from India who was waiting with her
Pakistani husband. "We have been coming here for 15 days and they are
disgracing us. I would cook meals and say prayers for everyone if they
would just give him a visa."
A number of people complained that there is no Indian consulate in
Karachi, forcing them to travel 1,000 miles to Islamabad for a visa and
then another 250 miles to Lahore to catch a train or bus. There is one
daily flight between the two countries, but few Pakistanis can afford to
fly. Several waiting applicants also said they had heard that "fixers"
circulate in the area, offering to help desperate people obtain visas for
a fee. This week, the grounds were swarming with plainclothes Pakistani
police agents, but the campers said the police usually leave them alone.
Officials at the Indian High Commission could not be reached for comment;
none of the listed telephone lines appeared to be working. An official at
India's Foreign Ministry in New Delhi said there are few restrictions on
Pakistanis obtaining visas for family visits, but that often there are
delays because of a staff shortage at the commission in Islamabad. He said
Pakistan has severely limited the number of Indians who can work on the
commission staff.
By far the most frequent gripe among the waiting applicants was that no
latrines or portable bathrooms had been installed outside the building,
forcing people to hide behind bushes and walls. "There are women and
children here, and we have some honor," complained Khairun Nisa, a Karachi
sack stitcher and mother of 11 who has been sleeping at the compound for
several days. "I would rather set fire to my visa than go through this."
[ACCOMPANYING PHOTO CAPTION: A Pakistani man brews tea outside the Indian mission in Islamabad as he waits to apply for a visa. ]
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