‘‘Thodi khushi ho rahi hai, dukh bhi hai, aankhon main aasoo bhi aa rahe hain. (I’m feeling a little happy, and a little sad. There are even tears in my eyes.)’’ These words summed up the mood of the frail white-haired woman in the wheelchair on whom the spotlight fell this morning at Neharwali Haveli in the congested bylanes of Delhi’s Daryaganj where Pervez Musharraf once lived. The Pakistan President’s mother Zarin was swamped from the moment she was wheeled towards the house till the second she disappeared into her silver Mercedes less than half an hour later. Neighbours had climbed rooftops for a view, camerapersons jostled with each other for a shot, the present occupants of the haveli—the Jain family—squealed in delight as they forgot their anger at the interruption to their morning plans (a puja following the recent birth of a grandchild was shifted from the courtyard into the house at the last minute) and nine-year-old Aishwarya Jain had more to celebrate than her advancing years. It isn’t often that the mother of a head of state joins you in cutting your birthday cake. Zarin is flanked by her son Javed and grandson Bilal as she is plied with gifts by the Jains and the Deputy Speaker of the Delhi Assembly Shoaib Iqbal—white chikan kurtas (‘‘the colour of peace,’’ Iqbal beams), shawls . ‘‘It’s my first visit here,’’ says Bilal as he clicks away with his camera. ‘‘I’ve heard lots of stories from my grandparents.’’ Javed adds: ‘‘I’m coming here after almost half a century. It was a pleasant place to live in.’’ Speaking to The Indian Express while chaos reigns around her, Zarin seems bemused by the attention, yet quietly overwhelmed. ‘‘It’s been 60 years since I left here. Bahut yaadein taza hui hai. Bahut yaadein baste hain hamare yahan. (Many memories have been refreshed. I have many memories associated with this place.)’’ ‘‘Amma, this way, please look this way,’’ someone yells. But Zarin appears lost in thought as she turns and volunteers a bio-sketch, ‘‘Did you know I studied here in Delhi?’’ ‘‘Here in Delhi’’ is Delhi University’s Indraprastha College for Women where she and her gang ‘‘had a lot of fun’’ before she proceeded to Lucknow University for an MA. Partition took her away from the ‘‘Dilli where I spent so many happy years of my life’’ and from Neharwali Haveli where we now stand. Musharraf’s mother has said in an earlier interview that Pervez was ‘‘a naughty child . I was really worried about his future. I never dreamt he would become President.’’ But today she tells us with a grin, ‘‘He was a good boy. Javed was more focused on studies, Pervez was more focused on sports. But he was a good boy. He had lots of friends.’’ She is pleased that people might view her visit as a peace initiative. ‘‘Hindustan and Pakistan should resolve all differences and be friends. Look, all the people gathered here are my sons and daughters and I am their mother.’’ Zarin last visited her former home in 1982 with her late husband. Then too, she says, she was warmly welcomed, even gifted an album of photographs. Why not buy it from the present owners? She laughs. ‘‘It would be wonderful if this place is made into a monument to India-Pakistan friendship as I hear has been suggested. But I don’t have the money to buy it.’’ Your son’s a President, ma’am. Tell him you want it as a gift. ‘‘He doesn’t have the money either,’’ she chuckles. ‘‘Waise bhi, it must be costing crores. I’m living out my last days, I’ll soon die, what will I do with it?’’ She’s tired and there are other places to visit—Jama Masjid, Red Fort, her college. Time to go. Just as Zarin is safely ensconced in her car, another frail figure approaches. It’s President Musharraf’s old nanny Kashmiro, who has been unwell and has arrived late. She knocks on the car window but the family does not look up. She’s hoping for a word with them and pleads with everyone to tell them so. But the cavalcade silently moves away.
