Peace deal

SANTOKH Singh has been working at the Wagah border for the past 50 years. But never has he seen such a torrent of mediapersons and delegatio...

SANTOKH Singh has been working at the Wagah border for the past 50 years. But never has he seen such a torrent of mediapersons and delegations. 8216;8216;They flow in every week, one to see the other,8217;8217; he says, a smile glinting through his snow-white beard. To the mandarins, it may signal a thaw in Indo-Pak relations, but to him and the motley group of dhaba owners, money-changers, coolies and taxi drivers on the border, it spells business.

A symbol of Partition, Wagah has become the favourite stage of anyone wanting to make an Indo-Pak statement, or simply the main transit point of anyone headed home.

In the four months since the Indo-Pak bus began rolling on July 11, it8217;s welcomed home the victorious under-19 cricket team from Pakistan, heard Sufi music queen Abida Parveen, hosted flocks of peaceniks, bowed to pilgrims, welcomed home prisoners of bilateral hatred, posed for documentaries and even starred as the launching pad of Hindi film Pinjar8217;s music.

8216;8216;It8217;s become quite happening,8217;8217; admits young Kuldeep Singh, whose family set up a dhaba here the same year as Partition. Gurpreet Singh, a member of the national junior hockey team and resident of Attari village adjoining the border, nods. 8216;8216;Earlier, it used to be in the news only for the candle-light vigil on Independence Day, but now it8217;s there almost every other day,8217;8217; he grins.

The buzz has also perked up Alok Singh, manager of the rundown Neem Chameli restaurant owned by the Punjab Tourism Development Corporation PTDC. 8216;8216;We earn a lot from the parking lot itself as 5,000-odd visitors troop in for the retreat ceremony every evening,8217;8217; he says.

Back in Chandigarh, PTDC chairman Jagjit Puri says the restaurant will be up for disinvestment early November. 8216;8216;Then stars like Urmila Matondkar and Gurinder Chadha will stay here,8217;8217; he beams. These two visited Wagah recently.

The BSF camp sits cheek by jowl with the dhabas. However, their working life is spent in between the two gates leading to the last frontier. This quietly officious world of pink marble buildings8212;housing apart from the BSF, the Immigration and Customs8212;is quite a contrast from the lively circus outside at every visit from Pakistan.

Story continues below this ad

Early in the morning, it8217;s all quiet on both fronts. The restive coolies are the first indicator that things are about to change. Then the bus from Pakistan arrives, and there is talk about some consignments of dry fruits on the other side. One signal and the coolies stream inside.

The year after the December 13 Parliament attack was miserable for these 1,400 men. Now they are back on their feet. Within the two gates, it8217;s rush hour for both the Customs and Immigration. Gurcharan Buttar, Mayor of Ealing in the UK, is waiting for a passage along with two Japanese youth.

Gaj Singh, a six-footer BSF jawan is matter-of-fact as he walks you down to the green gate on the Pakistani side with Jinnah8217;s portrait on top. 8216;8216;That is their side, this is ours.8217;8217; Come evening and he will be there at the gate for the Beating the Retreat. There is much stomping, snorting and frowning as guards on the two sides perform to slogans of 8216;Bharat Mata Zindabad8217; and 8216;Pakistan Zindabad8217;.

8216;8216;It8217;s the done thing,8217;8217; Gaj Singh says. But quite like the quaint ceremony, the slogans mean little in the new atmosphere. Just metres away at the taxi stand, notes of a prayer waft in the air. Mahesh Kumar, a clearing agent, is holding an akhand path, and a Sikh priest is chanting words close to all hearts on this border: 8216;8216;O Lord, give us good business at Wagah.8217;8217;