The road runs through it

Lakhs of people on either side of the border have since died with but one unfulfilled dream — of one chance to re-visit their roots. They never tired of singing paens for ‘‘sadde passe de log’’ (people from back home). They fondly remembered places and villages where they were born, went to school or roamed the streets as adults.

I was too young when my mother passed away but I faintly remember her fond references to Krishna Nagar and Shri Ram Road in Lahore where she was born and studied till class VI. I could hardly grasp the feelings she had at that time for these names. I can only wonder now at how happy she would have been if she had travelled with me and crossed the white line separating the two countries at Wagah.

I had thought all the names of localities would have long changed. I was wrong. As I casually mentioned the name of the locality to a friend from across the border, he told me Krishna Nagar was very much there and still known by that name. He offered to take me there and to Shri Ram Road which had been renamed but was also still known by the old name.

As we walked on that road, I noticed houses with familiar names engraved in cement alongwith ‘‘Om’’. There was ‘‘Geeta Bhavan’’ and ‘‘Hari Niwas’’. Merely walking through those streets brought tears to my eyes.

The people who live there now remember no one who had lived there before 1947. They were allotted these empty houses when they reached here after their own long march from various towns and villages across the newly formed border.