A Muslim and a Jew on a train

by Ruqayya Rizwan (Pakistan)

A leap into the unknown Georgia

At Tbilisi train station, I was waiting to board the overnight train to Zugdidi. The station brought back memories of travelling with my parents from Karachi to Bahawalpur. Our platforms are bustling with portals, travellers and people bidding farewell to travellers. Here i was standing at a huge empty space, except for the few travellers. On the platform I saw people standing near by their compartments, I did the same. That’s when I heard someone approach me, “this train is going to be shit, you should get an upgrade.” “Well, doesn’t matter” I brushed him off. I was hurting inside, less than 4 weeks ago I had buried a young 11 yr old gun shot victim. Her father, Umer, my husband’s cousin and she, Amal, like my own niece. Georgia was my escape. I had flown to Tiblisi this morning, been singaled out at airport immigration for being a Muslim. The state of this train was far better than the state of my heart. “Where are you from?” He asked me, even though I had moved my face in the other direction to avoid conversation “I am from Pakistan and you “I am french” He looked Indian, he probably thought I was too. Outside Pakistan, I often get mistaken for a taller fairer Indian. We do have the same gene pool, our body shape and mannerisms are similar. Tonight, I didn’t have the energy for small talk. This was the first time in a month being on my own without my kids, without my family, outside Karachi, outside of where the incidence took place... I was not in a happy place and I moved away from this chatty guy. Finally we were allowed into our compartments. I deposited my suitcase. It was hot inside, I came out for a breath of fresh air, once the train was ready to leave I hopped back on and now my compartment was full of huge suitcases and hiking bags. Standing outside, were a couple of guys chatting to people in the compartment next to mine. We greeted each other. Friendly smiles. Enthusiastic chatter till someone asked ‘where are you from’ ‘Pakistan’ And my words drained colour from the guy standing in front of me. ‘Where are you from?’ I asked ‘israel’ he replied coldly. Everyone went silent around us. He moved away. Pakistan does not recognise Israel. This guy and his two buddies had recently finished their military training. And here we were going to be stuck in a compartment of 4 for the night. I sat on my seat, eyes on my book, passages floated on the page as I overheard him giving others a heads up about my country, our nuclear weapons and our enmity with India. One of them came in the compartment and started talking to me. He said his friend was being impolite. I asked him where they were headed and gradually we eased into a conversation despite my heavy heart. This was his first interaction with a Pakistani, Muslim woman. He was surprised. No hijab, no broken English, no aggression. Thank you media! Real life is stranger than fiction. To me he was like one of my university students, full of ideas, uncertain about future. He spoke about his family, his brother, his mother. He had the kindest brown eyes and a short crew cut. I talked about my sons, my husband and the tragedy eating my insides. Its when I spoke about death that we both connected. We talked late into the night till finally i fell asleep. His friends eventually claimed their bunks and i could understand snippets about me. They were curious too. In the morning we went our own way, except we were happier, lighter and more informed about each other. Him a 21 year old looking to work in the IT industry and me a 44 year old having a hard time letting go of a child.