It was embarrassing to watch what happened in the ACC Asia Cup 2025 in the three games that Pakistan and India played against each other. As the saying goes, “It was simply not cricket.”

It was unfair, unjustified and undignified what the Indian cricket managers made their captain and players do. The Indians refusing to shake hands with the Pakistan captain or his team, the Indian captain making a political statement after the first match, some Pakistani players making unreasonable and unwanted gestures on the field referring to the war between the two countries in May and, finally, the Indian captain declining to receive the trophy from the current Pakistani president of the Asian Cricket Council, who also heads the Pakistan Cricket Board — it was all not just an insult to the game, but further fuelled animosity and war hysteria between the two countries.

Regrettably, mainstream journalism in the Subcontinent had already succumbed to the pressure of the respective power narratives of their countries since the last few years. It was now left to art, sports and literature to play a different role from what the politicians, foreign offices and militaries are supposed to do during a diplomatic stand-off like we have in South Asia.

It was refreshing to hear former Indian captain Kapil Dev and historian and author Ramachandra Guha and a few others criticising what happened during the Asia Cup but it seems that cricket — the most popular sport in South Asia — is the next casualty of jingoism after journalism.

In times like these, to find a heartfelt and lucidly written travelogue of India by a Pakistani is a pleasant and welcome surprise. Aptly titled Coming Back: The Odyssey of a Pakistani Through India, the book is about travel taken to four cities of India by Shueyb Gandapur in 2017. However, the book was only published in 2025 in Pakistan by Book Corner, Jhelum, and in the UK by Kantara Press. The text, including a preface and 22 short chapters, is interspersed with 31 full-page, bright and sharp, coloured photographs of people, places and monuments taken by the author.

It was now left to art, sports and literature to play a different role from what the politicians, foreign offices and militaries are supposed to do during a diplomatic stand-off like we have in South Asia.

Gandapur, who is a chartered accountant by profession, hails from Dera Ismail Khan, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, and now divides his time between Dubai and London. He is a painter, photographer and world traveller who has visited more than 100 countries. However, this is his first published travel memoir and confirms Gandapur’s ability to express himself clearly, idiomatically and simply.

The book is as much about the places he visited and people he met as much as it is about his personal history, emotions and feelings. This distinguishes it from run-of-the-mill travelogues by Pakistanis, which we get to read in Urdu or English, full of different accounts that only revolve around the traveller, besides some traceable fictional spins.

There are four cities in India that Gandapur visited: Delhi, Agra, Banaras (Varanasi) and Jaipur. He wanted to visit more but he was only issued a police-reporting visa for these four cities. This visa requires the Pakistani traveller to report his entry and exit from a city to the police or its local intelligence unit. While Gandapur regrets not being able to visit Lucknow, he also says that the two-week time he had was not long enough for the four cities he actually visited, for they had so much to offer. He mentions that some of his forbears, without severing their connections with Dera Ismail Khan, had moved for business purposes to a couple of remote towns in what is now the Indian state of Chattisgarh. He had heard stories from his elders about their life in India.

However, the relations between Pakistan and India, which oscillate between being cold and being lukewarm, play out in the background of any Pakistani or Indian mind. Gandapur overcame those thoughts and enthusiastically explored the common heritage and civilisational moorings, while recording the differences between the two countries at the same time.

Gandapur not only takes his readers along to famous historic monuments — forts, mosques, temples, palaces — but as much to the bustling bazaars and busy streets, quiet alleys and obscure by-lanes, lush gardens and flowing rivers. He introduces his readers to the spirit of people living in these four cities. For those who have never been to these places, the book is a perfect introduction.

Besides, in Delhi, Gandapur successfully finds those who were compelled to migrate from their native Dera Ismail Khan during Partition in 1947. It is the most emotional part of the book. He also comments with objectivity about the situation of Muslims in India, the status of Urdu, the poetry of Mirza Ghalib and, above all, his quest to find the archival collection of his favourite writer, Quratulain Hyder.

Since I have been to Delhi quite a few times and Agra once, I found Gandapur’s narrations on Banaras and Jaipur particularly interesting, because I learnt so much about these cities. When he takes a boat ride in the River Ganges in Banaras, Gandapur writes: “Lights began flickering on the ghats and were reflected in water. The faint sound of faraway bells could also be heard. But I could not tell whether it was coming from a temple on the river bank or from deep inside of the riverbed of the Ganges, which must have been covered with layers upon layers of ash particles, blending the fresh and ancient together in a never-ending march towards oblivion.”

Reading his travel memoir makes me join Shueyb Gandapur in a prayer for peace and prosperity for the common citizens of South Asia.

The columnist is a poet and essayist. His latest collections of verse are Hairaa’n Sar-i-Bazaar and No Fortunes to Tell

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, October 5th, 2025