If you had asked me my feelings about the union jack, I suspect I’d have
said the image with which I associate it most closely is Jessica Ennis smiling her beautiful smile with a flag around her shoulders at the Olympics
– a joyful thing to think about for even those of us who roll our eyes
at all nationalism. But I had spent the last couple of years writing a
novel set during the Raj, and as the camera clicked, I found myself
remembering pictures of the union jack strung along the streets of
Peshawar in the days of empire. It brought about a strange unease, which
wasn’t in any way about my feelings toward Britain, but rather my
feelings towards Pakistan, a nation of which I would continue to be a
citizen.
I had thought dual citizenship would feel like a gain, not a
loss. Instead, as I took my seat in the chamber I found myself
reflecting on what it means to be from a country in which acquiring a
second passport is regarded across the board as reason for celebration.
Weeks later, I was trying to explain this to British-Libyan writer,
Hisham Matar, who knew exactly what I meant. “In that moment you are
betrayed and betrayer both,” he said. “You’re betraying your country by
seeking another passport, and you’re betrayed by your country which
makes you want to seek another passport”
IMO it is a good thing that India does not permit dual citizenship. Naturally a “best of both worlds,” “cost-free” dual citizenship seems like a perfect choice. But this I firmly believe, citizenship is not an entitlement, nor should it be easy to attain (or buy). Also that your (original) country needs you more than your (adopted) country. Today, in her own words, Pakistan has lost more than Britain has gained.That is a pity.
regards
