By Nazar Hayat Khan
A fond memory of my childhood is that as we drove over the Ravi River bridge to enter Lahore, there was a sudden appearance of the skyline of domes and minarets of the Badshahi Mosque and Lahore Fort, as if a cinemascope movie had been switched on.
One traveled back in time to the 14th Century when Timur came to India, bringing with him all the Central Asian thoughts of massive ornate structures and sprawling gardens with flowing water fountains. Luckily, his descendants, the Mughals, fell in love with Lahore and built it up from scratch, giving it, besides other monuments, the fantasy land of the Shalimar Gardens.
In those days, the Ravi flowed next to the Lahore Fort built by Akbar the Great in 16th Century. History has now moved the lazy river away by a few miles. But imagine the towering gates of the fort opening and Emperor Akbar riding out on an elephant in colorful flowing robes, in accompaniment of beating drums, the commoners kneeling on roadsides and hundreds of horsemen following with swords, bows and arrows. And just behind the fort lies the old walled city made of small bricks, carved windows and small balconies, where the common folk lived.
The thirteen gates around the walled city were made to conveniently close if an invader ever chose to head in this direction. Unfortunately, Lahore was located on route to all those who entered the subcontinent from the North, with evil intentions. Though the final battle was always fought at Panipat - a ground reserved by the history for the purpose - the invaders invariably stopped at Lahore to freshen up. The soul of Lahore still lies in its walled city where the streets are so narrow that two voluminous persons cannot cross each other without an embarrassing touch.
The facing balconies of those streets are only a letter’s throw away and many a romance have blossomed in those narrow confines. But the most unfortunate one was at the palace - between Anarkali, a slave girl and Prince Salim, the son of Akbar. The emperor, in his majestic fury, ordered Anarkali to be buried alive into a wall. Her death, however, did not go in vain. Anarkali Bazar, named after her, has since remained the queen of the old city. In praise of the bazar, a Punjabi poet says to a village peasant, to the best of English translation: “What can you know, poor innocent buffalo, the splendor of Anarkali.”
The origins of the city are shrouded in mystery but by a Hindu tradition, Lahore was named after ‘Lav’, son of Rama, the hero of the epic Hindu story of Ramayana. But really, after the Mughals, it was the British who were charmed by the city. While the Mughals gave gardens, tombs and the fort, the British gave it a European look - Mall Road, Railway Station and Cantonment. One can imagine Lt-Col Charles Napier, the civil engineer, wearing a solar khaki cap, shorts, walrus moustache and monocles, supervising the building of Mall Road that cost Rs12,544 in 1851. The scene at the local gymkhana was equally British, where fair ladies in enormous crinolines strolled about the flower beds with their swains dressed in peg-top trousers, tall hats, wearing beards and whiskers of portentous size.
Lahore now has five-star hotels, a busy airport, golf courses besides all other modern perks. But Lahoris, in some quaint way, still live in their Mughal and British past. They have refused to let their cultural past be overtaken by cold commercialism. “Zinda Dillane Lahore” actually means “the alive hearts of Lahore.” They are for good times, good food and good conversation. A favorite pastime is to congregate in the evening and solve the problems of the world. As to the food, no part of the animal anatomy is considered superfluous - delicacies being head, feet, liver, even stomach. And all cooked, with some exaggeration - more spice, more oil and more time. Nihari (beef stew with spices) is left overnight to simmer and so is shubdaig (spicy meat and turnip curry).
A dish gets the name ‘kata-kat’ because of the sound it makes while being cooked. On McLead Road, a place full of small eateries, the cook puts chops, kidneys or whatever you order on a big wheel-sized hot plate, throws in butter and spices, and then holding two choppers in his hands, cuts them, making a musical ‘kata-kat’ sound in the process. In winters, piping hot tea of thickened milk, with flavors and almonds, is called ‘green tea’, whereas it is unmistakably pink in color. For the less adventurous, there are also other more docile restaurants.
Good life for Lahoris also means kite-flying during Basant season and participating in many of the city’s festivals - the festival of lamps and festival of Hazrat Data Gunj Baksh, to name a few. Data Gunj Baksh, the city saint, lived in the 11th Century and preached the message of love, peace and goodwill to mankind. The Lahoris have taken up his message and highly revere him. So much so that every new ruler of the country makes it a point to lay a flower wreath at his tomb before taking office. It goes well with the common folk.
Lahoris are by nature social and arty people. Open-air theatre and stage dramas get full houses. The stage drama is full of raunchy humor and innuendoes; and in the double meaning that Punjabi language is so adept at. And so the hidden emotions of society are fully vented out on stage. Lahore is also a tinsel town. A successful tried-out formula is: boy-loves-girl, villain-wants-girl, and finally, boy-gets-girl. Or to be more precise, man loves the buxom woman, crafty old villain wants same woman, finally man gets her woman.
A new art form of hand-painted large billboards outside cinema halls has sprung up. The artists, however, are clever enough to circumvent the law by first fully dressing up the maiden before exaggerating out-of-proportion some parts of her anatomy. It is also a city of wrestlers’ families who have passed on their trade for generations.
But you need not be a wrestler to enjoy the services of masseurs of Lahore who really know how to pull, pluck and chop the most unlikeliest muscle of your body, putting you into a dizzy trance for a petty sum.
Typical of the subcontinent, the road scene has the inevitable chaos, some dust, some noise and flavors of spicy foods wafting in the air. At times, keeping the windows rolled up turns out to be a good idea. But the people are informal, friendly and reach out to you. One may be escorted right up to a destination if a way is asked. And if you get a little friendly, a free lunch ensues where you could be compelled to overeat. No wonder, a saying in Punjabi means ‘You have not seen anything if you have not seen Lahore’. Another saying, simpler but more meaningful, just states ‘Lahore is Lahore’.
Being a non-Lahori, leaving the city was always a somber affair for me. The skyline of minarets and domes always looked dark and sad against the misty haze of the evening, while flocks of big kites hovered over the old walled city. Was my paradise lost! No. It is still there...
Of Cambala, seat of Cathian Can, And Samarchand by Oxus, Timur’s Throne To Paquin of Sinaean Kings; and thence To Agra and Lahore of Great Mughal.