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'Lahore is Lahore'
by Ishtiaq
Ahmed
There are many hyperboles Lahoris
invoke when proudly talking about their great metropolis. Some of these are
world famous or at least subcontinent-famous such as, 'Lahore is Lahore' or
'One who has never seen Lahore has not been born'. People in many parts of
Pakistan and also Amritsar, Chandigarh, Delhi, Bangalore, Mumbai and the
rest of India and in faraway places such as London, New York, Vancouver and
wherever else I go connect with me because they happen to belong to that
city.
Here in Stockholm, we have been meeting regularly once a
month in the evening since 1991 to talk to our heart's fill just about
anything, but since the majority of us have a Lahore connection we end up
talking about it most of the time, recalling old cricket matches and
kabaddi tournaments, Basant celebrations and famous wrestlers but also
notorious badmashes (mafia dons).
All this is part of diaspora sentimentality and I suppose immigrants can
never do without their nostalgias and imaginary pasts. On the other hand,
the homeland, or rather the hometown in case of Lahoris, which they long
for, changes and transforms as time passes by and things are never the same
as when they left. The more removed they are in time from the present the
greater the nostalgia, but also greater the disappointment on coming home
and seeing familiar people gone and places they loved no longer there.
I recently spent several days in late December and early January in the
ancient Walled City. I took with me the well-known Punjabi poet and writer
Ahmad Salim. We went to Taxali Gate visiting the famous chamber of the late
people's poet of Punjab, Ustad Daman. In the room Ustadji used to receive
eager visitors and meet old friends and political comrades is now the office
of the Daman Academy. I recalled many meetings. We met the proletarian
writer Qamar Yurish and talked to him about his life-long struggle to make
the world a fairer place. We also met a young man, Natiq Hussain, who spent
a whole afternoon with us while we searched for people who could tell us
about the old Lahore.
We went inside Bhati Gate seeking the Chomala locality where Mohammad Rafi
once lived and worked in his father's shop. Many people gathered around us
and the elders talked about the legendary singer whom they knew as a close
friend when he was still a very young man struggling for a break. Bombay
(Mumbai) gave him that break. It was really very moving to hear them speak
with so much emotion and feeling; things I have not experienced for a long
time living in the West.
In the same area once lived AR Kardar who pioneered the Lahore film industry
but then went and settled in Bombay. Other famous names associated with
Bhati Gate are that of Allama Iqbal whose baithak (sitting room) we
saw. Little further on, once lived the actor Om Prakash. The house of Pran
was not far from there. We also went across the Circular Road briefly to
visit Mohni Road to look at the house of the veteran singer Shamshad Begum.
The great short-story writer Krishan Chander also lived on Mohni Road. I
intend to find out exactly where on my next visit.
The visits to Lohari Gate, Mori Gate, Mochi Gate and what now remains of
Shahalmi Gate were also very memorable. Everywhere people just assembled and
began talking to us when they realised we wanted to learn more about the old
Lahore, whose soul remains innocent and pure despite all the injuries to the
body from the tyranny of time, the poverty of many of its inhabitants and
gross neglect by the municipal and other authorities. I noticed that in
almost every street and corner the locals had their baithaks (sitting
places) and discussions took place everyday. I envied them that invaluable
social bonding.
Inside Said Mittha Bazaar we first met Iftikhar Sahib who very kindly
offered to show us around the old buildings in that area. He turned out to
be an educated man who everyday went on a round of narrow and winding
streets, holding his bike with one hand talking to people to find out if
they needed any help writing an application or petition or some other such
task. He did all this selflessly, without any charge. This was very clear
from the way people blessed him for his devotion to their welfare. We met
Azim Pehlwan, a famous weight-lifter who had won many gold and silver medals
in national and international competitions. He took us home and we talked at
length about old and present Lahore. Everywhere we went the people were
fantastic, but they complained about the apathy and disdain with which a
power-wielders treated ordinary citizens.
The grievances were put forth very eloquently by Haji Muhammad Shad, a poor
but very proud young man who ran a tea-stall in Haveli Mian Khan, Rang Mahal.
The glint in his eyes radiated immense intelligence and awareness. He told
me he was 40 years old. He complained that poor people like him could not
afford to pay the taxes and rates the government kept imposing on them. He
remarked, "You ask me if I send my children to school, well I do but you
know I can't afford to feed them properly. The tap water we get is
contaminated with filth from the leaking sewerage. It has a nauseating smell
and drinking it gives us stomach diseases." He complained bitterly that the
elected nazims, mayors and councillors did nothing to alleviate their
hardships. They were corrupt and worse than thugs. He wanted President
Pervez Musharraf to come and see how people live in his locality and then
say what he and his government had done for people like him.
There is a widespread belief among indigenous Lahoris that holy men and
saints buried inside the Walled City and outside it guard Lahore from harm
and evil. I believe that whereas the blessings of the dead are always a
great asset it must be the goodness of the hardworking folks, some of whom
we had the pleasure of meeting, that keeps our ancient city alive and
kicking. Despite everything, Lahore is Lahore.
The author is an associate professor
of political science at Stockholm University. He is the author of two books.
His email address is Ishtiaq.Ahmed@statsvet.su.se
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