The heart of Pakistan

[HASEEB ANSARI]

The heart of Pakistan
By Chauburji

Many of my friends sometimes accuse me of being old fashioned and opposed to modernisation. While they are entitled to their opinion, they cannot be farthest from the truth for I am someone, who ardently believes in progress - but the type of progress that does not stifle and kill tradition, history and cultural heritage.

We have aped the West in all that is decadent, conveniently ignoring the fact that Western nations are where they are because they have nurtured and cherished their past, blending it in pragmatic harmony with the needs of the developed world. These nations have preserved their history, no matter how painful or colonial; they have restored architecture in all its magnificence and kept age-old festivals alive.
In stark contrast, we have in our nearsightedness demolished beautiful structures and replaced them with the ugly steel and glass symbols of commercialisation and greed. We are also reluctant to display our colonial past, much like an ostrich, little realising that history can neither be ignored nor altered and nations that have endeavoured to do so have gone nowhere.
Take Lahore for example – the ‘City of Gardens’ as it was called does not justify this name anymore, since it has become a concrete jungle. The most famous promenade of Punjab’s capital, the Mall, was lined on both sides by magnificent buildings representing various trends in architecture. Many had frescoes on their facades, which added to their beauty. One of these - the Offices and Presses of the Civil and Military Gazette - stood where the Panorama Centre now raises its ugly head. The Nobel Laureate, Rudyard Kipling, worked here in a sub editorial capacity and wrote many of his celebrated works from his small office. I happened to visit the premises as a young school boy, before the white painted colonial style structure was ruthlessly pulled down and found a plaque fixed on the verandah wall commemorating the great man’s presence in the place.
The Old Walled City, with its narrow bazaars and a lifestyle that is inimitable, is home to buildings that are centuries old. These structures are fronted by intricate masonry work, frescoes and wooden balconies that are now decayed and dangerous to traffic plying underneath. I was happy to learn that someone with a heart of gold had undertaken what was called the ‘The Old City Project’ to gradually restore these beautiful remnants of our past. Things apparently went well for the project in the beginning, but a combination of factors that plague all good ideas in our part of the world, finally managed to bring a sad end to this venture.
The Food Street in Gowalmandi was another success story that filled our hearts with pride, especially when one saw old house fronts restored to their former glory and accentuated by tasteful lighting at night. My visit to the city of my birth was never complete until I had savoured a meal here. I am told that this street is no more and that a much smaller strip of road near Old Anarkali with the same name is ‘standing in’ for the concept - sans the ‘charisma’ of the original site.
Beadon Road was a name that always sent a wave of excitement through us as children, for a visit here was sure to end at the shop of the Amritsari Family that ran (and still run) a sweetmeat shop. I, particularly, remember the take away Sunday morning breakfast where the bhaji was sold in donas made of fig leaves pinned together by tiny toothpick-like twigs. I still buy my puri and bhaji from shops in Islamabad, but none is as delectable as the one served by the Amritsaris.
This particular road was also hallmarked by residential enclaves consisting of flats that usually circled a park and, hence, carried names such as Victoria Park. These premises were inhabited by Muslim and Christian families, with many of the latter of Anglo-Indian descent. These residents were free of any religious bigotry and shared the ups and downs of life with total love and harmony. I am told that here too, things have changed.
As someone, who cherishes his association with the ‘City of Gardens’, I look forward to a time, when someone with aesthetical wisdom will adopt a policy of ‘restore not demolish’ for the old structures, culture and festivities that once made Lahore what it was meant to be - the heart of Pakistan.

The writer belongs to a very old and established family of the Walled City. His forte is the study of History.

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