Lahore with a Bite

Lahore, La- hore, the heart of Punjab and therefore also the land of the pure; The city has always had a mystical halo around it; history suggests the city’s original name, "Loh" or "Lava", was named after the son of Rama, one of the Gods from the Hindu tradition, the name is seen in the ancient scriptures of the Ramayana.

There are many faces of this city, and it would be difficult to capture them in any one piece; nevertheless, I had the fortune of a view through a window now perhaps half shut,  ‘Lava’s’ world of Urdu writing, literature and creativity.

No longer on Mall Road, the literary cafes, Intizar Husain graciously met my friends and I in his Shaadman home. His home piled up with books from top to bottom the Deon of Urdu fiction was equally amused at entertaining our curious questions. An open house to those still interested in literary discourse; vivid and clear memories of old ‘Loh’ were revealing and reaffirmed how the city’s culture has irrevocably shifted since ‘Independence’.

Independent movie artists, and Urdu writers gather at Nairang Gallery every Sunday, to ‘hang’ and remind themselves, yes in spite of the stifling smoke of the city’s haze, genteel ideas have a corner still. Surprisingly, the restoration of the famed ‘Pak Tea house’ was of little interest to those who were its luminaries’.  At Nairang, Nayar Ali Dada, gratefully created a space for those who freely gather and banter about all things culture and literature. The gallery is adorned with art, furniture and a few books for those who would like to peruse.

Amidst, bookshelves and old Lahori furniture, Aqeel Ruby, Zahid Dar, Ikramullah, Eruj Mubarak, Khalid Ahmed and more discuss, over a simple cup of tea and pakoras,  the state of Urdu fiction writing in Pakistan. Not too bright but still hopeful, the conversation continues. I heard and observed two facts;  the group’s  average age was 70 years old and Pakistan has no ‘independent of Government Literary Award’. Hmmm Wow. Why?

A delightful evening with a young lawyer cum poet- of Urdu, was also insightful.  The language Urdu, in its contemporary form, has limited tools to express, explore and espouse modern ideas and realities we live in NOW. Why I asked? Rational argument, the process of a logical progression of thought is rare in Urdu prose. There is no original philosophical thought, ideas, and tools developed in Urdu. Moreover, the reality of modern life, lifestyles, and individual feelings are rarely explored in contemporary Urdu fiction. The use of allegory, poetry and suggestion is preferred- an avoidance tactic, one could say, however beautifully evoked or constructed.

 The world of fiction is a reflection of the pen’s worldview. The language must expand to include new social, intellectual and contemporary lived experiences and more importantly, allow it to influence the world of  the language and hence the writing- otherwise the thought tools will remain time-bound and limited.  If the body of work remains nostalgic, and its narrative restricted the Adab will also.

The contemporary writers in Urdu cannot or do not explore social issues ‘outside’ of the ‘accepted’ norms determined by writers  primarily before 1947 or through the 1960s only. The necessary evolution of writing since then is absent. How apt yet ironic that even in the world of the artist the heavy hand of the  ‘censor’ has  penetrated to stunt the development of how we communicate amongst ourselves in Pakistan. George Orwell would be proud. History will not remember us.

Pakistani exceptionalism , a concept I revisited while in Lahore. Most Urdu writers’ audiences are in India, why, because the readership market is larger, and if the body of work is decent it will be translated into Hindi and possibly other regional languages. Fact. To remain alive these are simple realities of Urdu writers, (the lingua franca of  the land of the pure). Moreover, literarily, the most  respected critics of Urdu writing are in India. Exceptional we maybe, since the Urdu writers of  ‘note’ are in Pakistan, but certainly Urdu, remains alive and thrives, because we maintain our natural and historical links with next door.

A biting incident took me to a Christian Hospital in Gulberg. Deserted, clean and run down I was treated by two smiling lady nurses. Throughout my treatment, I couldn’t remove the image of Mohammad Hanif’s Book  ‘Alice Bhatti’ ; I asked them if they had read  his book, very amused they replied with a shake of their heads. The cost of my treatment Rs.100. Exceptional. How can a medical establishment run on such returns? I was also surprised at the absence of any patients in a hospital in the middle of the city?

As  I drove out of the city along the Canal,  negotiating through the insane traffic of animals and like minded vehicles, I wished some day, my generation could also witness the glory and culture that once walked and breathed in this grand city, instead of reading or hearing of it, that too in the historical sense, wondering if that was really possible in Lahore.

Public Broadcasting in the time of Great Games - A case study of FATA

 http://youtu.be/JmF9JLyNhN0.

Sea, by a city called Karachi.

My impressions of Karachi have changed.

A fishing village a hundred years ago, today is completely bereft of a seaside culture. A very strange phenomena; but then Pakistan never ceases to amaze.

There are no seaside cafes as such, no sea sports or sportsmen/women/children noticeable anywhere. The public beaches are frequented primarily by burka clad, high shallu wearing families strolling along the outskirts of the sea and beaches; very incongruently and awkwardly engaging with nature’s source of life. Occasionally a child will rush into the waves out of curiosity and quickly retreat in response to worried cries. The Maya Khans of the world have ensured the few adventurers or romantics will never be swaying hand in hand along the waves of Sea view.

Of course this is completely not the experience of many Karachites who don’t share public spaces with the many. The hut culture, the private beach parties and GTs don’t quite contribute to the ‘feel’ of a city; that’s inside stuff, hence I exclude it from the ‘Karachi as it is seen.

   

What I enjoy about this megla polis is its multi cultures; segregated by ethnicity and religion, but the milieu is nevertheless fascinating. Sufi shrines at so many corners, with traditions and rituals so specific to each, one can't be blamed if one thought how powerful rituals have overtaken the spiritual. An Italian convert and a mureed visiting a ‘saint’s’ grave everyday to wash and cover it with fresh flowers for 30 years; has found a following of her own, by amazed bewildered and awe struck locals. Paying homage to ‘Qalandars’ of the water, Karachites, feed crows and fish at ‘Netty Jetty’ (netty having come from ‘native’) to wade away ‘evil eyes’.  The city is full of mystery, rituals and folklore. 

Ranchore Line a neighbourhood with Shia Boras living alongside their Imambaras and five beautiful Hindu temples and its communities, is special; the Rangers are visibly all over, reminding us the communities may have lived here for generations but perhaps aren’t too friendly any longer. The kind of garbage and the heaps piled outside the Mandirs are also testament of disregard, disrespect and pure civic apathy.

Conversations about civic social responsibility are also interesting in this city. Private neighbourhood committees in Mohammad Ali colony, primarily an ‘Urdu speaking area’ share their views on the new ‘dirty Memons’ who have moved in recently and will not pay Rs.50 per month to clean the neighbourhood garbage.  Such clear-cut ethnic geography and anthropology is bewildering to an Islooite’ or just naïve to think caste was left behind with partition.

Memories of Burmese Muslims who moved into P.E.C.H in the 1960s are very insightful; I am curious given the focus it has garnered in our public forums. It is a small community in Karachi. Some of them are ‘Irani’ some from ‘Silit’. The community is tight nit and practising. Memories of Burma from a member of the community,  Temples, Pagodas and Mosques side by side, but there were clashes between Muslims and Buddhists for sometime, primarily because Muslims were uncomfortable with ‘idol’ worshippers and tried to intrude and convert. These influences of ‘seeing differences’ and trying to change the equilibrium of religious tolerance are blamed on outside money and outside Muslim clerics. Interesting, the observation of the Buddhist monks attacking the Burmese Muslims was doubted, Burmese monks don’t wear brown habits, which is what the monks were wearing in the video.

A city which had 13cafes and bookstores on just one street, Regal Road (now chowk) today has, the lone pre partition bookstore Thomas and Thomas amidst the electronic khokas run by beards & paan chewing hawkers; completely bewildered why Mr. Naqvi refuses to pack up with next to no customers frequenting his very quaint literary establishment. I suppose it is because of Mr. Naqvi and his ilk, that a city develops and maintains its character. Kudos to Mr. Naqvi and his perseverance.

I love sweets. I don’t appreciate the nerve numbing fructose overdose of the Pakistani variety. In Gulsan e Iqbal, at Dacca sweets, on the other hand, the ‘Bingos’  have brought a little of Cal or Dhaka  with their Sandesh and  metha dhai which is just… divine.

The Dhaaba, Biryani of the Seas, not by the sea, but along posh Bath Island serves gorgeous, mouth watering seafood grilled, fried and in biryanis; interesting was the Goan curry, although not so Goan, but the variety of South Indian coastal cuisine on the menu.

Karachi, outwardly sea less, a city under siege by the beards, and thugs is layered by so many cultures and yet, looking for a Sindhi restaurant in the city is impossible; finding a scholar on Hinduism outside the Temples is next to impossible; but in these contradictions and within the city’s energy there is still hope.