Lahore
‘Kiss kadar piyar say aae janay jahan rakha hai..dil kay rukhsar pay iss waqt teri yaad nay haath…’
Lahore must look cleaner – the soot washed away by acidic rain. This should provide yet another excuse for Lahoris to celebrate – their wealth and deteriorating health. I can almost hear the loud music and frivolous laughter; and imagine the buxom ‘aunties in Civics’, the poonds on Mall and Fortress, and smell the fresh bar-b-q at Lakshmi Chowk. Lahoris do know how to mix bad taste with good appetite.
Lazing in the couch, listening to Moazzam’s gibberish and enjoying the breather from Lahore’s unbearable heat. Rashid cackling over some Freudian slip and Vickoo sitting cross-legged on the terrace floor, exuding that air of Yoda-like serenity. Assed missing and Wasif lying on the arm rest. Qahwa brewing in the kitchen and Iqbal Bano relentlessly singing Faiz. Rainbow shining over Badian Road.
It rains non-stop for hours. Lahore floats, the people and vehicles tossing on the ripples. Rain in Lahore brings devastation. WAPDA gets a legitimate excuse to cut off the electricity indefinitely. The sky is clear and the smell of freshly baked pakoras hangs in the air. Lahori resilience amazes me. In the middle of a dump, thoughts of food reign supreme.
Rizu is the perfect Lahori, though I am sure that he actually belongs to some remote chak somewhere in Punjab. Everyone does. Lahore doesn’t seem to have original residents, except maybe in Hira Mundi. His hospitality is flawless. I never thought people living in metropolitan cities were capable of that. His never-ending passion for discovering nooks and corners of food is superior to all other species. Not much of a glutton himself, he takes pleasure instead in getting other people fed – not really altruistic, but out of a typical Lahori habit. They live to eat – whether it’s their mouth or somebody else’s.
Lahori rain leaves a mark on everything, including people and animals. Many get electrocuted and die under falling buildings. Animals die too. Unable to swim, they float – lifeless. Later when the water dries up, their bodies lie bloated in populated areas, waiting for a faltering step or a child’s prank to burst into a kaleidoscope of faeces, intestine, blood and hair. People go on celebrating the rain, singing, eating and rejoicing in its aftermath. Rain, after all, is heavenly bliss.
—to be continued
The picture that you paint of Lahore is something that one can have lengthy discussions on. I am also assuming it is incomplete since your post says to be continued!
However, Lahore has its moments. Whenever I leave the city I miss it like crazy after a few days. Guess its because no matter how bad the state of affairs in the Lahore, it is still my hometown.
Those who have not been in Lahore for years can truly know the value of the city. How you describe Lahore is how I imagine it. I dream about the monsoons and Food Street. Lahore is the best city in the world, and I speak after seeing many. You paint a very honest picture of my city with your words. Some of the other ‘pardesis’ that I know liked it a lot too, but were too lazy to comment. Thank you for giving me a glimpse of Lahore (although I could have done without the blood and gore at the end
)).
This is tremendous writing. Good work. I need more from you.
Love the image of blood and feces and whatever. Speaks to the horror writer in me.
Good writing, nice visual description. But just a thought, is Lahore really as dirty as you said you’ve described? Maybe it is and I’ve never been to those places.
You paint a picture with your words; it’s not exactly a very pretty picture, but then Lahore isn’t exactly a very pretty city anymore.
Astutely observed, well-described, and well-put.
I love the vivid descriptions. Great work!
Thanks guys! I am flattered
Clarification: it was not a critique of the city, but a homage – in my own twisted way