...Of Festivals And Firm Refusals

There are very few excuses this time, and those few are flimsy at best. It has been laziness, plain and simple, that's kept me from writing for the better part of the last 5 months. I've had time - not ample time, but enough to hammer out a rough draft or two - and I've had ideas, but I've lacked the get-up-and-go that is the catalyst to productivity. A lot has happened over the last five or six months, several events warranting a write-up, but they've gone largely uncelebrated-or unmourned. Still, better late than never (God forbid). What follows is a hodge-podge of ideas that have been on my mind recently.

Notes On A Festival 

I plan my once-a-month weekend around events that interest me, so that my weekends serve a dual purpose; touching base with the folks back home and (barely) keeping my cultural interests alive. Even so, I miss most of what goes on in the metropolis; movies, concerts, book fairs etc that I would've given an arm and a leg to attend. Still, if there's a slim chance of catching something exciting, I don't mind traveling an extra two or three hundred miles or spending an extra four or five grand on fuel so that I can return to the jungle with something more than a jar of Nano's mango pickle.

Last month I made a quick one-night trip to Lahore to attend a series of plays performed by a wonderful theatre group from across the border, and this month I managed to attend (and convinced more than two dozen family members to attend) the Mystic Music Festival held at Alhamra. The fact that the family would also attend meant a lot of organizational and coordinational (a word I just made up) hassles, but it was well worth it. Over two nights, I had a fair amount of fun, managed to listen to - and watch - some exceptional performances and accomplished the 'touching base with the family' task fairly adequately as well.

I won't go into detailed descriptions of the acts but I did carry away some pretty clear impressions from the two nights that I attended. Some were positive, but a few things niggled me as well. It was pretty easy to pick out favorite performers from amongst the twenty or so acts that I saw. First and foremost, Saeen Zahoor is a gift from God. His voice, especially in the high registers, is spine-tinglingly, goosebumping inducingly powerful and his wonderfully unassuming style perfectly complements his phenomenal talents. I've rarely found myself teary-eyed at a concert, but Saeen ji made me almost break into sobs.God bless him for that.

The other veteran performer who was totally on-the-money was the wonderful Akhter Chinar Zehri from Balochistan. I've grown up watching him on TV as the uncle who sings "Dana-pe-dana", which he obligingly performed at the festival. But what clinched the performance for me was his rendition of Hz Maulana Rumi (RA)'s wonderfully charged ghazal from the Diwan-e-Shams

بیدار شو بیدار شو ھین رفت شب بیدار شو

بیزار شو بیزار شو وزخویشہم بیزار شو

This he performed in his trademark style, lingering on and emoting each verse, whirling and swaying all the while. It was a trance-inducing performance and I won't forget it any time soon. 

Then there were two rather young acts who impressed me very much, and were appreciated pretty generously by the audience as well. The "Bazm-e-Liqa", a group of Ismaili musicians; male and female of relatively young ages, from Hunza in the Gilgit-Baltistan region who accompany themselves on traditional instruments like the Rubab and the lute, with percussion provided by tambourines and Daff's. They were unhurried, completely lost in their own performance, with wonderful voices and a soothing and tranquil performance style. They performed, among other things, a Hamd of Pir Naseeruddin Naseer(RA)'s and a wonderful ghazal of Hafiz Sherazi's and were probably my stand-out favorites among all the performers.

The other performer that really impressed my was Wahdat Rameez, a young musician with no family background in music but possessing a wonderfully melodious voice. He was accompanied by his brother on the harmonium and they sang only two pieces, the "Rohi" and a traditional folk tune made famous by the Wadaali brothers. The style was unassuming, the voices clear and melodious and classically trained. I'm pretty sure I'll be hearing a lot more from them in the future. Honourable mentions also to Kishan Lal Bheel from Cholistan and his band of traditional musicians/dancers/fire-eaters.

While these were the standout performers in my view, the other performers, barring one or two exceptions, were also pretty good. However, there were one or two things that rankled and proved major bummers. One of the things that annoyed me was something I have written about previously. There were seven Qawwal parties featured over the two nights that I attended the festival, and they all performed at least three items each. The irritating bit was that all the twenty or so items performed by the Qawwals boiled down to half a dozen Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan pieces. Some Qawwalis, like "Allah Hoo Allah Hoo" and  "Saanson Ki Mala" were repeated four times each night, and I have now grown to hate, literally loathe "Yeh Jo Halka Halka Suroor Hai" mainly because I heard it performed four times in a single night by four different Qawwali parties. I feel sorry for Nusrat, God rest his soul, but I feel doubly sorry for the hundreds of Qawwals whose growth and development became stunted when they couldn't grow out of his enormous shadow. Not one Qawwal performed an original composition-except maybe Imran Aziz Mian. who decided to forego half-hearted Nusrat covers in favour of half-hearted covers of his father's famous Qawwalis. 

The other thing that Qawwals in particular, and most other performers in general, suffered from was counter-intuitive sound mixing. With a few exceptions- "Bazm-e-Liqa", Wahdat Rameez and Arieb Azhar-, each performer's sound-mix consisted of an ultra-loud tabla/dholak and earscreechingly loud vocals; with the harmoniums, guitars, saxophones, clarinets and violins completely drowned out. It was a sad sight to see a rather elderly clarinet player playing the bejeezus out of his instrument,sitting in the back-row of a Qawwali party with no microphone in front of him, while at the same time there were two microphones each for the two dholak players. I've never been able to understand why performers - and in some cases audiences - prefer this setup. It was at the performers' insistence that the levels were adjusted, with many vocalists urging the sound engineers to literally 'take it up to 11', ala Spinal Tap. What resulted was a muddled mess of noise that was pretty distressing to the ears. I'm afraid this is what most of the concerts I've attended have sounded like, and it represents a pretty sizeable hurdle in the way of enjoying the precious few live musical events that take place in Pakistan. 

Looking At It From Smaug's Point Of View 

Once upon a time there was a phenomenal treasure trove of music in a folder on a file-sharing site. It had been uploaded by a gentleman of Pickwickian benevolence and consisted of hundreds of hours of extremely rare recordings by some of the greatest musicians of the last century. It was freely available to the public to listen to, share and download-albeit with moderation. You were allowed a limited number of downloads per day so the servers wouldn't get overloaded. People mostly minded the rules and listened/downloaded with restraint, enabling the folder to remain online for almost three years. Well, one day, as was inevitable, someone greedy came along. The download limit was exceeded, the servers got overloaded, the filesharing site investigated and decided the folder seemed suspicious in terms of copyright infringement and shut it down. The greatest online repository of music, which had taken at least two years to upload and organize, is no more. The gentleman who had painstakingly uploaded the folder is unwilling to go to all the effort again, just to accomodate those he now calls 'selfish freeloaders'. 

Some friends of mine knew an elderly gentleman who was rumoured to possess several extremely rare Qawwali recordings and had a few hundred tapes in his collection. Overtures were made to him to share some, if not all, of his recordings with us, in exchange we'd digitize and organize them for him. these overtures were met with a firm refusal. The gentleman provided a reason for his refusal, which I'm paraphrasing here. The recordings that he possessed had been personally recorded by him at various Qawwali mehfils over the last half-century. In order to attend those mehfils he'd had to travel many hundreds of miles, spending days and weeks in travel just to listen to -and try to record- his favorite artists. Getting invited to these mehfils had involved first being accepted into the community of organizers, conoisseurs and performers. This acceptance had been cultivated over years, and involved meetings, discussions and active participation in the various activities associated with shrines and dargaahs. After he'd been deemed worthy of an invitation, had made the week-long trek to some far off location and been allowed to attend the mehfils, he had to receive permission to record; permission which was not always forthcoming. It was therefore, quite a challenge to record these mehfils.

If he heard about a recording in the possession of somebody else, the whole odyssey would be repeated. He often had to travel a couple of hundred miles in search of a single recording and return empty-handed, but the recordings he managed to get were cherished possessions. The recordings in those tapes, he said, weren't just audio snippets of obscure musicians. They were a record of the places, people, relationships, time and effort that were associated with acquiring them. They were, in short, milestones to his life. What we were suggesting, he said, was that he hand over those milestones to us when we had experienced/suffered/enjoyed/felt none of the things he considered the price of the recordings. Hence the flat refusal. Both 'zauq' and 'shauq' had to be amply demonstrated before he'd be willing to part with any one of them. So, while my friends were allowed to listen to some of the recordings, they came back empty handed.

The late Lutfullah Khan Sb was the foremost audiovisual archiver/collector in Pakistan. His collection of audio/video and documents related to the performing arts is unparallelled in its breadth and scope. He had painstakingly collected, edited, organized and cataloged the entire audiovisual history of Pakistan. This obsession consumed and controlled most of his life, and is enshrined in the most extensive audiovisual library in Pakistan. He left clear instructions to his family that after his death, his archive should be given over to the person or organization who could provide adequate financial compensation to his family for what is an incalculably rich treasure. This financial compensation would have to run into tens of millions of rupees ( a fair assessment in my opinion), otherwise there would be no-sale. On no account would the archive be donated free of cost, in fact Lutfullah Sb preferred setting fire to the whole collection rather than allowing it out of his family's hands without 'adequate financial compensation.' Almost a year after Lutfullah Sb's death, the archive remains closed to the public.

The small music collection that I've managed to acquire over the last three or four years owes much of its existence to the kindness of friends and total strangers. With a few exceptions, I have not had to travel hundreds of miles, or offer proofs of my 'zauq' or 'shauq'. I have often bickered when, in search of recordings and such, I have been faced with a firm refusal or delaying tactics. But I have also come to see that there is some, if not complete, then at least some justification in the refusals. In an age where the internet and filesharing have made gazillions of hours of audio and video freely available, some of us, myself included, have started taking this easy availability for granted. We have started to consider it something of a right to be able to see everything, hear everything and enjoy everything. I'm not saying this free availability is a bad thing. I'm sure my music collection, and come to think of it, my life would've been woefully incomplete if not for those angels in human shape who share so much of their collections on filesharing sites and YouTube. 

But consideration must be paid to the dissenting voices, who believe that simply desiring something isn't enough, one must do something to deserve it too. 

P.S Look up Bazm-e-Liqa and Wahdat Rameez, you won't be disappointed.

...Of A Number Of Things

What follows is a series of small erm, discourses on a number of topics that interested me but weren't deemed suitable for further elaboration because, let's face it, I'm the laziest fella this side of the Indus. They don't have a common thread running through them and have been hastily jotted down as I unpack my bags after heading back to my little shed in the jungle.

The 'Usual'

Most of the things that I've grown to enjoy immensely in Lahore were actually my own discoveries ; bookshops, places to eat, places to see etc that I had stumbled onto in my many exploratory forays. One place however, bears the distinction of not only being pointed out to me by a friend but actually, persuasively prodded towards, and I can safely say that never was I prodded towards a more favorable destination. One of the small, no not small; sizeable pleasures that one can hope to achieve in a long residence at one place is acquiring a place where, slightly modifying the theme from Cheers, 'not everybody but at least somebody knows your name'. That place for me is the Lahore Chatkhara in Mini-Market, Gulberg.

The fact that after my initial visit, I could be found there at least three or four times every month bred a little familiarity. This was reinforced by the fact that I'd always be carrying a pile of books and would inadvertently be waiting for someone, something which sort of singled me out from the rest of their patrons. The bond was completed by the fact that the first time I tasted what I had been ordered by my friend to taste - a plate of Samosa Chaat and a bottle of Coke - I was so taken that I immediately ordered another serving and gave the waitress a pretty phenomenal tip. The happy result is that now, whenever I go there, I am nodded-at by said recipient of my tipping largesse, led towards my 'usual table', allowed to wait uninterrupted for my 'usual friends' and need only to inform them to bring me 'the usual'. It may not be the Anglers' Rest of the Mr. Mulliner stories or the eponymous bar from Cheers, but trust me, there's great pleasure in being a 'usual'.

The Unbearable Nusrat-ness Of Being

I came late to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Wait, let me rephrase that, I was a huge Nusrat fan the first 20 odd years of my life but when I 'rediscovered' Qawwali some four odd years ago, somehow Nusrat remained on the fringes of my radar. One of the reasons was that I had been warned off him by the "purists" - back when I was silly enough to  pay any attention to them, another was that every time I listened to him, my mind would always (unfavorably) compare him to his father, which I realise now was unfair. However, when I gradually rediscovered Nusrat, I was immediately entranced by his skill, his emotionality and (unlike what the purists had blabbered on about) his immense 'ehteraam' for the Classical idiom. Of course I had to pick and choose from literally thousands of his recordings, but at least I was a Nusrat fan.

Mark the sequel though. It's been more than a decade since Nusrat passed away. Qawwali has seen a decline and then a slight resurgence but the influence of Nusrat has remained. Not only has it remained but it has grown so overpowering that I've noticed a (to me at least) very disturbing trend in modern Qawwali, namely the Unbearable Nusratness Of Being.

The overwhelming majority of Qawwals have realized that Nusrat sells. As a result, everyone has become what can best be described as rather sub-standard Nusrat clones. In doing so, the Qawwals have all but completely abandoned their own hereditary style, their trademark items and their unique performance styles. The entire Fareedi clan for example - which boasted such modern stalwarts as Agha Rasheed Ahmed and Abdul Raheem Fareedi - has decided to convert to Nusratism en masse. Gone are the trademark emotive, classical bandishes. Instead, we have cheap synthesisers, alarming vocal histrionics and wholesale borrowings from Nusrat's repertoire.

Another example is one of the rising stars of the current Qawwali scene, Asif Ali Santoo Khan Qawwal, whose father and grandfather were supremely talented Ustaads of Qawwali, but who has completely moulded his style on Nusats, with the result that more often than not, his performances veer towards jumbledness and confusion rather than clarity. Even the ‘Dehli-wala’ gharanas of Qawwali, both in India and Pakistan, have also eschewed their usual emotive, nuanced and more measured style for a more ballistic and over-the-top style that somehow sounds odd to the ears. The overall result being that where once the Punjabi ‘ang’ of Qawwali was a many-textured style with different performers binging their own uniqueness to the fore, nowadays Qawwali in the Punjab is totally Nusrated.

Now I know this is an honest-to-goodness rant and that I am obviously overreacting to what is the natural result of the presence of a towering cultural figure who cast a very long shadow, but unless some of the current performers discover their own distinctive voices and look towards their own personal heritage for fresh ideas, Qawwali will degenerate into something much less appealing and enlightening and satisfying than it’s supposed to be. And worst of all, the purists will be proven right.

The Joy Of Text

When I go on holiday, I don’t necessarily ‘go on holiday’. Let me explain. Others may use the holidays to catch a bit of much-needed R&R, laze about, catch up on their sleep or generally idle. My holidays are the exact opposite of that. Averaging only five to six hours of sleep per day, I manage to cram in so many activities into the three or four days off I get every month that I actually need a day-planner to help me get through all the commitments. These include getting through the checklist in the previous post, the requisite socializing, shopping, taking care of pending official paperwork and downloading as much music and movies and TV shows to last me the month or more before I next expect to be home.

Another object that is forced to share this increased holiday workload is my long-suffering phone. Here in the jungle, the phone serves as a combination torch and Angry Birds console and that’s it. No cellphone signals and no Wi-Fi means it lives out the month a shadow of its true self. But let me get in my car and get within cellphone coverage range on my way home, and Abdul Ghafoor (my phone’s named Abdul Ghafoor) comes alive in the most remarkable fashion. Over the course of the next three or four days, I manage to make more phone calls, send more texts and do more phone-ly things than most people tend to do in their entire lifetimes. My preferred modus communicadi being the text message, which I’ve preferred over phone calls for as long as I’ve had a cellphone.

The pure pleasure of carrying out conversations over SMS is lost on people who take the ability to send and receive texts for granted. But to a person who gets to receive terrible jokes and Doomsday warnings only once a month, the true worth of the medium is evident. It’s hard to describe the absolutely nonsensical bracing effects, after having spent a month or more in complete radio silence, of a conversation like this :

Q. Musab bhai, aap ek kaam keejiye.

Me. Ji janab ?

Q. Aap Nijaam ke bal bal jaiyye.

Me.Ji behtar.

A month after arriving in my jungle hideout, I had managed to procure a phone and establish some form of communication, two months later, I improved that to include what can mercifully be called an internet connection but the ability to send and receive texts had eluded me. Because of some oddly convoluted logic, phones here can carry out any two of the three activities of voice calls, text messaging and internet connectivity, but not all three. So in opting for the ability to sit for hours waiting for the Google homepage to load, I relinquished the ability to text. The result was that on my recently concluded holiday, I took out my textual frustrations to such an extent that I managed to crash the Messaging application, which is no mean feat on an Android phone. This brought home the realization that steps needed to be taken, avenues needed to be explored and measures needed to be implemented so that I could spread out my textual largesse over the entire year instead of treating my phone like a stock-ticker three days a month and letting it grow fat and lazy the rest of the time.

As always, the simplest solution has proven the most practical. Doing the required math, I decided that to phones were better than one. One for calling and texting and the other solely for crawling the internet. So now mine is the only room for miles with two oddly shaped telephone antennae on its roof. Now all I have to worry about is how to get enough electricity to charge two phones when there isn’t enough for even one. But that, as they say, is a horse of a different colour.

Classical Music Versus Lamb Chops

Here’s a question. You know the Festival Of Lights in Lahore is part of your ‘culture’. Yet you live in Khuzdar, or you’re allergic to lights. Would you then consider it your duty to do whatever you can to preserve and support the Festival Of Lights simply because it’s part of your 'culture' ?

I got to dwelling on this question after reading a Facebook post, a rather anguished post lamenting the treatment of Classical musicians in Pakistan, especially the lack of respect paid them and the impending void they will leave if not appreciated, supported and given their due ‘ehtiraam’. This is sadly very true and the handful of senior classical musicians, with one or two exceptions, are living out the last days of their lives in penury, mostly neglected, with their huge talents and ability going to waste rather than being transmitted to future generations. The loss to our cultural milieu will be immeasurable when they’ve passed away. That much is clear.

Mark the sequel though. Classical music has, for most of its history, been an art form appreciated by a comparatively small audience, almost like Opera or Jazz. The small audience has been, for the most part, discerning, passionate and appreciative. And they’ve had the means to support the art-form that they appreciate. This has taken the form of court-patronage in the previous centuries and although now considerably diminished, is still carried on in the tradition of Mehfils and soirees etc. With these means, the passionate followers of classical music have managed to get their fill of their favorite type of music and contribute to the maintenance and sustenance of the classical tradition.

Like Opera and Jazz however, Classical music is not entirely ignored by the mainstream. In genres like Qawwali, Ghazal and Folk Music for example, artists like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Mehdi Hassan, Tufail Niazi et al have been instrumental in introducing the lay-listener to a taste of sub-continental classical music; a feat that has resulted in a wider listenership and appreciation for this genre. Yet classical music has remained, for better or worse, a rather exclusive art form, appreciated and nurtured by a rather small group of fans (at least in Pakistan). This group is well-versed in the intricacies, technicalities as well as the niceties associated with classical music. It knows, for example, the etiquette of a ‘mehfil’ and the ‘ehtiraam’ accorded an Ustad, and in mehfils where this group is exclusively present, such niceties are usually expected to be followed.

Any art form, however exclusive, cannot hope to remain both insular and vibrant. In terms of Classical music, this problem is somewhat rectified by including a sizeable number of lay-listeners in mehfils and the repertoire is designed to include more popular ‘items’ along with the ‘thaith’ classical pieces. Another very common trend is inviting these musicians, especially Qawwals, to functions such as weddings, parties etc where they perform to a decidedly mixed crowd. Now, the point I was trying to elaborate in the question of the start of this piece comes into play. How is the lay-listener, with not more than a passing interest in what the musicians are performing, supposed to react? Does he, despite the fact that whatever is being performed is flying over his head or that his attention is constantly being diverted by the rather delectable looking lamb-chop at the wedding buffet, feign interest and try to treat the music and the musicians with something more than cursory attention ? Or does he, following his heart (and stomach), head straight to the group of his friends – with a small detour at the buffet table of course – and start chattering like nobody’s business, not giving a hoot to the group of people gesticulating and caterwauling on stage ?

As an enlargement of the above question, unless the classical musicians have modified their repertoire to include more populist pieces – a step which will more often than not have the effect of alienating their core audience – why should the lay-listener pay attention to this group of performers, despite the fact that Classical music forms an integral part of our national culture. Because from the listener’s point of view, in the current economic and political situation, paraphrasing Faiz – ‘Aur bhi gham hain zamanay main culture kie siwa’. And again, perhaps his cultural touchstones include something completely different from those of classical music fans. Perhaps he digs Atif Aslam and the latest Bollywood music, perhaps he’s into hip-hop or death-metal or Naseebo Lal. Why should he give a hoot to the fact that Ustad Ghulam Hussain Shaggan is currently living in a two-room apartment in a seedy part of Lahore or that Ustad Manzoor Ahmed Niazi is now the last surviving member of a legendary generation of Qawwals or that a treasure trove of Classical music recordings is slowly decomposing in the basement of the Radio Pakistan building in Lahore?

This is a thorny issue, for both the listener and the musicians. Should a more populist approach be tried by the musicians and tolerated by the die-hard listeners or is adherence to the classical idiom, coupled with increased patronage by the core group of listeners the way forward? Because one thing is clear – at least to me- Classical Music, classical Qawwali and all similar art-forms, will have rather limited appeal as compared to more popular arts unless drastic changes in performance are made. It will always be up to the small yet devoted group of listeners to archive, promote, nurture and introduce this art form, like it has been in the past. I don’t know who can shoulder the blame if these art-forms continue to decline, but at least it isn’t the wedding guest noisily munching on his lamb-chop and enjoying the company of his friends, oblivious to the fading echoes of what he certainly doesn’t consider his ‘culture’.

...Of All The Bases And How They Were Hit

In my five years of surreptitiously visiting and then a year and a half of actually living in Lahore, I had pretty much defined what were, for want of a better phrase , my 'places of interest'. Now that I've returned to square one in that my status has reverted from resident to occasional visitor, I can draw on my extensive (if I do say so myself) and exhaustive knowledge of what I like to come up with a pretty all-encompassing list of all the things that make Lahore awesome.

Now obviously I can't enjoy or experience the literally dozens of sights and sounds and tastes (especially tastes) that make Lahore what it is on these 3-4 days per month trips of mine , especially now that they will be split between visiting the family in Sargodha and what a friend calls 'Lahoring'. So I've narrowed my list down to a 12-point checklist. If on a trip to Lahore, I manage to check the requisite number of boxes, I can consider the trip a success. And as every new tabulatory exercise like this requires a 'type specimen' - a perfect object with which to compare subsequent similar objects, I can safely put forward my current thirteen day hiatus in Lahore (which unfortunately ends today) as the standard against which all future trips will be measured. Without further ado then, here's......

My Lahore Checklist

•   Visited three closest friends living in Lahore - Check
•   Gotten together with more friends over Samosa Chaat at the Lahore Chatkhara - Double Check *
•   Touched base with the in-laws and close relatives - Triple Check
•   Visited the Data Darbar at least once - Triple Check *
•   Attended a Qawwali performance - Check
•   Eaten at at least two of my favorite places at MM Alam Road - Check
•   Purchased at least a truckload of books - Quadruple Check
•   Had a plate of Do-It-Yourself Gol Gappay from the Hafiz Juice Centre at Anarkali - Check
•   Purchased at least two new Qawwali cassettes - Check
•   Completed all the requisite downloads/updates/fixes that my laptop requires till the next trip - Check
•   Discovered at least one new place of interest - Check
•   Misdirected people asking for directions at least once - Check

A word on the Asteriks in the next post ......

....Of Leaving Lahore And Long Overdue Admissions.

When I was in Med School, a yearly trip to Lahore was an almost sacred ritual. For a few days every year, spending a sizable chunk of my meager allowance/stipend, I'd grab a bus to Lahore, happily explore the city on rickshaw, meet the few friends I had there and get some shopping done. Summer or winter, I'd make it a point to visit Lahore, even if it meant using false pretences to goad out a permission from my parents. Even though I had lived a sizable chunk of my life in Rawalpindi and hadn't ever LIVED in Lahore, I considered it my , erm my spiritual home if you will. However, when my five years in med school ended and it was time to decide where I wanted to do my house-job, I was in a fix. My family was in Rawalpindi (they'd planned to eventually move to Lahore in a year's time) and I knew and liked the city, but somewhere in the back of my mind was the voice that said, "Go to Lahore!!"

In the end, it was the advice of a friend - a friend of otherwise highly dubious character traits - who implored me to choose Lahore, that, coupled with my parents' decision to bring forward their planned Lahore move ahead by one year, made me decide for Lahore. Looking back, it was probably one of the smarter decisions I've made in a rather checkered decisionmaking history. After spending one whole year in Lahore, I can safely say that I haven't regretted it one bit. I had come here primarily to do my housejob and that I did. It was the most intellectually rewarding one year I could hope for, even better than what most of my coursemates in Rawalpindi had spent. I got the chance to learn at the feet of some of the best teachers in the country and substantially improve my practical and clinical skills. On the personal side, I was lucky to have two of my closest friends -make that three, with the third a recent addition - living literally next door. That meant I was never too hard pressed for companionship.

The exploring/photographing bug bit me at just the right time as I scoured the backroads of Lahore in search of amazing places. If summer had delayed itself just one or two more weeks I'd have visited and photographed just about everything I'd set my sights on. Unfortunately the oppressive Lahore heat (probably the only thing in which Lahore loses brownie points to Pindi) and my tight schedule meant that I still haven't visited or photographed a few very important landmarks - Masjid Wazir Khan for example. Some other time perhaps. It's also been a year where I've indulged almost all my rather varied intersts. I've been to Qawwali performances by the dozens, watched plays and stand-up shows, attended concerts and conferences, and in what must certainly be the highlight of my life so far, met Yusfi sahab. And I've eaten, by God have i eaten. The extra tonnage that I've put on over the last year doesn't do justice to my culinary exploits. In short, I've lived it up - at least according to my definition of living it up.

My one year is now up, and it's time to leave. I'll be moving to a rather remote location in two or three days, as diametrically opposite to Lahore as you can imagine. Even though I knew that I was gonna have to leave Lahore at the end of one year, that still doesn't make the departure any easier. I may be able to live without the food, the exploration or the 'ronaq' but there's one very vulnerable chink in my armor, one that I don't usually let show to others,but one they might notice if they are attentive enough.

When we were completing our training, a newly graduated psychologist joined us for six months. The poor guy had to spend all day dealing with idiots who'd shout out,"Yo shrink, come here and tell me about my personality." And being the nice guy he was, he'd provide them with a rather detailed and unflatteringly accurate description of themselves. One day, when he and I was alone, he asked me why I hadn't ever bothered him with the usual request. i replied that I pretty much knew who I was and didn't need further analysis, thankyouverymuch. He said he'd still tell me one rather important thing he'd noticed about me over the course of six months, it was that I had a 'dependant personality'. I needed people, friends around me to function properly. Without a proper social support structure, I was constantly in danger of collapsing inwardly into a coccoon. I simply nodded my head in assent and left, slightly unhappy that he had discovered my most important weakness.

And that is the chink in my armor that must now confess to. I'll be going to a new place, with a new set of colleagues, which is something I would've been fine with were it not for the fact that the remoteness of my location might make it impossible to establish any contact with the folks back in Lahore, or for that matter anywhere else in Pakistan. Without my 'social support', I'd be a fish out of water, which is a rather frightening proposition. But what gives me some hope is that I've been in a similar situation before. Five years ago when I joined med-school, I was thrust into a group of strangers. It took some adjusting, but after spending five years, I count that group of strangers among some of my very best friends. Maybe this adventure'll turn out the same way too. I can only hope.

What my two year stay at my next port-of-call will lack in friends, it'll more than make up in free time. From people who've served in similar places, I've gathered that killing time is the most important problem one faces. I think I have that covered. There's the extensive study that I'll have to start in order to appear for my specialization exams, then there's the Truckloads of Qawwali recordings that I've been assigned to edit and catalog. There's 160+ gigabytes on my harddrive that I'll devote substantial time to; so that at the end of two years, I ought've listened to all 19571 songs I've accumulated (a daunting task). A trunkfull of unread books goes with me too, none of them related to medicine. With such ample supplies, I think I'm pretty much covered as far as killing time is concerned. And if all else fails, I can still write.

I'll end here, I don't know when I'll get the chance to write again, so readers can consider this another one of my temporary retirements from writing. Consider this also, whether they can read this or not, a thankyou to all the many people who have made this year the most special year of my life. And finally, consider this a thankyou to Lahore, for being so good to me.

...Of Little Afghanistan And Its Patron Saint

I never spare an opportunity to offer unsolicited testimonials to that most wonderful of inventions, Google Maps. From my pilgrimage to Rehmat Gramophone House in Faisalabad to my travels across South Punjab, I've relied on Google Maps, and it's never let me down. A few of the places I've visited in Lahore have caused my acquaintances to exclaim, "I've lived in Lahore for 30 years and I haven't even heard of that place. How on earth did you manage to find it?" or variations thereof. The answer of course, is Google Maps. Due to the voluntary efforts of a team of dedicated digital cartographers, I've been able to feast my eyes on some of the most remarkable places in Pakistan.

While I was scouring the maps for places of interest in the Begumpura area of Lahore, a name caught my eye - Khwaja Mehmud's Tomb. I must confess I hadn't heard of the personage before. Google wasn't able to provide me with much information either, except for telling me that Khwaja Saheb's tomb was an architectural masterpiece and a well preserved relic of the Mughal times. So on my recent trip to Begumpura, I decided to follow Google Maps' instructions and look up the elusive tomb. What I had gathered online was that Khwaja Mehmood - also known as Shah Eishan - was that the saint lived during the reigns of Jehangir and Shahjehan and hence was a contemporary of Hazrat Mian Mir (RA).

After visiting the Gulabi Darwaza and the tomb of Dai Anga (which will be written about in a future post hopefully), I took a detour into Begumpura and after navigating a few winding streets, came across the tomb. Adjoined by a mosque and a graveyard (the usual accroutements of a Sufi shrine) and a well-kept park, the tomb stands tucked away between residences and shops. A gaggle of small children were playing near its walls, looked over by a bunch of benevolent elders smoking chillums and playing cards. The whole place gave an aura of isolated serenity that I've rarely felt at other places in Lahore.

Shah Mehmud's tomb is surrounded by residences on three sides, with the fourth occupied by a beautiful park. The tomb is architecturally similar to the rather austere tombs of Hazrat Bahauddin Zikriya, except that it's painted white rather than the tile-decorated red brick of the former. Maybe it's been that way since it's construction, but I think the white colour is the result of our recent penchant for whitewashing everything that we see. A three-story octagonal building topped by a dome, it's an massive structure. The walls are inset with sunken mehraabs, each having tiered trellises that stream light into the interior. The tops of the walls are adorned by 8 slim minarets.

The dome itself is an imposing structure, around 20 feet in diameter with tiered rows of square holes, probably for ventilation and light. Like most of the other buildings in the area, I suspect this tomb also features a "dome within a dome" with the inner dome serving an ornamental function. A filligree pattern runs along the circumference of the dome and it's top is crowned by a large minaret. Pigeons roost in the crevices and ventilation shafts of this 15 foot high dome that can be seen from afar.

A semi-subterranean passageway leads to the absolutely beautiful interior. The rather austere exterior doesn't prepare one for the interior, which is a riot of light and colour. The Saint's final resting place occupies the central position and a chandelier hangs over it. The walls are decorated with floral paintings and delightful Arabesques. There are sunken mehraabs on the interior as well, giving an idea of the solidity and thickness of the walls. The mehraabs have trellises as their centrepieces, with floral designs painted on either side, ascending up to a web-like network of vaulted archlets.The interior of the dome is a beautiful network of geometric designs set on a plain white background. For a building that's safely three to four hundred years old, the interior is astonishingly well preserved.



When I visited the tomb, I was struck by the ethnic composition of the devotees as well as the residents of the nearby colony. Almost all of the devotees I met there were Pashtun, with the hujras adjoining the tomb occupied by three related Pashtun families.Pashto was the language being spoken by the children playing outside the tomb and i could make out fragments of Darri in the conversation of their elders standing nearby. An exploration of the graveyard surrounding the tomb furhther confirmed my assumption that the surrounding population was predominantly Pashtun. A surprising discovery was the graves of two of the wives of Amir Habibullah Khan, the Amir Of Afghanistan . The two royal ladies were buried far away from their homeland, right next to the tomb of this saint at least eighty years ago in what was obviously even then a historically important site.


Conversations with some of the residents of nearby houses confirmed that there had been a fairly large cluster of Pashtun habitations centered around Khwaja Mehmud's tomb for at least three centuries. The Saint himself was a 'Hakeem' and scholar who came to India from Khorasan during the reigns of the earliest Mughals and was a contemporary of Hazrat Mian Mir. He had this tomb built for himself before he died and his tomb served as the unofficial spiritual centre of Lahore's Pashtun diaspora. The population hads been gradually thinning out over the last three centuries so that now there's only two mohallas with predominantly Pashtun populations where once there were a dozen.

The march of history and the demographic shifts that inevitably accompany it have diluted the cultural identity of this unique part of Lahore but Khwaja Mehmud's tomb is an enduring remnant of what was once a vibrant and culturally peculiar corner of Lahore. Little Afghanistan may have started fading at the edges but there's no chance of it completely disappearing so long as Shah Eishan's tomb stands at it's centre.

P.S As a sonic accompaniement to the description of this Pashtun sufi shrine, here's an incredibly rare and beautiful recording of a Qawwali by the legendary Ustad Sarahang of Kabul.

...Of The Potter And The Prince

Siddhu Kumhaar lived a prosperous and contented life. As "Master Bricklayer And Potter By Special Appointment" to Emperor Shahjehan, Siddhu held a very special place in Mughal Lahore. He had supplied bricks for the construction of some of the Emperor's finest creations-from the Shalamar Gardens to the tomb of Dai Anga. Always the first to be considered when some Amir of the court planned the construction of any building, be it a residence, a garden or a mausoleum, Siddhu and his son, Buddhu were well respected artisans who made a very reasonable living from the produce of their kiln. The kiln was situated close to the Shalimar Gardens in the suburb of Begumpura and it churned out bricks and pottery on an almost daily basis to satisfy the needs of the Emperor's many ambitious building projects.

The kiln was lit on one chilly,windy and wet night. It was freezing cold outside but the kiln itself was warm, with the workers huddling close to the fire as they fed it unbaked bricks. In the middle of the night, there was a rap on the door. One of the workers answered and found an old Faqir standing outside. Shivering and drenched, the Faqir requested the worker to let him inside, into the warmth of the kiln. Rather than taking pity on the old man soaking in the freezing rain, the worker slammed the door in his face and returned to the company of his fellows. The worker didn't know that the Faqir he had refused entry was no ordinary mendicant, but Sheikh Abdul Haq, a favorite disciple of the Sufi saint Hazrat Mian Mir.

Abdul Haq left the kiln, cursing under his breath, praying that the fire that hadn't provided warmth to him on this, the coldest of nights would be extinguished forever. That was the last time that kiln was ever lit. Siddhu's business floundered and he was never able to regain the position he once held. When he died, his son Buddhu took over the struggling family business but was unable to turn his fortunes around and ultimately died almost penniless. When Shahjehan heard of the death of his royal potter, he ordered that a beautiful mausoleum be built next to the kiln and Buddhu be laid to rest there. Thus Buddhu the bricklayer was buried close to the kiln that had been both his livelihood and his undoing. 

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 Bhai Buddhu, a Sikh devotee of Guru Arjun Dev had started a brick kiln, but the bricks of his kiln could not be fully baked due to a curse placed on him by a fellow Sikh, Bhai Kamlia. Bhai Buddhu prayed to Guru Arjun Dev so that the curse could be lifted. Guru Dev Ji told him that the curse of a Sikh is final but added that his unbaked bricks would fetch the same price as that of baked bricks. It so happened that that year the demand for bricks soared so high that all the bricks of Bhai Buddhu's kiln were sold and he made a handsome profit. Bhai Buddhu built a Gurdwara as an offering of thanks to the Guru. For a long time this Gurdwara remained under the control of Mahant of Satlani. Under the Gurdwara act of 1927 AD this came under the control of Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee. In 1938 when the building of Sikh National College near the Gulabi Darwaza was constructed, a splendid building for Gurdwara was also built. The building of Gurdwara has collapsed but the tomb of Bhai Buddhu still remains.

                     ..................................................................................................

Yamin-ud-Daula Khan-e-Dauran Khan Bahadur Nusrat Jang was one of Shahjehan's ablest generals. He had helped crush a rebellion at Ahmedabad and was instrumental in defeating the armies of Raja Jhajjhar Singh in Deccan and Noor Singh Dev in Gujrat. His wife died in Lahore while he was away on one of his military expeditions. Overcome with sorrow when he was informed of his wife's death, he chose to do what so many other Mughal noblemen did to express their grief. He had a beautiful mausoleum built for his deceased wife near their residence in Begumpura. A few years later, when he too passed away, his son decided to let his father be buried next to his mother. And so, like his Emperor, Khan-e-Dauran was laid to rest in a beautiful mausoleum originally constructed for his beloved wife

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These are just three of the contrasting stories that purport to reveal the identity of the unknown occupant of the remarkable tomb on GT Road just opposite the University Of Engineering And Technology. Known colloquially as "Buddhu Ka Aawa" ,the tomb is strategically placed so that it's the first Pit-Stop on what can be considered the scenic route through Begumpura and Baghbanpura ; the last being the Shalamar Bagh.



This beautiful and rather dilapidated building stands tucked away between a market and a gas station, just opposite UET on the main GT Road. A square building constructed on a raised platform, it has four "Peshtaaq"openings, one each side, with a sunken arched panel on the walls to either side. The platform is raised above the ground and remnants of pillars at it's corners indicate that this tomb may have been part of a much larger building that has since disappeared. Like most other tombs of the Mughal era, this one must have stood in a walled garden, the only remnant of which is a tiny lawn surrounding the building.

The square burial chamber is topped with an octagonal drum shaped structure with four arched openings. On top of this octagon rests the dome. The long-necked dome and rather imposingwas decorated with beautiful glazed tilework and mosaics, of which only remnants remain. The margins of the dome are lined by beautiful, brightly coloured floral mosaic designs that run the circumference of the dome. The hemisphere itself carries what remains of exquisite blue and white tiles arranged in chevrons. The rest of the exposed masonwork has been blackened by the ravages of time. 

Most of the beautiful glazed tilework and other decorations were torn off during the Sikh Era, a fate suffered by most of the other Mughal era buildings of Lahore. Time hasn't been kind to whatever was left behind by the marauders but the little that remains speaks eloquently of the history, the stories and the lives that are permanently woven into the fabric of Lahore's culture. Irrespective of who it is that rests in eternal repose inside 'Buddhu Ka Aawa', the building is a beautiful relic of that remarkable time and place, Lahore under the Mughals.

...Of The Shalamar

Shah Abdul Hakeem had seen the young Bulleh Shah wandering the streets of Qasur several times. He knew the young ascetic was searching for spiritual enlightenment in the form of a guide or "murshid". One day, he called Bulleh Shah and said to him, 'The one you seek is in Lahore. Go to him, present yourself to him and pray that he accepts you as his own".

Bulleh Shah left Qasur and reached Lahore. He roamed the streets day and night,his unkempt locks flowing and his clothes in tatters, searching for his Murshid. One day, he wandered into the Shalamar Bagh; the famed vision of paradise that the Mughal emperor Shahjehan had constructed in Lahore,. After roaming the walkways, he chanced upon one of the Baghbaans - gardeners who oversaw the royal gardens - tilling a field in the gardens. Something came over Bulleh Shah and he stopped in his tracks, filled with a mixture of attraction and awe.Something seemed to tell him that he'd reached the end of his quest, that he'd found the Murshid he was looking for.

Anxious to approach the Baghbaan but reluctant to express his feelings openly, the young Sufi closed his eyes and started performing "Zikr"- the silent remembrance of the Lord. Suddenly one of the mango trees - of which there were dozens upon dozens in the Bagh - dislodged all it's fruit. As the shower of mangoes descended close to the gardener, he turned around and on spotting Bulleh Shah standing at a distance, said, "Thief! How dare you steal mangoes from this garden".

 Bulleh Shah replied, "I'm standing in front of you. away from the tree. How could I have brought down all these mangoes without even touching the tree?"

At this the gardener smiled, closed his eyes and started performing "Zikr". Suddenly, in front of young Bulleh Shah's eyes, all the mango trees in the Bagh started swaying and in an instant, the ground was covered with mangoes. While Bulleh Shah was staring open mouthed, the mangoes lying heaped on the ground jumped up and re-settled on the branches of the trees.

At this, Bulleh Shah ran forward ,fell at the feet of the gardener and offered himself into submission.

             --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So goes one of the versions of the story of how Bulleh Shah met his spiritual master, Shah Inayat. The Shalamar Gardens were the site of that fabled encounter, and although the mango trees - just one variety among the dozens of types of fruit bearing trees that grew in Shalamar Bagh- are gone, the Gardens and their adjoining regions of Begumpura and Baghbanpura are still at the centre of the cultural, historical and spiritual heritage of Lahore.

Constructed by Shahjehan, the most artistically inclined of the Mughal emperors, at a place "so delightfully adapted to the purpose that it was universally commended", the Shalamar Gardens were designed primarily for the enjoyment of the Emperor on his frequent trips to Lahore. The gifted engineer Ali Mardan Khan -who is buried close to his favorite creation - designed the garden along the pattern of the Shalimar Bagh in Srinagar, with fountained waterways fed by a specially constructed canal from the Ravi called the Shahi Neher. A series of aqueducts and tanks, carrying water transported uphill with the aid of oxen-powered water pumps fed the fountains in a remarkable feat of engineering.

The gardens itself were divided into three tiers. The topmost tier named "Bagh-e Farah Bakhsh" was reserved for the royal family. Along with the Bagh's characteristic fountain-lined intersecting waterways, it has two remarkable structures, the rectangular Diwaane Khaas-o-Aam with the unusual spiculated roof, and the central Barah-dari that overlooks the marvelous cascade that transmits water down to the second level.

Another attraction is the Moorcroft Building, a pavillion costructed during Maharaja Ranjeet Singh's reign for the explorer William Moorcroft. It is equipped with an ingenious ventilation system. The main component of the pavilion is the basement, which has two ventilation openings on each wall that open to the outside just above ground level. It's northern wall opens into a well equipped with a water pump that when powered by oxen, would result in a sheet of water cascading in front of the opening in the wall. Air entering through the well would be cooled after passing through this artificial waterfall and would exit through the eight ventilation windows.



The second level - "Bagh-e Faiz Bakhsh" houses the giant water tank - the Talaab - with its 152 fountains. Water enters it via the Great Cascade, a beautiful scalloped white marble waterway that brings water into the Talaab in a shimmering stream from whence it flows into the pool ,passing underneath the Emperor's marble throne. In the centre of the Talaab is the Mehtaabi, a central platform that oversees the third level of the Bagh, the "Bagh-e-Hayat Bakhsh". The second level houses four beautiful Barah-daris and it's four corners are overlooked by magnificently imposing towers atop the red brick boundary walls.

The "Hayat Bakhsh" houses the exceptional pavilion known as "Saawan Bhaadon" in which water used to cascade down three vertical walls with niches carved into them for placement of oil lamps. At night, water cascading over white marble, with hundreds of oil lamps glowing behind it must've been quite a sight. The rest of the level consists of spacious lawns where once there grew rows upon rows of fruit trees. Sadly, only a few of these are still in fruit.



A UNESCO World Heritage site, the Shalimar Gardens have undergone several renovations and one can see evidence of conservation work still going on in some parts of the Bagh. Perhaps it's just wishful thinking but I hope the conservation process is completed soon and visitors are able to experience the gardens as they were meant to be experienced - a vision of paradise on earth, with lush gardens filled with flowering plants and fruit trees, dancing fountains sending water cascading down waterways that flow in rivulets down the great cascade, with lamps illuminating the Saawan Bhaadon pavilion as visitors marvel at the dance of oil lamps behind a sheet of water and feel what the emperor Shahjehan must have felt when he first visited the Shalamar, as the court historian Inayat Khan wrote :

"His Majesty made a pleasure excursion to those paradise-like terraces. And the gardens and the agreeable pavilions which had been erected about the grounds, which all vied with the heavens in grandeur, were now found suitable to the royal taste. In fact, never before had a garden of such a magnificent description been seen or heard of on earth."

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P.S All photos taken by yours truly. Watch this space for a few more come January, as I can't upload any more in December due to Flickr's obscene 100 photos per month policy.
P.P.S If you're in Lahore and haven't been to Shalamar yet, I can't help but feel pity for you.
P.P.P.S Ustad Vilayat Khansaheb has provided the perfect soundtrack to a walk in the Shalamar Gardens.

Ustad Vilayat Khan(Sitar)-Dhun Punjabi Ang-Kehrwa

Found at: FilesTube

...Of Rains And Raindances

The heavens have been merciful these past two days. After one or two false alarms, the monsoon is finally, officially here in Lahore. The terrible heatwave appeared to have ended 5 days ago when a shower of utterly biblical proportions descended on Lahore. I was reminded of the early monsoon showers we used to have in Pindi 7-8 years ago where the rain would fall in bucketloads and it would be hard to differentiate individual raindrops in what seemed like a solid wall of water.

5 days ago was my first monsoon shower in Lahore, and it was perfect,thankyouverymuch. I was in the operation theatre that day and when the rain started, all work stopped. One of our surgeons was so overwhelmed by the weather that he called it an early day and went home to, in his words, "Pakoras and the lady wife". In between operations, I kept sneaking outside to just stand and soak for 2 or 3 minutes, and I wasn't the only one. I was informed that this was the first 'pwopah' monsoon shower Lahore had had in a year and a half, hence the excitement. A healthy 4 hours it rained, after which the clouds took their time disappearing.

I had thought that here at last was the belated start of the rainy season and that there'd be similar showers every alternate day from now on. Having been spoiled by Pindi weather for 5 years, I expected monsoons to be week-long affairs without interruptions. But I should've known that Lahore prefers its rains scattered, with at least 3-4 days of mind-numbing humidity to calm the happy populace down. The three day humidity break more than dampened my enthusiasm for the weather.

But yesterday, awesomeness returned to Lahore. Slowly at first, the drizzle turned to a steady shower and then to a downpour. For 5 hours it constantly rained, and although I was stuck in the clinics seeing patients, I couldn't help but excuse myself every half an hour to stand outside and take in the weather. And it didn't stop there. I was grumbling over the fact that I had night duty in such perfect weather, but I needn't have worried. Just as my night shift was ending, lo and behold, it started raining again. It's been raining for the last 3 hours now, and the roads, parks and open spaces are utterly inundated.

I know there'll be a further bout of humidity when this rain passes, I'm hearing news of rain-related accidents and injuries and I know the water-borne bacteria will have a field-day for the next week or two, but I'd be unfair to myself if I didn't go out and enjoy this perfect perfect weather.

If there's anything that can make the rain even more awesome, it's this.

And if you think Gene Kelly looked happy in that one, take a look at this. The 3 Tenors take on Singin' In The Rain in one of their NYC concerts and the smile on Gene's face is utterly priceless.

Book Of The Week, "The Lost world Of Hindustani Classical Music"

Music Of The Week, The incredible treasure-trove I've found, which merits it's own post.

...Of Lahore

2 months.

That's how long it's taken before my folks have despaired of Lahore. The distances have gotten to them, and the traffic, and the higher cost of living, and the heat. Boy, the heat! For a family who've lived the most part of the last 6 years in the North, it wasn't a great idea to land in Lahore just when it had climbed to the top spot in Beelzebub's "Homes Away from Home for Vacationers From Hell" list. The past two weeks' steadily rising mercury has slowly eroded my folks' "new city,new home" excitement and even the thought of regular Persian lessons at the Farhang-e-Iran isn't succeeding in driving the thoughts of colder, calmer climes from my father's mind.

I must digress however. Granted it's swelteringly hot. Granted too, that the traffic in most parts means that a driver like me who isn't even qualified to call himself a novice can't take his new car out for a spin on most roads without bringing it back with at least a lac or two chopped off it's resale value. And granted that even though I've always been a bit of a miser, the last month or two have repeatedly left me asking for handouts because although I've been working for two and a half months now, my pay doesn't arrive till the 1st of July. The upside of which is that come 1st July, I'll be rolling in the stuff.

But what makes me less eager ,and possibly even averse to giving it up on Lahore is the fact that I've enjoyed it immensely ever since I came here. I'd been 'staking the joint' over the last 5 years and had a pretty good idea about these and many other killjoys that I might have to encounter If I ever moved to Lahore and I'm pretty much prepared to take the rough with the smooth. And it's been more smooth than rough so far.

For a start, I'm actually enjoying my job. The housejob year is probably the most important year in a doctor's career, where armed with the accumulated knowledge(?) of five years of Med School and filled with a mix of excitement and trouser-soiling nervousness, he finally starts seeing and treating patients. I've been at it for the last two months and it hasn't proven as hard as I was expecting it. The hours aren't as bad as in most other hospitals AND I'm learning stuff at a steady rate AND the senior doctors are more than helpful,most of them being alumnus of my college AND like I wrote earlier, I'm not as complete a cretin as I was expecting myself to be. Most of all, as my choice of medicine as a profession was more by default that by choice, it's gratifying to know that I actually have what's vaguely referred to as "aptitude" for it.

This being the food capital of Pakistan and me being me, I've let my taste buds lead me all over Lahore and I can safely vouch for their instincts. From hidden-away dhaabas to shishipoopoo coffee house,I've been there and eaten that. And if the pot belly that had completely vanished at PMA attempts a comeback, it'll be a well deserved one. And it's not just food, I've been able to indulge most of my maghaz tastes here, from attending Qawwali sessions to stand-up shows to getting in among the publishers at Urdu Bazar. I'd told my folks that once I'd gotten to Lahore, It'd be pretty hard for them to keep me housebound.

But most of all, the friends and relatives I used to make those cross-country visits for are now close by and I can arrange a meetup if not every week than at least every fortnight. That fact alone accounts for more than 85% of Lahore's awesomeness.

Books Of The Week,Alistair Cooke,The Biography. The Graveyard Book,Neil Gaiman

Movies Of The Week,Zombieland,Monty Python At The Hollywood Bowl

...Of One Final Trip

It's the darkest hour of the night.The usual night traffic rolls on by while everything stand still.But there is still some life stirring someplace.Under the shadow of Chauburji,there sits a lone bluesman smoking pot.Wearing his worn down hat and his beaten up shoes,with barely a shred in between,he lovingly nestles his slide guitar in his lap.Polishes it with his dhoti,spits away the guthka and starts to sing...


"I got the rickshaw jitters,man they's messin' up my mind

Lawd I got them rickshaw jitters,they's done mess'd up my min'

I feel that shakin' in my bones Lawd,right down to my intestines !!"



With the last week of the holidays upon me,there was still time for me to drag my bootheels a' wanderin' again.Having learned nothing from the gut-busting hikes in the Northern Areas,I was off again.This time it was gonna be a trip to the plains,Lahore to be precise.It was gonna be a train trip from Pindi,two nights in lahore and then back home again.It shoulda taken two days,ended up spanning over four nights...


The first night was a surreptitious trip up to Islamabad.Surreptitious because I would never have been allowed to go there with the whole Lal Masjid drama going on.But go there I did.Now,Islamabad's a pretty organized place,and that's what numbs my brain.I'm a pretty disorganized person,and it doesn't take much for me to get completely lost.And that's exactly what happens everytime I go to the capital.But before getting lost,I managed to run into the mother lode of good luck.An hour later,lugging two thousand rupees worth of CDs and DVDs,griining like a Cheshire,I rode out to eat.


And this is where my GPS handed in the dinner pail.Now I knew,and my friend knew that there's just one darn Pizza Hut in the whole of Islamabad,but for the life of us we couldn't find it.At least ten times 'round Jinnah Super,and almost as many around Super Market left us dizzy,hungry and queasy.At last,giving up,we went into a KFC for a burger and that's when we found out,those damn Pizza Hut buggers had closed down the joint two weeks ago.It was midnight when we set out to my friend's house,knowing full well that the train to lahore was at 7.30 the next morning.So either we were gonna miss some sleep,or be late for the train.


In our ever-obligin' way,we managed to do both.Stayed up half the night,and had to run like blazes to catch the train.And even then,the adventures didn't cease.Now how were we to know that there were two trains to Lahore,and how were we to guess that they both looked the same,and both were rearing to go.To cut the long story short,we got into the wrong train,and realized our mistake at the very last moment,sending us runnin' crazy across the platform to the right train and to the comfort of our seats.And comfort it sure was,a credit to the Railway department.Five hours later,(it was a local train,dontcha know) we were in Lahore.


Now there's something in the Lahore air.A mix of petrol,lavender,sweat and soil,it freshens up a man like nothing I've known.Leaving me at the Mess,my friend went out to meet some of his relatives while I slept.When I woke up round about six,I still couldn't find the bugger anywhere.Turns out he was gonna be out till nine,leaving me stranded.I stood it as much as I could,but finally decided to take matters into my own hands and set out to meet an old College friend of mine.Now I know there must be thousands of rickshaws in Lahore,but I couldn't find a single one.


There's something in my demeanor that sorta invites confidence.People look at me and say, "Say,this here looks like a nice chap.Sort of decent,well behaved lad,dontcha think.Let's ask him for directions !!"

And they stop,roll down their windows and ask me the way to such-and-such.And I bend down,look 'em straight in the eye,flash my most charming smile....and send 'em off to god knows where !!

At least five cars stopped to ask me for directions,and unless they ran into a bit of luck,they might still be wandering listlessly across Lahore,trying to find their way back home.Thus a word of warning,do NOT ask me for directions.Ever.


I finally managed to find a rickshaw,and headed out to Jinnah Hospital,where I was to meet this friend of mine.It had been ages since I had ridden one,and it was bloomin' good fun.My innards got the churning they deserved,and any earwax I might 'ave had must have perished in that magnificent wall of sound.Finally I was at the rendezvous point,waiting for my friend to come.


Now,I'm a cad when it comes to keeping in touch with friends.All through my life,as soon as we moved to a new city,the old friendships were ancient history.I used to,and still evade any contact with some of the best friends I ever had.So it was by a bit of effort that I got around to hooking up with a bunch of old acquaintances.Meeting up,exchanging pleasantries,we set out towards my first destination,a bookstore.Now the only nice place I had heard about was Readings,Main Boulevard,and that's where I headed.Excellent place,nice ambience,great books,(I bought seven!),and bloomin' cheap.Try to imagine eighty rupee books in Islamabad or Rawalpindi and you'll understand my excitement.My errant friend and his cousin hooked up with us and we set out to eat round about midnight.A hearty meal,and a good night's sleep,and that was that for the first day.


Sunday was Tourist day,sightseeing day.The museum,the fort,the mosque.And that compulsory trip to Iqbal's tomb.The fort's in pretty bad shape from when I last saw it,but the Masjid's as beautiful as ever.Strange bit of irony that Chinese tourists are allowed in the mosque,and we can't enter the adjacent Gurdwara.Ce la vie...


Another hooking up with a friend,and then to a couple of other places.Went roaming about NCA and FC College out of pure ennui,and then more shopping.I bought another bunch of cds as my friends' hair turned white at the thought of these fresh monstrosities that would eventually find their way to my hostel room,and hence to their tormented ears.Then it was a walk across deserted Defence,where a strange thing happened.As we were walking,a bike passed by and suddenly bust it's chain.I shrugged and passed on,found a rickshaw to take me back to the mess,but the driver refused,saying that the chain was broken!

Another mile of walking brought me to another rickshaw,this one with all of it's innards thankfully intact.We rode on home,weary but elated,when it suddenly stopped.The driver got out,did a quick diagnostic,and delivered the verdict,the chain's broken.Well,I mean really !! Finally we were back in our room,and slept soundly..


The final day was reserved for shopping for clothes,something I detest.But a phone call to another long lost friend saved the day.I picked up a couple of Dockers,and a bunch of tees,and that was it for shopping.Then roaming about Lahore,killing time till I had to go back,I realized what a nut I'd been in not keeping in touch with all these lads.Finally it was time to head home,and I boarded the Daewoo with the song of the Chauburji bluesman ringin' in my ears...



"Well the rickshaw's a howlin',howlin' for all to hear

Lawd that rickshaw's howlin,n' it's howlin' for y'all to hear

It's turned my brain all to puddin'and it's a tricklin out ma ear"



Shopping For The Week,

CDs;
A Bob Seger compilation
A Johnny Cash comp
A Leonard Cohen collection
Another comp of Cohen covers
A Joni Mitchell comp
We Shall Overcome,Bruce Springsteen
A Springsteen live bootleg
A Neil Young comp
A Jackson Browne comp
A Naushad collection
A Van Morrisson comp
And the latest White Stripes record,Icky Thump...


DVDs;
Dracula (the original 1931 film)
The Grapes Of Wrath
The Lavender Hill Mob


Books;
Sula,Toni Morrisson
Ovid's Metamorphoses
My War,Andy Rooney
Leaving Home,Garrisson Keillor
WLT-A Radio Romance,Garrisson Keillor
Two more for my friends...