The outbreak of World War II in September 1939 marked the beginning of a new era in the lifestyle of the people of Lahore. The decade of the 1930s which had brought about considerable economic depression accompanied by widespread unemployment among the educated, was now over. But soon after the end of war, Lahorias had to pay a heavy price for the freedom of India, which brought about the division of the country and the creation of Pakistan. It was a heart rending experience to leave our beloved Lahore for good and seek refuge across the border. In the city that had been the home of our near and dear ones for centuries, there was no one left now to look back to. Suddenly, Lahore had become a foreign land. My memories of boyhood and youth are still fresh in my mind and are often a subject matter of conversation whenever I sit together with ex-Lahorias of my generation.
My beloved city of Lahore
Still standing not far from Delhi,
Within quicker reach by air or train,
Suddenly became a forbidden land.
Guarded by a sovereign state
Of new ideologies, loves and hates.
Homes were lost and hearts were bruised
In both unhappy parts of Punjab.
Spirit’s Musings by Prem Kirpal
My first visit to Lahore since partition after five decades in 1997 was a pilgrimage to the city of my birth and upbringing. I belong to the fading pre-partition generation who were forced to leave their homeland but carried in their hearts like the memory of a first love. We still recall the days when Lahore was feted as the Paris of the east, where people of different communities lived in harmony on account of their common heritage, historic legacy and Punjabi culture. Even after fifty years and numerous social adjustments, the love that we have acquired for our new places of abode cannot quell the acute sense of loss and longing that accompanies thoughts of our native land.
The first landmark of the city to be visited was the shrine of Data Ganj Bakhsh, the patron saint of Lahore. I was immensely impressed by the magnificent and awe-inspiring new edifice that encompassed the old mausoleum. I recalled the days when people from all communities came to worship there and seek the saint’s blessings for fulfilment of their wishes. The tourist in me could not but admire the city’s new landscape that has emerged during the past fifty years. I was more anxious to see the familiar sites on The Mall, Anarkali Bazar and in the Walled city. It was heartening to observe that the Mall, despite its harrowing traffic, still preserved its old grandeur. Practically all the principal buildings that adorned the road from Charing Cross up to Tollinton Market fifty years ago were still intact, though quite a few were in neglected state. Most of the also retained their old names, like Dinga Singh Building, Dyal Singh Mansions, Luxmi Mansions, etc. The High Court and the GPO buildings continue to exhibit the majestic aura associated with the Raj.
After this visit of my beloved Lahore, I realised that the politics of the two countries has practically nothing to do with the people who would love to meet those across the border, bound together as they are by a common language, culture and history
As I stepped towards Lahori Gate, I noticed that little had changed. I rembered how as a schoolboy I cycled my way towards Chowk Chakla and Sutar Mandi, where we used to live before moving to Nisbet Toad in 1930s. I made a round of all those familiar places, Simla Pahari, Abbott Road, and finally Nisbet Road. There are still a number of old structures on both sides of the road, with Dyal Singh Library as the most prominent surviving landmark. Another unforgettable incident was my spotting the famous ice cream parlour Carryhome dating from the 1930s, at Beadon Road. It is now a restaurant but still retains the old name.
My school Dayanand Anglo- Vedic is now Government Muslim High School No 2. It was amusing to find that the school building stood exactly as it had over fifty years ago. The same is the case with Dayanand Anglo-Vedic College, now Islamia College, on the opposite side of the road. Another unforgettable experience was the visit to my alma mater, the Government College, now a university. I was struck by a wave of nostalgia for the remarkable six years I had spent there. I also went to my favourite haunt, the beautifully laid out Lawrence Gardens, now Jinnah Gardens, with all majestic trees. The Montgomery Hall, which once housed the Gymkhana Club, is now the Quaid e Azam Library.
The Mayo School of Arts at Lahore was founded in 1875 and had the good fortune of having John Lockwood Kipling as its principal (1875-1893). He showed the world that Punjab had some of the finest craftsmen in India. A premier institution of North India. It was upgraded to the present status of National College of Arts in 1958 and has won international acclaim for its high standards of education. As an historian, I was both amazed and impressed by the ambience and environment of the college. Another highlight of this visit was meeting with the famous Pakistani artist Iqbal Husain. His rise from street punk to painter has been splashed by the Time magazine and other notable print media, and his works are auctioned at Sotheby’s and Christie’s. This extraordinary artist proudly proclaims his heritage of belonging to the courtesans’ family of Hira Mandi. Another remarkable achievement of this famous artist is renowned restaurant Cooco’s Den, established in his ancestral house.
I was overwhelmed by the generous hospitality extended by one and all. I was particularly delighted to meet Lahorias of the younger generation who had heard accounts of city life in the pre-partition days.
After this visit of my beloved Lahore, I realised that the politics of the two countries has practically nothing to do with the people who would love to meet those across the border, bound together as they are by a common language, culture and history. Though there are practically no divided families in the two Punjabs, there is a burning desire among the ageing generations of Hindus, Sikhs, and Muslims to visit the land of their birth across the border. For many Indian Punjabis, the city of Lahore continues to exert its charm more than any other metropolis of the world.
The Wagah Border is the same site which many of my generation had crossed after partition in 1947. It was two way traffic: Muslims heading towards Lahore and Hindus and Sikhs towards Amritsar, without exchanging a word, with pain and suffering writ large on their grim faces, a strange kinship of ordeal, agony and anguish. Shattered by the torrents of history, they were now refugees. However, time is a great healer. The writers and poets of both sides have produced many a poignant work of prose and poetry on the common woe and torment of the Punjabis. Ustad Daman’s verses explain it better that came just a few months after partition:
Laali Akhiyaan di payee dasdi aey
roye tusi wi o aur roye assi wi aan
(The redness of eyes reveals that you have wept and so have we)
Lahore: A sentimental journey Pran Nevile
The writer is a traveller and freelance writer based in UK