Harking back: The Bhati garbage dump and Sheesh Mahal’s roof welt

It was very hot and muggy and a bottle of ORS kept me going. This time I used one of those cool red buses. The few dozen that our city of 12 million has needs to be commended. After all it’s 250,000 persons per bus against 1,750 per person in London, which is also serviced by an amazing Tube Train network. To feel mobility, or its complete absence, come to Lahore, which naturally has the world’s most dense high-pollution motorcycles – almost two per household. At the exit point, opposite Data Darbar, the bus route ends.

Towards Bhati Gate I walked. Where till recently a beautiful green garden existed now stands one of Lahore’s biggest stinking garbage dump. So large is this that two huge cranes were being used to collect them into an even higher dump. I will not use the word ‘shocking’ for the senses fail.

Finally I reached the familiar Bhati Gate. As I entered it was a very different world, at least relatively cleaner than the Lahore outside. At the first milk and ‘lassi’ shop old Haji recognised me and invited me for a cold drink. Next to him the ‘halwa puri’ man beckoned. The old days came rushing back. The first street turning was where we headed towards Sheero’s old house. As I walked ahead I noticed that in old Lahore time virtually is at a standstill, only the number of people on the road has more than doubled.

I immediately recalled by last visit to Spain where the streets of Seville are so similar, yet spanking clean. The old ‘havelis’ there are now amazing tourist hotels and the winding lanes which cannot match Lahore’s for its intricacies, hypnotise tourists. Sadly, here the issues are very different.

Along the way I peeped into the old barber’s shop of the legendary singer Muhammad Rafi’s family. His immediate family now live on Ravi Road, now ‘glorified’ by some pious name. Just why we want to ‘purify’ old names beats the mind. It is a slow motion ‘Inquisition’ of the mind. The sooner we revert to the original names the better it will be for all of us. The lane turning towards old Victoria School, originally the Haveli of Naunihal Singh, has a ‘tibba’ at the beginning. Beneath it are the foundations of the pre-Akbar Lahore. Just when will our archaeology gurus search for them is anyone’s guess. Research seems alien to our universities, even our newer modern ones. It is what keeps them out of the World Rating Table. Mind you the students are not to be blamed.

I moved on towards the opening in the main bazaar which was famous for block-printing -‘thappa’ - clothes. Ironically they have moved to Gujranwala. But then so have most of the block-printers in Gulberg Market’s Rana Market. This is a talent it seems Lahore is slowly losing.

Onwards past the Fakir-khana ‘museum’ I finally reached Tehsil Bazaar and decided to visit the old shop of the late Sheikh Mubarak Ali, a sage I respected immensely. His son now sits there living off his wits. The late Sheikh Sahib had instructed his sons never to let me leave without a nice rich ‘doodh patti’. That deed done I resumed my trek towards Taxali Chowk stopping to chat with the old ‘tabla’ maker. This is a set of people who need greater recognition. At the crossing I ventured into Tibbi to buy a pair of excellent ‘khussas’ and at a very reasonable price. The old shopkeeper wanted to migrate to England. Imagine!

Now I headed towards the Lahore Fort and was stopped at the outer Roshnai Gate, for it was being repaired. Mind you this is not the original one, for that lay on the opposite side of Hazuri Bagh where Prince Naunihal Singh was killed after the gateway collapsed on him, an incident which remains an abiding mystery. In Hazuri Bagh bards use to recite Punjabi legendary epics as students young and old of Lahore flocked to listen and learn. Those gatherings now stand banned, just like Basant, a victim of the terrible uncontrollable motorcycle mafia. In this ‘Age of the Inquisition’ the word ‘culture’ shocks, just like Hitler famously said: “When I hear the word culture, I go for my gun”.

As I entered the fort the long walk took me to where once existed the Royal Kitchens. This place was to one side. Sadly, its spread has included one side of the old dungeons where men great and ‘troublesome’ were tortured and mostly killed. From Akbar the Mughal’s days of the late 15th century to those of recent military dictators, hundreds of those who spoke their minds lost their lives, be it Dullah Bhatti or Guru Arjan. At the entrance the cell where ZA Bhutto was imprisoned stands out. Other cells have a modern glass covering with no explanation. The silence yells at you. For modern Lahore history is best consumed with spices.

Sadly, I walked towards the Sheesh Mahal complex. It was appalling that my favourite structure, the Bengal-styled Naulakha structure, has a crack to one side. The interior roof is being saved from collapse. I could not believe my eyes at what has happened. I moved towards the grand Sheesh Mahal and its mirrored roof. As I stared at its magnificence it was plain to my eyes that one side of the roof, that is its northern side, has started to welt. Gosh, how can this happen? I asked a tourist to take a sharper look and he agreed with me. But then so also is the welt showing at the western edge.

If this famous roof collapses it will be a national tragedy, repeated twice in our lifetime. In 2006 this UNESCO World Heritage Site was restored with Norwegian assistance. It seems the seeds for yet another collapse exists. The next day I visited the Walled City of Lahore Authority office to inform its boss of this possibility. He immediately asked for a technical assessment. Let us hope that a serious reconsideration takes place of what ails the Lahore Fort.