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In 1960, the legendary literary magazine Naqoosh produced a special issue on Lahore. It is a pity that no longer do we see such effort go into publications today though their number is now large though two-thirds of them appear to be some kind of “Digests”. Muhammad Tufail, the publisher and presiding genius of Naqoosh is long dead and, as with all such men of exceptional talent and dedication, nobody has been quite able to take his place.

No true Lahoria should be without a copy of that issue, though it may be hard to come by, having been for long a collector’s item. One of the most evocative articles ever written about old Lahore, its history, its food, its people, its musicians, its writers, its streets, its wrestling pits, its theatres, its most memorable characters, in short, the unique culture that makes Lahore, well, Lahore was written by that wonderful writer and even more wonderful human being, the late Naseer Anwar, true friend and drinking buddy of Saadat Hasan Manto. He called it ‘Yakki se Mochi tak’. If anyone ever wondered how Yakki Gate came to be called Yakki gate, here is Naseer Anwar’s explanation. “Of the thirteen gates of Lahore, there was not one which could guarantee that he who enters first through it on a given morning will be crowned King. In fact, anyone who entered through one of these gates to establish his kingship was resolutely resisted. When the Mughals invaded from the north, a certain holy man of the city, Pir Zaki, died fighting against the invaders at this exact spot. He was decapitated and his severed head was buried separately from the rest of his body, which is why he lies to this day in two graves. To commemorate his sacrifice, the gate came to be known after him but as time passed Zaki Gate became Yakki Gate.”

Naseer Anwar wrote about one of the inner city’s most feared characters of the 1920s – a goonda in police parlance – whose seat of power was Mochi Gate. He was also the area’s protector. He would walk the streets with his head held high like a king. He presided over his own court which was made up of some of the city’s leading roughnecks, but in his presence, they sat like tame lambs. These “courtiers” of the Ustad, as he was called, were divided into three groups: pickpockets, gambling house enforcers and street fighters. The pickpockets would bring the day’s loot to the Ustad’s bhaitak or hangout and receive their share. Every gambling joint in the city had to present a certain percentage of its takings to the Ustad and the fighters were to carry out the Ustad’s orders, when required. He was a wise man and so he had the law on his right side through the simple but failsafe method of keeping key police officials on regular retainers. If an official was found to be honest – a most uncommon occurrence – he would have him transferred. His standing offer to all ex-cons to join him was his contribution to the social rehabilitation of these gentlemen. His special affection was reserved for widows, orphans and those in need. He took care of them, but unobtrusively.

The Lahore of the days of the Khilafat Movement was a city on the boil. The people of Lahore idolised Mustafa Kamal Pasha and Anwar Pasha and, ironically, they idolized the Khilafat, a contradiction if ever there was one. There were popular songs about these Turkish heroes. (Mustafa Pasha Kamal vay, terian dur balayian vay: Ronday Smyrna de baal vay kithay dairyaan laiyian vay). One mammoth procession in the streets of Lahore was led by Ferozuddin Ahmed. It was showered with money as it moved. Young brides were seen throwing their gold ornaments in a sheet held by volunteers from both ends. Feroz was arrested, tried and sentenced to twenty years. He later feigned madness, was transferred to the lunatic asylum and then released. Another character Naseer Anwar wrote about was a man named Babu of Sheranwala Gate, known all over India as the King of Cocaine. He was always two steps ahead of the police and was never caught with any incriminating evidence. Once when waylaid by a huge police posse at the Ravi Bridge, he threw down the cocaine he was carrying in his car into the flowing river to the police’s frustration.

Lahore was also the powerhouse of the uprising in Kashmir. When the Maharaja’s police gunned down 21 protesting Kashmiris in Srinagar on 13 July 1931, it was in Lahore that the All India Kashmir Committee was formed under the presidentship of Allama Muhammad Iqbal himself. Outside Delhi Gate, the Majlis-e-Ahrar placed huge caldrons of red water in which people would dip their clothes, form into groups and march towards Sialkot to cross the border into the Dogra-ruled State. The Shaheed Ganj Mosque agitation was centred in Lahore and it was outside Delhi Gate that a protest march was fired on as it arrived there from its starting point, the Badshahi Mosque. The anti-British Neeli Posh Tehrik led by Maulana Zafar Ali Khan also began in Lahore. But along with all this, Lahore’s great wrestling pits, its musicians’ bhaiktaks, its deras, its festivals, its legendary food places, its theatres, circuses and entertainment shows, they all kept the city and its people on a constant high. Chess was popular and matches would take place in Bagh Mohammad Ghaus in Bhatti Gate. The great players of the time were Akram the Watchmaker, Sharif Hussain Suhrawardy and Afzal Wali.

Naseer Anwar also recalled the great kite masters of those times, one of the most famous being Deena “Kafni,” the last name given to him when being taken for burial to the Miani Sahib graveyard, he suddenly rose, tore off his shroud and said, “Where are you taking me? My kite has not been slashed away yet.” Other maestros of this art were Ustad Mamoon, Ustad Jalal Din and Chaudhri Bassa who had turned kite-flying into an art. They would gather at Minto Park on Fridays and Sundays where great contests would take place. These matches were duly refereed. Ustad Jalal Din spent his entire fortune on kite-flying. It was said of Ustad Bassa, who made his own kites, that they could be flown twenty-four miles without a loop in the string or dor. Basant has always been celebrated in Lahore with great fanfare and it is by no means a recent phenomenon, as some spoilsports think, though it is now disgustingly commercialised.

One of the great melas of the city to which musicians from all over India thronged, Naseer Anwar wrote, used to take place in Mohalla Pir Gilanian. On one memorable evening, both Ustad Bare Ghulam Ali Khan and Roshan Ara Begum performed and received Pir Syed Asghar Ali Shah’s blessings. Then everyone noticed a tiny dimpled girl with a round face who picked up a jug, placed it on her shoulder and began to sing a film song in a highly mellifluous voice, ‘Shala jawanian maray, aakha na moreen pee lai’. When she had finished, Pir Sahib asked her to sing a song of “our own des Punjab’. For a moment, she stood there lost, then her face lit up and she sang, ‘Sada des Punjab pyara aye: Eh sub da raj dulara aye.’ Here voice was like the ringing of silver bells. The audience was entranced. When she came to the next line, which was the antra – ‘Ayedi guddi asmaan te churr javay’ - the Pir Sahib was overcome and exclaimed, “Ja teri guddi asmaan te churr gai aye.’ (Go forth, for your kite has touched the skies).

That little girl was Nur Jehan.

Friday TSimes: December 10, 2004