Once a small city of gardens and pedestrian charms, Lahore now has a chaotic population, a metro-bus service and a myriad of privatized pleasures. Mohammad A. Qadeer on the changing spirit of a fabled city

Arriving in Lahore after 6 years' absence instantaneously brings this born and bred Lahori in touch with the unselfconsciously assertive but easy-going manners of this city. At the airport, the porter who is so insistent to help you with your luggage immediately 'sells' you to another porter, while rounding up some other passengers to earn his commission. He does it with such finesse and indifference that you dare not ask where he has disappeared while someone not seen before is grabbing your luggage. This guile, softened by protestations of regard and affection, is the spirit of Lahore.

It is difficult not to view Lahore through the narratives of nostalgia forged by generations of visitors and residents. We see the city through the eyes of Bapsi Sidhwa, A. Hameed, Gopal Mittal, and Pran Nevile. Theirs was a city of gardens, abode of saints, reverberating with music, poetry and literary discussions, enlivened by fairs, tea houses, love of food, kite flying and a hotspot of politics. This Lahore was a small city of half a million residents. It could be circumnavigated on a bicycle or tonga. Its communal harmony was cultivated in the mohalla (neighbourhood) culture of mutual trust and interdependence. The teahouse life that enthralled these writers was available everywhere, from roadside stalls to Arab Hotel, Pak Tea House and Chinese Coffee House. The social life in Lahore of those days was largely lived in the public sphere. Literary activities were widely shared. This memory of Lahore continues to define its image.

The Lahore of those days is a thing of the past. It has grown to about 12 million in population, almost 25 times in 60 years. It is now as much a city of migrants coming from all across the country but primarily from the rest of Punjab, as it is of ancestral Lahoris whose culture is imbibed by all comers. It has been massively commercialized, so much so that the mysterious streets of the historic walled city, where Kipling's Kim used to disappear, are now turned into smuggled goods markets and knock offs' manufacturing hubs. They are crowded and mysterious but in a different way.

The present city stretches for miles in all directions, touching the international border with India in the east, jumping across the river Ravi in the west and spilling out beyond Raiwind in the south. It is bigger and richer, highly commercialized and massively built up. It requires motorized transport to move around. Its streams of noisy motorcycles penetrate the narrowest streets of the city.

There is no road that is not choked with traffic and that too of automobiles. The leisurely ride in a tonga has been lost to the commuting in bone-shaking rickshaws and crammed vans. Recently the fear of crime and terrorism has drained public life of peace and trust. The experience of Lahore now is in sharp contrast to its long-held memory of laidback life.

I have witnessed the emergence of this new Lahore over the last few decades. My expectations in the recent visit were not of just finding a city of literary repartees, leisurely dealings and welcoming communities. Yet the new Lahore has retained the openness, informality and energy of the old.

The centre of Lahore has shifted south and east of the Mall and upper Mall. What was once the draw of Anarkali, people watching and shopping for fancy goods, has now been displaced to Liberty Market, Main Boulevard and Model Town Link Road. M.M. Alam Road is the food street for affluent Lahoris, whose love of food now embraces steaks, Pizza, spaghetti Alfredo and fried squid. This is the new centre of affluent Lahore. Yet famous kebab, tikka, fried fish and mithai shops of the old city flourish with branches in this new Lahore of the post-independence period. The new Lahore is not going to give up the taste of old Lahore.

The 'new 'Lahore is shining. Shahbaz Sharif as the Chief Minister of the Punjab has led in the transformation of this part of Lahore. Its widened roads, underpasses and overpasses at major intersections for the uninterrupted flow of traffic and the Ring Road have given Lahore the sheen of a modern city. Certainly cars are pampered in the new Lahore. Yet the defiance of traffic rules is the pride of Lahore. Pedestrians are almost ousted from the roads.

The newest bragging right of Lahore is its Metro Bus, a rapid bus service operating on its signal-free largely elevated road. It is the first of the urban mass transit service in Pakistani cities. It connects some old parts of the city with its new centre of gravity. Despite the usual inattention to the detail in planning, such as the neglect of pedestrian needs at bus stations, it holds the promise of making a dent in public transport in the city. The cleaning woman in my nephew's house was quite satisfied with this bus services that reduced the cost of her commute from her home in Kala Shah Kaku (on the city's western periphery) to Gulberg by almost half and cut the commuting time by more than half.

Lahoris' capacity to improvise is tinged with confidence and humour. Almost every act is adhoc in some sense. The routines frequently break down and rules are seldom observed; hence the need to improvise every move. The rickshaw that runs on CNG gas contrives an LNG cylinder as a back-up to counter the frequent shortages of the gas supply. Your washerman rings you from his cell phone, but cuts off after two rings to signal that he be contacted. He avoids paying for the call and thus enjoys the convenience of a cell phone. Most of this creativity is evident in the informal economy, among the poor and semi-skilled. It is all done with confidence and by tinkering with technology. The rich and educated are addicted to foreign knowledge and imported solutions. They look to Dubai, London or New York for inspiration.

The famous public life of Lahore has gradually diminished. Meeting friends, hanging out together, political and literary discussions, music and art - all these pastimes have become privatized. Most of those activities have withdrawn to homes, clubs, restaurants, fancy hotels and shopping plazas.

Yet the ritual of the morning walk in parks is still alive. There are plenty of earnest walkers and joggers, including women. Walking in groups is a new form of social club. While socializing with friends, and concluding the morning walk with tea, samosas or chicken patties, Lahoris are giving a new meaning to exercise. Many come to the parks with their servants bearing tea and snacks. The morning walk is the new mobile teahouse.

Women's strong presence in city life is another way in which the new Lahore differs from the old Lahore. In streets, on buses, in schools and colleges and of course as passengers on motorcycles and in cars, women are everywhere. They are to be found in all levels of society and economy. Platoons of women domestic workers riding vans and buses, packed in with men, heading to work is so routine that nobody notices. On the upper end, doctors, teachers, executives, civil servants, architects, artists, fashion designers, models and television actresses hold up the other half of the sky. Women are seen eating in restaurants and stalls. They throng markets almost to the point of being the primary shoppers. Lahore's economy and society are now deeply dependent on women. How do Islamists imagine that they can push them back into homes?

Mohammad Qadeer is a Lahori of many generations. He is the author of Lahore: Urban development in the Third World (Vanguard 1983)

Frome Friday Times : July 05 - 11, 2013