I wonder how childish and unpredictable the ways of the heart are. If I really like a book, my heart nudges me to continue reading it. But at the same time, it silently prays that the book should not come to an end. With every page I flip after reaching halfway through the book, my heart drowns. I put the book aside, get up, do something else, go out for a stroll, and then eventually return to it, only to wallow again in a deluge of emotions. Is it just me, or do others feel the same way?
My most recent read, Lahore: A Sentimental Journey by Pran Nevile, placed me in a similar dilemma. Nevile was born in Lahore and spent his early and adolescent years on Nisbet Road. A graduate in Economics from Government College University, Lahore, he shared a deep and abiding connection with the institution, its professors, and the friendships he forged there. This attachment was so profound that he devoted an entire chapter to it, aptly titled “Government College: Those Were the Days.” He writes, “What we felt for our Alma Mater, more than nostalgia, was an abiding attachment to an institution where we had grown from boyhood to an impressionable youth.”
After Partition, Nevile moved to the other side of the border and eventually joined the Indian Foreign Service. Yet he never forgot the life he had lived in Lahore. He remembered his Lahori days with nostalgia and admiration, though always at one remove. His return to the city after half a century resulted in a deeply moving chapter titled “Lahore Revisited.” He recalls, “My visit to Lahore, the city of my birth and upbringing, in December 1997, was a pilgrimage to the past. It was my first visit since Partition, after a lapse of fifty years.”
He recounts the concise history of Lahore in the detailed introduction section, explaining who ruled the city and at what time. The mausoleums of the Mughal emperors and how and where they wished to be buried also find mention. Nevile was quite enamoured of the city and loved it in all its seasons. His classic choice of words while describing its landscape or its appeal to invaders, even on the first few pages, unequivocally evinces his devotion to Lahore. He writes, “An embodiment of fabulous wealth and splendour, Lahore had captured the imagination of mighty men from far and near.”
Among the many landmarks and personalities he writes extensively about are iconic cinemas, bazaars, roads, festivals, the kothas of Heera Mandi, as well as actors, actresses, singers, dancers and a host of fascinating characters. It is through this book that I learned that Mall Road is also known as Thandi Sarak.
The book is a treasure trove for anyone seeking to know what Lahore looked like a century ago
Nevile, accompanying his country cousins in a tonga, reminisces about the notable colonial-era sites lining this thoroughfare. He proudly boasts, “The adjoining stretch of the Mall up to Anarkali Chowk can compete in beauty and majesty with any other roadway in the world.” The sobriquet still rings true today, as the dense, full-crowned trees on either side of the road keep temperatures relatively low during Lahore’s scorching summers.
An ardent kite flyer, Nevile writes effusively about the time he spent in his youth indulging in fierce kite rivalries. He mentions various types of kites and the master craftsmen renowned for making them. The chapter titled “Bo-Kata” fittingly reflects his fondness for this beloved Lahori pastime. He recalls, “Those were the days when kite fighting instead of kite flying was in vogue.” Elsewhere, he notes, “Every mohalla in Lahore had its own acknowledged khilaris (expert kite-flyers).” These traditions remain very much alive and were on full display during the recent Basant celebrations. Even after a century, the Lahore of Nevile’s time and our own has not changed enough to lose its essence. It continues to hold on to its soul and its festivals.
The narrow, zigzagging streets of Lahore were always bustling with life. Likewise, the housetops served as venues for womenfolk to engage in small talk and while away the time. Nevile recollects that such get-togethers allowed boys his age to spend time in the company of their favourite neighbourhood girls. In some cases, they managed to get only fleeting glances of the queens of their fantasies. But given favourable circumstances, they would also yield to desire and let passions take over.
In another chapter, “Fazal: The Ace Pimp of Lahore,” Nevile shares his first foray into the kotha culture of Lahore. Fazal approaches with the words, “Bauji, I can make your evening unforgettable if you come with me.” Thanks to the adroit Fazal, who had a unique way of calling out his own name aloud to draw the attention of potential customers, Nevile, along with his friends, visited the red-light area of Lahore and spent some time with young, budding prostitutes. However, they did not allow things to escalate and returned home soon.
Every chapter is tinged with nostalgia and a longing to relive the carefree days in the majestic city of Lahore. The book is a treasure trove for anyone seeking to know what Lahore looked like a century ago. It is indeed a labour of love and reflects the author’s lifelong devotion and attachment to the city.