I was waiting for a friend at Marriott Hotel in Karachi in August 2011, when I noticed a familiar looking gentleman witha curious, rustic demeanor sitting alone at an adjacent table, drawing lines on a pad of paper. When an attendant informed me that he was an astrologer, I sidled over and asked him about my future “I do not take unscheduled clients”, he said. Before I turned to leave, however, he smiled and said “Exact time of birth is very important”. I immediately disclosed that I was born after dusk. “Your stomach aches are driven by anxiety. I see a change of place by November this year”.
He was right. I was suffering from a gastric malady at the time and was stationed in Islamabad. In November that year I was transferred to Karachi. Noor, I would learn, was also right about other, more substantive matters, from the ascent of Benazir Bhutto to premiership during Zia-ul-Haq’s tenure, and the meteoric rise of Asif Zardari in the political arena when political pundits had written him off, to predicting Musharraf’s Presidency when he was Corps Commander at Mangla.
When I tracked him down a year later – I happened upon his poster in a posh mall featuring Noor sporting a big Mughal turban with jewels – I called him up. He said he had forgotten me but agreed to meet for tea at a nearby café anyway. The meeting followed many others during which I became acquainted with the man who had traversed the country on foot, lived among malangs and nautch girls, dined at roadside dhaabaas and drank ‘tharra’ on benches from Gujrat to Karachi. His life had the trajectory and texture of a picaresque novel.
[quote]Ehsan Danish worked as a labourer at the Punjab University where later in life he was invited as guest of honor[/quote]
We would chat till the early morning about life, love, philosophy, astrology – his childhood – the course of his life. Born to a village potter near Gujrat in 1951, his early childhood was spent in dusty alleys, playing under the intense glow of the bright sun that hardened the mushy brown earth into hard red bricks. A bird’s eye view of his birthplace would present a vista of emerald fields interspersed with bare plots and kilns. He had numerous siblings and his parents too busy with their lives, which meant he grew up free, like a bird navigating the endless blue sky. Adolescence took him to Rawalpindi, the headquarters of the Pakistan Armed Forces where he worked near Committee Chowk as helper to a motor mechanic and sifted through magazines in his leisure time, developing a penchant for literary magazines such as Naqoosh, which instilled in him a taste for fine literature. In this he is similar to poets like Saghir Siddiqui who was a dervish wanderer and Ihsan Danish who worked as a day time laborer building an academic block at the Punjab University (and where, later in life, he was invited as guest of honor), reflective of the quality of taste even among ordinary folk in those times.
Ishaque’s wandering impulse did not allow him to stay in Rawalpindi for long and he moved to Lahore after his Matriculation exams where he washed rickshaws, worked as a dish washer at Cooper Road, helped a cook at Garhi Shahu and worked as a technician. In the evenings he donned fancy clothes and frequented Zanobi bar where he met famous film actors; Lehri amongst them. Over a pack of Gymkhana Whiskey (which cost Rs. 5 per pack) he would socialize with leftist radicals. It was a decade of globetrotting revolutionary zealots.
“When in Lahore, once late at night I was mesmerized by the music flowing out of a huge bungalow. I sneaked in and listened to the great maestros playing live to a packed audience in the lawn”, recalled Noor during one of our typically digressive chats. “When guards spotted me crouching behind a bush they gave me a good thrashing. But for music this kind of penance is acceptable. The greatest regret of my life is that although hailing from Gujrat I could not visit Roshan Ara Begum to pay homage. I consider her my spiritual mother. Later I did visit her grave at Dewna Mandi. It is my heartiest desire to arrange a classical music conference at my spiritual mother’s tomb before I die”.
Music is what compelled Noor towards Hira Mandi one fateful night. Lahore’s red light district, the fourth largest after Calcutta, Bangalore and Bombay, had a wonderfully peculiar culture where courtesans would recite verses for visiting poets and literati. Chottay Ghulam Ali was among the masters who taught girls the fundamentals of singing while Master Samrat helped them synchronize their steps to music. Training in dance and music was called taleem (education). After a performance the income was distributed; 15% for the dhari (musicians), 75% for the Bai (madam) and 10% for Niaz (religious offering).
Nautch girls would clean their workplace (Kotha) as a petty trader cleans his shop with the solemnity of a sacred ritual, light agarbattis (incense sticks), sprinkle rose water, arrange silk gao takiyaas (cushions) while sangatkaars (assisting musicians) fiddled with sitar strings, strummed harmonium and practiced tabla.
Ishaque Noor was a kid; a curious but innocuous boy who worked as a waiter at the Globe Hotel in Hira Mandi serving cold drinks, bringing rose and jasmine garlands and getting change for the customers to offer customary vail (monetary offerings) to the dancers. Full of strange characters, Hira Mandi was a fascinating place to grow up in. A barefooted sage, known to possess extraordinary spiritual powers, wandered the streets carrying a stick. It was believed that the subject of his abuse achieved his heart’s desires. Thus people teased him to attract his revile. There was a shrine located near Badshahi Mosque. Many female performers from Hira Mandi religiously visited the shrine. Among the visitors of Hira Mandi, the most generous were smugglers who smuggled contraband items to and from India through Narowal and Kasur borders. They were called “Bactra”.
Ishaque Noor was soon taken into her fold by a kind courtesan who was married and had two sons. She had an audience of generous customers. Once in need of money he asked her for 150 Rupees on the false pretext that he needed to pay the newspaper vendor while she was setting up the kotha for mujra. When he was rebuked by the madam, a regular customer generously took out a bundle of currency notes and gave them to him. One of the companions of young Ishaque Noor who had come from a distant village took the currency notes and got them changed from a nearby vendor on the premise that he ought not send haraam (illegal) earnings to his family back home.
Kothaas were called daftars in the local idiom. Whenever courtesans performed dance it was said that they were holding office. Prior to the Zia regime these performance continued till the wee hours. Later, a time restriction of upto 12:00 am was imposed.
During performances the brothers, sons, husbands and other male relatives of courtesans held their majlis (gatherings) on rooftops. A hamaam (plastic barrel with a tap fixed to it) filled with water and ice was placed in a corner to be mixed with locally brewed alcohol. As mujraas proceeded downstairs in daftars, men from the neighborhood gathered on these rooftops to hold gossip sessions. The cool night air flowed through intoxicated men as they chatted away the time under twinkling stars, and lights blinking from surrounding buildings. Soon the music reached its high as did the men till the music died and men staggered down the stairs of multistoried old houses.
There were several varieties of courtesans. Some were only performers. Theirs was a family occupation, passed through generations. They were courted by rich men, usually waderas (or landlords) on permanent contracts. They were called Bhagowaalian. Partition courtesans of equal stature who joined them from Ludhiana and Nainitaal were called Paanwaalian. Women from the second social rung were called Kasowaalian followed by Peernian. The lowest of them were called Kursiwaalian. They were menial sex workers and charged up to Rs 3 and served many customers during the day.
Courtesans preferred daughters over sons, preferably from male singers, presumably guaranteeing girls with melodious voices. Generally courtesans married local tailors, musicians, masseurs, shopkeepers etc., men they were comfortable with. “Affairs” with customers were relationships of convenience. Rarely did these work out. It was believed that a love affair with a customer was a waste of precious youth.
Politicians also patronized dance girls. In the 1970s, a famous politician from Pakistan People’s Party along with a few of his friends, including a photographer from daily Masawaat was attending a mujra featuring a famous film heroine. They got drunk and started dancing. When someone tipped the police, the kotha was raided and the politician and his entourage apprehended and taken to the Tibbi police station where they were roughed up. During the fiasco one of the political workers kept stammering “Our socialist revolution rose from Lyallpur and has been sabotaged at Tibbi police station.”
During the raid the photographer pleaded with the actress to save him from humiliation. She told him to grab some garlands and take his shirt out of his trousers. As a result, the police mistook him for a petty flower seller. The next morning, the editor of Masaawaat, famous journalist Abbas Athar, splashed a headline against the police in his paper, prompting then Governor Mustafa Khar to suspend the entire staff of the police station.
[quote]Official opium tenders were advertised in newspapers and it was legally traded[/quote]
“Wrestlers, including Bhollu Pehalwan dropped into Hira Mandi to relish the delicious meals. They rarely visited kothas for mujras. Generally they had tightly wound loin cloths – an allusion to their strict morality. Mirasis (male musicians and singers) were excellent cooks. Courtesans also cooked delicious food, the most common of which were Aaloo Gosht and Karailay Gosht cooked in copper pots over burning coal. Courtesans worked late in daftars, therefore breakfast of Siri Payee cooked in desi butter to regain energy for their next performance was common. Pure indigenous desi rooster is rarely available these days. Desi Chicken sold in the market which is infact Misri Chicken matures within a couple of months whereas it takes 18 to 24 months for a desi rooster to mature. The only pure breed roosters I know of are sold at an annual “cock fight tournament” held between Khushab and Kundian. Cocks who lose this fight are sold in the market.
Ishaque Noor’s stint at Hira Mandi ended in a couple of years as he embarked upon a train to Karachi at a time when the city thrived as an industrial and regional trading hub attracting Turks, Arabs, East Asians and other foreigners who stayed at the hotels including the Metropole and Jabees, enjoying fine dining from steaks to local crabs. Karachi was a cultural potpourri, an ethnic melting pot: Parsi couples frequented Iranian cafés and Hindus gave the city a saffron tint.
[quote]Karachi had estaurants such as "Smokery" - owned by Veno Advani, cousin of the Indian politician L.K. Advani[/quote]
Though Noor lived on meager resources, his penchant for nightlife compelled him to nearby clubs such as ‘Playboy’ and ‘Oasis,’ and restaurants such as “Smokery” – owned by Veno Advani, cousin of the Indian politician L.K. Advani. Cultural troupes from the Middle East and Beirut performed regularly to the delight of attendees. During Zia’s regime cabaret performances were replaced by classical dance. Nighat Chaudhry (who later married media icon Imran Aslam) used to perform there. She was accompanied by Muhammad Ali on tabla and Mahtab on sitar. A classical dancer Mussarrat also gave amazing performances.
In 1974 Ishaque Noor found a job in PIA as a technician. Over the years, he had felt a tug towards astrology, an interest that would become a passion. In fact, he claims, he left his job at PIA for the mysterious science. Weeks would pass by as he locked himself in his room, pouring over texts and manuals penned by the likes of Kash-ul-Barni, BV Ranal, Suri Narain and BV Rama. Serendipitously, in 1982 he ran into the hotelier Mr. Hashwani who offered Ishaque Noor a place to practice at Marriott Hotel (then Holiday Inn).
Of course, astrology was not a profession that could be financially relied on. “I have seen many professions receding into oblivion” Noor told me. “Professional mimics would appear at crowded places. A few of them wore torn and blood-stained cloths. People would retract in fear. Then they would divulge their identity and get tipped by applauding onlookers. There were street magicians and jugglers and puppeteers who would wander streets inviting people for street shows. They moved in groups of three or four. When they had few curious customers gathered around them they would conduct shows in makeshift arrangements while Alghoza and Dholak was played in the background. They all disappeared in the 1960s. Quacks carrying boards with sceneries of mountains painted on them also roamed, reciting tales of the magical healing effects of their products. I have also seen times when official opium tenders were advertised in newspapers and opium was legally traded”.
After years on the move, Noor settled down in a room at the Excelsior Hotel and got into Vedic astrology. In May 1986, he wrote an article for the magazine “The Third World” in which he predicted that Benazir Bhutto would assume charge of Premiership on 11th November 1988. At the time Zia-ul-Haq was firmly in power and nobody believed him. Later his prediction came true when Benazir took oath as Prime Minister on the 17th of November 1988. Gradually, his fame as an Astrologer grew.
In 1996 Mustafa Memon took him to Asif Ali Zardari who had been offered a reprieve from jail to Civil Hospital on medical grounds. Noor made his astrological chart and predicted his rise in politics after 2005. In 1998, a common friend of Nawaz Sharif and Pervaiz Musharraf, who was lobbying for the latter for the post of COAS, took him to see Musharraf at Mangla. Musharraf was the Corps Commander at that time. Musharraf inquired about his chances of becoming the next COAS. Ishaque Noor predicted that he would become the President of Pakistan.
Later he was invited by Dr. Abdul Qadeer Khan to make his horoscope. He predicted a catastrophe that would befall upon him in December that year. Abdul Qadeer Khan was put under house arrest on the 28th of December.
Noor, however, is sanguine about his powers. “I am a human and prone to error,” he admitted. “Many of my predictions have not been true in either timing or outcome.”
Irfan Javed can be reached at irfanjaved1001@gmail.com