Origins of modern Lahore

Lahore is one of the most enchanting and beautiful cities of the Indian subcontinent, not only for its historical sites, unmatched cuisine, near-intoxicating weather and the lush greenery of its terrain, but also for the gaiety and free spirit of its residents. The British Raj introduced its populace to the benefits and fruits of the Industrial Revolution after it had admirably endured the sometimes violent and arbitrary Sikh rule. The British empire supplemented Lahore’s beauty with the grandeur of its own Imperial buildings and infrastructure. Pran Nath prefers to call the people of the city ‘Lahorias’, as opposed to ‘Lahoris’ or ‘Lahorites’. He changed his surname to a more anglicised ‘Neville’ after getting an M.A. in Economics from the Government College in 1943. In his book titled Lahore, A Sentimental Journey he paints a fascinating picture of the Lahore of the 1920s and ‘30s. Quietly and gladly embracing change, the people of Lahore excelled in many fields after getting degrees from Government College, which boasted having professors and lecturers form Oxbridge amongst its academia in the 1930s. Neville entered his alma mater in 1937.

Lahorias took rapidly to frequenting ice cream parlours, restaurants, coffee shops and bars with dance floors

Electricity had already reached Lahore in the same decade, ending the decades-old practice of blowing out kerosene-fired street lamps at the crack of dawn. The British way of life had not only penetrated through elite educational institutions, it also made steady but permanent inroads through European ways of living that the Lahorias adopted with aplomb. Frequenting ice cream parlours, restaurants, coffee shops and bars with dance floors were a few of the new social attitudes that the locals took to and got addicted to. Carry Home on Beadon Road which started its business selling ice cream still exists but is now a restaurant.

A big part of the Lahore population - mostly Hindu - saw a golden opportunity to target government jobs by educating their children in the schools and universities set up by the British colonialists. Apart from learning the English language, which the pupils at schools were introduced to in grade four, Urdu was the main medium of instruction instead of the regional language of Punjabi - making students like Pran Neville believe that the latter was only a spoken language. Contrary to the popular myth, a preference for Urdu over Punjabi did not come about on the basis of some feeling of prejudice that the British harboured against the Punjabi language and culture. In fact, the British officers who were entrusted the task of administering the Punjab came from the present day Utter Pradesh and possessed a working knowledge of Urdu, not Punjabi. In any case, Punjabi and most of its literature was written in the Urdu/Shahmukhi script (the Gurmukhi script took ascendency after 1947).

Although the British Raj may have fashioned a new class system in a Punjab which was already divided along caste and religious lines, it managed to create an atmosphere of harmony and peace after the uncertainty and turmoil of Sikha Shahi (Sikh rule). The people could conduct their daily business with relative freedom, prompting the Hindu merchant class to utter phrases like ‘Angrezi raj diyan barktaan’ in gratitude. Pran Neville describes how he and fellow students would start an exam essay on ‘the Blessings of British Empire’ in order to get good grades: “What a marvelous change has the comparatively short period of British Rule brought about! An age of violence and rapine has given place to one of peace and harmony, an age of ignorance has been followed by one of enlightenment.”

Lahore’s historical monuments built by the Mughal and British rulers are its heritage, which need to be protected in their full glory. A Division Bench of the Lahore High Court has recently set aside the NOCs obtained by the Lahore Development Authority in order to construct the Orange Line Train in close proximity to a few historical monuments such as the Shalamar Gardens, Chauburji, GPO building, the High Court etc. A separate note authored by Justice Shahid Kareem is quite scathing against the way the said NOCs were obtained - which were required under the law if the construction was within 200 feet of the protected monuments. It is quite depressing to note that an elaborate and complex legal structure and safeguards that are in place to administer a sprawling 21st-century urban center like Lahore can be made to look so toothless in the face of (perhaps) a 19th-century style of governance.

For example, in a vain attempt to please the judges hearing the case, the LDA came up with the ingenious idea of regular spraying of water at the construction site near the Shalamar Garden and, to make up for the visual obstruction due to the elevated structure for the train track, it was proposed that the nearby station would be adorned with such murals as would make it look like a miniature Shalamar entrance!

Going back to the Lahore of the 1930s, Pran Neville vividly recalls the Basant festival organized in January-February in the precincts of the Madho Lal Hussain near the Shalamar Bagh where people from all communities took part. The Muslims assembled to pay their respects to the shrine of Lal Hussain and the Hindus to venerate the samadhi of Hakikat Rai close by. Chiraghon ka mela held in the picturesque Shalamar garden was the gayest of all, according to Neville.

A tonga ride on the Mall (thandi sarak for the fact that it was washed with water every evening in the 1930s) with his countryside cousins makes for a fascinating read. Riding past the Zamzama or Kim’s Gun and the statue of A.C. Woolner (one-time University vice chancellor), the tonga passengers headed towards the High Court building past Lloyds Bank and YMCA. The tranquility of the Mall is disturbed in the tonga somewhat when Neville’s cousins grapple with the jaw-dropping sight of sahibs and memsahibs in their chauffer-driven cars with their poodles lolling their tongues through the windows. The touring party after having seen a few monuments - including the Government House (Governor’s House) - associated with Imperial grandeur, end their day out in a typically Lahori way by replenishing their energies with paidas, laddoos and hot milk at a stall near the zoo.

Having learned how Lahorias lived in the 1930s, the ineluctable conclusion that one draws from Justice Kareem’s judgment - quite a glowing and articulate defence of Lahore’s past in its own right - is that a city is not just about its future. It is its past and present that make up its soul, which ought never to be ignored while planning its future.

Tariq Bashir is a Lahore based lawyer. Follow him on twitter @Tariq_Bashir