Falling Down

JANUARY 2001 - Although one makes every possible effort to avoid taking visitors to any of our monuments, knowing fully well that such trips are embarrassing and degrading, there are occasions when it is impossible to refuse. Having made a disastrous trip with two foreign guests last summer to Shalimar Gardens – or whatever is left of them, I vowed that this was the last time. I had spent the entire afternoon explaining in a voice growing weaker by the second how great the gardens actually were and how majestic the fountains actually were – on this afternoon there were dead tadpoles floating on slimy green water.

Last week, having read that UNESCO had placed both the Lahore Fort and the blighted Shalimar Gardens on its threatened monuments list, there was more embarrassment as more visitors arrived and eventually had to be transported on a sunny Sunday afternoon to the Lahore Fort. There were plenty of people around, but only three tourists. The rest were locals, basking n the sun or throwing refuse around. The area around the fort and the mosque is one large litter compound. It seems that the people have perfected the art of throwing bags, half eaten fruit, bottles, packages and assorted litter everywhere. There are no sweepers in evidence. If they are there, it must be the best-kept secret since the fireworks at Ojri Camp entertained the nation. Neglect hangs in the air and the monuments seem to hang by a thread. A parking contractor runs about, haphazardly, planting cars as he pleases. There is no organized car park and visitors navigate by instinct looking for openings. There is no literature of any kind. A large metal board, badly written, details the history of the Badshahi mosque in two languages, both equally incomprehensible. Whoever thought that writing the history of the mosque in capital letters and placing the board at some considerable distance from the visitors would do the job of leaving everybody perplexed, was obviously thinking right.

The mosque is constantly under repairs. A huge scaffolding now adorns the central prayer area and seems to have become a permanent feature. The scaffolding leans at twice the angle of the tower of Pisa and since we never saw any daring workers mount it at an angle that can only be defined as stupid, the whole thing might be just an illusion. The adjoining areas to the right and left of the main prayer hall are in various stages of repairs. Grinding machines and the sounds of metallic objects hitting away at concrete, ring on the afternoon air. The side hujras of the mosque overlooking the Minto Park with its unmentionable and rather pointed symbol are worth a visit. A peep over the side reveals a sad sight with dozens of large red stone slabs flung in a manner that indicates that the contractor assigned the job must have been an abstract painter if not an anarchist. If these are the remains of the disintegrating eastern walls of the mosque, then UNESCO is probably already too late. If these are recent look-alike additions why are they lying in a heap at the base of the walls? “Once the river flowed by these walls,” we inform our incredulous guests in voices that lack conviction. River? They look down and all they see is debris. They can’t look further at the thing that stands in the park because it can give you the wrong idea on any given afternoon. Too polite to tell us to go take a hike, they nod in solemn agreement and we trudge on. The main doors of the mosque are open, their fine brass work and wood polished by some novice so that the wood looks dead and the brass as dull as Mushahid Hussain. We take a last look at the great mosque, still imposing in spite of what havoc we have wrought on it. The white marble domes now lacquered permanently with brown dust lie listlessly in the sunlight. Can the engineers of Pakistan, the same ones who design machines of death and destruction, perhaps come up with a sprinkler system, which can clean the domes? I doubt it. We retrieve our shoes and side stepping various deposits of mucous make our way to the car park. Torture time is thankfully over.

The Shalimar need not be mentioned since it is just about still there. There is more disturbing news in the papers. The Basant festival is upon us and all of Lahore – and now it seems all of Pakistan, is going to collectively go mad starting soon. There are some harebrained schemes in the offing and private sponsors are bidding for the gardens and the fort for the revelries, which means thronging of the masses, food, music extravaganzas and more food, with kite flying thrown in and of course the explosive fireworks without which no culture can survive in Lahore. The man who can float lighted ducks and giraffes in the waters of the canal, the brilliant Mr. Lashari is believed to be holding out for the highest bid. There isn’t any shortage of bidders and sponsors are breaking down his doors to grab the two prize sites. This of course will not be the first time that havoc will be unleashed in the name of culture but it is certain that both the monuments, tottering as they are, will take a cruel beating as revelers frolic about and throw chicken bones in the air. Commercial deals are the kind that appeal to Mr. Lashari and a committee of concerned, worried and feeble officials, retired or semi-retired, have appealed to the culture vizier of Lahore to refrain from letting any one abuse these two sites. There is ominous silence from Mr. Lashari but many believe he will simply hand over the sites to whoever throws in the larger bid. With the money earned, he can probably put more animals into the canal or build another two dozen fountains, even a large rocket in the middle of the city.

We wait in great anxiety. Some of us, that is.