Re: Pakistan V England 3rd Test Match, Lahore
I thought it would be appropriate to post Andrew Miller's diary on Lahore.
November 26
A city unlike any other
Lahore, Lahore! There's nowhere on earth quite like Lahore. It is, as my colleague Rahul Bhattacharya memorably wrote, a city "so sentimentalised that it sometimes seemed to curl up and rest in the air like an eternal sigh". From the poetry of Kipling to the self-contained assurance of the Lahori elite, there is something about the city that is forever painted in sepia.
A late-night drive through the cultural heart of the Punjab provided a teasing glimpse of a world apart; as we wound down the Mall, past the brooding silence of the GPO and the Wonder House, with ZamZamah - Kim's Gun - imprisoned on its traffic island like the mightiest of caged beasts.
On we continued, a sharp right taking us past the Badshahi mosque, its minarets glowing dimly against the night sky, and its sheer vastness contrasting exquisitely with the low winding labyrinths of the old city above which it towered. The pots and stoves and roof-terrace pulleys of Kookoo's Den, the most famous restaurant in the land, were a foretaste of the sensory riot that awaited in Heera Mandi, Lahore's red-light district and beating heart.
Here was a district where rickshaws and fruit stalls hugged the cobbles and where improbably grand buildings - such as the pink-bricked Missionary School and the great mosaic-walled Wazir Khan mosque - burst out of the backdrop like figures in a pop-up book. Lights and noise and impossibly narrow lanes, where money-changers crouched over pocket-sized display cabinets, and shadowy figures whispered from unseen doorways.
Onwards we progressed, stopping off at Food Street - an avenue of outdoor tables and delicious on-the-spot cookery, bookended by two huge street-signs where men and their motorbikes would come and go in a puff of exhaust fumes, usually with a female acquaintance draped over the back seat, like a permanent procession of elopers. Beyond lay Abbott Road and the derelict cinemas of the Lollywood film industry, where a succession of fading billboards depicted, in once-glorious Technicolor, the stars of a bygone era.
And talking of bygone eras, as we returned towards the Mall to complete our loop of Lahore, there was time for a quick tour of Mayo Gardens, the most exalted of the city's colonial residences. Endless acres of prime British-era real estate, vast verandahed bungalows with gardens so sprawling that neighbours would have needed to don their pith helmets in order to make the trip from one house to the next.
And then, finally, back to the raison d'etre of this tour - to Gulberg and the sprawling arenas of the Gadaffi Stadium complex, where by day the England team are preparing for the third Test but where by night, Lahore's creative community have united for an international arts festival. The amphitheatre of the Alhamra Arts complex has been bedecked in purple lighting and packed with cogniscenti, who sit in appreciative awe of the acts on display.
A French vocal group strut their stuff on a crown-shaped stage, before making way for an "ethno-rock" collaboration from the Czech Republic, who share top billing with one of Pakistan's leading Sufi soul singers, Zahid Sayed. On the concourse outside, Norwegian puppeteers and German craftsmen display their wares to the curious throng. And once again, Lahore is suffused with a knowing sense of self-worth and importance, quite unlike any other city in the land.