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A background of rolling hills, covered with a thin veneer of vegetation: if ever there was a scenic railway station, it was Attock Khurd By Salman Rashid Pakistan is not a country
of railway buffs. If it were, the beautifully revamped narrow gauge steam Since nothing interests us, I had found it peculiar some years ago that two railwaymen, Ishfaq Khattak and Hameed Razi, then of the Rawalpindi Division, should turn Golra Railway Station (outside Islamabad) into a railway heritage museum. It was of particular interest that these two good men had wrought this miracle without engaging in the usual bureaucratic rigmaroles that are the death of all our best thought-out official schemes. Above all, they had not asked the government to dish out vast sums of money to make their scheme work: the expenses were all met from within divisional resources. Khattak and Razi set the
wheel going in a way. Recently word came that the railways had spruced Short of the Attock road bridge, we had to leave the Grand Trunk Road to go up by the old road past the fort to the original rail and road bridge across the Sindhu River. A barricade blocked the road and a smart young Special Service Group man came up to ask what we were about. We told him the Station Master at Attock Khurd awaited us (true) and that we had official business (false). He briefly referred to the man sitting in the cubicle at the side and came back to tell us that we were not to stop before we got to the station. Now that sounded almost ominous. I had not been on this road since the early 1970s and nearly four decades are enough to muddle up the memory: I thought the bridge was only a few steps from the main gate of Attock Fort. And so, contrary to the commando's instructions, we had to stop to ask if we were doing all right. We were told to carry on and that we had to be either blind or totally stupid to miss the station. As we came in view of the majestic Attock Bridge, I recalled that the station lay to the left. Hameed Razi had kindly called ahead and we found Noor Mohammed, the Station Master, in his office: fast asleep on a table. But we could not fault the man. He had been warned to expect us about eight and we were there at a little after six in the gloaming, just as the lamp man was climbing the ladder to remove the paraffin burners from the signals at the end of the platform. The 1-Up Khyber Mail was due to pass through en route to Peshawar, said the Master and I quickly climbed the ridge to the east to take my pictures. Thank heavens, the Khyber Mail is never ever on time or it would have clattered past the station in near darkness precluding my chance of the photograph. From my vantage I could see that if ever there was a scenic railway station, it was Attock Khurd: a background of rolling hills, still blue in the early morning light and covered with a thin veneer of vegetation dipping down to the conduit of the once-great Sindhu River whose silvery line was visible only in thin snatches. Across this half-kilometre gap stretched the maroon girders resting on three massive brick piers. On either bank, one in Pukhtunkhwa the other in Punjab, rose the majestic portals of the bridge with European-style bartisans, machicolations and loop-holes. Almost cheek by jowl with the east end of the bridge was the station. The two-room main building
is flanked by slightly smaller wings on either side. The one somewhat Back on the platform, my friend Shahid Nadeem had roused the Station Master. The revamping of Golra station had nicely set things in motion because the Master informed us that Attock Khurd had recently been restored. As at Golra, the several coats of whitewash had been sand-blasted to reveal the stone structure in all its glory. The roof had been repainted and the east wing turned into a sunroom for winter visitors. Shahid asked if the potted plants adorning the platform were a regular feature and it turned out that the Master was expecting some diplomats from Islamabad later in the day. At closer quarters the building was an architectural treat; its beauty lying in the simplicity of design. The chunky stone pillars topped by concrete skewbacks where the brick arches spring up stand in neat symmetry against the tapered keystones at the apex of each arch. Above, just below the parapet, runs a stringcourse, four bricks wide, its terra-cotta colour contrasting sharply with the grey of the sandstone blocks that make up the whole edifice. The portico of the central wing is even affixed with lion-faced gargoyles. Above the pitched roof rise two pairs of brick chimneys give the whole a quaintly European appended. Above an arch of the west wing stands the legend 'Attock Khurd' in English and Urdu crowned by the figure '1884'. That was three years after the line reached the left bank of the Sindhu. Then there was neither a station here nor the majestic Attock rail bridge over the river. Then this point was the terminus of the line. The bridge went across in 1883; the station was completed the year after and the line went on to Peshawar and thence to the top of the Khyber Pass. There it was to forever halt. The capital of the pillar where the inscribed arch takes off also carries another inscription: KM 1607.66. The first ever length of steel rail laid out in the valley of the Sindhu River was riveted on the sleepers near the dockyard at Kemari in Karachi. That was Mile Zero until we went metric in the 1970s and it became KM Zero. And so, for all time to come, distances on the line that eventually came to be known as the North Western Railway (and finally Pakistan Railway) were measured from the Kemari dockyard. If my friends Ishfaq Khattak and Hameed Razi had seen the merit of Golra station, there followed after them a man who too was possessed of good sense and the pride that once made railwaymen what they were. As Divisional Superintendent at Rawalpindi Shafiqullah was taken by Attock station at a time when the building was falling to pieces and had been bolstered by a good deal of crude brickwork. When the station was first built, the stone had been quarried nearby and so, without moving the behemoth of bureaucracy, Shafiqullah got the quarry going. Meanwhile, it took a full nine months of sandblasting to remove the whitewash from the stone edifice. Over the next two years, the station was rebuilt virtually piece by piece. And such is the quality of work that it is impossible to make out where the renovation has taken place. The restored west wing now houses two waiting rooms with period furniture and plans are afoot to turn the east wing into a restaurant. Shafiqullah points out that the station and the white sand beaches of the Sindhu below the bridge have great potential as winter destinations. This good man has done his work and already the few Western railway buffs in Islamabad are making their way to Attock Khurd. But it may yet take time for this piece of architectural beauty sitting in its uncanny idyll to catch on in any significant way. Postscript. Hare-brained politicians never tire of drumming up schemes to establish amusement parks or hill resorts where foreign tourists will throng. These retards do not seem to understand that an American or European will not give a fig for such places. In Pakistan we have enough heritage to attract folks of varied interests. Yet we never exploit the existing heritage because that does not mean any black earnings. We also are incapable of emulating India where the volume domestic tourism over the last few years has overshot that of foreign visitors. We too have a burgeoning middle class yet other than the annual aestival rush to get away from the heat of the plains, we have practically no domestic tourism. Someone somewhere ought to sit up and take account.
By Bushra Sultana 'Home is where your heart
is,' goes the cliche. If so then I am guilty of having two homes -- Lahore I don't remember the first time I went to Chicago (must have been too young) but I can exactly recall my first memory of it. It is one of a gape-mouthed, wide-eyed kid too curious to sit idle and too excited to absorb much. I also remember an instant love for the Great Lake. So as I tell you about the Windy City (the name does it justice) I shall not recount boring historical details such as the great fire of 1871 or Sears Tower's journey through the continual claim, loss and reclaim of the title of world's tallest building. Instead, I will present to you Chicago downtown. Approaching downtown through Eisenhower Expressway, Sears Tower is the first building you spot. From then onwards, your eyes are glued to the fast-emerging skyline. As soon as the car passes from under the Chicago Stock Exchange -- yes they have built an entire building on a bridge, or built a four lane road under a building, whichever way you want to put it -- the excitement of downtown hits hard. For a small-town person for whom Lahore was 'happening' enough, the electrifying atmosphere of Chicago downtown was an eye-opener. It gushes through the closed windows of the car and takes over you; in all my trips, not once has the city failed to lift my spirits. As soon as Sears Tower is visible, everyone sits up; voices become chirpier, conversation flows easily and the day seems full of unseen adventures and possibilities. If Chicago downtown is
charged with energy, Lake Michigan is where the energy intensifies in a The best way to spend an afternoon on Lake Michigan is to go cycling by its shoreline (cycles are readily available for rent) and have a picnic on the sandy beach next to the Alder planetarium. If you are a history buff or a great lover of the universe, I would suggest putting aside two to three days for the Field Museum of Natural History, the planetarium and John G Shedd Aquarium. However, if you have an impatient temperament, a fun-loving disposition and a shopaholic personality, this is what I have to tell you: Once in Chicago, get Sears Tower out of the way first. It is quite far from everything worthwhile that you would want to visit and frankly, on second thoughts there's not much after the initial awe-filled five minutes. I mean for how long can you gaze at the city's rooftops. Besides, the landing and takeoff of the plane takes care of most of that so-high-above-the-ground fascination. From Sears Tower, you can quickly visit the Millennium Park and the Buckingham Fountain to get those special pictures you want to show off to your friends back home. Try to get to the fountain at night so you can experience the beautiful display of lights and its majestic aura. Here's a tip for amateur photographers: if you don't want to go for the boat ride on the lake, the planetarium is the place with the best view of Chicago's skyline (as shown in the picture). After that, head on to the Navy Pier by the lake's side with its gigantic ferris wheel, Chicago's Children Museum, weekly fireworks in summers, Smith Museum of Stained Glass Windows and 18 hole miniature golf course. There are companies who provide affordable all-day tickets which allow you to commute between the city's major sight-seeing attractions. Once you are done with that, go to the Michigan Avenue for some serious shopping. Famously called the Magnificent Mile, North Michigan Avenue is a shopper's paradise and can cause some serious relapse for recovering shopaholics. It is home to the world's most renowned designer labels including Ralph Lauren, Coach, Hugo Boss, Cole-Hann, Bulgari, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Bloomingdale's and Tiffany & Co. If you feel nostalgic about home, Devon is the street that carries the cure. The South Hall of Chicago, Devon offers everything desi; from awesome bhel puri, South Asian (read Indian) movie shops, Islamic book store right down to desi lads leering at remotely pretty girls. My visit to downtown is never complete without a stop over at Devon. It seems almost surreal to see a desi neighbourhood in Chicago-like environment. Once you have gone through all the tourist sites, shopped till you are broke, have eaten at one of the finest restaurants along the Great Mile and are thinking of crashing down for the night, just do a few more things. Go South on Michigan Avenue, West on Adams Street and turn left on S Canal Street. You'll immediately see a Krispy Kreme Doughnut shop. Have one of those mouth-watering doughnuts and a cup of hot coffee. Raise your coffee cup and give me a toast. |
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engines would not have been rotting in the yard at Bostan Railway Station
northeast of Quetta. Those rusting metre gauge engines at Mirpur Khas would
have done better, and we would not have destroyed No. 2966 (of the broad
gauge) manufactured in 1911 by Britain's Vulcan Foundry. And if we were, many
of us would have known that the lamp room at Ruk Railway Station, south of
Shikarpur on the line to Larkana, has the most dazzling collection of lamps.
And if we were, we would also know that Chalisa Railway Station on the line
from Malikwal to Khewra has the quaintest signal box of all.
up Attock Khurd station. Fearing that this meant they had pulled down the old
building to raise a blockhouse with a bathroom tile facade in its stead, I
resolved to check it out. And so my friend Shahid Nadeem drove me from
Islamabad to Attock in pre-dawn darkness one morning recently.
different from the other, the wings give the building a somewhat asymmetrical
appearance. It does not jar, however. Stark against the green and khaki
landscape were the pitched roofs of the station and the chunky signal box,
all painted cerise. This was a right doll-house of a building stuck in a
landscape as dramatic as it could get.
and Chicago. Though I've grown up in Lahore I have spent alternate summers in
Chicago suburbs which has become a second home. No other city evokes such
strong emotions; Manhattan is too brisk, London too cramped, Florida too
sunny, Dallas too blah. Chicago, on the other hand, is just perfect; with its
breezy summers, beautiful autumn colours and teeth-shattering, bone-freezing
winters.
blinding white light. Sixth largest in the world and sixth largest of the
Great Lakes, Lake Michigan awakens the soul in every way the ocean does, but
without evoking the similar fear factor. Anyone who is remotely afraid of the
sea would relate to me instantly upon seeing the lake. The (seemingly) placid
blue water is deep from the edge of the shoreline without any gradual oceanic
descent. That means no waves and, more importantly, no overwhelming sound of
the sea.