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They communed with trees The trees with whom poets and writers are known to converse, under which those possessed with wanderlust would rest and the elderly villagers hold panchayat, have sadly become a stranger to us today By Irfan Javed Celebrated Urdu writer A. Hameed once narrated a little gem of a story to me: “Radio station used to be a focal point of cultural and literary activities of the 1950s’ Lahore. The literati of that time would gather at that ‘creative nucleus’ to present their works and to satiate their artistic instincts. It was one of the most happening places in the city. MOOD
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culture They communed with trees The trees with whom poets and writers are known to converse, under which those possessed with wanderlust would rest and the elderly villagers hold panchayat, have sadly become a stranger to us today By Irfan Javed Celebrated Urdu
writer A. Hameed once narrated a little gem of a story to me: “Radio
station used to be a focal point of cultural and literary activities of
the 1950s’ Lahore. The literati of that time would gather at that
‘creative nucleus’ to present their works and to satiate their
artistic instincts. It was one of the most happening places in the city. “Off-the-cuff quips
were quoted for days as heated arguments followed ideological debates.
During winters, the vocalists, announcers, producers and writers would sit
in the lush green lawn, under the soft woollen glow of the warm pale sun. “The canteen of the
radio station became a ‘tea house’ of sorts. There was a pair of
peepal trees on the edge of the lawn, which was home to a myriad of
colourful birds. The quietness of that quarter of Lahore would be
intermittently broken by the laughter of radio people, the singsong of
bulbuls, the chirps of sparrows and the clanking of cheap porcelain
crockery of tea stall. “One day, as the
director general of the radio station walked through the verandah, he
stopped for a moment, gazing at the trees. Then he talked unintelligibly
to the peon carrying his files and moved away. Next day, as I got to the
radio station, to my utter shock, one of the trees was not there. Its
stump stood out of the ground like the arm of a wailing woman. Later, I
learnt that the DG had ordered to cut the tree as it was blocking the
sunshine.” A. Hameed, who had
written indefatigably about rains, forests, wild flowers and ancient
trees, while narrating the incident fell into a sombre mood: “At times,
the trees come in couples. There are male and female trees. When they grow
together, they support each other, they communicate with each other — a
communication still not deciphered by humans. When one partner dies, the
other grieves in the same manner as we [humans] do. The loss of that
peepal tree had a harrowing impact on the surviving partner. “We saw the lonely
peepal tree shrink and wither in days,” he continued. “The once green
and healthy tree shrivelled into a lifeless skeleton until it came down
like a scarecrow. Trees are the inheritors of this earth. They were here
long before we came uninvited and broke into their world. They have
feelings, too. They laugh and weep like we do. Only very few humans can
share their feelings with them. I can communicate with them. I talk to
them and they respond. Look at my Samanabad house. My lane is the
greenest. It is lined with trees. They know that I love them, therefore
they flock around my house.” As he came out to see me
off, I observed that the old literary maestro was not an eccentric nature
lover; his street was actually lined with all sorts of trees — slender
and fat. Interestingly, peepal is
one of the trees that is generally associated with Indian culture. Indian
mythology is a beautifully painted miniature of delightful fables and
colourful stories. The flora and fauna of this mini continent is so
elegantly and lyrically drawn in the mythical tales that it attains the
life and character of a living person. It is the peepal tree on whose
leaves Lord Krishna appears as a baby boy. Buddha is said to have attained
enlightenment under a peepal tree. Similarly, a person is
showered with bounties for as many years in the heavens as the days he
lives in a house where the tulsi plant is grown. Likewise, the coconut
tree is regarded as so that cutting it is considered a sin. Breaking of a
coconut is an integral part of the ‘pooja’ ceremony. Even Hindu Sadhus,
Buddhist priests and Yogis pray and meditate under trees. Famous poet Nasir Kazmi
was obviously not being an eccentric when he talked to a tree. It was in
the 1960s that all the literati of Punjab gathered at Pak Tea House near
Anarkali. The tea house had frontal glass windows which opened pn a narrow
street that wound its way to Neela Gumbad. Just opposite the tea house,
across the street, stood a tree. Nasir Kazmi would sit alone by the
window, sip his tea and talk to the tree which he called “my friend.”
The affectionate bond between the poet and the tree is a legend in our
literary folklore. Intizar Hussain is,
perhaps, the last of the living literary greats who talks and writes
incessantly about the trees of Lahore with the compassion of a companion. My earliest reminiscence
is that of a shahtoot (mulberry) tree that stood by the window of my
maternal grandfather’s bedroom. As a young child, I would lie in my bed
and stare at the oscillating leaves of the swaying tree, peeping into the
room through the window and the ventilator as they gave way to the
blinking and slanting rays of the glittering diamond of a sun. There was an affluent
family in our neighbourhood whose head member owned various commercial
enterprises and was, perhaps, the richest person alive in the locality. He
had a daughter who was married to a doctor. Whenever the doctor went to
work, he would drop off his wife and son there. He would pick them up on
his way back. During daytime, the
grandson of that affluent man would occasionally play outside his house
under a banyan tree. He was an angelic, little boy with a fair complexion
and a heavenly smile. A servant looked after the boy as he played under
the tree. One day, I heard the sad
news that the little boy was suffering from cancer. He died a few months
later. He was very close to his grandfather; therefore, the funeral
procession was to proceed from the latter’s house only. On that still, ash-white
day, the coffin was placed under the banyan tree where the boy had played
for many an afternoon. It was a humid
afternoon. Not a single leaf moved. The mourners, to their astonishment,
saw the tree visibly bend a little as its thickest branch broke with a
crackling sound and fell by the coffin. Perhaps, the tree was also
mourning the death of that innocent, little boy. In the Solomon Islands,
situated in the south of Pacific, villagers are known to practise a unique
form of cutting trees. When they are ready to cut a tree, they gather
around it and shout in high-pitched voices. The tree eventually withers
and falls down within thirty days of the ‘screaming’ ceremony. Sadly, the trees in
whose company the sages are said to have meditated, with whom poets and
writers have conversed, under which vagabonds possessed with wanderlust
rested and elderly villagers held panchayat have become strangers to us. Rabindranath Tagore
called the trees as earth’s endless effort to speak to the listening
heaven and Khalil Gibran inspirationally termed them as poems that the
earth writes upon the sky. The author is a
short-story writer irfanjaved1001@gmail.com caption The affectionate bond
between the poets and the peepal tree is a legend in our literary
folklore. —Photo by Rahat Dar
Almost a decade
back, my mother and I used to visit a dentist on Lahore’s Temple Road.
The dentist’s practice was thriving. The clinic was based
right next to a hole in the road which was giving out sewage water. And,
somehow, my mother had convinced him that her cousin in LDA will fix that
gaping wound on his clinic. The guy was old, thin
and balding. And retrospectively speaking, he should have explained those
yellow crooked front teeth. My teeth have always
been problematic — frail and yellow. Over the years, I have had to pay
many visits to the dentist. One of the doctors said it’s because of a
calcium deficiency in childhood. But the truth is I really wasn’t very
keen to eat healthy or move beyond tooth-brushing once a day. Most of his patients
were women, and rightly so, because the dentist was a gentleman. Sometimes
my aunts and mother’s friends also escorted us. The long seat meant for
patients to sit on and get the procedure done was probably older than my
mother, though the covering of the chair was changed every few months. The doctor had a torch
stuck on his cap and he would take out his pen-like tools and dig in my
mouth. I could feel the metallic, snail-like instrument moving around my
teeth and hear him asking me if it hurts. These trips to the dentist
lasted for a few months. But after this Temple
Road debacle, there was a long gap and during this time the condition
worsened. To add to this misery, the elusive and absurd wisdom tooth
popped out without adding much to my wisdom. And not just one or two of
them but all four in full glory, twisted at odd angles. In Hong Kong, I had an
insurance which covered dental treatment and this seemed like the right
time to fix my teeth. First, I went to a middle-aged doctor who sounded
very radical, jumpy and too ambitious when it came to fillings. So, I forgot about
clinics and went to a hospital. Outside the dentist’s room, in the pink
corridor where nuns were pushing old people to different rooms, I could
hear heavy drilling. I don’t think I will ever anticipate a date with a
dentist, even if he looked like Marlon Brando. The mere thought of a naked
nerve being trampled by a drill machine out to wipe out a chunk of my bone
is enough to make me go on a brisk walk in that pink corridor. This is
worse than getting hit by a suicide bomber — the chances of which are
quite dismal as compared to getting grilled by a dentist with an automatic
hammer. Suddenly, the red light
on top of the door was turned off and a small Chinese nurse came out in a
pink uniform. They probably matched it with the walls. She invited me in
as if there was a ballroom dance going on, with probably the widest smile
I had seen in Hong Kong. A thin and short
Cantonese doctor greeted me. Her face was masked and she was preparing the
instruments, more delicate than the drilling machine I imagined outside. I
could hear it again. “There is construction going on behind the
building,” said the dentist with a smile. She put me on the chair
with a gigantic flash light on top. She adjusted the light and my chair
and verified that indeed I needed some two dozen fillings and all the
wisdom teeth will have to take a hike. “They have very little to do with
wisdom anyway,” she assured me. She gave me glasses to
cover my eyes and started with the extraction. The procedures took almost
a year to finish. The key difference abroad and in Pakistan is hygiene and
the urge to prevent any pain. My doctor came with gigantic injections that
had needles thick enough to make a horse run out of the barracks. And, she
plunged them straight in the back of my mouth — her favourite torture
spot. But anytime I feel lazy
at night after a double chocolate pudding or New York Cheesecake, the
image of that enormous injection drives me out of bed and into the toilet
sink with a toothbrush.
*Degree Show 2013 of the
Department of Fine Arts, Kinnaird College for Women, to continue till June
19. Time: 6pm. *Solo exhibition of
miniatures by Attiya Shaukat’s, to continue at Rohtas 2 till June 28. *’Here and Now’, an
exhibition of five contemporary artists — Mohammad Ali Talpur, Hasnat
Mehmood, Mohammad Zeeshan, Adeela Suleman and Nausheen Saeed — continues
at Lahore Art Gallery, 42, Lawrence Road, till June 22. Gallery hours are
11am to 7pm, except Sundays and public holidays. *Artists’ Talk “2D
Performances” continues through July 2, at NHQ Gallery, Lahore College
for Women University. Twenty-one visual artists from all over the country
showcase their works.
safety Last week, a
twelve-year-old boy drowned while participating in a swimming competition
at a private school in Lahore. Several days later, the school’s
registration was cancelled by the Executive District Officer of Education,
Tahira Parveen. The grounds cited for the decision included the school
administration’s negligence in ensuring the presence of “vigilant
instructors” to monitor and supervise the students. This incident
illustrates the need for well-trained lifeguards to be constantly present
at both public and private swimming pools. As journalist Kamila Hyat, who
has taken a course in lifeguard training, puts it, “People are not fully
aware of how dangerous water can be.” At present, there is a
great discrepancy between the numbers of lifeguards available at pools all
over Lahore and how many there ought to be. At one of the city’s most
prestigious fitness and wellness clubs, there are only two lifeguards in
charge of around fifty to sixty people at the pool specifically reserved
for ladies, and just five present at the mixed pool where the number of
people goes up to three hundred at a given time. The situation is worse
at the private pools in hotels, usually used by guests staying there. At
two prominent five-star hotels, there are no lifeguards present at all,
with attendants responsible for the pools’ maintenance instead acting in
that capacity when the need arises. The number of people
using these pools is much smaller compared to that of clubs like Royal
Palm Golf and Country Club, Lahore Gymkhana, Shapes and Sukh Chan, mostly
limited to ten people at one time. But this does not decrease the need for
constant supervision. As a lifeguard at one such club says, “Drowning
can occur in a matter of seconds. It is essential for lifeguards to be
present at all times.” Ideally, when one
lifeguard is in the pool, there should always be another supervising from
the outside and in a position to act quickly in the event of a mishap. Another points to the
need for monitoring adults and children alike, since even seasoned
swimmers can panic and go into-high stress mode, swallowing water and
choking. Another aspect that must
be examined is whether lifeguards possess adequate training and the skills
needed to save lives. “The role of a lifeguard is vital — it entails
knowing how to rescue a drowning person, which angle to hold him from, how
to act in the event of someone suffering a stroke or heart attack inside
the pool, and how to remove him or her from the pool,” says a swimming
coach, not wanting to be named. He adds that this kind
of training is very limited in Pakistan. Hyat lists three
fundamental skills that every lifeguard must possess- “Firstly, the
lifeguard should be constantly vigilant and know exactly how to watch for
signs of distress in a swimmer. Secondly, he or she should know what to do
in such a situation, how to go in and safely pull the person out. Finally,
he or she must know how to perform the vital skill of cardiopulmonary
resuscitation (CPR).” caption Even seasoned swimmers
can panic and go into-high stress mode, swallowing water and choking.
—Photos by Rahat Dar capion Ideally, when one
lifeguard is in the pool, there should always be another supervising from
the outside and in a position to act quickly in the event of a mishap.
Burger and
better! I try to look
over the shoulder of a very tall woman in front of me to see how far away
I am. She turns around, glares at me and continues to play the
oh-so-famous Subway Surf on her phone. I sigh in defeat, trying not to
think over the fact that the one hour I have been standing in line and the
two more hours I would probably stand is all just for a mere burger. The
tiny voice at the back of my mind, the one that I usually blame for all my
indulgences, is having a field day. Earlier this year, the
internationally acclaimed fast food chain Fatburger opened in Karachi,
leading to its popularity around Pakistan. On June 1, Fatburger opened its
doors to Lahore, creating havoc along the M.M Alam road. It is quite
disheartening to see the unbelievably long queues that end outside in the
parking lot, despite the fact that they have made separate queues for men
and women. I can hear people around
me grumbling about the two-hour wait and wondering whether the food will
be worth the wait. Halfway through the queue I can see the staff working
behind a glass counter making the burgers in front of us, wearing smiles
on their faces. After every order the cashier yells it out loud and the
employees in the kitchen chant after him, loud enough for most of us in
the back to hear. The menu does not offer
a lot of variety yet it is unique in some ways. Fatburger offers a Veggie
burger with a soy patty on a whole-wheat bun, as well as more traditional
options using chicken, beef and turkey. In some of the burgers you may
vary the number of patties, with a maximum of three. Twice a manager
dressed entirely in black comes to me and asks me if I have decided what
to order and walks along the line trying to please the annoyed customers.
The line moves quite slowly and agonisingly as the aroma of the burgers
wafts over to you from the kitchen. Finally, the 80-minute
journey comes to an end. I reach the front of the queue. Right before I am
about to pay for my meal, the cashier asks me if I want to add “Fat
fries” or “Skinny fries” to my order. I laugh, as this isn’t a
question you typically hear at fast food chains in Lahore. On the cashier’s
counter lies a large wooden box painted red, with the words “Fat Tip”
printed onto it. I reluctantly put my change into the box and watch as the
cashier’s face lights up. He yells, “Fat Tip” and the staff chants
“Fat Tip, Fat Tip,” followed by a round of applause and a thank-you. The Lahore building is
large, by Pakistani standards, and is supposedly the largest outlet of
Fatburger in the world. The ground floor is swarming with people and the
line is even longer than I remember. I walk past the people in the queue,
with a sense of accomplishment, as if I’ve climbed the Everest. I find
an empty table on the first floor and wait for my order. Alarmingly, It
arrives within ten minutes which, compared to the wait, seems
extraordinarily fast. Suffice it to say, the
food is good. The burgers carry a unique taste that leave me craving more
at the end. The fat fries live up to their name and are the fattest fries
I have seen yet. However, the portions are large and could be shared by
two people, and nothing is overpriced. Fatburger is buzzing
with excitement and I can surely say that I will be returning soon for
another meal in the near future. Fatburger scores a 7/10 according to me,
for its flavoursome food, exuberant environment and enthusiastic staff. caption The line moves quite
slowly, as the aroma of the burgers wafts over to you from the kitchen.
—Photos courtesy:
Facebook caption In some of the burgers
you may vary the number of patties.
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The
perfect ambience
