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An evening at Evernew An American student’s research trip on Punjabi cinema to one of Multan Road’s busiest film studios, is loaded with surprises By Gwendolyn S. Kirk The beautiful decorative gate, its baroque wrought iron depicting a woman posing slyly for an old-style movie camera, was nearly lost in the chaos, swirling dust and slanted light of late afternoon on Multan Road. The rotund ‘chowkidar’ (watchman) ambled forward to open the gate for the car and we slid into the parking lot where we were greeted, to my great amusement, by a tall gate labelled “Central Jail, Peshawar.” Looking through the gate, on the first-floor veranda of a slightly crumbling office building, I could see Askari saheb sitting observing the comings and goings of the studio. It was my first trip to Evernew Studios and despite the torpor of the April afternoon I felt a strange excitement upon entering the studio compound. MOOD STREET TOWN
TALK disaster By Mr &
Mrs Kim Project
clean-up
visit An evening at Evernew An American student’s research trip on Punjabi cinema to one of Multan Road’s busiest film studios, is loaded with surprises By Gwendolyn S. Kirk The beautiful
decorative gate, its baroque wrought iron depicting a woman posing slyly
for an old-style movie camera, was nearly lost in the chaos, swirling dust
and slanted light of late afternoon on Multan Road. The rotund
‘chowkidar’ (watchman) ambled forward to open the gate for the car and
we slid into the parking lot where we were greeted, to my great amusement,
by a tall gate labelled “Central Jail, Peshawar.” Looking through the
gate, on the first-floor veranda of a slightly crumbling office building,
I could see Askari saheb sitting observing the comings and goings of the
studio. It was my first trip to Evernew Studios and despite the torpor of
the April afternoon I felt a strange excitement upon entering the studio
compound. Convincing my committee
at the University of Texas that my dissertation research topic should be
Punjabi cinema in Pakistan had been relatively easy. I outlined a brief
history of the industry and explained why I found this cinema interesting
over all others and why I believed it would be a particularly fruitful
ground for ethnographic, linguistic and theoretical exploration. There is relatively
little academic work on the cinema of Pakistan (as compared to scores of
books and articles on the cinema of India, or Iran, or of course western
countries). Moreover, as a linguistic anthropologist, I found the position
of Punjabi in Pakistan to be singularly interesting. How is it that the
most common mother tongue in such a large country is almost entirely
excluded from news media, education and the political sphere? Of course, there is
literary and academic work being done in Punjabi and even one or two
newspapers, but the proportion is relatively small. Cinema, however, has
existed as a major site of Punjabi-language cultural production for
decades. I wanted to learn the specifics of language in film production,
for instance what languages are used by filmmakers, which varieties of
Punjabi are used onscreen, and what are the characteristic
‘performative’ modes of the filmi Punjab? All of these seemed like
reasonable, straightforward and obvious questions for a linguistic
anthropologist to ask. Then I actually arrived in Lahore. When asked about my
research by my colleagues and acquaintences here, generally the responses
were either of utter bemusement to a sad smile and a shake of the head at
my outsider’s naivete. “Film industry to khatm ho chuki hai!” was
the first reaction of more than one interlocutor. “No films are even
being made anymore! All the studios have closed! There is no one left!” Unsurprisingly, the
people who made such comments were invariably the kind of people who had
not even visited a cinema hall in the past twenty, even thirty years, and
for whom Punjabi cinema had at best been a marginal phenomenon and at
worst a kind of a joke. Fortunately, I had a
feeling that they were wrong, and it was not long before I was lucky
enough to find proof that although perhaps its output had decreased, its
audience had shrunk and cinema halls were fewer and far between, the heart
of the industry had not stopped. There was still a pulse. Through weeks of careful
persistence and good fortune I had managed to contact a wide range of
people in the Pakistani film industry. I was lucky enough to spend time
with Syed Noor and Saima, his actor wife, had the opportunity to interview
Hassan Askari and others, and I blushed like a tongue-tied schoolgirl when
I met the very dapper Mustafa Qureshi. Who would have thought that the
fierce Noori Nutt (from the 1970s’ phenomenally successful Maula Jatt)
could be so soft-spoken and charming? And, now I found myself
entering the historic studio. Its rainbow-coloured compound was perhaps a
bit worn and crumbling and certainly not as bustling as it had once been.
Yet, it seemed at least to me that there was a magical aura about the
place, that I had entered a different world. I walked through the
garden-like central courtyard, cool and spacious with mango trees, roses,
jasmine bushes and a large fountain. I passed the large floors, the
recording studio where, I am told, most of Noor Jehan’s hits were made,
and the offices of a dozen producers and writers, groups of whom were
sitting outside chatting. I asked one of them the way to where Askari
saheb sits and he pointed me towards him but not before introducing
himself. By coincidence, I had bumped into the director Pervez Rana. After a few minutes of
brief introductions he took interest in my research and offered to allow
me to sit on his upcoming shooting as a sort of an honorary assistant
director. Of course, I jumped at the chance, thus beginning the most
productive phase of my research. Sitting in the studio in
the evenings, drinking tea with people who do every kind of work in the
industry (directors, choreographers, editors, writers, music directors,
actors, everyone) one thing is clear — that cinema is alive and even
those sitting in their air-conditioned living rooms watching Indian
serials on Star Plus etc, those who wouldn’t set foot on a Lakshmi Chowk
theatre, cannot escape this fact. Cinema is a space of
infinite possibilities, where we simultaneously connect with each other
and understand ourselves more deeply. Jean-Luc Godard famously stated,
“If photography is truth, then cinema is truth twenty-four times per
second.” Through cinema, the identities of nation-states are built and
reproduced; even the most over-the-top, unrealistic movie still holds up a
mirror to the face of society, offering new ways of understanding the
world around us. Is it possible for such a powerful medium to ever be
completely destroyed? No. Yet it needs help to flourish once again. Like
any other art form, cinema needs patronage to grow and evolve. There is much that the
government can do to support the Pakistani cinema industry (and thousands
of people who work in it). Moreover, it is important for the citizens of
the country themselves to take an active interest in local cinema. The writer is a student
at the University of Texas, Austin caption There was a magical aura
about the place. — Photos by the author caption The government should
support the local cinema industry and, thereby, thousands of people
working at the studios.
Life is dark and
it gets darker if one looks at it more closely. The first time I saw her
standing on the roadside on Wahdat Road, on my way back home from office
at midnight, was when she was ‘burning the midnight oil,’ literally,
in her own way. For me, the day’s work was over but for that girl (in a
veil), it seemed to have just begun. And how. I just gave her a casual
glance, albeit knowingly, and wondered what she was doing there. My second time was
another chance ‘meeting.’ I had stopped my bike at around the same
point, weeks later, in order to receive a call on my cell phone and saw
her approaching me. Had she mistaken me for a ‘potential customer’? My heart skipped a beat.
The lady sort of
gestured to me, as if to ask if I was interested. I anxiously pulled my
bike to the other side and zoomed off. Minutes later, curiosity
got the better of me and I had an urge to speak to her — to at least
know her story. So I drove back. But it was too late by then. She had been
gone for a while. Having recently finished
Louise Brown’s The Dancing Girls of Lahore and, earlier, Manto’s short
stories about prostitutes, the curiosity was but ‘natural’. The writer (or
journalist) in me was suddenly too excited at the prospect of hitting upon
a plot for a story or, perhaps, a theme for some poem. I cursed myself for not
having been prompt in returning to the spot where I had seen her. Though,
I was still sure I’d get another chance to meet and talk to her. I wasn’t wrong. The
occasion came only a few days later. At past midnight, I parked my bike
leisurely as I spotted her talking to somebody (a customer?) on one side
of the road. I saw her from a
distance, apparently haggling over the amount. And when he refused to pay
her that, she left him mid-deal(?) and started moving towards me. “Five hundred rupees;
at my place?” she asked me. It probably meant that
without the facility of the place, the amount would be far less. I was shocked to know
the price she had asked. I couldn’t stop thinking about how society must
have forced her to come to this level where she perhaps had no other
option left. She got on behind me on
the bike, giving me directions to her place. I was interested in talking
to her and she was interested in her five hundred rupees. That’s why she
refused my offer to go to any eatery or any other public place. We both wanted to
achieve our own targets. She even refused to tell me her name, not that it
would have made any difference. She guided me to a place
she called “ghar” somewhere between Ichhra and Samanabad. Near a dark
alley, hardly four feet wide, she asked me to pull off the bike. She asked
me to follow her into a street, without making noise. We weren’t
thieves, were we? It appeared that nobody
lived there, as it was silent like death. The gates were small and the
street uneven. Perhaps, some daily wagers or labourers lived in the houses
around. The sound of a song from
an Indian film came from a house. A few yards into the street, which had
may small soundless single-storey houses with small doors, she whipped out
a pair of keys and opened a door. Inside, there was a
small opening which led to a single room. The girl went in and opened
another lock, before asking me to make it quick. It was a dingy place
with nothing else but a charpoy and no fan. I told her that I only
wanted to talk to her. She asked, “About what?” When I told her it
would be about herself, she didn’t seem to understand what I meant.
Perhaps, she was scared of losing her five hundred rupees. She told me that she
wanted her money under any circumstances and that I should not waste her
time. She appeared to be in a hurry. It was obvious that she used that
‘venue’ only for business. I assured her that I would pay her double
the amount but I wanted only to talk and that I was a journalist. I decided to leave. I
gave her a thousand rupee note, the most I could give her at that time,
wondering what the price of dignity could be. She was silent but I
didn’t know if her silence was the outcome of surprise or satisfaction
at having got ‘good’ money. I came out of the place,
kick-started the bike and drove back home, after what had been my first
encounter with a prostitute. For hours, I could not
remove the smell that emanated from her when she was sitting next to me,
and I wondered whether that smell had become a part of me.
* Summer Farmers
Market, a Khalis Foods project, comes back to Lahore at Greens Hall on MM
Alam Road, on June 2, Sunday (today), offering fresh and organic produce,
hormone-free dairy products, traceable meats, free-range and ‘desi’
poultry, healthy grains, baked goods and fresh juices. There will also be
Live cooking for the visitors, aside from activities for families. * An evening with Nahid
Akhtar, legendary playback singer of the 1970s and 80s, at Alhamra The
Mall, on June 8. Time: 7pm. * ‘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.
disaster Hasty projects
with little or no regard for engineering prerequisites and formalities
have put the lives of scores of road users in danger as the pedestrian
bridges, especially on the Ring Road, have been collapsing one by one due
to small collisions with overloaded vehicles. Poor surveillance and
implementation of traffic rules by the Ring Road Police Force and City
Traffic Police have further lessened the chance of survival in case of
such disasters. Two out of the three
recent incidents of overhead bridges collapsing have occurred on Ring Road
during the last one year, less than two years after it was constructed. The entire government
machinery is shocked. In any other country of the world, the project
manager would be held responsible if such an incident had occurred but
here, the issue has been put on the backburner as the officials resorted
to blame game. There is a lot of room
for this ‘blame game,’ because a number of departments including the
Communications & Works (C&W), Lahore Ring Road Authority, Traffic
Engineering and Planning Agency (TEPA) and National Logistics Cell (NLC)
are directly involved in constructing such bridges. This could have easily
been avoided if there was a single authority to initiate and maintain such
huge engineering projects. On June 28, 2012, a
truck (MNB-1591) was going to Niazi Shaheed Road and as it reached near
Bholi Camp School the overhead-bridge collapsed on it. As a result, the
truck driver Sajjad Amjad of Sargodha was crushed to death and his truck
was completely destroyed. A case was registered in
the North Cantt police station against Khalid Rauf, the owner of Rauf
Constructions, who was taken into police custody. The inquiry committee,
constituted by the former Punjab chief minister Mian Shahbaz Sharif, put
the entire blame of the incident on the driver. On December 22, 2012, an
over-head pedestrian bridge collapsed as a truck hit it near the Punjab
University on Canal Road. The bridge had come down as a trailer hauling
heavy machinery and exceeding the stated 16-foot height limit hit into it.
The driver sustained injuries while other road users were luckily saved as
the traffic at night was very little. More recently, an
under-construction pedestrian bridge fell down on the Ring Road near
Defence, Phase IV, due to the criminal negligence of the construction
company. The bridge collapsed at
around 10 in the morning of May 22 this year. No one was hurt, but the
collapse led to a massive traffic jam. No legal action has been taken
against anyone so far. Sources told TNS that
the Lahore Ring Road Authority (LRRA) engineers had asked the National
Logistics Cell (NLC) to stop, short of its construction, by declaring it
“dangerous” some eight months back as the beam section of the bridge
had cracked while it was being shifted from Package-6 of the Ring Road
Project to Package-17. However, the beam was not removed from the pillars
that resulted into its collapse. The Punjab government
had ordered the installation of a steel bridge at Package-6, considering
the conditions of the June 28, 2012 incident. However, the NLC officials
were allowed to install the beam at a pedestrian bridge in Package-17. But
during its inspection at the site in Defence, Phase-IV, the LRRA engineers
detected the crack and asked the NLC engineers to pull the bridge down but
to no avail. Structural engineering
experts have questioned the engineering authenticity of over 20 pedestrian
bridges installed on the Ring Road and many others on the Canal Road
besides scores of other bridges on major and small roads of the city. They
suggest that these bridges should be reexamined in order to avoid future
disasters. They also say that the authorities concerned should strengthen
the structures, especially the girders, of these bridges for the safety of
commuters. A civil engineer told
TNS that the authorities should go for steel bridges instead of concrete
structures. He went on to say that the project managers have only put
beams on T-shaped pillars and not adopted safety measures by screwing them
up with bolts or welding. He also said that the
beams of the Metro Bus System Route (MBSR) should also be strengthened by
giving proper protection to girders in order to avert any such disaster,
as girders have been placed on the overhead bridges on mere T-shaped
pillars. A senior civil engineer
says there is “no proper supervision during the construction of such
bridges.” He adds that the flaws
in designs, which should be site-specific, also result in disasters of
this kind. The NESPAK provided consultancy to the government for the
construction of pedestrian bridges on Ring Road. The project manager
should be questioned about the flaws which resulted in the current
incident, maintains the official, while demanding action against those
responsible. Another senior officer
of Punjab government says, “The government should also break the lobbies
working just for the increase of the project costs by holding them
responsible for criminal negligence in such incidents.” He adds that the focus
on “perfect engineering” would help to resolve such issues at a time
when traffic engineering is almost absent from the city roads. He warns that if the
Punjab government and all departments concerned did not start
self-assessment and accountability on the hasty projects, it could result
in irreparable loss to the nation. Moreover, there is no
guidance for drivers ahead of underpasses and overhead bridges which
otherwise can play an important role in avoiding crashes. SP Ring Road Police
Force Salman Ali Khan claims that gantries have been installed ahead of
the bridges that mention the maximum height of the passing vehicles and
action is taken against any violators by issuing challans to them. However, the picture on
ground is different as no gantry is installed ahead of the bridges and the
underpasses in the provincial metropolis, especially on the Ring Road. A
few signboards exist but no police is there to man them. Chief Traffic Officer,
Capt (r) Suhail Chaudhry admits the fact that there are no gantries ahead
of overhead bridges and underpasses to guide the drivers. He also says
that the engineers should design projects keeping in view all necessities
of citizens. He is of the view that
it was financially difficult for the traffic police to install signboards
ahead of all bridges. However, Capt (r) Suhail
Chaudhry suggests, if the government installs gantries at only four entry
places of the city i.e. Shahdara, Ravi Bridge, Thokar Niaz Baig and on
Kasur Road, the traffic as well as the district police would be able to
properly man the places and no such incident would happen in the future. arshad.dogar182@gmail.com
By Mr &
Mrs Kim For the Lahori
meat-loving gastrocrat, this little eatery in Gulberg is too basic — oh
well! It’s just an extension of the kitchen, not sconced and glossed.
It’s not where she or he would smack the lips and blink a lot to hold
the taste. It’s everything the Lahori food scene is not. Udon House, which lurks
just off one of those busy Gulberg streets and is camouflaged by the
upscale Xinhua Mall and Noodle House, is all details. It’s good. Really
good, in concept, because it is managed by fewer hands and caters to only
a few, about 10 to 12 at a time. Udon House is also the
answer to the mystery that has bothered me for long: when will Lahore open
up to Korean food? Most of the oriental cuisine is presented here which
surely has a hungry, restaurant-sustaining population. Korean food,
though, had been conspicuous by its absence. This was a pity because, as
Udon House has proved, it is can be enticing. The only problem was where
to find it in Lahore. Korean food has caught
on the world over as a spiced-up version of Japanese food. Unlike in
Japanese food where soya sauce features prominently, the Korean variety
tastes of garlic and chilli, and no meal is complete without a kick of
kimchee, the chilli-hot pickle of fermented cabbage. The restaurant that
opened in March this year is run by D.H. Kim and E.R. Chang, a South
Korean couple who like to be simply known as Mr & Mrs Kim. They are not new to the
city. Both moved to Pakistan more than 20 years ago, as employees of
textile companies. Mr Kim worked for a US-based textile company in Karachi
but later moved to Lahore and set up his own textile unit. And, as for Mrs
Kim, “I worked in Lahore for a textile company too, a joint venture of
Pakistan and Korea,” she says, when as a side business she decided to
open a small accessories’ shop at Centre Point. “The shop flourished.
I decided to stay on,” she smiles and adds, “and at which point I met
Mr Kim.” Both decided to marry
and make this part of the world their little home. What took them 20 long
years to offer Korean food to Lahore? “Oh, my husband was busy with his
business and I was busy raising my two children. Now our kids are older
and independent and we have more time to do food,” Mrs Kim talks in
English, choosing every word carefully. For Lahore, this is no
ordinary marriage. It has turned out to be a meeting of authentic Korean
food cooking with a little understanding of non-Korean customers. The menu is limited to
16 items, including cold drinks and mineral water, with a couple of extra
ones mentioned on the blackboard. “We add items gradually. One or two
every few weeks,” says Mrs Kim standing behind the counter that
separates the little kitchen from the sitting area. Every now and then she
turns to the wok, dribbles soya over the meat and vegetables, sautés…
and leaves the rest to her helper. “Although I have
trained a cook, I prefer to add soya sauce and spices myself. Also, all
the purchasing is done by us from the best meat shop and supermarket in
town to ensure freshness and quality of food.” Time to select some
authentic Korean specials. When at a loss with what to order, and how
much, Mr Kim is there to help you. He recommends Bulgogi, a wonderful
plate full of tender strips of grilled beef and boiled rice, and Bibimbab,
served in a bowl of warm white rice and sautéed vegetables and meat,
topped with fried egg, all mixed together with more than a dash of chilli
sauce. Spicy chicken and a
variety of noodles are also there to tweak your appetite but must wait for
another time. After this delightful
meal, you won’t need a dessert which is fine since there aren’t any on
the offer. Udon House is a
one-stop, quick-meal place, best for bankers and corporate professionals
during their one-hour lunch breaks. “The first two months were very
busy. Now I have developed a regular clientele with which I’m very
pleased,” says Mrs Kim.
caption The area around Masjid
Wazir Khan is being cleared of all sorts of encroachments by the Walled
City Lahore Authority.
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Project
clean-up
