Exploring Lahore

Recipe for a perfect Sunday

· Picnic basket full of delicacies
· Kids and rest of family in car
· Drive off to some place for a few carefree hours under the sun

My preference is usually some historic site while kids prefer wide open spaces where they can play. Thanks to the Mughals who made sprawling lawns an essential part of their architecture, finding “some place” that satisfies all parties is usually not a problem.
A couple of weeks ago the site of excursion was the Jahangir’s Tomb, the fourth king of the Mughal dynasty which ruled sub continent for over three hundred years.
The tomb was nothing more, nothing less than what I had expected. There have been some attempts to restore its crumbling facade but true to Pakistani standards all superficial and inadequate. Still it was better than most historic sites I had seen so far.
The only truly magnificent things over there were the trees in the surrounding gardens. Huge and towering they looked almost as old as the tomb itself. (Some of them were so wide at the base that it took a while going around them.)
Right next to Jahangir’ tomb is the tomb of Asif Khan, his brother in law. Although I don’t think Asif Khan earned this place of honor by being the brother of Jahangir’s favorite wife. It was probably because he was father of the next queen, the legendary Mumtaz Mahal, who’s last resting place is none other than the magnificent Taj Mahal in Agra.
Asif Khan put his own life at risk attempting to put his son in law, Shah Jahan on the throne. It is ironic therefore that he is made to lie next to the very king he sided against in the battle for the throne.
Speaking of Asif Khan’s burial chamber, what once must have been a simple yet respectable looking grave of an influential minister is now in a deplorable condition.

“It looks as if someone has smeared cow dung on top of it”.
This was my son’s first reaction to it. A harsh remark but nonetheless one that described the tomb’s outlook perfectly.
Ok! so may be Asif Khan managed to get himself buried in prime location , right next to a powerful emperor, but he was no emperor himself and that fact is evident by just looking at his tomb. Even the relevant authorities seem to have neglected him. From the looks of it, his tomb has not been a subject of even those shallow attempts of restoration that the tombs of his brother in law and sister on either side of him have undergone in the past.
Ironically the worst of the lot is Nur Jehan‘s mausoleum.
The queen, who during her life was famous for her aesthetic sense and refined taste is made to lie in isolation in depressing surroundings.
What once must have been one large enclosure is now divided into two parts with a busy road and railway track in between, putting Jahangir and Asif Kahn’s tomb on one side and the Empress Nur Jehan (Jahangir’s consort) on the other. Hence the inseparable in life got separated after death because of commutation problems of a growing city.
The atmosphere of peace and serenity, that still surrounds the tombs of Jahangir and Asif Khan, is sorely missing around Nur Jehan’s grave. Due to the absence of an encircling boundary wall the tomb is exposed to the noise and sight of bustling traffic on three sides (not to mention a speeding locomotive that passes by it every few minutes or so) and a jungle of wires and poles (probably a power station) on the remianing side, it does not look like anyone’s last resting place at all, let alone a woman’s who was once the most powerful lady in the subcontinent.
The part kids liked best was when we descending into the tomb of the dead queen.

(Sigh …. What do you do when one of you child takes exactly after you. It is like all your annoying habits thrown right back at you. My ten year old daughter’s zest for discovery has her climbing atop every minaret and peeping behind every corner. Normally I would not be irritated but doing all this while dragging an energetic five year old along whose chief interest in life so far is being naughty, is not something I look forward to.)

The underground passage that once must have been well lighted and well ventilated is in pitch darkness now. The candles lighted by the guard only succeeded in making it eerie instead of any brighter. A couple of small air ventilators that diagonally traveled upwards till reaching ground level were the only visibly unblocked ones remaining now.
I had heard that Nur Jehan’s coffin used to hang from the ceiling. This fact was confirmed by the guard at her tomb. According to him, this was her punishment for opposing Shah Jehan’s ascesion to the throne.
As Nur Jehan lived a comfortable, though reclusive life during the reign of Shah Jehan, it seems improbable that he would contrive to torture her so after death.

The kids were disappointed. A trip to the dark underground burial chamber was obviously not fascinating enough with out the queen hanging in mid air.
Apparently at some point in history someone took pity on her, took her sarcophagus down and buried her underneath the very spot she used to hover above.
Now that she was no longer there, the notion of her ever having dangled from the ceiling at all seemed ridiculously unacceptable.
The mausoleum on the top shows two symbolic graves, one of the empress Nur Jehan and the other of her daughter Ladli Begum but the rectangular markings on ground ( in the actual burial chamber) show the outline of only one grave, that of Nur Jehan , where is, Ladli Begum buried then?
This was the query put to me by my ever inquisitive children.
Hmmm, good question.
“When Nur Jehan’s coffin hung from the ceiling, was Ladli Begum made to hang with her as well ?”
“Or were they put in the same coffin and hung together ?”
“Wow, hold your horses you lot. I haven’t figured out the answer to the first question yet”, I said
Kids….. ...
A valid point nonetheless.
If the daughter is indeed buried alongside her mother, there is no visible evidence of it under the ground. It seems that Ladli Begum was not considered important enough for anyone to even mark a rectangular outline around her decayed earthly shell.
Nur Jehan’s mausoleum was the last place we visited that day. The sun had gone down by the time we got back home. It turned out to be quite and eventful day. Interesting and enjoyable. But it was not wandering around old mausoleums, descending into underground crypts or even that energetic game of football in princely gardens that made it either interesting or enjoyable.
It was the fact that we spent it all together
That is what I think really made our Sunday perfect.

The Great Escape

How do you feel when you help build your first snow man or get into your first snow ball fight past the age of thirty?
Simple!
You feel exactly the same as you would have felt if you were eight years old.

This is something I discovered only a couple of days ago when the family went to spend the weekend at a hill station.
To be honest it was not the snow ball fight or even the snow man that elated me. It was the thrill of doing something that I had never done before.
I seem to remember a commercial (though I can’t recall what was being promoted) that asked viewers,
“When was the last time you did something for the first time?”
I had always been dismayed to note that my last time was too long ago. So long ago that I could barely recall the when and what parts of it. Life had settled into a boring routine where you keep on repeating the same actions and activities day after day.

But this week end all that changed.

I did a number of things that I had never done before. Even if that was walking in freezing temperature at 1:00 AM in the morning, just to find out how magnificent the dark deserted road edged with a thick snowy border looked like under the stars.
Despite the bitter cold there was some magic present that kept me and my niece from returning to the warmth of our beds inside. (If the sentry, at the military check post that we passed by, thought of us as two demented females who had lost there minds to be out walking at that hour he was too polite to voice his opinion).

I had never realized before how mesmerizing and beautiful a patch of virgin snow could be, unblemished by human footprints the snow lay smooth and silken to look at. Only God could have sprinkled with such perfection.

Whether it was the absence of honking horns and traffic noise, the old architecture of the army house we stayed in or the fast pace of our lives which had suddenly decelerated for the weekend that made me feel as if I had gone back in time, I will never know . But I felt as if I was transported to a colonial period described in one of the epic novels that I am so fond of reading.
Well what ever it was, I had a great weekend and if I am not mistaken, so did the rest of the family.
I think there should be frequent first times in every ones life.

The big "WHYs" of my life

Why is it that the line that I happen to be in is the slowest moving one?
Sorry about the pessimism guys but I just spent twenty minutes yesterday waiting for my turn at the gas station while cars on either side of me simply rolled away. Apparently one of the valves or pump (or whatever it is they have at gas stations) at the end of my line was not working.
If this happened once in a while it would be acceptable. Annoying but acceptable, but this kind of thing happening every single time is downright freaky.
My ability to randomly pick the line that has something or the other slowing it down is now beginning to amaze me.

Kingdom of Heaven

I love history. What happened ages ago, fascinates me. How it happened, interests me even more?
But the annoying thing about historic events is that they get shrouded by the veil of time. Like age old trees that acquire a new layer each year, this veil gets progressively thicker until the details become too hazy to be clearly seen and understood. Each one of us then endeavors to locate peep holes to look beyond this thick curtain, hence each one of us sees differently depending upon the limited vision allowed to us by the unique angle of our individual peep holes.
The result: multiple versions of a single event. We often find ourselves believing in the more appealing version rather than the more accurate version.
I recently saw the movie based on one such historic event, the conquest of Jerusalem. The film was “Kingdom of Heaven”. It was not the best one that I had ever seen; still, it wasn’t too bad.
I have seen enough of Hollywood films to know what to expect. However, there were a few unexpected things about this movie. First of all, this was the first English language film I saw that did not portray the Muslims as brainless, heartless barbarians.
I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised. Apparently somebody in Hollywood has the guts to look through peepholes other than their own.
On the whole I liked the film. There was some fair bit of acting there by a number of people. Here a few that impressed me.
I have never considered Orlando bloom to be a handsome man. The only time he has looked presentable to me was as Legolas in “Lord of the Rings”. I was however, fairly impressed with him as Balian of Ibelin in Kingdom of Heaven. I read somewhere that he put on 20 pounds for the role. (That would explain the absence of all those bones and joints that always seem to be jutting out at odd angles from him) If he has any sense he would keep those 20 pounds on, that is, if he hasn’t lost them already. (Sorry Bloom I admired the acting but I did not become enough of a fan to follow up on your weight dynamics)
Seriously, it was not his physical appearance that impressed me but rather his acting skills. I think he played the role very well. During the first 10 minutes of the film he barely says more than a few words, yet you are able to feel the aggression, frustration and anger inside his character (see critics I am taking about Hollywood stars after all)
Now that is what I call acting. Not delivering the right dialogues or wearing the right period costumes, but becoming the character in such a way that the inner turmoil of the character oozes out of every pore.
Another actor that left its mark was Edward Norton who played Baldwin IV, the leper King of Jerusalem.With no part of his face visible except his eyes, he used the tone of voice to portray himself as a wretched character. For a man with an iron face (or what ever metal it was that he wore) he succeeded in allowing his pain to seep through the metallic mask and become visible to the audience. You can’t help feeling sorry for the cursed young king who desperately tries to hold on to a turbulent kingdom.
Brendan Gleeson didn't do a bad job either as Raynald of Chatillon. He is evil in a comical sort of way.
The important personality from the Muslim side was that of my all time favorite, Salahudin Ayyubi. He is shown as a dignified and righteous ruler in the film.
The part that the film makers really muddled up was the relationship between Balian and Sybella. I don’t think the two of them were ever romantically involved nor has there ever been any record of Balian's illegitimacy.
Personally I don’t care much if Balian and Sybella were romantically involved or not. We only get annoyed if our favorite characters from history get misrepresented and my favorite historical character is not Balian of Ibelin and it is certainly not Sybella either. I am just glad that Salahudin’s actual persona was not marred in any way.
As I said before, not a bad film after all.

A king among kings

Now that we are on the subject of heroes, there is one who has fascinated me for a long time and that one happens to be none other than Salahudin Ayyubi (also known as Saladin), a man of Kurdish origins who rose to prominence during the 12th century A.D.

Although he only lived to be 53 years old, (some sources state 55) he managed incredible military achievements in his brief life time

Salahudin is famous for uniting the Muslims and capturing Jerusalem from the crusaders. His military accomplishments are undoubtedly great but that is not the reason behind my keen admiration for the man.

Salahudin was a gallant Warrior, clever General and mighty King all in one, but than, history is full of extraordinary feats of all three kinds. What makes salahudin special was the unique code of honour he lived by and the innumerable acts of courtesy he displayed throughout his lifetime.

When dealing with enemy on a battle field it is often convenient to ignore or simply choose not to remember rules of civility, yet salahudin maintained a decency of character even in the frenzy of war. Whether it was sending his personal physicians to treat the ailing king Richard or offering horses from his own stables when the King’s steed died.

I have always believed that no one can be completely evil and no one a saint. We are all human and humans can never be perfect. Looking at things from an impartial view, even I have to accept the fact that salahudin, like every one else must have had his shortcomings. So it all comes down to balancing the good in a person against the evil in him. It is often not the action itself rather the consequences of actions that determine good form evil .salahudin’s antics may have been unconventional but they served a higher purpose and delivered a strong message. Principles and Ethical values can not be compromised simply because the world is falling apart around you. In salahudin’s case, I think there can be no doubt as to which side out weighed the other.

I would also like to quote here something I once read in National Geographic Magazine. It was in fact a remark by a reader. He stated (as much as I can remember) that
“We must learn not to judge ancient morality and codes of conduct by looking at them through 21st century eyepieces” Who knows a perfect gentle man today may be viewed as uncivil and his perfectly acceptable actions declared as intolerable in times to come.

That is why I admire salahudin. His goodness transcended the boundaries of time. In an era when barbarianism and butchery were the accepted norms, salahudin behaved with such dignity that even we, the 21st century dwellers, can not but help admire.

And the sword broke

A couple of days ago some one advised me that if I wanted my blog to be read by more people I should write about something interesting like Hollywood Stars.
I was initially offended by the advice. After my initial indignation with the suggestion wore off, I realized that my adviser was correct
Correct in analyzing that people have become obsessed with celebrities and get attracted to sites that provide news about them or discuss them
But this does’nt means that I am going to do the same. I would still rather write about something that pleases me more than anyone else.
Incidentally, I wrote something on Shelfari while creating my Urdu books group a few days ago. I thought I would copy some of it here as well.
So here it is
I realized a while ago that all our heroes and cult figures happen to be Westerners and not from our part of the world. Not that I have anything against admiring non Eastern personalities who deserve to be admired. My only concern is that most of these personalities happen to be celluloid Hollywood figures. We need real life inspirations, preferably from our own history to motivate us.
To accomplish this I went out and bought two Naseem Hijazi novels namely “ Moazzam Ali” and “Aur Talwaar Toot Gai”.
Moazam Ali is sequel to Aur Talwaar Toot Gai. One features Siraj Ud Daula and battle of Plassey 1757, the other Sultan Fateh Ali Tipu and the battle of Sirangapatam 1799.
I was quite impressed with Sultan Tipu’s courage and brilliance as both a ruler and as a military leader. The fact that he did not escape like most kings but chose to die along side his soldiers at the time of impending defeat tells us a lot about his personality.
He was the one who stated,
“ It is far better to live like a tiger for a day than to live like a jackal for a hundred years”.
He died proving it, his broken sword still held firmly in his lifeless hand, hence the book title Aur Talwar Toot Gai (And the Sword Broke) .
He truly was the tiger of Mysore.
So I have found at least one hero I was looking for.

Rat Invasion

Help
We have been invaded.
No, not by aliens, by a rat
At least that is what we think it is, judging from the high speed object that squeezes though impossible crevices and non existent holes right before our very eyes.
It was most recently seen in a place that I would rather not have it seen in at all and by the last person in the world that I would want it to be seen by.
It was my son who spotted it. He went in to get a glass of water from the kitchen when he saw the little scoundrel dancing around the place.
If having a rat in the house was not nerve wrecking enough, my darling child is adding to the panic. He has simply refused to eat anything coming out of the kitchen (believe or not he has gone without food for the 24 hours) not even drinking the water which was safely placed inside the refrigerator all the time. He has been buying mineral water bottles from the market to quench his thirst and has literally been carrying them around every where he goes (If the rat wants to touch his precious bottles it is going to have to perform a vertical acrobatic feat, four feet straight up). On top of it all, he insists that we throw away all the crockery and start using paper plates and cups which can be disposed off after use. The fact that every single object in the kitchen is being regularly washed and scrubbed since the sighting is simply not good enough for him.
Only yesterday morning, when I asked him what he wanted for his school lunch, he retorted with a crisp “nothing”, informing me that he would buy himself something from the school canteen.
So much for my “home cooked meals are healthier and more hygienic then those found outside the house doctrine”
My young man is obviously beginning to form a difference in opinion.
The rat in question is turning out to be even more obstinate then my offspring, refusing to be caught in the mouse trap we lay out for it at night.
Ok, so it may be just a rat but that does not mean that it is stupid.
After centuries of having its ancestors caught by that primitive contraption, it has apparently learned to avoid the apparatus (either that or the vermin has simply developed a finer taste in cuisine to be tempted by the simple piece of bread we set as bait for him). What ever the reason, bottom line is, the empty mouse trap sits on the floor in the morning exactly where it was placed the night before, untouched, unmoved and sans rat


But we are not giving up either. Hopefully by the time I update my blog, we would have caught the cursed rat and convinced my infuriating brat that the house is once more pure and clean.
Wish me luck.

p.s: we caught the rat this morning.
The conventional mouse trap and the mundane piece of bread have proved once again that they may be old fashioned and un-appetizing to look at, but their mouse catching capabilities are not to be underestimated.