Akora, an idyllic village on the banks of the Lidder river. Fishing resort of Maharaja Hari Singh of Jammu and Kashmir.
The year was 1936 and the Maharaja still ruled the state. He had selected a very beautiful spot for fishing trout ,a game of which he was very fond. His Fishing lodge was made of sheered Deodar which looked very pretty. Usually the Maharaja spent here relaxed week-ends in the summer.
A little distance away was a small hamlet tucked away in a grove of massive chinars [maple trees] about five hundred yards from the river. It was a beautiful village with houses built with mud baked bricks surrounded by small kitchen gardens that provided the family all the vegetables they needed. My grandmother’s house, a three storey building of mud-baked bricks, stood at a very commanding spot. It was surrounded by other houses of grandma’s relatives.
She owned a sizeable piece of land which gave her enough income to live in comfort. Others in the village looked up to her. She also owned the only store in the village and all the villagers drew their requirements like salt, cooking oil, toiletries, kerosene etc from this shop.
Having grown up in the district towns of British India [I was 11 years going on to twelve ] this village seemed to me a place from some dream story book.
Looking back on it now, I am reminded of the famous song of the seventies movies:
Gori tera gaon bara piyara
Main to gaya mara ake yehan re
People in the village lived a very simple but relaxed life. For most of them the day began with green tea, a small kulcha [fetched from the district headquarters of Anant Nag, about 8 miles away, on the other bank of the river] or home made paranthas. By about 11 the young gathered at the char-chinar, a square shaded by the chinars. Here all the news relating to the village, like the flow of water in the river Lidder, the movement of the Maharaja and his staff, the number of yatris visiting Mattan [Martand], a pilgrimage spot about three miles from the village, was shared. Someone would produce a pack of cards and a game of 304 would begin, lasting the whole morning.
After a lunch of rice, Haak,a leafy vegetable peculiar to Kashmir, dam aloo or khatte baigan, paneer or a bit of non-veg whenever available [mutton had to be brought from Anant Nag] everyone rested for some time. At about 4 pm the company re-appeared at the char chinar. This time someone would bring a samovar and a round of sheer-chai [tea with milk and salt] would go round, along with hukka-smoking and all the gossip available.
The gathering would disperse by about 6 pm so that everyone could be home while there was still some day-light. There was no electricity and petromaxes were expensive, lanterns gave out weak glows, beams of light, sufficient to eat dinner and go to bed. The ‘early to bed and early to rise,’ practice was prevalent.
Traveling was difficult.The nearest bus station was in Matan, about three miles away. One had to walk all the way, unless one could ride a horse. A visit to Srinagar [the state capital] required a few preparations, a change of decent clothes, generally borrowed from grandma’s house, arrangements to stay in the big town, and the timing of the bus to travel to Srinagar as the bus stand was not near the village. Consequently travel was kept to a minimum and undertaken when absolutely necessary. Otherwise life in the village was self-sufficient.
I was quite enthusiastic to spend my summer vacation in this village. But it was a big change from the life-style I was used to. I missed electricity at sun-down as hordes of mosquitoes attacked us and we had no way to defend ourselves. ‘No electricity’ meant we had to use lanterns and the light was not enough to read or write. We had to have our dinner between 6 to 7pm, and go to bed soon after. After 7pm the entire village came to a stand still. There was no night life.
After a week I was bored and keen to get out. But I still have memories of roses, kinas, marigold, bougainvillea, honeysuckle, sunflowers, champa and bella growing all over. Our picnics along the river front and hapatnar,[the bear-den] were very enjoyable and relaxed. Hapat-nar was situated in a gorge wooded by tall deodars. In the thick of the jungle, there was a mandir. We spent three nights in this temple. At night, we were visited by curious bears who played many pranks and watched by us from behind steel doors and windows. The trek to and fro was done on foot and we had to move in broad day light only.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
1930s Lahore, through the eyes of a 5-year-old
It was early 30s. We were living in Chakwal, a sleepy town tucked away in the heartland of west Punjab. It was a life without any colour as there were no clubs, movie houses, restaurants or even parks. There was no radio. TV and computers were decades away. Father, a man of verve and a lot of energy was bored in this hole and wanted to look around a bit. He decided to visit Lahore where there was a lot of hustle and bustle as it was the capital of the Imperial Punjab, a very big province that covered modern Pakistani Punjab, Indian Punjab, Himachal and Haryana.
Lahore was the hub of intellectual, cultural, and social life. Also it was the center of political, educational and business activity in the Punjab, Jammu and Kashmir, and North West Frontier Province. covering Peshawar, Multan and the Tribal areas.All colleges in these areas including Jammu and Kashmir state were affiliated to the Punjab University based in Lahore. [There was an aura of respect attached to its name as for every university educated person in the entire region the Punjab University was the Alma mater. Father who had graduated from Shri Pratap College in Srinagar was very keen to show me the institution which had conferred the degree on him.
Four of us [father, mother, my older sister and me] took a train from Chakwal . Next morning at the Lahore Railway station I was woken up by the venders’ shouts of “Hindu dal-roti and Muslim gosht roti”. This was a novel experience for me. As a kid I did not know that there could be a thing like Hindu roti. More surprise was in store. When I looked out of the window I saw small hoardings announcing “ Hindu Paani and Muslim Paani’ I wondered how did the Muslim pani taste?
At the platform we were met by a smartly dressed young man who asked father “Do you need hotel accommodation, Sir?”
When father said “yes” he took charge of our luggage while we went to a Second Class Dinning Room for an English Breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausges, jam, butter , toast and tea or coffee. This whopping breakfast served by bearers wearing long white gloves and white flowing gowns, cost one rupee and twelve annas [about one rupee and seventy five paise] per head. Father left a tip of one rupee and the bearers lined up to give him a ‘furshi salam.’
As we came out of the Dinning Room, the young man told father that he had fixed our hotel and arranged for a taxi to show us around. The taxi, an imported seven-seater Pontiac, would charge four annas [ about twenty five paise ] per mile.
Soon we were on our way to “an English hotel” on the famous Mac load road, which was adjacent to the mall road. All the important buildings like the Governor’s residence, the Secretariat etc were on this road. These buildings were guarded by smartly turned out soldiers carrying 303 rifles. Among them were indomitable Gurkhas in khaki shorts and stockings with gleaming khukris dangling from their sides, ferocious looking Sikhs and six-footer jats. in their colourful head gear. I felt quite excited seeing some British sahibs, smoking cigars, being driven by liveried chauffeurs. Father told us these people were senior Government Officers.
After a hot water bath [ghusul,as it was called then] we went out to see Lahore. The Pontiac first rook us to see Anarkali, the main shopping centre. The bazaar was full of shops selling saris, from Banaras, silks from Kashmir and Mysore, and cotton from Kota in Rajasthan and muslin from Dacca in Bengal. There were woolens for suiting, from Manchester, England, cottons for shirting from Bombay and silks and cotton for all purposes. My impression is that the shops were full of customers and the shop assistants were busy showing their wares. There was a lot of hustle and bustle in the market place and crowds were moving slowly rubbing shoulders with one another.
At the famous Harnam Singh’s shop we were served puris, bhujea, achar, dhahi and very tall glasses of lassi. This was the only Hindustani treat allowed by father who basically believed in meats, curries, and roast. Later the taxi took us to a white area [ around mall road] where I was impressed to see gori mem sahibs wearing their fancy hats sipping tea with muffins and scones. Father said the goras don’t eat samosas, mathis, or jelabis. Being a white area British firms like Nestles, Spencer’s, and Johnson’s were located here. There were big turbaned pathans and black capped gurkha guards at the door. The entire area seemed quiet and very orderly.
From there we went to Company Garden, with beautiful and manicured plants and trees. Its lawns and rose gardens attracted me immensely. This was my utopia and I was happy wandering among the trees and shrubs. Its expanse was vast and it was full of kiaries [beds] of roses, hena, champa and chambeli, canas, marigold and sunflower. There were many more flowers of which I don’t know the names. However it is my impression that the garden was full of different types of flowers. Senior Governments officials and some white couples were out for their ‘constitutional’ Their babies were in their prams pushed by their Indian nannies. We went round the garden as the Sun was going down. Soon everybody withdrew for a scotch and soda before dinner. It was time to return to the hotel and retire for the night after a meal of mixed salad, motton chops, Hungarian Goulash followed by cheeses with crackers and caramel pudding .
Next morning we went to see the Moghul garden where Jehangir is buried.. He died on his way back from Kashmir and his queen Noor Jehan built a lovely mausoleum in a vast garden of great beauty and splendour. From there we went to the Punjab University, to which all the colleges in the Punjab, NWFP, Jammu and Kashmir were affiliated. Father was very keen for me to see this ‘temple of learning’. He told me results of all the examinations at senior levels are tabulated here and the degrees [like the Bachelor of Arts, B A or M A] are awarded by this ‘great institution.’ Several decades later I came here to do my course in Journalism.
After a cup of hot coffee in the Coffee House, we moved to Mozang, a new area being developed by builders for rich and influential Indians. The area was dotted with pretty bungalows and the shops in this part of Lahore were not crowded as most of them were selling quality goods. Somewhere on the way Father pointed to the Estate of Raja Narinder Nath, the senior most Kasmir-born Indian civil servant of the Raj. The house built in vast grounds seemed like a palace to me.
Mother was very keen to visit a particular temple somewhere in the old town. I remember the taxi took us through a very big Darwaza [gate] on to a narrow lane. After going a little distance we were told ‘from here you will have to walk as the taxi cannot go any further.’ At the temple we all performed the puja and came out with tilaks. It looked a bit incongruous to me to go back to our English hotel wearing tilaks. But not to Father, who synthesized in himself the ‘English Gentleman’ and the upper class Indian. Though he liked English [ Indo-British] food, their dress[he used to import derby shoes from England] he was 100% Indian in the matter of social behavior. I remember in Mardan [cantonment town in the Western Frontier Province ] wife of the Political Agent, the English head of the administration, used to come to Father’s office for a regular tete-a-tete with him. Incidentally Father was a six footer, fair complexioned man with a well proportioned body of great strength. In his college he was captain of the foot ball team and in Mardan he had a tennis court in his house where my school Principal played tennis with me.
Our trip was wound up after attending a concert of music where. among others, Kundan Lal Sehgal, a great musical hit of those days gave a live performance. All of us were excited to hear him live on the stage. It was like a grand finale to our visit.
Lahore was the hub of intellectual, cultural, and social life. Also it was the center of political, educational and business activity in the Punjab, Jammu and Kashmir, and North West Frontier Province. covering Peshawar, Multan and the Tribal areas.All colleges in these areas including Jammu and Kashmir state were affiliated to the Punjab University based in Lahore. [There was an aura of respect attached to its name as for every university educated person in the entire region the Punjab University was the Alma mater. Father who had graduated from Shri Pratap College in Srinagar was very keen to show me the institution which had conferred the degree on him.
Four of us [father, mother, my older sister and me] took a train from Chakwal . Next morning at the Lahore Railway station I was woken up by the venders’ shouts of “Hindu dal-roti and Muslim gosht roti”. This was a novel experience for me. As a kid I did not know that there could be a thing like Hindu roti. More surprise was in store. When I looked out of the window I saw small hoardings announcing “ Hindu Paani and Muslim Paani’ I wondered how did the Muslim pani taste?
At the platform we were met by a smartly dressed young man who asked father “Do you need hotel accommodation, Sir?”
When father said “yes” he took charge of our luggage while we went to a Second Class Dinning Room for an English Breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausges, jam, butter , toast and tea or coffee. This whopping breakfast served by bearers wearing long white gloves and white flowing gowns, cost one rupee and twelve annas [about one rupee and seventy five paise] per head. Father left a tip of one rupee and the bearers lined up to give him a ‘furshi salam.’
As we came out of the Dinning Room, the young man told father that he had fixed our hotel and arranged for a taxi to show us around. The taxi, an imported seven-seater Pontiac, would charge four annas [ about twenty five paise ] per mile.
Soon we were on our way to “an English hotel” on the famous Mac load road, which was adjacent to the mall road. All the important buildings like the Governor’s residence, the Secretariat etc were on this road. These buildings were guarded by smartly turned out soldiers carrying 303 rifles. Among them were indomitable Gurkhas in khaki shorts and stockings with gleaming khukris dangling from their sides, ferocious looking Sikhs and six-footer jats. in their colourful head gear. I felt quite excited seeing some British sahibs, smoking cigars, being driven by liveried chauffeurs. Father told us these people were senior Government Officers.
After a hot water bath [ghusul,as it was called then] we went out to see Lahore. The Pontiac first rook us to see Anarkali, the main shopping centre. The bazaar was full of shops selling saris, from Banaras, silks from Kashmir and Mysore, and cotton from Kota in Rajasthan and muslin from Dacca in Bengal. There were woolens for suiting, from Manchester, England, cottons for shirting from Bombay and silks and cotton for all purposes. My impression is that the shops were full of customers and the shop assistants were busy showing their wares. There was a lot of hustle and bustle in the market place and crowds were moving slowly rubbing shoulders with one another.
At the famous Harnam Singh’s shop we were served puris, bhujea, achar, dhahi and very tall glasses of lassi. This was the only Hindustani treat allowed by father who basically believed in meats, curries, and roast. Later the taxi took us to a white area [ around mall road] where I was impressed to see gori mem sahibs wearing their fancy hats sipping tea with muffins and scones. Father said the goras don’t eat samosas, mathis, or jelabis. Being a white area British firms like Nestles, Spencer’s, and Johnson’s were located here. There were big turbaned pathans and black capped gurkha guards at the door. The entire area seemed quiet and very orderly.
From there we went to Company Garden, with beautiful and manicured plants and trees. Its lawns and rose gardens attracted me immensely. This was my utopia and I was happy wandering among the trees and shrubs. Its expanse was vast and it was full of kiaries [beds] of roses, hena, champa and chambeli, canas, marigold and sunflower. There were many more flowers of which I don’t know the names. However it is my impression that the garden was full of different types of flowers. Senior Governments officials and some white couples were out for their ‘constitutional’ Their babies were in their prams pushed by their Indian nannies. We went round the garden as the Sun was going down. Soon everybody withdrew for a scotch and soda before dinner. It was time to return to the hotel and retire for the night after a meal of mixed salad, motton chops, Hungarian Goulash followed by cheeses with crackers and caramel pudding .
Next morning we went to see the Moghul garden where Jehangir is buried.. He died on his way back from Kashmir and his queen Noor Jehan built a lovely mausoleum in a vast garden of great beauty and splendour. From there we went to the Punjab University, to which all the colleges in the Punjab, NWFP, Jammu and Kashmir were affiliated. Father was very keen for me to see this ‘temple of learning’. He told me results of all the examinations at senior levels are tabulated here and the degrees [like the Bachelor of Arts, B A or M A] are awarded by this ‘great institution.’ Several decades later I came here to do my course in Journalism.
After a cup of hot coffee in the Coffee House, we moved to Mozang, a new area being developed by builders for rich and influential Indians. The area was dotted with pretty bungalows and the shops in this part of Lahore were not crowded as most of them were selling quality goods. Somewhere on the way Father pointed to the Estate of Raja Narinder Nath, the senior most Kasmir-born Indian civil servant of the Raj. The house built in vast grounds seemed like a palace to me.
Mother was very keen to visit a particular temple somewhere in the old town. I remember the taxi took us through a very big Darwaza [gate] on to a narrow lane. After going a little distance we were told ‘from here you will have to walk as the taxi cannot go any further.’ At the temple we all performed the puja and came out with tilaks. It looked a bit incongruous to me to go back to our English hotel wearing tilaks. But not to Father, who synthesized in himself the ‘English Gentleman’ and the upper class Indian. Though he liked English [ Indo-British] food, their dress[he used to import derby shoes from England] he was 100% Indian in the matter of social behavior. I remember in Mardan [cantonment town in the Western Frontier Province ] wife of the Political Agent, the English head of the administration, used to come to Father’s office for a regular tete-a-tete with him. Incidentally Father was a six footer, fair complexioned man with a well proportioned body of great strength. In his college he was captain of the foot ball team and in Mardan he had a tennis court in his house where my school Principal played tennis with me.
Our trip was wound up after attending a concert of music where. among others, Kundan Lal Sehgal, a great musical hit of those days gave a live performance. All of us were excited to hear him live on the stage. It was like a grand finale to our visit.
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