The way it was: Goofers, golfers and gardens Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan
I wonder where Lashari Sahib, as many Lahore citizens call him, has been
squandered away. What an astonishing transformation he brought to Lahore, making
everyone’s heart as they say, ‘Garden, garden’
My friend Aitzaz invited me to play nine holes at the Royal Palm Club. Tahir
Jehangir was to make the threesome. Tahir is an incorrigible trekker. In July he
was at the Deosai Plains probably for the seventh time. I have always wondered
when he finds the time to attend to other things. And I don’t mean attending
to his wife Asma, the incorrigible Human Right activist, who is quite capable of
taking on anyone on her own steam.
By the time we were through, it was quite dark. Jehangir had arrived late, so we
had teed off at about four, which is rather late for October. The sun goes down
at 5.20. On the ninth hole both Tahir and I lost our golf balls. Aitzaz was the
only one who reached the green from a suspicious route. The Royal Palm Club was
previously known as the Railway Golf Club. Before partition I remember when the
railway up-train approached Lahore, I would rush to a window to see the big
round circles of the golf course. At that age I found them as enigmatic as the
big grey birds parked inside the dark hangers at the Walton aerodrome.
The Railway Golf Club in those days did not have greens but browns. Instead of
grass there was sand, with a flag in the centre. I always wondered what the
clever white men were up to. But at the very time the train would rush ahead, I
would dash across to the opposite window because I liked to see the cheerful
Railway stadium. There was always some sporting activity going on there.
In the old days golfers were considered goofs by non-golfers, and not without
reason. Some golfers, approaching senility, love to be comforted for what they
call bad luck. Missing a put can be a cause for endless conversation even with
strangers at dinner. Having tucked in an extra kilo of fried fish or a third
refill of trotters at lunch, can also cause constant duffs, hooks, shanks and
other misfortunes, for which others are made to suffer their drivel.
Even today when Lahoris have become acquainted with this sport through cable
television, I am always amused when out of curiosity a motorcyclist slows down,
on the road adjacent to the fourth hole, and lets out a shout ‘Paghal-e-oyai’.
In English it could be translated ‘Hey there’s a mad fellow!’ The sight of
an inert person, leaning forward over a tiny ball, with buttocks shoved out, in
all fairness looks funny. Obviously the player is not amused. The golfers are
very sensitive to noise and movement, the ball is driven out of bounds. He
mutters some obscenity but by then the supportive audience has throttled away
out of hearing distance. I wish I had the facility of language and presence of
mind to have shouted from the window, ‘Paghal-e-oyai’ at the hefty white
strangers trying to put a harmless white ball into a small hole, as the train
gathered speed, near the Railway Club before its final burst to the Lahore
Railway Station.
The Lahoris even today are as familiar with golf as they are with the Houbara
Bustard. Houbara and golf clubs both need to be protected and preserved. I wish
there were more of them in the country. We are lucky to have at least two golf
courses in the city, discounting the one in the Cantonment. In addition there
are the Lawrence Gardens and the Minto Park; otherwise the city would have
suffocated to death.
It is a blessing that the Brits liked to play golf and cricket and liked to
establish parks and plant botanical gardens, otherwise Lahore would have had
been without lungs. I once looked at an anatomy chart and was amazed to discover
that the lungs were the largest organs of the human body. I immediately
understood why it was so. If the lungs did not clean the blood, the heart would
have been like a tube-well pumping and distributing brackish water to the body.
I wonder where Lashari Sahib, as many Lahore citizens call him, has been
squandered away. What an astonishing transformation he brought to Lahore, making
everyone’s heart as they say, ‘Garden, garden’. The real impact of the
bushes, vines and trees that he planted will become fully visible only after a
few years. While driving, one is best advised to keep the eyes on the road, but
stealing a glance every now and then it is heartening to see that Lashari
sahib’s plants are doing rather well.
The Arayeens of Baghbanpura and Sanda Kalan have always bragged about having a
green thumb. I bet all the Arayeens of Lahore put together could not have
realised what Lashari Sahib has achieved all by himself. In the coming spring
who will plant beds of petunias, marigolds, nasturtiums and gladiolas to cheer
us, we have yet to see. I think it was clever to plant the tiger lilies under
the trees along the Mall, from Mian Mir Bridge to the Lahore Zoo. The lilies
really look splendid, swinging on their green delicate stems from February to
April. They are quite irrepressible; some of them continue to flower even during
summers. They seem to like their abode or is it Lashari sahib’s caring hand?
Probably both.
Heritage can be so easily forgotten. It has to be reclaimed from the past and
consciously kept alive. The Mughals loved establishing gardens. The medieval
European had no concept of friendly nature. Nature was considered an abode of
unfriendly spirits, demons, dragons and witches. After sunset no one dared to
enter its precincts. The castle doors were barred and sealed before the descent
of darkness. The reader has to just accompany the Red Cross knight in the pages
of Spencer’s The Faery Queen to get an idea of what nature could have in store
for him in Medieval England. The concept of a garden where nature has been tamed
for the pleasure of men and women was originally a Persian concept. Like love
poetry it was introduced to Europe through the Moors of Spain.
The Islamic garden is designed on a vision of Jannat, the heavenly paradise. The
concept is implemented in mosques and secular buildings through floral
decorations and even woven into carpets and tapestries. The Mughals loved
planting gardens. Emperor Babur stopped for a few days at Kallar Kehar, but did
not waste time to plant one there. I wonder if you have seen the beautiful
miniature painting in which Babur is supervising the laying of the Bagh-e-Vafa.
Lahore at one time was known for its gardens. We have unfortunately out of sheer
indifference and avarice lost the Badami Bagh and many others. We have seen in
our own lifetime the Angoori Bagh being divided into residential plots and the
Goal Bagh, which garlands the Old City, encroached upon. The Chauburji was once
the entrance to a huge garden. One of its burj was probably swept away by the
notorious Ravi. Today it stands alone, disdainfully aloof from disgruntled
traffic, which encircles it day and night. The intention of listing what has
been lost is not to invoke a sense of loss. The purpose is to draw attention to
the need to pull up our sleeves and establish some new gardens, parks and
playing fields so that Lahore can once again be proud of itself and our lungs
can begin to breath some fresh air.
Prof Ijaz-ul-Hassan is a painter, author and a political activist