thekitty-'s Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lahore There are several things that make Lahore my favourite place in the world. For one, I’ve always lived here. It’s Home. I grew up in a joint family, because here in Lahore, that’s what usually happens. You grow up in a joint family system. As a child, I remember the zoo- a filthy, neglected area where babies were eaten by bears and giraffes died of being fed plastic bags. I remember the distinct smell of rot and dung that pervaded the air and bluebottle flies that orbited the sleeping lions and Suzy the elephant. Suzy died too, just like the baby and the giraffe for reasons unknown. I remember the people who came to watch this unpleasant exhibition of uncared for, underfed animals- The uncared for and underfed Pakistanis. Poor People. The Lahore Zoo was, nevertheless, a place of wonder for me (and the Poor People)- Caged pigeons, wrinkled elephants, the giant lone hippopotamus, lions that sulked behind steel bars like prisoners. Putrid stench, animals on the brink of death, Bears that ate babies. Human Babies. The Lahore Zoo is in Mall Road. Mall road is time-locked in an era of its own. The bent lush green trees, the GPO office, Alhamra, the ajaib ghar, the Supreme Court, Tollington, Book Bazaars where Dostoevsky and Karl Marx are spread across foot paths and sold for the price of a stick of corn. Mall Road is teeming with life and commercial activity- yet it has remained impervious to any technological advancement and resisted any force of change. Mall Road is not a diseased cow. Mall Road is an elegant, graceful and beautifully adorned grandmother who is wise and all-knowing. Off of Mall Road is Data Darbar. A tomb. A sanctuary for millions of Pakistanis who come here in the hopes that this dead saint would makes things better, listen to their prayers. Beggars and gypsies are littered across the marble steps like discarded waste. Flies swim in the air lazily, possibly affected by the dangerously high content of chars in the air. Their limbs intermingle as they lay across the streets at night waiting for someone to begin distributing niaz- food offerings to the poor made by those who can afford it. Data Darbar is home to the homeless, the deprived, the confused, the apathetic, the destitute, and the desperate. 2:40 p.m. - 2009-08-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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