By Moazzam Husain

Shalimar Gardens

As two lovely looking girls riding bicycles overtook us, I saw one of them turn to us, then say something to the other. They both giggled as they rode away. Having travelled more than my fair share, the novelty of visiting exciting places had diminished with each successive destination — until I arrived here.

I had never envisioned a place like this. Last week I visited Lahore. On the Mall road people courteously gave way to each other and smiled frequently. I saw nobody talk on a mobile phone nor heard any ring tones. There were bookshops and newspaper stalls but no hawkers nor any beggars. People waited patiently in lines at the theatres. There were far fewer people too and elegantly dressed, as if a dress code went into force in the evenings. There were many neatly managed wide open spaces with art deco. This was a fashionable and cosmopolitan city that had acquired the title of ‘the Paris of India’. Last week I visited Lahore, as it was on the eve of the breakout of the Second World War.
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I found the following information on internet with all these amazing pictures of Mosques around the world and would like to share with you guys:

Mosque in Akhaltsikhe – Georgia

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By Peerzada Salman

An old man, holding his little grandson’s hand, has just arrived at the Quaid-i-Azam House and Museum. He says the child has come all the way from a remote area in Punjab to see the place the Father of the Nation once lived in. They return disappointed. Reason: it is 1pm, lunch time for those working at the museum.

Avoiding desultory discussion let’s establish one thing at the outset: apart from being an exceedingly intelligent individual, Mohammad Ali Jinnah had a sharp aesthetic sense. The elegant dresses that he wore, the classy hats that he put on, and the linguistic panache with which he communicated with friends and colleagues endorse this observation. It also mirrors in the buildings he chose as his abode.

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While Shalimar Gardens are famous partially for being the final resting place of their founder, the late Mughal King, Jehangir; Anarkali Bazaar, the other famous landmark of Lahore, plays host to another great muslim ruler- Sultan Qutub-uddin Aibak.

Born into a Turk family in Central Asia, Aibak was sold into slavery to a local chieftain as a young boy. The chief treated Aibak like his own son and taught him the fine art of military maneuvers and horsemanship. After the chief’s death, his sons, jealous of Aibak’s special treatment, sold him to Mohd Khan Ghauri.

As Ghauri started conquering parts of India, he appointed Aibak, who had rapidly risen through the ranks to become Ghauri’s most trusted general, as his Governor to oversee the new territory.

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By Peerzada Salman

HERE’S a little story: The rosy-fingered goddess Eos falls in love with Tithonus, a Trojan. She asks Zeus, the ruler of Mount Olympus, to grant immortality to the love of her life. Zeus obliges. It makes Tithonus exceedingly happy. But with the passage of time, he realizes that it’s eternal life that he’s been bestowed with, not youth. So Tithonus grows older and older, feebler and feebler, lying helplessly under a tree.

No different seems to be the fate of the Max Denso Hall & Library, the Mercantile Cooperative Bank Building, the Mandi Wala Building and the Jehangir Kothari Building on Bunder Road. They’re growing aged by the minute, and the thoroughfare flanked by these oldies is getting smoggier, dirtier and cloggier. Sadly, Eos can’t do anything about it, or so it seems.

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Munawwar Maseeh is an unassuming, taciturn kind of a man. He is the gardener /gatekeeper at St Andrew’s Church in Saddar, Karachi. He’s been serving this place of worship for several years. He is even fond of the pigeons that often merrily perch themselves on the church gables like star-crossed lovers and the squirrels that scurry across the semi-verdant lawns to evade prying eyes.
Munawwar Maseeh has a 19-year-old son, Andrew Munawwar, who is a second-year commerce student at a local college. Unlike his father, he likes to converse in a relatively buoyant manner. If you happen to visit the building and bump into Andrew, he’ll gladly help you get acquainted with the church premises.

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When you’re making your way to the relatively newly-built reception (inaugurated in 2005), you look at the reasonably well-kept façade. You keep moving along getting impressed by the eye-catching designs and patterns on the exterior of the edifice and pretty-looking green, rectangular windows. The woodwork is impressive too. However, what can’t be missed are the ground floor’s clean-as-a-whistle windowpanes, but those on the second and third floors have gathered specks of dust. On the whole, the KPT offices are nicely maintained.

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This amazing piece of construction has had its share of uncalled-for problems. In the mid 1980s the then regime wanted to demolish it to make room for a multi-storey structure to fit into it its (government) offices. But our profuse thanks should go to Heritage Foundation which came forward and stopped the disaster, nay catastrophe, from taking place.
At present, the Hindu Gymkhana is the workplace of the National Academy of Performing Arts (Napa).

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While visiting the beautiful and well-maintained park provides one with a sense of ease and tranquility; it is the historical monuments in foreground that gives it a greater degree of significance. After all, what would Clifton be like, without the Jehangir Kothari Parade?
As every town and or area is defined by a unique monument, which in time becomes its main identity or even in certain cases a central point of assembly – like a town square- so too, Jehangir Kothari Parade serves the same purpose.

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Surrounded by sparse patches of grass, The Merewether Memorial Clock Tower stands tall but cuts a sorry picture. The blaring horns or public transport buses at the busy traffic intersection, accompanied by the incessant cacophony of vendors selling a wide variety of foodstuffs on pushcarts, almost drown out the majestic buzz once associated with the grand structure.

If you move around the tower, you’ll feel the tyranny of time. You move closer to one of the sides through the iron fencing to get an up-close look, and discover that there’s a padlock adorning the narrow entrance whose grilles have been getting rustier by the day and gathering clumps of dust, making it hard to appreciate the delicate patterns on the metalwork. There’s a staircase leading to the top of the building, and is just as dusty. You press your face against the locked grille to shout ‘hello’ to know if your voice reverberates through the hollow space, but nothing happens.

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