HEERA MANDI by Ally Adnan

HEERA MANDI
by Ally Adnan
Honey was the right name for her. Her skin was not fair but a radiant shade
of dull gold. Her hair was thick and multiple shades of brown and
shimmering gold. The eyes were a rich hazel and her skin - never on ample
display - always shone with glitter that she used in abundance. She did not
have the feet of a dancer. Well groomed, they were soft and again an
enchanting shade of gold. She always wore metallic nail enamel. She was
slim in a Punjabi sort of way - full in the right places and thin where needed.
Indeed, it seemed that God had bathed her body - fragrant, smooth and
golden - in honey. I could never refer to her by her Punjabi sobriquet Kachi Gari (raw coconut). It just didn't describe her correctly. She was
always Honey to me.
I first saw Honey performing a mujrah at a wedding in Lahore. She was
dancing in a shimmering white shalwar qameez, flirting innocently with men
at the party and paying special attention to a blushing Javed Miandad,
whose sister in law - Kaniya Saigal - was the bride. Honey's sister, who
looked nothing like her, stood close by with her hips extended out - this was
her signature stance - singing at the top of her lungs, Ghar Aaya Mera
Pardesi. The song used to be sung at all mujrahs in the eighties; I never
found out why though. There was never a mujrah that I attended where the
song was not a part of the program and I attended more than a few. Honey
danced with vigor, ignoring the shower of crisp rupee bills, making eye
contact with a select few but seemingly lost in another world. I was
transfixed. Her dance was graceful, assured and enchanting. Time seemed
to slow down when she danced. Her movements were sensual but not
sexual. Her facial expressions serene yet seductive. The thick locks of her
golden brown hair flirted with her face. This was an angel dancing. During
the days that followed, I could think of nothing else but Honey and, for
Page 1 of 26
some unknown reason, I always remembered her dance in slow motion. I
remembered it often.
It took a few days for me to gather the courage needed to visit Heera Mandi
for the first time and even fewer to convince friends, Hamid Mahmood and
Asrar Awan, to accompany me. On a dark and cold Friday evening, we
started our journey towards Taksaali Gate in a rickshaw.
A thirty feet tall brick wall was built around Purana Lahore (the Old City of
Lahore), during the Mughal era,
for the protection of the city.
Thirteen (13) gates - Akbari,
Bhaati, Delhi, Kashmiri, Lahori,
Masiti, Mochi, Mori, Roshnai,
Shah
Aalami,
Sheranwala,
Taksaali and Yakki - were built
around the rampart to allow
access to the city. The Taksaali
gate was built by the Mughals and
named after the Taksaal - Royal Mint - that was located in neighborhood.
Heera Mandi was located in the northwest corner of the old city in Taksaali
gate.
Heera Mandi was named after Maharaja Heera Singh , the son of Maharaja
Dehan Singh, a favored minister in Maharaja Ranjit Singh's government.
During the reign of Aurangzeb, Badshahi Masjid (Royal Mosque) was built
in the area and people started referring to the Heera Mandi as the Shahi
Mohalla (Royal Neighborhood); the two names have since been used
interchangeably. Other names, such as Bazar e Husan (Market of Beauty),
have been proposed but never caught on. Lahoris liked the two original
names.
It took the rickshaw a long thirty minutes get to Heera Mandi from
Baghbanpura. We alighted in the main chowk (thoroughfare) of the area.
The market was full of life - noisy, bright, and crowded. There was a strong
smell of jasmine in some areas and that of attar (perfume) in others. One
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could feel the stench of open sewerage in some of the alleys. The rich
smell of Lahori food filled the air
close to the eateries. The smells and
lights of Heera Mandi were strong.
They hit you hard. The market had
energy, vitality and vigor. Most of the
people in the area were men and the
few women we saw were burqa clad.
Everyone seemed to be in a hurry
and walked at a pace significantly
faster than that of Lahoris in other areas.
We walked around to the mohalla, looking for kothas (dance salons) only to
discover that the dancing did not start until eleven at night. It was nine and
waiting to see Honey dance for two hours seemed unfair. Unfortunately, we
had no choice and decided to while away the time by walk around and
getting acquainted with the area.
We discovered a street with dozens of small rooms where men of all ages
were playing carrom board. We thought of playing carrom to pass some
time but soon figured out that the game being played was serious, the
stakes high, and the mood in the rooms somber. We did not belong here
and soon left the area.
We ended up at a tea shop in the main chowk. The place served only tea.
A young and overweight man wearing a red silk
kurta (tunic) and a lot of surma (kohl) in his
eyes prepared the tea in a large shallow pan. I
was to find out in coming weeks, that he was
Malik Aslam Khan who had an admirably large
collection of silk kurtas in the most unlikely of
colors and who was the only one who knew the
secret recipe for the tea which was known to be
the best in the area. At his shop, only one kind
of tea was served. There were no options for
having it light, or dark, or without milk, and the quantity of sugar was
Page 3 of 26
determined by Aslam for everyone. Yet everyone liked the tea. It really was
perfect and, I believe, mildly addictive. As we sipped tea in the cold of
Lahore's winter, one of the waiters came and said that Ustad Ji wanted us
to join him at his table. This was Hamid Ali Khan of the Patiala gharana
who was having tea with his retinue of friends and family at the largest
table in the shop. He was surprised - and, it seemed, a little amused - to
see me in Heera Mandi. We spent the next hour talking about the business
of tawaaifs (nautch girls) and when the magic hour of eleven was near, he
sent one of his friends with us to Honey's kotha. "Don't go alone," he told
us in Punjabi. "Let Saleem accompany you. He will make sure that you are
treated with respect." Saleem was certainly a great help. It didn't take him
long to figure
out that it was
our first time in
the mohalla. He
asked us how
much
money
we
were
carrying
and
felt that it was
more than what
we needed. He
told us that one
hundred rupees
will
last
us
about one song
and
one
thousand
rupees was all
that we would
need
that
evening since
all
mujrahs
were required
to end at one in
the
morning.
One had to go
to the Police Station to get a permit if he wanted to see a mujrah after one.
The permit cost five hundred rupees and was an official government of
Pakistan document. Saleem told us that the money, however, ended up
with the police in the thana (police station) and not with the government of
Pakistan. He suggested that we exchange our larger rupee bills for smaller
ones to make our money last longer. He took us to a money changer who
sat on a footpath with straps of crisp one, five and ten rupee bills laid out in
front of him. We exchanged our bills quickly and were instructed by Saleem
to pace throwing money at the nautch girl so that one hundred rupees
lasted for an entire song. One more thing needed to be done before we
would be ready for our first mujrah. Chambeli gajras (Jasmine bracelets)
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had to be bought and worn before we went to see Honey. "Men wear
gajras on just one hand," Saleem told us. "Only zankhas (effeminate men)
wear gajras on both hands." It was obvious that we had a lot to learn but
Saleem's protective and friendly demeanor made us feel comfortable
nonetheless.
The kothas (salons) were small rooms, typically ten by fifteen feet in area.
They had three walls; a large door that opened into the street took the
place of the fourth wall. The salons
were known as time kamras (time
rooms) because of the mandated two
hour mujrah time window. The kothas
started coming alive at about a half
past ten. Servants came in to sweep
the salons, brushing the trash on to
the
street.
Musicians
started
appearing shortly thereafter and soon
became busy with tuning their
instruments. Flower sellers started
roaming the streets around five to
eleven. The tawaaifs (nautch girls)
were the last to arrive. They sat on
sofas at the far end of the salons,
always with their legs crossed,
displaying their wares to prospects
roaming the streets while working hard
to
appear
disinterested
and
nonchalant. The rooms were nothing
like the salons shown in Indian and Pakistani films although some of the
nautch girls were as pretty, if not prettier, than the Ranis, Meena Kumaris
and Rekhas of the film world. Most nautch girls used only two instruments tabla and harmonium, for their performances. One would occasionally see
a dholak and, during major performances, sitar and sarangi. No
microphones were used. Once a client entered the kotha, the doors to the
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street were quickly shuttered to allow the tawaaif to dance in the privacy of
her small kotha.
Honey's kotha was at the intersection of two main streets in Heera Mandi.
A corner salon was a status symbol. And it was about four times the size of
the average salon in Heera Mandi. It had two large doors, one facing each
street. It had three large sofas for guests and no one, other than the
musicians, sat on floors. Honey was obviously a top ranking tawaaif.
Saleem introduced us well. "These are very dear friends of Ustad Ji," he
told Honey's significantly less attractive singer sister. "Please treat them as
special guests." The introduction helped. "We have distinguished guests
today in our
room
today," the
singer
informed
the
two
musicians
in the room,
and
directed
them
to
play well.
"And
for
God's sake,
tune
the
baja (harmonium) to doosra kala (D Sharp) and not lower. I want to sing
high today." Honey sat quietly looking at the carpet on the floor while her
sister gave instructions to the musicians. She was wearing a black silk
shalwar qameez with chambeli earrings and bracelets. She slowly started
fastening her ghungroos (dancing ankle bells) which were attached to a
wide leather belt above her ankles. Her feet were very pretty. She was
metallic shade of nail enamel again. "Baji, my ghungroos will sound off key
if you sing from doosra kala," she warned her sister. "But if that is what you
want to do, it is fine with me." The sister was determined to sing high that
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night. Once the instruments were tuned to her satisfaction, and Honey's
ghungroos had been tied, she stood up, thrust her hips out, and started
singing.
Sa Re Ga Ma-Pa-Ma
Sa Re Ga Re Ma-Pa-Ma
Sa Re Ga Re
Re Ga Ma Pa
Ga Ma Pa Dha
Dha-Ni-Sa
She had to start, of course, with Ghar Aaya Mera Pardesi. She started with
sargam in Bhairavi presumably to impress us. She didn't need to. We had
succumbed to the power of the sisters
even before they started performing. The
song lasted a good ten minutes. The
singer sang her heart out, at perfect pitch
and at a volume so high that I became
worried for her vocal chords. The
harmonium player had taken the cover off
of the reeds to raise the volume of the
instrument. The tabla player - a student of
Altaf Hussain Tafu - played with strong
strokes but never once allowed the tabla
to get out of tune. Everyone was at the
top of their game, but the night belonged
to Honey. She was prettier than I
remembered: voluptuous, sensual and
painfully engaging. She was a goddess. Honey danced with a lot of energy
and had a great sense of rhythm. Sometimes, she danced in duggan at
twice the tempo of the underlying beat but returned confidently to the
original tempo when she needed to. She very rarely made eye contact
during that first song but when she did, it melted my heart. All three of us
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forgot to shower her with money during the first song. To make up for our
forgetfulness, I got up to give her ten straps of one rupee bills. This was the
thousand rupees I had been instructed to make last all evening. "I cannot
accept this," she told me. "You are Ustad Ji's friends. I won't be able to
show him my face if I take money from you." It took a little insistence for her
to accept my money which she placed next to the baja (harmonium) player.
Her second song of the evening was Na Jao Saiyyan Chura Ke Bahiyan,
Qasam Tumhari Main Ro Paron Gi. This she sang while sitting on the floor
focusing on ada (style) and ras (emotion). Of course, I had to listen to her
and stayed there for the entire two hour duration. Fortunately, it also took
two hours for all the money I had to run out. I spent about seven thousand
rupees that evening but Honey's mujrah was well worth the money. I truly
believed that Honey sang just for me that night. When she looked at me, it
seemed that there was nothing else on her mind and no one else in her life.
When she looked away, I felt sad and insecure. No one had ever showed
me love and attention like she did that evening. Two hours were not
enough but there was little I could do about the time limit. I could not get a
permit that night for more reasons than one. I was scared to go to the
police station and I had no money left on me. The following morning, I
would have to figure out how to manage the rest of the month without any
money; my monthly stipend of two thousand rupees did not come for
another twenty days.
Without any money, but high on Honey's
performance, we headed back to Aslam's
tea stall to thank Hamid Ali Khan. Ustad
Fateh Ali Khan had joined the group by that
time. Hamid Ali Khan was no longer the
center of attention. Shafqat Amanat Ali and
Rustam Fateh Ali Khan were there as well.
Ustad Fateh Ali Khan and his male family
members were regulars at the tea shop.
One could always find some member of the
family there. Ustad Fateh Ali Khan
commanded great respect in the area.
Page 8 of 26
When he walked around the streets of the mohalla, the nautch girls stood
up to greet him and seek his blessings and musicians came out of the
salons to touch his feet. He carried himself with great dignity as well. I
never once saw him watch a mujrah or seek the company of a nautch girl.
It seemed as if he went to the area just for conversations at the tea shop. I
heard some of the most interesting stories about musicians from Ustad
Fateh Ali Khan at Aslam's tea shop.
Ustad Fateh Ali Khan was not the only Ustad one saw in Heera Mandi.
There was a six month period during which Ustad Salamat Ali Khan visited
the mohalla regularly. The great Ustad had taken fancy to nautch girl Mizla
during the period.
Mizla was one of
the
lucky few
tawaifs who had
managed to get a
break into movies.
Her first film Main Bani Dulhan
- had not done
well at the box
office but afforded
her
a
higher
status
in
the
market,
nonetheless. She
now took smaller
parts in movies
which was more
than her peers
could lay claim to.
She
operated
from
a
kotha
which had two
stories. I do not
think anyone else
had
a
similar
kotha. The ground floor was for regular customer whereas the first floor
was reserved for special guests like Ustad Salamat Ali Khan. He seemed to
be more interested in her singing than in her dance. The relationship
seemed to be platonic. Mizla treated Ustad Ji like a father and a mentor. He
was clearly infatuated but not in a sexual way.
I remember a recording of Multani Ustad Salamat Ali Khan did for Radio
Pakistan one afternoon. He did not sing Multani often and we were all glad
that he had agreed to record the raag that day. The bandish was Nainan
Mein Aan Baan set to ektala. Ustad Shaukat Hussain Khan accompanied
him on tabla and Ustad Nazim Ali Khan on sarangi. Ustad Tari Khan was
also present for the recording. After the recording, all of us went the radio
Page 9 of 26
station's canteen for tea. Ustad Salamat Ali Khan announced that we were
going to visit Mizla in Shahi Mohalla that evening. Shaukat Saab who was
known for being shy around women agreed - one could not say no to Ustad
Salamat Ali Khan - but disappeared a few minutes later. Ustad Salamat Ali
Khan knew what Shaukat Saab was planning to do and sent his son
Sharafat to find him. Shaukat Saab was caught trying to leave the radio
station and brought back to the canteen by Sharaft Ali Khan. Shaukat Saab
pleaded with Ustad Ji to allow him to go home but Salamat Ali Khan was
adamant and would not take no for an answer. Tari Khan, who was one of
the few musicians who did not frequent Heera Mandi, looked towards his
Ustad to get him out of Ustad Salamat Ali Khan's plans but did not get any
help. A few hours later, all of use headed to Shahi Mohalla - Shaukat Saab
and Tari Khan reluctantly, Sharafat Ali Khan and I eagerly, and Ustad
Salamat Ali khan with a sense of accomplishment. Mizla was expecting us.
We were taken to the first floor salon. Sofas had been laid out for the
guests but Tari Khan and I had too much respect for the two Ustads to be
seen watching a mujrah by them. We sat on the carpet a little behind the
sofas so that the Ustads would not see us. Mizla was a competent dancer
and did not sing typically. She did so for a select few. Her note was pehla
kala (C Sharp) and, unlike other tawaaifs, she had preserved her vocal
chords well. Her voice was soft but assured and her throw was great. She
possessed a rich timbre which allowed her voice to fill the entire room even
without a microphone. She started with Salamat Ali Khan's favorite song,
the Asha - Rafi number from Hum Dono, Abhi Na Jao Chor Ke, Ke Dil Abhi
Bhara Nahin. She sang the song at a slower tempo than the film song but
in the same scale. Ustad Salamat Ali Khan loved the song. During the night
she danced to many songs but he wanted her to sing the song again before
we left. He enjoyed her bhao (facial expressions and gestures) and
abhinaya (expressions) while singing the song sitting on the carpet. She
sang the song twice for him - and, it seemed, only for him - that evening.
Tea was served in brown glass Arcoroc teacups together with cake baked
using desi eggs. Everyone other than Ustad Shaukat Hussain Khan and
Ustad Tari Khan had an enchanting evening; the two tabla maestros were
too embarrassed to have fun. No money changed hands that evening.
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Mizla wanted to sing for Ustad Salamat Ali Khan and seek his blessings.
She did not perform for money.
Money was very important for the nautch girls, who bore the responsibility
of supporting large extended
families, but not always. There
were people from whom they
would not accept any monetary
compensation. I remember once
sitting in Honey's salon while she
was getting ready to dance,
when we saw Ustad Tari Khan
and Pervez Mehdi walking in the
street. She sent one of the
servants (all kothas had a
servant called chota) to ask them
to join her at her kotha. The men
were soon in her salon. Tari
Khan explained that he was
showing Lahore to friends who
were visiting from London. Honey
told Tari Khan that she wanted to perform for him, Pervez Mehdi and their
friends. I started to get up to leave but Honey stopped me. "Why are you
leaving?" she asked me. "Sometimes it is good to see a mujrah for free.
Stay." She did not let anyone pay that evening much to the tabla player's
chagrin who, being Tafu's student, was not a fan of Tari Khan.
One would often see well-known and well-regarded people in the market.
Of course, there were times when people of ill repute visited the area.
Maulana Kausar Niazi was a regular visitor. He used to visit in a navy blue
Toyota Corolla with tinted windows. He never got out of his car. Girls met
him in the back seat of his car. After spending time with a few girls in his
car, he picked one to take to a hotel on the Mall where he was known to
have a room on a permanent basis for drinking and other private activities.
Page 11 of 26
The nautch girls of Lahore were formally trained in music and dance. They
had Ustads who taught them during the day. Some of the tawaaifs were
very talented and understood both classical dance and music well. Of
course, they had to be competent in film music and dance, as well. Money
had to be earned.
Pakistan's only true guru of dance, the immensely interesting and engaging
Maharaj Ghulam Hussain, had several students in Heera Mandi. Mobila
was his top student in the area and often toured with him and performed at
venues other than the Shahi Mohalla.
When the doors to Honey's kotha were closed, I would go to Mobila's
salon. I remember the first time I visited her kotha and asked for her. "I am
Mobila," she announced in serviceable English. "What can I do for you?"
When I told her that I wanted to see kathak, she asked me if I was visiting
from India and started laughing. Once I was inside, she told me that she
would perform a little kathak for me but was in the mood for film dance that
evening. She started with tatkar (footwork) followed by a lovely Lucknow
tora.
Dha Thonga Taa-Kaa Thonga
Kir-Dhit
Dha Ta-Ka Thonga
Dig-Dig Dig-Dig Dig-Dig Thaee
Ta-Ta Thaee Ta-Ta Thaee Ta-Ta Thaee
Taa Thaee
Ta-Ta Thaee Ta-Ta Thaee Ta-Ta Thaee
Taa Thaee
Ta-Ta Thaee Ta-Ta Thaee Ta-Ta Thaee
Taa Thaee
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She ended with some lovely gats and laris that I remember to this day but
stopped after about fifteen
minutes of kathak. Mobila, it
seemed,
did
not
enjoy
performing kathak at her kotha.
She would always perform a little
kathak and then quickly revert to
film dance. But she was a
firecracker. I enjoyed her
company more than anything
else. She introduced me to Saba
Begum who was the tawaaif with
whom ghazal singer Ghulam Ali
used to play harmonium before
he became famous. Saba and
Mobila shared some hugely
funny but un-publishable stories
about the young Ghulam Ali with
me. She took me to see the
kotha of film star Zeba who was
known as Putli Bai in Heera
Mandi. She had great stories to
tell about pretty much everyone some I suspected were not entirely true but were funny any way. Watching
Mobila fight with someone was a sheer pleasure. This happened very
frequently. She helped expand my vocabulary of Punjabi curse words
tremendously. And she taught me how to bargain in Lahore's bazaars
(markets).
During the following months, I developed some friendships in the mohalla.
A few restaurateurs, a malishiya (masseur), some shopkeepers, a lot of
musicians, and, of course, some tawaaifs. I found these people to be warm
and friendly. They were great company and knew how to entertain people
they considered their guests. In my opinion, they operated from a set of
values significantly superior to that I saw in the tonier districts of Lahore.
Page 13 of 26
They kept their word, believed in friendships, were perceptive and
intelligent, worked within clearly defined rules, believed in fairness, and led
their lives with optimism and hope. I liked them.
The tawaaifs were practicing Muslims. They believed in God, had faith in
prayer and counted on supplications to help them get through life. The forty
days of mourning around the month of Muharram were observed with great
seriousness, not just by Shiaa Muslim tawaaifs - who formed the majority of
the nautch girls, largely because of the historic tradition of Nikaah al Mutaa
(short-term marriage) - but also by those who were Sunni Muslims,
Christians and Hindus. The kothas were shut down for forty days. Younger
tawaaifs wore black in mourning whereas the older ones preferred white.
The tawaaifs traveled in groups to attend majalis (religious gatherings) all
over the city. The tawaaifs prepared niyaaz (blessed food) each Thursday
which was distributed amongst friends and family within the mohalla and to
a select few outside it. Some tawaaifs made it a habit to send niyaaz to
fathers who had abandoned them, with hopes of acceptance that never
seemed to materialize. Several taazias (processions), some small and
some large, took place all over the mohalla during the first ten days of
Muharram. The biggest procession started on the evening of the ninth of
Muharram and merged around midnight into the much larger procession
Page 14 of 26
working its way through old Lahore. Tawaaifs, dalaals (pimps), naikas
(madams), children, musicians, and shop owners - everyone joined the
procession. Another time of mourning was the death anniversary of Hazrat
Ali. A silver taazia (emblem used to lead a procession), modeled after
Hazrat Ali's tomb, lead the procession from Heera Mandi to Bhaati gate on
the twentieth of Ramadan each year right after iftaar.
Eid was a time of
celebration in Heera
Mandi. The tawaaifs
received gifts from
potential suitors and
wealthy patrons on
Eid. This was a time
of celebration. Clients
were willing to spend
more money than
usual on Eid. The
police waived the two
hour time limit on mujrahs during the three day celebration of Eid. These
were happy days in the mohalla. The mood was jovial and money seemed
to flow freely.
The tawaaifs not only believed in
orthodox
Islam
but
also
subscribed to Sufism. The urs
(death anniversary) of Daata
Ganj Bakhsh was a major
celebration for the tawaaifs who
headed to the Daata Darbar
Complex on foot in large
numbers. Unlike other urs, this
death
anniversary
was
celebratory in nature. Dancing,
singing,
prostitution,
drugs,
supplications, mannats (promises of gratitude made with God), shopping,
Page 15 of 26
eating, and drinking had been a part of this major festival for centuries. The
urs of Lal Shehbaz Qalandar was another major event for the tawaaifs
each year. The ones who had the financial means traveled five hundred
miles to the town of Sehwan Sharif each year to participate in Pakistan
biggest annual mela (fair).
Many practiced dancing to the qalandari dhammals (songs honoring Sufi
saints) for days ahead of the mela. Baba Shah Jamal's urs in Lahore was a
more heady experience. The air at Baba Shah Jamal's tomb was always
filled with the smell of hashish. During the urs, the drug was sold openly
and sometimes given out for free. The air became so heavy that one had to
just inhale to get high. The tawaaifs attended this festival mainly as
spectators watching men and women from all neighborhoods of Lahore
dance, high on music and on hashish. Some of the most dexterous dhol
players of Lahore used to perform non-stop at the event. This was rite of
Page 16 of 26
passage for the dhol players who were considered serious musicians only
after making successful performances at the urs.
Mujrah was not the only pleasure Heera Mandi afforded its visitors. Some
of the best food in the world was
served in the market. Heera Mandi's
most famous eatery at the time was
Phajjay Ke Siri Paaye. It was owned by
the very personable Fazal Din who
was famous for perfectly cooking goat
heads and hooves. Traditionally a
breakfast food, siri paaye were eaten
by Lahoris all day long. Fazal Din's
shop opened right around Fajar
(morning prayer) time to serve eager
Lahoris who had been waiting in line
for their favorite breakfast food. The
shorba (gravy) of this dish was thick
and sticky. The test for well-prepared
siri paaye is the stickiness and
translucence of the shorba. Fazal Din's
prepared the dish so well that it was
difficult to eat it because one's fingers got stuck to each other while eating.
Lahoris believe siri paaye to be a potent aphrodisiac. Little wonder then
that the dish is the most popular food in Heera Mandi.
Taj Mahal served great mithai (sweets). The shop was famous for its
motichoor ladoo and barfi but my personal
favorite their balooshahi. They made it flaky,
soft and light. The delicacy was a light peach
in color and had just the right amount of sugar.
Shahabuddin Halwai was famous for the
various varieties of halwa - suji (semolina),
daal (lentils), ghia (pumpkin) and gajar
(carrot). The gajar ka halwa was garnished
with sliced hard-boiled eggs - an unlikely combination but one that had to
Page 17 of 26
be tried. It was divine. There were a few shops that sold milk with pistachio,
a great drink in Lahore's heat; and a store that served a light orange milk
drink called Meetha Soda in a bottle that was closed with a marble. Paan
(delicacy made using betel leaf and arica nut together with other
ingredients) was sold all over Heera Mandi. There were five main varieties saada
paan
(plain
paan), saada khusboo
wala paan (plain paan
with fragrance), meetha
paan (sweet paan),
tambakoo wala paan
(paan with tobbaco) and
malathi wala paan (paan
with an herb whose
English name I do not
know). Singers liked to
chew on malathi wala paan because it helped clear their throats and made
singing easier. I only had meetha paan which really was a full-fledged
dessert. My favorite shop for paan was the Aas Paan Shop. They used the
full betel leaf for each pan. Little
amounts of katha (catechu) and
choona (pickling lime) were used
with liberal amounts of gulkand
(rose petals) and murraba (sweet
jam pickle) at the shop. They
used slivered supari (arica nut),
meethi saunf (sugared coated
aniseed) and khopra (coconut)
shavings together with some
mystery ingredients, as well.
Their paan had a stimulating,
almost psychoactive, effect. I
loved it. It always put me in a
good mood.
Page 18 of 26
There were two street vendors a little ways away, close to Roshnai gate,
who were famous for their paapars (poppadum). The not-so-secret
ingredients in the papars were marijuana from Afghanistan and cannabis
from Kashmir, both used in their most potent forms. The sellers instructed
users to eat the papars on a full stomach and take it easy for a few hours
after eating their papars. These papars did not send one on an ordinary
trip; their effect was psychedelic, hallucinogenic, and out of this world. They
left users feeling strangely happy and relaxed but completely disoriented.
Shopping was another one of Heera Mandi's many pleasures. The
Sheikupurian Bazaar was home to some of the best khussa (hand made
embroidered Mughal-style shoes)
shops in Lahore. A large number of
shops selling musical instruments
were located in and around Heera
Mandi as well. Millat Music Palace in
Langay Mandi was my favorite store.
They sold harmoniums, sitars,
tanpuras, tablas, dholaks and a host
of other instruments. The owner was
Muhammad Tahir who regaled buyers
with stories of his grandfather who
started the business in Boria
Jagadari, India. The business had
supplied instruments to some of
undivided India's most famous
musicians and to the Beatles. He had
a remarkable memory for detail and
would narrate interesting stories about the very specific demands of major
musicians who placed orders with his father and grandfather. Whenever I
visited his shop, he had a new story to tell and it was always interesting.
The best Pakistani tablas have traditionally been made in the villages of
Tronkal and Dheerkay. They are known for their rich and resonant sound.
Their tone is not sharp and they can be tuned to high notes without fear of
rupturing the poora (tabla skin). These are ideally suited for folk and
Page 19 of 26
qawaali singing but classical
musicians who focus on roohdari
also prefer Pakistani tablas.
Several tabla makers from the
two villages had set up shops in
Heera Mandi. Haji Nasir Hussain
and Akhtar Hussain operated the
famed Awami Rhythm store in
Heera Mandi. They hailed from
Dheerkay but had set up shop in
the heart of Lahore. Ustad
Shaukat Hussain and Ustad Tari
Khan both used tablas made by
Akhtar Hussain. Tari Khan could
be seen at the workshop
spending hours, day after day,
trying to understand the correct
application of siyahi (ink) on the
poora. It is here that Tari Khan
learnt how to produce bright and sustained sound by optimally placing
siyahi on the poora. The store still exists and I get my tablas from the shop
even today.
A large number of barbers used to set up shop each evening near Aslam's
tea shop in Heera Mandi. Albeit
makeshift, these were full service
shops offering not only haircuts
but also ear cleaning, pedicures,
hair dyeing, and head and
shoulder massages. On a nearby
foot path, masseurs offered
vigorous massages on thin
mattresses laid on the footpaths.
The massages were performed in
the open for patrons who did not have to take their clothes off to get
Page 20 of 26
massage. If a simple shoulder or foot massage was required, the masseurs
were happy to perform it at the tea store while their clients drank tea and
carried on with their conversations. Heera Mandi's masseurs were known
for their kneading technique. It was arguably superior to all other massage
techniques. Ustad Fateh Ali Khan's family knew the best of the masseurs
and was always serviced at the tea shop. Amjad Amanat Ali Khan
introduced me to a young masseur, whose name I forget, but who gave
heavenly shoulder massages. He had a warm and soft touch and within
minutes could relax one into a giddy state of sleepy comfort.
I visited Heera Mandi on a regular basis for a period of three years while
studying at Lahore's University of Engineering and Technology. I found that
the pleasures of the market - singing, dancing, food, shopping, massage,
small talk, carrom, hanging with friends - were largely innocent. Of course,
there was a darker side to the mohalla. Sex trade was practiced on a
regular basis and with it came the inevitable associated evils.
Tawaaifs in Heera Mandi belonged to one of three rigidly defined groups Pesha war (vocational), mohajir (migrant) and fankaar (artist) tawaaifs.
Pesha war tawaaifs engaged solely
in the sex trade. They were almost
always underage and rather plain
looking. They did not have kothas.
They were managed by dalaals in
some
of
the
seedier
and
uncomfortably dark alleys of Shahi
Mohalla. The going rate at the time
was sixty rupees for one session
which typically lasted a few
minutes. The mohajirs were
tawaaifs who had been forced into
the profession by financial hardship
and engaged mostly in the sex
trade. Their dalaals secured
customers in the bazaar but were
Page 21 of 26
willing to send the ladies to the homes of patrons and to hotels. The
fankaar tawaaifs were usually pretty and focused on dance and music. Sex
with these women was possible but the process was long and drawn out. It
took months of regular visits to their kothas for the naaikas (madams) and
dalaals to become comfortable with patrons who wanted more than song
and dance.
Once this was done, the client had to secure the naaikas permission to
take the tawaaif out of Heera Mandi. This did not come cheap and required
not only the naaikas permission but also the dalaal and the tawaaif's
agreement. The dalaals almost invariably followed the tawaaifs on such
outings, often in a decidedly indiscreet manner. It was after many such
outings that the tawaaifs were allowed to go out with their patrons unescorted and were free to have sex. Virtually all tawaaif's claimed to be
nathal (virgins). This was rarely true - thanks to their Ustads and musicians
- but a nath utarwai (loss of virginity) brought in a lot of money. A lot of men
gave up, or ran out of money, during the protracted dance of courting a
fankaar tawaaif ran its full course. Honey, Mizla and Mobila all belonged to
the fankaar category of tawaaifs.
Page 22 of 26
Lahore's Heera Mandi had been established originally for the
entertainment, pleasure and cultural education of the rich and the
enlightened. Historically, visitors to the mohalla came looking for visual and
musical beauty and to make loving conversations with courtesans.
Mumbai's Kamathipura, Calcutta's Sonagachi, Delhi's GB Road and
Muzaffarpur's Chaturbhuj Sthan, in contrast, were never centers of culture.
Unlike Lahore's Heera Mandi, the focus in these major red light districts
was always on the sex trade. It was towards the end of the nineteenth
century that sex trade became an important business in Lahore's Heera
Mandi.
Brothels were first set up in Lahore by the British in Purani Anarkali in the
nineteenth century to meet the sexual
and recreational needs of British
soldiers. These did not do well in Purani
Anarkali and the businesses moved to
Lahori gate after a few unsuccessful
years in their original location. The frigid
British, with their picayune libidos, were
no match for vivacious hot-blooded
Punjabi prostitutes; the business of a
whole red light district in Lahore could
not be sustained by British soldiers
alone. As a result the sex workers were forced to move once more, this
time to Taksaali gate. It was in the Heera Mandi that they found sufficient
opportunities to grow and sustain their business. The sex trade thus
entered the Shahi Mohalla and has not left since.
Shahi Mohalla was also home to a large number
of khusras (males with female gender identities).
They lived in relatively large houses under the
guidance of leaders called gurus. Heera Mandi
had five well known gurus in the eighties. Each
one of them harbored an intense hatred for the
others but did not believe in stealing khusras or
clients from them. The gurus were respectable professionals. They grew
Page 23 of 26
their communities by accepting boys with irregular genitalia who were
rejected by their families and homosexual men who had trouble leading
safe lives in Pakistan. Unlike tawaaifs, the khusras seemed more interested
in entertaining each other than their clients. They dressed up and acted like
women and wore garish make up. The goal was to seem as feminine as
possible and to be recognized as women. In Heera Mandi, they danced
more often for each other than for clients. Dances were typically performed
at weddings, birthdays and other family events outside the mohalla.
Khusras showed up uninvited at these events and refused to leave unless
tipped heavily. Lahoris were only too willing to give them money because
the khusras were
believed to have the
power
to
put
dreadful curses on
those who treated
them poorly. In the
mohalla,
they
engaged exclusively
in the sex trade.
Their
customers
were gay men and
straight ones who
were either too poor, or too ugly, to find women to have sex with. Their
rates were low. "Saakin ke das aur faakin ke bees rapay (oral sex for ten
Page 24 of 26
rupees and anal for twenty)," they would say. I found Shabnam - who bore
a remarkable resemblance to film star Shabnam - to be a lot of fun. She
would come to Honey's kotha to ask for money and for leftover make-up
supplies. In the few minutes she spent at Honey's salon, she would provide
a comprehensive update on all that was happening in the market. A few
years after I left Pakistan, Shabnam started visiting my parent's home in
Lahore Cantonment regularly to get money. She did not ask for much and
showed up on the first of each month. This continued until my parents
passed away.
My three year love affair with Lahore's Heera Mandi was torrid. I enjoyed
every minute of my time spent there, the company of tawaaifs,
conversations with musicians, the great food, the shoulder massages, and
the great shopping. Most importantly, I learnt how to make crisp one rupee
bills fly high into the air only to be told years later by my father that only the
nouveaux riches displayed money they were giving to courtesans. RaeesPage 25 of 26
zaadas (old money) never needed to show their money off. They were to
discreetly place money near the tawaaifs without making a show of it.
Raees-zaadas
always paid tawaaifs
well and no one
needed to see actual
bills to confirm the
fact. As my son
grows older, I want to
pass on the wisdom
that I gained in Heera
Mandi - the correct
protocol of engaging
with courtesans, the
proper
code
of
conduct in red light
districts, the ability to respect women who were not deemed respectable,
and the ways of remaining a gentleman even in volatile surroundings - and
about proper mujrah etiquette learnt from my father to him, but I live in
Dallas which, alas, has no kothas and no courtesans. I am told that Lahore
does not any more either. This makes me sad.
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