Kites and kebabs
India Today – ITPlus, March 2004
I’m grateful to cricket for many things, and one of them is that it got me to Pakistan – with its sufi shrines and elaborately painted trucks, its virtuoso kite flyers and zesty kebabs. The most rewarding travelling combines the purposeful and the aimless. Following a cricket tour in Pakistan – and deviating from it as whim takes you – is as good an introduction to the country as any.
I once found myself in Faisalabad to watch a one-day match. The city itself is an industrial sprawl and unless you have an interest in textile mills, there’s not much for a tourist to see. Nonetheless, here I was invited to join an iftar celebration in a small hotel where the food and conviviality were abundant. In much of Pakistan, foreign visitors are rare and hospitality is unforced. In general, for the tourist, Pakistan has the advantage of being under-explored, and sometimes the frustrations of being under-developed.
In Faisalabad, the conversation quickly turned to cricket. My hosts were well aware that for a traveller from England the city was most likely to be known as the scene of the 1987 finger-wagging showdown between England captain Mike Gatting and umpire Shakoor Rana. The ground itself is non-descript. Like most of those chosen for international matches in Pakistan, it’s a recent construction, functional and largely characterless, unlike the spectators who pack it out. The crowds are boisterous and the chanting and jokes are incessant. In the ladies’ stands, I’m told, the cricket is accompanied by an irreverent running commentary.
Indian cricket fans travelling in Pakistan will find the same mad scramble for tickets, the same often inadequate spectator facilities they’re used to at home. But it’s in the galis and maidans that they’ll find Pakistani cricket in the raw, densely packed and frenetic. Opportunities to play organised cricket here are comparatively limited, so disorganised cricket comes to the fore. It’s ubiquitous and endlessly inventive. But in these respects cricket is rivalled by kite-flying. Especially at Basant, the skies are mottled with brightly coloured paper shields, skilfully deployed, and routinely snagging power lines and disrupting supplies.
Lahore has to be one of the most attractive of the great cities of south Asia, spacious, urbane and relatively navigable. The Mall features a string of Victorian Mughal Gothic monuments and the old walled city preserves not only glorious ancient structures but a living link to the past. Walk down the street of drum-makers or caged bird sellers. Study the contrast between the multi-coloured, floral panelling of the warm and intimate Wazir Khan mosque or the serene and austere symmetry of the Badshahi mosque – next to which people pay homage at the tasteful modern tomb of Muhammad Iqbal, the man revered as the national poet of Pakistan who was also a singer of unity in the anti-colonial struggle.
Lahore is home to Qaddafi Stadium, the country’s most comfortable and aesthetically pleasing cricket ground. Architect Nayyar Ali Dada drew inspiration from the Mughals, using pink brick and a repeated round arch motif. The stadium is now entirely seated (concrete benches are common on other grounds) and boasts air-conditioned dressing rooms and plush VIP enclosures. The PCB has its headquarters here, and not surprisingly Qaddafi hosts a disproportionate share of the country’s international cricket.
Travel south west from Lahore past endless mango orchards to Multan, the chief city of southern Punjab, where they complain of neglect and discrimination at the hands of provincial and central governments – and cricket authorities. Multan is the home town of batsman Inzamam ul-Haq but in his long career he’s been able to play only two international matches there (racking up a total of 253 runs for once out).
Multan has been disparaged as a city of “heat, beggars, dust and burial grounds,” but it’s filled with interest, and like southern Punjab as a whole, marked by a powerful sufi presence – in the buildings, the music, the poetry. If you’re lucky enough, you can sample all three at one of the major 13th-14th century shrines next to Multan’s old fort – poetic structures that are solid yet somehow weightless. Here as elsewhere, you’ll be reminded that Pakistan is the land of qawalli and kaafi, of Bullhe Shah, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Abida Parveen, Reshman and Junoon (music cassettes are some of the best value for money souvenirs you can take home from Pakistan).
Multan also offers a walled medieval heart to rival the great historic centres of Tuscany. Sadly, unlike in Tuscany, much of its architectural wealth has been left to decay, though Multan’s ancient core has the compensating attraction of being a living urban complex, its bazaars and alleys packed with people working, trading, gossiping.
South of Multan lies Bahawalpur, where another walled city with a fascinating bazaar is ringed by a weird and wonderful array of late 19th and early twentieth century palaces erected by the Nawabs of this one-time princely state. The Nawabs also bequeathed Dring Stadium to the city. Here Hanif Muhammad struck the first test century on Pakistani soil (against India in 1955). There’s more charm to this ground and its setting than most in Pakistan, but the first test there also proved to be the last. Still, this is an enjoyable place to watch a domestic match, with a knowledgeable crowd.
Above all, Bahawalpur is the gateway to the blue-glazed tombs of Uch-Sharif, among the architectural gems of south Asia, where your only company is likely to be a small group of boys from the adjacent village. The shrines are exquisite, set in a timeless rural landscape of neatly demarcated fields worked by women dressed in the brilliant colours favoured in the region. The countryside in this heavily irrigated area is tranquil, an orderly landscape threaded by soothing canals lined with shade trees. Drive out to the Sultej and walk across the causeway spanning this vast plain of a river, then dine on fresh fish at one of the roadside stalls.
Yet further south the desert begins and on its fringe lies the massive 18th century Fort Derawar, with its forty bulging bastions and acres of precise brickwork. Surrounding the long abandoned Fort are numerous unidentified, unexplored ruins and a small sand-blown settlement where I spent a pleasant hour listening to the cricket on the radio with some local boys and their goats.
For a taste of the bracing contrasts Pakistan offers, get yourself to Quetta, where once again a cricket-starved population feels denied its rightful share of international competition. The city has hosted only thee one day internationals over a twenty-five year period (two against India). That’s a pity, because there are few more dramatic settings for a cricket match – on a high altitude plateau surrounded by towering bare rock ridges. Here the air, the people, the cuisine seem more central than south Asian. Fruit orchards abound in the flat valley surrounding the town, each small farmstead a maze of neatly-shaped mud walls.
Quetta specialises in sajji – marinated and slow roasted lamb leg, tender and aromatic, washed down with buttermilk and a green tea to finish off the feast. In general, Pakistan is a meat-eaters’ paradise. The sharply spiced kebabs and karahis are often as good as they get. A breakfast of brain curry or beef nihari is a heady experience. No visit to Lahore can be complete without sampling tukka-tuk – a dish comprising every conceivable part of the sheep, minced with spices on a sizzling tawa (the name derives from the rhythmic chopping of the steel blade). And when it comes to tasty home-made beefburgers the Pakistani street stalls have got the Americans, as well as the local McDonalds, beat hands down. It’s a pity you can’t buy this stuff at the cricket grounds.
Pakistan, of course, is a complex and changing society and even the casual tourist will note its conflicts and controversies. I’m grateful to cricket for giving me a glimpse of these, as well as the bazaars, shrines, kites and kebabs. This is a country whose scenic variety is matched by the variety of its peoples and cultures. Everywhere, it echoes with a long, multi-stranded history. If you’re in that soulless bureaucratic hive known as Islamabad for a cricket match, take some time off to explore the nearby ruins at Taxila, marked by influences from north, east, south and west (not least the Greeks). It’s an evocative and thought-provoking site, which, once again, you’re likely to have to yourself.
