Lahore Logistics

Lahore was a Valentine Mecca like most cities of the world on the days before February 14. Men hawked roses and red plastic hearts on the side of the roads, and the Italian fashion house Moschino peddled its designer fragrance on a conspicuous billboard proclaiming ‘No ordinary love, no ordinary gift’. A European model accompanied the ad—blue eyes and red hair popping the senses of a conservative Islamic republic.

But the ad rang true in another sense. When I saw it on a dark, abandoned street that should have been lit up and full of shoppers on the night for lovers, I realised there was nothing ordinary about Valentine’s Day itself in Lahore. Citizens chose the day to join the frenzied backlash against a Danish newspaper that first published satirical cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad in September. Merchants shackled their shops and anecdotal warnings haunted the ghost-like city, telling visitors not to go near old Lahore where the police had set up blockades to control crowds.

If there is no true sense of ease in a foreign environment, Valentine’s Day in Lahore, with the strikes, only magnified an outsider’s sense of anomie. The day didn’t feel dangerous, but it became an exercise in extra-delicate movements, despite Lahore, on first comprehension, having the feel of a European capital. With all its consumerism and indulgences, we probably just had a false sense of security.

The city gave us two options for Valentine revelry: gritty unrest or privileged safety. Employees at the Sunfort Hotel in Lahore’s Liberty Market and other Pakistani citizens told us, “You just don’t take chances.”

We resigned ourselves to the scrubbed version of Lahore—the nice and gentle side that makes you fall in love with Pakistan. I wonder though if the sterilised aspects of seemingly dangerous places are any less authentic than the passionate circumstances of ordinary citizens. Although odd at best, the Moschino ad represented another side of a Pakistani city that was also worth exploring.

We began the Valentine’s Day strike just wondering what to do, huddled outside the Sunfort Hotel and facing countless closed storefronts. We first ate lunch (restaurants were some of the few establishments open that day) at a place resembling an American-style cafeteria, before heading to the Royal Palm Golf and Country Club.

Despite mulling over the warnings to keep vigilant about our personal safety, the club was so isolated and beautiful that it made us forget the city’s other circumstances.

Defined by exclusivity, the manager told me most people in Lahore can’t afford the club’s monthly fees (2,000 Pakistani rupees). The club just hired a 25-year-old from England to run the driving range, and the few cars in the parking lot were all expensive imports.

Largely abandoned like the rest of Lahore, we had the patio overlooking the course all to ourselves. We drank coffee, tea and fresh lime soda while listening to Kiss by Prince and other ’80s bands like Duran Duran. As darkness fell, a few shops opened up, and we tried in vain to find more treasures worth taking home.

At dinner we took in the Badshahi Mosque from the balcony of Cooco’s Den and Cafe. Lights romantically illuminated the structure, making things look terribly peaceful in a city that was no doubt still full of tension.

And maybe that was how it was all supposed to end: Us sheltered from harsher realities, still thinking, believing love was in the air.