Down the memory lane!

By Dr. Muhammad Hafizullah

“Let’s put our hands together and pray for the departed soul of Lala Amanullah Khan, who used to live here,” the voice of Dr Hafiz Ghafoor Ahmed was echoing in the air as I descended on to our old street 'Dhaki Naalbandi' in the heart of the city. The mosque was filled to brim hosting hundreds of devotees on her four floors. The patience of Nimazis was unprecedented as they the air was still and sun in full bloom but the authorities decided to impose load-shedding - right at the time of prayers. People, literally, had to 'sweat it out'. The knowledgeable scholar was offering pearls of wisdom in his usual affable way and the seekers were collecting it with all solemnity. They had organised Quran Khwani for my illustrious father and extended a special invitation to attend the prayers. Khutba was delivered and prayers were led by Qari Abdur Rauf -the younger brother clad in Arabic robes.

The mosque lies at the entry point of the street and everyone has to cross it while entering or exiting. I fondly remembered Aghaji popping his head in the door of mosque and greeting the Imam Sahib -father of Hafiz Ghafoor and Qari Rauf on crossing the mosque.

The mosque and his family played a central role in our lives and affairs of street. Special home prepared delicious lunch was served on the fourth floor of the mosque, while reminiscing the past with the brothers.

Many persons, whom I did not recognise, offered a very warm welcome after the prayers. My mind was wandering on the memory lane, raising multiple questions about different locations and people.

I was curious to learn about the old residents and was informed that except for a few families most had chosen to move out. After the prayers I took a trip of the street - a journey in space and time.

Peshawar was famous for her sweet water and had three famous wells to provide cold water using ordinary pulley for the entire population. Most enjoyable used to be mangoes cooled in the water of well and treat of watermelon early in the morning.

This is going back four decades when there were no fridges and air-conditioners. We used to take refuge in the basement or ground floor in the afternoon and sleep on the top floor enjoying wet beds with a revolving table fan.

Our house was mid way on the ascent which is supposed to be the highest spot in Peshawar. The street was at its widest near our house and doors of five houses opened in this space.

The street has a gentle slope and a few stairs at its steepest point. People walking uphill used to get a little breathless and the elderly used to take a little rest to catch their breath under various pretexts.

We as young kids used to run up and down effortlessly. Bang opposite to us lived Bunty - a young lad who died very young, a partner in our adventures.

The street plateaus at the highest point where it bifurcated. Great literary figures like Mohsin Ihsan and Wadood Manzar had their houses over there.

The detour was always a mystery to us and we loved going to the mosque in the corner with a lot of greenery. After taking two sharp turns the street widened up and later descended to the famous Kaifi Market -which must be one of the initial multi-storeyed commercial plazas of the city.

One had two options to go to Batair bazan bazaar either taking stairs hundreds of them - short of Kaifi Market or a gentle slope that descended a little later. We had a visual and mental block beyond the two sharp turns and never considered it as a part of our street.

We had a three-storeyed house and it housed many families with plenty of space for everyone - besides frequent guests. The drawing room had walk-through windows which opened in the street. The adjoining store and low height room on the top remained mystery for us.

This was supposed to be reserved for a Pir called Sabz Pir and remain unoccupied. The adjoining store had many things of interest to us and we were always keen to explore it. Between the ground floor and the first floor used to be small room - our play room.

At that time that remedy worked and in my own simple way I used to like that tree for relieving my pain. Going around the serai reminded me of my Chacha's marriage and his barat. I distinctly remember the white horse, the police band and special sehra with lights powered by a battery. Being the eldest nephew I was the 'Sabhala' hence got a chance to ride on the horse and wear a 'mini sehra'.

This was the time when life was relatively simple and pleasures easily found in plain things. The biggest gastronomical luxury used to be 'sweet Haleem' typical Peshawari produce served early in morning with eggs with crisp and tempting Roti. Some preferred to add 'Malai' - cream on it perhaps to make it a bombshell of cholesterol. Bread soaked in the gravy of 'Siri Pai' called 'Kalla' was a mouth watering dish to be consumed at special occasions. The quality of Kalla reflected the skills -both of the procurer and the cook. Some made it tastier by adding yoghurt and 'Khatti'. Kulfi and still better Falooda used to be the ultimate in desserts, many asking for a second helping.

Though more than four decades have elapsed but the sense of belonging remains very strong. This house served as our permanent address for a long time. Demands of father's job took us to different parts of the country but this was the place we can relate to it in so many ways. In the distant memory, the street and the house ignite the earliest childhood memories - our most precious asset.

"There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colours are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragrant than ever again." - Elizabeth Lawrence