My city, my trees
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The ‘Lahore bachao tehreek’ may be ‘too little, too late’ |
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Traffic snarls like this one are a common occurence in Lahore |
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It is absolutely unacceptable that Lahore is the most polluted city of Pakistan. New data ... reveals that Lahore takes the cake when it comes to air pollution and the attendant dangers to public health |
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My piece published in The Friday Times
Moaning about Lahore’s most elitist enclave, GOR-I, is a contentious undertaking. On the one hand, it was, until recently, the best of what the British left us – lovingly adorned with diverse species of trees, home to glorious specimens of ecologically-friendly architecture and an old-world-charm unparalleled for its simplicity and elegance. On the other hand, it was also a symbol of the extractive, Punjab-centric colonial state of the nineteenth century, lorded over by the agents of the Indian civil service.
But when one has lived in those sublime environs, not as the scion of a landed, aristocratic clan but rather as a member of a middle-class, professional family, what is one to do? GOR-I was a lonely plant of sorts amid the sprawl of Lahore, with trees, birds and orchards one would not have expected to find in an Asian mega-city. In the spring, we strolled amid the just-bloomed shrubs; in the summer, amaltas trees and shady, mythical jamuns greeted us at every corner. In winter, GOR-I was a misty, freezing locale, reminiscent of the little hill-stations nurtured by the British while they controlled the destiny of India.
We would often step out of the little lanes of GOR-I and walk all the way to Ferozsons bookshop on the Mall to browse through the new titles. This was an age when video games had not captured the energies of the young, when the internet had not even been dreamt of, and when the television, in those dark years of General Zia-ul-Haq, was a daily booster shot of boredom. This is not the case anymore, for by now one has already mourned the loss of Lahore to rampant and senseless greed, the vagaries of the land mafia and the absolute failure of the civic authorities. It is inconceivable now to walk anywhere along the Mall without inhaling toxic fumes, or worse, being hit by a speeding vehicle. Decay is all around us. Its foremost manifestation can be seen in the way the Lahori elites and residents have slowly poisoned their city.
Much could be said on the suicidal tendencies of the natives in general, for it is not with Lahore alone that we are concerned. Suicide is evident all over the place. From a young, brainwashed lad who blows himself up in search of paradise to a state that is its own worst enemy, our irrational behavior is simply mind-boggling. One had learned from dear Darwin that evolution was about the survival of the fittest. But the global destruction of the
My Amaltas tree

I grew up watching an Amaltas (Cassia fistula) grow in our side-garden in Lahore. Each spring would bring flowers on the creepers and shortly thereafter the Amaltas would start blooming with yellow flowers setting fire to the little garden adjacent to my room. Lahore's roads would also glow in the summer adding much zest to a loveable, hot summer. Heat would make one yearn for the rains. So the cycle of seasons would continue with Amaltas at the centre of transitions and unforgettable for the colour and unfathomable beauty...
In Dhaka, Delhi and so many South Asian cities I have watched Amaltas trees in full bloom. The picture above (taken in Islamabad by a newspaper correspondent) today brought back all those muddled memories. Luckily, where I live now, Amalatas exists with a different local name.
Comforting, like an old acquaintance, it is still there in my life. It has not abandoned me.
More on the Amaltas tree, its properties...
Indonesia’s green madrassas
Rather than harping on the divisive rhetoric of tribe, sect and political persuasion, we have a theological and teleological imperative to “green our societyâ€
In a remote part of Central Java, Indonesia’s most populous island, there is a rather unusual form of environmentalism taking root. Shadowed by the great Merapi volcano and surrounded by fertile fields of rice and sugarcane, a small school is graduating environmentalists whose commitment to the earth is not based on Western conservation texts but rather predicated in values derived from Islam. The head of the school, Nasruddin Anshari, frequently uses the refrain “one earth, for allâ€, just as much as he does the usual Islamic invocation of Allah-u Akbar (God is Great).


I was introduced to this photo taken by
The image on the right, again shows how trees have vanished and there has been no re-plantation despite the usual lip-service that is paid on these occasions.