JHAROKAS AND ROMANCE

Today, these jharokas are remnants of this once grand statement of the ruling class. They, however, also conceal tales of innocent romance and give a glimpse of possibilities for the women of Old Lahore.

Jharokas were designed with jalis, providing a sense of privacy for women. They could sit peacefully on their pedestal and experience the outside world without necessarily being exposed – the jalis would conveniently screen them. Even with this carefully designed segregation, romance bloomed in secrecy. In a conservative culture, ideas of romance are often delicate and a mere communication would commence, just within moments of eye contact between a young man on the street and a girl mounted atop a jharoka. They say that the eyes of the women of Old Lahore are extremely expressive and carry out conversations without words. These traditional balconies were the mediums facilitating the subtle communication.

However, as time changes, culture evolves. The women of Old Lahore are not as heavily veiled, and don’t need to be concealed behind jalis. Maybe, it is time for these women to be empowered enough to design the amount of privacy they require within their space. Transformable jharokas, allowing women to fold their screens and convert balconies into windows provides them with a subtle choice of when, how and by whom they wish to be viewed.

A FEMINIST UTOPIA

Jharokas for women to conceal behind while viewing the bazaar scrambling beneath. Courtyards, imprisoned by built structures for them to experience rain, trees, and the sun without being exposed to the outside world. It is thought-provoking how culture shapes architecture and architecture shapes culture. It is a vicious cycle!

A cycle, which needs to be broken to cater to the altering demands and needs of the women of the Walled City.

The concept of Purdah (gender segregation) holds cultural significance – architectural elements like jharokas and courtyards provide women of the Walled City a ‘controlled’ glimpse of the outside world. However, Amina no longer wishes to be veiled within the suffocating confines of the courtyard, like her mother treasured growing up. Although an open space, for Fatimah it is claustrophobic as a result of the cultural context.

What if the central space spouted like a mountain, allowing Amina, Fatima, and many others like these young girls to see and be seen. A space elevated, in contrast to the sunken void!

“A feminist analysis of architecture should not only be interested in ‘women’s place’ in society, but in gender relations, and the importance and variety of individual experience.” (Coates 2015)

Amina and Fatima’s mothers and grandmothers, however, cherish the privacy, segregation, and comfort the architectural elements of courtyards and jharokas provide to them even today. Perhaps, this void should present a choice to the women of Walled City, instead of forcing them to be hidden in confinement or being forcefully exposed on a mounted pedestal.

THE SCARLET ENIGMAS OF LAHORE

Tibbi mein chal ke Jalwa-i-Parwar Digar dekh Are ye dekhne kí cheez hai ise bar bar dekh

Come to Tibbi to watch the splendors of the Almighty. It’s the worthiest of sights, view it over and over again

(Nevile 1993)

When we talk about the women of Old Lahore, it is essential to consider those conveniently overlooked, lurking in the shadows of Hira Mandi. Hira Mandi (Diamond Market), often referred to as the Shahi Mohallah (Royal Neighborhood) because of its proximity to the Lahore Fort, is a haven for forbidden adventures for the men of Lahore. On the surface, it is a crowded bazaar, comprising a thick jostle of narrow streets and rickety structures, but this nocturnal part of the city enlivens during the night with enticing traditional dances, music, and the oldest trade known to mankind. The market is named after Hira Singh, son of a minister of Ranjit Singh’s court but the locals claim that it is euphemism for the exquisiteness of the girls in Pakistan’s most ancient red-light district.

Girls in Hira Mandi grow up in a completely different environment from the ordinary Pakistani girls. In the mohalla (neighborhood), female beauty, and sexuality, is openly celebrated. It is not uncommon for a young girl to come from a line of concubines in this part of the city.

“Her mother, her grandmother, and her great-grandmother were all in the same profession: part of the generations of women who were born, raised, and trained to please men.” (Nevile 1993)

Historically, Hira Mandi was the hub of the city’s tawaif (concubine) culture for the Lahore’s Mughal era elite during the 15th and 16th centuries. The neighborhood became a center for mujra – a sensual dance style. Mughals were known to philander and had hundreds of women in their harem to pleasure them. The Shahi Mohalla turned into the core of prostitution during the Sikh Reign and continued to be so in the British colonial period. Regardless of the ‘Christian missionaries’ condoning the practice and encouraging the government to take action, Hira Mandi flourished as a pleasure district while some special brothels were created there for British soldiers.

Following the formation of Pakistan as a sovereign state, the martial law dictator, Zia, conducted an operation against music and dance houses, which were allegedly dens of prostitution. The operation only temporarily served to spread the practice throughout the city. However, Hira Mandi upholds its dark reputation as the redlight district of the city.

Once upon a time, the ‘Royal Neighborhood’ was not merely about selling flesh – the nawabs, kings, emperors, and the ruling elite would visit the courtesans to experience the allure and acquire etiquettes from them. Only if you were trained in social graces and were capable of wooing the artists, they would entertain you. Furthermore, courtesans were hired by wealthy families to teach their children culture and social behavior.

Enticing troupes of women would sit in beautifully carved wooden jharokas, in kothas (traditional brothels), plying their trade as rose garlands were purchased from the flower shops on the ground floor by eager customers. The bazaar downstairs flourished like any other market in the Walled City. However, slowly the aesthetic pursuit became less arty and tartier. A worker claims with a heavy heart, “We don’t sing here anymore”. The once unique culture of art, dance, music, charm, and etiquette of the acclaimed Hira Mandi has reduced to selling cheap sex behind closed curtains.