When Hira Mandi prostitute asked me to give Kashmir

Chapter 9

Hira Mandi is the famous red light area of Lahore. It has figured in the stories and novels of Urdu literature both in Hindi and Pakistan. One day in 1989 my editor Ghanshyam Pankaj asked me if I would like to go to Pakistan for a first hand report. I couldn't believe my ears but gratefully accepted the offer. I was quite friendly with the then press advisor Mubarak Shah at Pakistan High commission in New Delhi. We have visited exchanged visits for dinner and drinks. He was liberal Muslim and top of that a Pakistani diplomat posted in India. He would bolt his room and have smoke even during Ramzan. We shared mutual admiration and expressed free and frank opinions about each other's governments and leaders. I visited him the same day and broke the good news. He fixed an interview with the Pakistan High Commissioner who asked some formal questions and granted me visa. Next week I boarded a flight of Pakistan International Airlines for Lahore. Shah gave me some phone numbers and promised that he would call them to make my visit comfortable.

The flight was an educational experience. The Pakistani air hostesses were more than formal. Almost distant and matter of fact. I could feel that the Indo-Pak tension was writ large on their faces. It was 80 minute flight and I didn't realize when the arrival was announced. I had been suggested the Falletti's Hotel. This information was given to me by old timers who had migrated from Lahore in 1947. When I was coming out from the airport, the  custom officer was cynical towards me. He even suspected the purpose of my visit.

He asked me a straight question about the purpose of my visit.

I gave an equally frank answer. Your government has invited me to study the situation there. He was shocked. His cryptic reaction was what a government. First they invite you, then  ask us to screen and frisk you. Don't be surprised if you are shadowed by our intelligence. The whole trip kept on reminding me about i8t. I took a taxi and headed towards Falletti's. The hotel staff was more than cordial. After checking in I decided to take a walk in the city. I asked the manager if there was a Hindu temple in Lahore. He was flabbergasted. But politely expressed his ignorance. He advised me to an old Lahore shop who, he thought would be knowing. I found that shopkeeper and after a suspicious look, gave me the direction but advised to take a rikshaw. I did the same.

In ten minutes, I as stranding in front of a dilapidated temple like structure. It was locked. I was told that it opens only for half-an hour from 6 to 6.30 every day. I checked the watch. It was 6.40. But I could see a Durga idol behind the iron railings. I moved on. The instant thought that struck me was that there was a mosque at every corner in all the cities of India. And Delhi topped the chart. That was the first comparison that I drew.

I returned to the hotel and decided to turn in the bed. As such, It was going to be a crowded day after the night. My brother late Pawan Gupta was keen to accompany me in the trip. So he tagged along. He was more curious than me and taking full interest. He had discovered a contact in Lahore. We called him and he arrived in no time. I couldn't resist my temptation to ask about Hira Mandi, the famous red light street of Lahore. I had read about it in the stories of Manto, Rajinder Singh Bedi and Ismat Chughtai. The local chap smiled and just murmured. Never mind, we shall take you there but won't step up the stairs of those prostitutes quarters. I kept quiet. After the dinner we landed at Hira Mandi. He knew about the most famous brothel.

I had visited its counterpart G.B.Road in old Delhi as a young reporter with the help of Kamla Markt Police station and was familiar about the atmosphere. As we entered the bright, well-lit room of the head madam, I was visibly impressed. Delhi's G.B.Road is a filthy slum, full of pimps, cheaply painted girls and total darkness in the stairs leading to 200 odd kothas. The madam was all smile and welcoming.

My Pakistani host introduced me a senior journalist from Hindustan and had come there specially to meet her. She looked overwhelmed. I looked around the room. It had pictures of young children in public school uniforms. I threw a question mark. She said, my children. They live in hostel. I want to keep them away from this atmosphere and give them a different future. No comparison to the Indian prostitutes who were victims of cruel pimps, police and madams.

She started talking to make me comfortable. She asked me what would I drink. She flaunted all brands including Chivas Regal,Glenfiddich et al. I nodded in negation. She asked me what I did and where I lived. Why I had come to Pakistan. She was surprised that I had gone there to understand Pakistan and would write about it in a famous newspaper. She asked me a polite question?

What should I offer?

That was a broad hint, if I wanted a female company from her repertoire.

I hurriedly said, no not that. My visit is more for being aware as I was familiar with the name through books.

You must be knowing ministers in your government. I politely nodded, yes, in a way.

You must be meeting them often.

Now and then, I tried to evade the subject.

After some days, you would be going back home. didn't understand where she was leading me to.

I  again nodded. 

I have a request. I thought, she was hinting at payment. After all I was wasting her time. I took out my purse.

She  said a firm no, thanks. You are our honoured guest. And then you didn't avail of any services. But I want a favour?

When you go back to Hindustan please ask your government to give us our Kashmir.

Mohturma if I had, I would have given you an arm.

She burst into a laughter.