Lahore Enchanted
A city of lights, love, and ancient lore. By Bapsi Sidhwa | From the March 1 & 8, 2013 issue. Ali Arif / AFP L ahore. If I toss up the word and close my eyes, it conjures up gardens and fragrances. Not only the formal Mughal gardens, with their obedient rows of fountains and cypresses, or the acreage of the club-strewn Lawrence Gardens, but the gardens in thousands of private houses with their riot of spring flowers. There is a carnival of jewel colors embedded in emerald lawns and hedges—a defiant brilliance of kachnar, bougainvillea and gulmohur silhouetted against an azure sky. And the winter and spring air are heady. They make the blood hum. I have spent most of my life in Lahore, and the city of 11 million provides the geographical location of my novels. Its ambience has molded my sensibility and also my emotional responses. To belong to Lahore is to be steeped in its romance, to inhale with each breath an intensity of feeling that demands ...