Driving down Mall Road in Lahore this morning on the way to the Home Ministry Office to apply for a visa extension – sweaty palms, dry throat – I fail to appreciate the sunshine, bouncing gaily off the orange funnels of tiger lilies colouring the median divide. A puff of cotton, hovering over the cars ahead, catches my attention. Hoping to escape the anxious whatifs in my mind, I latch onto the white-haired seed, following its rise and fall through the air … now just missing the raised white glove of a traffic policeman, now gliding behind the young motorcyclist whose t-shirt logo inspires me this morning: "Think DONE!"
The traffic light turns green. As the car speeds forward, I crane my neck to catch a last glimpse of the white puffball rising above the blue smoke of the spluttering autorickshaws. What a din of mufflers!
Soon, I discover the source of the cotton: the tall shimul trees (Bombax ceiba) bordering the road, with powder-puff seeds still attached to their split pods. A few months ago, these branches were a glorious crimson, sporting the fist-sized, fleshy flowers that also speckled the grounds below. Now the bloody tiger-claws of Erythrina indica cheerlead the summer blooms.
We pass the Avari Hotel, which recently hosted its first Hindu wedding in 18 years. A couple had tied the knot and walked the sat phera (seven circles) around the sacred fire. What were their names? Rama and what? Come to think of it, I haven't met or heard of a single renowned, extant Hindu in the two years that I've been frequenting Lahore. Considering the fact that this was once a major Hindu and Sikh city (I haven't met a Sikh yet either), that is a sad reminder of the legacy of Partition.