“A lift? What do we need to get on a lift for?” my friend asked, as I gestured towards the huge metal elevator door in front of us.

When I told her our car was parked in the basement she was so amused — she had never been to Lahore before. Her amusement amused me in return. It was the same parking lot I’d parked my car in upwards of a hundred times when picking and dropping relatives at the Lahore airport.

My friend’s amusement was rather misplaced. After all, it was just a parking space. As we drove home through Bhatta Chowk and Ghazi Road, my friend marvelled at the smooth roads and clean corners. “Not a single spilled-over garbage bag in sight,” she commented.

Truth be told, I let most of her observations pass without a comment as I wasn’t sure if I agreed with them. I had never been asked before to have an opinion on my own city and I wasn’t sure I had one.

By the time we got home, however, I had started to agree with at least some of what she was saying. We grabbed some food on the way, and the parking space in front of the store was very sufficient. My friend pointed it out and I realised how inconvenient the stop would have been if the parking space was not sectioned off the way it was. I had told her my home wasn’t near the airport. When we got home within the hour, she questioned me on why I had said so.

The next day we visited androon shehr. I was excited to act as her tour guide. However, I didn’t get much of a chance to do so because it turned out my friend was very well read on the history of the entire area. She knew of the relics kept in the northern chamber — The Holy Prophet’s (peace be upon him)s sandals, and a copy of the Quran written by hand. I wasn’t aware of any of these even though I’d frequented this place more times than I could count.

My friend also knew of the courtesan history that the Food Street — now known almost exclusively for its view of the Badshahi Masjid — sits on top of without much mention.

Later that day my friend convinced me to hire a tour guide. The guide spoke of wars and sieges, of years spent constructing what we were passing in minutes. Around us the Old City continued as it always does: vendors, motorbikes, a noisy neighbourhood etc. It struck me that I had been part of that same carelessness for years, moving through history as though it had always been there and always would be, which I suppose is exactly the problem.

My family being from Sindh and me having grown up in Lahore had always given me a feeling of not belonging to either place. Feeling like a tourist in my own city was not new to me, but I had never felt it quite like this. 

My family being from Sindh and me having grown up in Lahore had always given me a feeling of not belonging to either place. Feeling like a tourist in my own city was not new to me but I had never felt it quite like this.

On the last day of my friend’s visit, we first visited the Liberty Market and then drove around the DHA, as I pointed to and made remarks about random spots and buildings I frequent on a daily basis. I couldn’t get much of a reaction from my friend other than the occasional “Oh nice!” and “Wow, that’s so cool.”

The next day my friend left. Every day since I’ve passed by the same roads and places. What’s irritating is that they remind me of her now. A lifetime of memories to choose from and my mind chooses the moment I was showing off my simple little life.

*******

A few days ago I was having coffee in our usual spot with my Lahori friend. A coffee we have had weekly ever since the Covid years. Not a single tangible detail was out of place; the banter with the valet man, the wishful thinking that we will only sit for thirty minutes then return home, the appreciation of the view of the traffic at the roundabout from the rooftop.

However, I felt an unfamiliar fondness for the view. The feeling stood out as the view was as familiar as it could have been. Within myself I must’ve transformed ten times over in the years I’ve witnessed this view, but the exteriority of the view was unchanged. Yet, for the first time I felt a sense of ownership over it.

Lahore has been my city all along: in its canal that runs quietly through the city without asking to be loved, and has always been someone’s idea of a perfect afternoon; in its red lights that last long enough to forget you are waiting; in its Liberty vendors who treat a sale like a small friendship. I was just the last to notice.

Nadia Ahmed Uqaili is a content strategist with over five years of global agency experience. She also writes short fiction on Substack. She can be reached at [email protected]