Peshawar: A Pre-Partition breeding ground of champions

With new millennium hangouts

Commercialisation and the western influence have affected most cities in Pakistan, and Peshawar is no exception. One would expect a midnight mela in Peshawar — we attended one — to sell some traditional stuff like the famous Peshawari Chappals or carpets, but to my disappointment, the mela was selling mostly imported items.

The makeshift stalls were strewn with fancy hair accessories and children’s toys with the ‘Made in China’ tag. Even the markets like the Saddar in the cantonment sell everything that one can buy in any part of the world.

But one does get a feel of the real Peshawar at a shack tucked away in a corner selling hot chappli kebabs, followed by the traditional green tea – kahwa. It was fascinating to watch the making of the traditional Pathan food. The meat is minced and then garnished with tomatoes, green chillies, coriander leaves and various other condiments. Then just like aloo tikkis, it is placed in a deep frying vessel. The result is simply mouth-watering!

Being queen for a day

While Peshawar has a reputation of being unsafe, it is definitely the most hospitable city in Pakistan. The Pathans may look big and stern, but they are the best hosts as well. This writer visited a local house — like the kothis that dot the Faridabad or Gurgaon cityscape — in the Hayatabad area for lunch. Inside, the floor was covered with various carpets with rich colours; the ornate furniture had a dark hue to them. The lunch was a spread. Two chicken dishes, a lamb dish, a plate full of the chappli kebab, biryani, various kinds of naan, mint raita and a huge serving of fresh salad. The plates were never empty. The hosts were only satisfied after four helpings of each dish. Needless to say, eating anything for another 24 hours was impossible.

It’s still Balaji territory though

Even Peshawar hasn’t escaped the Saas-Bahu effect. The lunch visit to the local’s house also included a few moments in the zinana — the women’s room. This writer was looked at curiously by the 10 women whose ages varied from 8 to 80. But it wasn’t a look of hostility, it was warmth and affection and that was evident in the words of the oldest lady. She was very surprised to know that I was an Indian, because she couldn’t tell the difference. The conversation then shifted to television programmes and the favourites were the Indian family soaps. And as if the food wasn’t enough, I returned loaded with gifts — a shawl and a shalwar kameez. All this for a visitor whose connection with the family was their son, who I’d met that very morning for the first time….