Traffic has always been a consummate measure of the importance of a city.
The type of traffic also indicates the level of modernity a city has achieved, and it provides visitors with an inkling of what to expect.
Multan in that respect is still in the process of donning the new — with the old slip still showing.
Thus a visitor can expect to see vehicular traffic here that has elsewhere long gone on the road to extinction.
The agricultural base and the need for ancillary industries have led to this relative modernity relying on old modes of transport. Many simply do not see the need to change.
Mule-drawn carts or tongas (a horse-drawn hansom unique to the subcontinent) are a common sight in Multan as they trot alongside other, relatively new modes of transport.
For their drivers the cart and carriage are a means of making a living, but for many of the younger generation, who like a bit of speed, they are just speed breaks.
Motorcycles, autorickshaws, cars, buses, vans and lorries do outnumber the older mode of transport, but the juxtaposition of old and new remains noticeable.
There’s also a transport unique to the region.
The Chink-Jis of Multan are the pulse that drives the city in the day.
Unique in design and name, the half-motorcycles hinged to an elevated cab screech their way around the lanes and bylanes of the city at incredible speed.
Apparently this vehicle derives its name from where it originated — China.
The front is like any other motorcycle, with the wheel, the handlebar and suspensions.
The cylinder precedes the seat, and at this point, the Chink-Ji develops a design of its own.
A cab on two wheels is linked to this front part to produce the popular hybrid.
The cab seats six, but with a will that defies dynamics and imagination, it invariably takes in more than that number.
To drive this vehicle must be an art — amid all this traffic it is a skill of immense measure. How it can be developed and used outside this sphere is anybody’s guess.
It is the Chink-Jis, the carts and the tongas that keep Multan in touch with the past.
But it does not live in it.
The Multanis, while retaining the elegance of the old, have also adapted to or adopted the new.
The urbanites now seemingly opt for brand names in place of the shalwar and kameez worn by the traditionalists, who in turn have left the “pagaris” (turban) and the “chadar” to their rural past.
Despite the cool exterior, it is the warmth of their interior that speaks volumes of Multanis.
And it is not only the youth but also wizened pre-partitioners who have welcomed this ongoing “Friendship Series” with India.
Cricket, as was evident by the record numbers that did not turn up for the Test match between India and Pakistan, is of secondary importance to the revival of ties.
As a young entrepreneur who has recently joined his family business, Sajjad Shah watches cricket and expounds on politics.
Confident in the future, he says, “There’s no difference between us. The people on the either side of the border want peace.
“And let’s get on with it. Cricket is a good medium, but it would need strong trade ties to cement this growing friendship.”
It was the businessman in him talking.
But he was also hopeful in his assessment in saying both the governments were right to start with cricket.
There was an echo of this hope from an old man who had graduated down from driving Chink-Jis to autos.
It was in his car during a trip to a nearby bazaar that the man began this conversation.
“Are you from India, and from which city?”
On hearing that I was from Bombay, he asked me, “Is Bhendi Bazaar still there?” Seeing the shock on my face and the nod of assent, he said: “I worked in Bombay for Niranjan Glass Factory before partition. And I used to earn 25 rupees, a princely sum then for me. I moved then to Delhi where my family was, before migrating.”
“May Allah will a return of peace to this subcontinent soon. Then at least in this lifetime I can go and see Delhi and Bhendi Bazaar again.”
The said glass factory must have long gone, but Bhendi Bazaar is still there, as are the hopes of many.
We know that the past is a prelude to the present and the present a precursor to the future.
And that’s what provides hope.
At present the signs are good that the hope could turn into reality.
