Peshawar, The city of Men.
A story of a city from past.
The muezzin calls, the sound of calling the faithful to the dawn prayer echoes between the narrow alleyways of the old city, reverberating as the light barely breaks between the dark veil of the sky above. Of what is visible, one can still see the stars above. Yet the houses in the alleyways have an odd sound every so often, of life slowly starting back up again, of running taps, water flowing from pipes, of rooms lit by yellow incandescent light, some replaced by the bright new LED bulbs. The sweeping sound of broom echoing in the inner courtyards, Neighbours hearing neighbours, many have been living side by side for generations, knowing each other’s families from grandparents to their grandchildren. Being present in every sense of brotherhood. Below in the narrow alleyways, the sound of footsteps shuffling on concrete walkways, of men heading towards the mosque, some to their bakeries to light up the mud ovens ready for baking the morning bread.
This has been routine in these parts of the city for centuries, The British Raj left a major footprint on the old city that is still inhabited by generational families, while many have moved on towards newer townships and some immigrated, The remnants of the old governor's house was once located a stone’s throw and within the boundaries of the old city gates remain. so does the famous Sethi house, now turned into a museum, the house belonged to a famous merchant family of Peshawar which traded goods as far as the Russian empire. One wonders how the British Raj would have looked at such an arrangement. There were 16 gates to the main walled city, majority of the population would live inside these, many of the gates remain, albeit reconstructed to commemorate the old monuments. The city is likely more denser than how it used to be. Religious brotherhood existed. Being of a different faith didn’t matter. Hindus, Sikhs, Christians and Muslims living side by side. They all had one focus in life. to live, to survive.
Asia Gate, one of the 16 gates of the old city. January 2024’
As the morning light begins to break, the shutters of shops start to go up, children leaving their houses dressed in school uniforms. some running, some rubbing their eyes, heading towards the school. While most walk, some are given a ride on their father's motorcycle, an easier mode of transport in a place densely packed. Dawn has broken into daylight.
Afterschool brings with it the important play in the streets. cricket, toys or pets, it doesn’t matter, it’s the laughter that counts, of memories being made. Of growing up knowing who is who and calling ever one “mama” (Uncle).
While Peshawar, even in its most recent history has seen more than its fair share of terror, the city is still very much alive, just like the spirit of its inhabitants. There is reliance on hope, that a better future against all odds. Remnants of the old religions remain, there is still presence of many, even if so being in the minority, brotherhood is alive in many ways. Businesses of all types somehow survived, rather thrived within the ancient walkways. perhaps it’s the population growth. Or the love for the city.
Continuously populated since around 500 BC, Peshawar was once known as Purusapura, A Sanskrit word for the “city of men”. The city itself being one of the oldest in South Asia has been the center of learning and trade and has stood the arrival of many empires. Alexander is said to have conquered and passed through the city in 327 BC.
Documenting life in Peshawar is one of my main projects that has been ongoing since 2018, each year, I try to visit as much as I can, But I hope, one day of turning it into something of a portal, a coffee table book, of memories of a city that gave me a beginning.
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This is great!