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13/09/2002
MURREE (Part 1)
Book launching of MURREE: A Glimpse through the Forest by Virgil Miedema, Holiday Inn, Islamabad, 13 September 2002.

Like many of you, I have met Virgil Miedema for the first time today, and my introduction to him has been through his new book on Murree.
Although Virgil had been posted in Pakistan between 1989 and 1993, we had never met, for while he was dispensing largesse through US AID in Islamabad, I was in Lahore running a solvent insurance company that did not have any requirements for US Aid.
It was only when I received a copy of the proofs of his book some months ago that I realized that we shared a parallel interest with the 19th century history of this area, an interest that Virgil has described in his Preface as a ‘hobby’, and Stephen McClarence more accurately as ‘an obsession’.
Why the 19th century, you might ask? Why not the longer, richer periods of Punjab’s history that span Harappa, Taxila, Alexander’s invasion, the Muslim dynasties that preceded the Mughals, the Mughals themselves, the various incursions of Nadir Shah, and finally the emergence of the Sikhs?
I cannot answer for Virgil, for each man is responsible for his own vices. I can speak only for myself. My excuse is that the 19th century grips my attention for two reasons: it is a period of our past that is distant enough from today to be viewed as history, and near enough to reveal identifiable, visible linkages with our present. Above all, thanks to the diligence of administrators, scholars, observant visitors, artists, early photographers, yes, even housewives, we have access to a valuable record, a precious quarry of both written accounts and visual images of that period.
No period of our history is as well documented, and even if it is documented whether in English or in vernacular records, no archive is as extensive or as rewarding to the diligent researcher. Even though it is now scattered across continents, it exists between the covers of published works. It is embedded in the dusty pages of out of print journals. It hangs on the walls of convents. It is stored in libraries in the subcontinent and abroad. It can be found fixed in celluloid in the early Victorian photographs preserved in the British Library and the Alkazi collections in London. And it is hidden from public gaze – as Anarkali herself was while she was still alive – in the octagonal tomb built for her that now houses the Punjab Archives within the Punjab Secretariat.
The archives of the 19th century therefore, in particular, are a treasure trove for any researcher, but as Virgil has proven, they reward those who are extraordinarily diligent, extremely persistent, and possess an almost tireless stamina.
I am reminded of the anecdote of the American visitor to an Oxford University who admired its grassy quadrangles. “How do you get them to be so green and so trim and even?” the American asked his host.
“Oh, very simple.” The English don, replied. “All you have to do is to water it, and to roll it, and occasionally to mow it.”
“You can’t be serious,” the American replied. “Is that all you do?”
“Yes, that’s all. But you have to do it for 600 years.”
 
Research may not actually take 600 years, but on occasions I can tell you from experience it feels like 600 years. That is one of the reasons why today we should applaud Virgil’s tremendous effort in documenting Murree’s history. He has done it with diligence, with verve and with a sensitivity that Murree deserves and does not always receive from its temporary visitors or its permanent residents.
I will not recap the history of Murree since its establishment in 1850. Virgil has done that already and brilliantly in his book. For me, his book has a value not simply as a chronicle of Murree’s growth as a hill station nor as an charming evocation of Murree’s elegant past. It is also a serious reminder, a warning that every element of our past is a foundation, something meant to be built upon, not demolished or destroyed.
One has only to turn the pages of Virgil’s book to see how rapidly, how insensitively and how destructively unbridled commercial development has threatened Murree, and of how its once wooded and fragrant hillsides are now barren, empty slopes. Stones do not sprout leaves; concrete does not blossom; and water was never intended by Nature to cascade from a plastic bottle. If I sound like a conservationist, it is not out of choice; it is now out of desperate necessity.
I have heard that quite recently the Government has prohibited any further construction in Murree. Better late than never, so long as it can prevent a subsidence of the overcrowded suburbs of Murree, a landslide that would bring Murree closer to Islamabad in a dramatic way its town planners had never intended.
But if ‘Better late than never’ is good, ‘better never late’ is even better. Murree is a test case of intelligent conservation for the rest of the country.
It would be pointless for us citizens to look to the Government only for action. No Government anywhere on this finite planet is ever conservationist by instinct. The recent World Environment Conference in Johannesbrug is a good enough example. Citizens though are. While, politicians may like to wash their dirty linen in public, it is we the public that has to wash its dirty linen in even dirtier streams. If Virgil’s book awakens even a glimmer of awareness in the minds of those who can and should act, it will have achieved one of its many substantial purposes.
For me, as I am sure for many of you, Virgil’s book comes at the right time. Its publication coincides with an increasing demand by a growing readership for information about ourselves, about the places we live in, who we are as a people, our past and our present. Go to any bookstore and you will notice that the section on Pakistan is increasing by the yard. That is a good sign. The bad news is that they are not always researched as meticulously or as carefully as Virgil’s is. His volume is trove of information, of illustrations, of anecdotes and of reminiscences that recreate the holiday spirit of Murree.
Each one of us has some experience or association with Murree, otherwise we would not be here this evening. My own are of extended holidays during the summer, walks on the Mall, tea at Lintott’s, and during one summer being housebound for days while the rain pelted down unrelentingly day after day for over a week. And when finally it did abate, we were stranded in Murree because a landslide had washed away the road back to Rawalpindi. It was then that I realized why it was so important for us to obtain Kashmir – it was another route out of Murree. (I am talking of a time before the road to Abbottabad was made serviceable.)
[CONTD. / 2]
 
13 September 2002
 
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