In search of Umrao Jaan in Pakistan

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It was, therefore, a determined effort on my part that saw me and a very reluctant escort party of two Indian and four Pakistani males make our way to Chet Ram Gali, to watch a mujra for the very first time.

While the heavy chandeliers, perfumed streets and brocade drapes have given way to mucky lanes and tacky single rooms, there is still a ritual to follow with a mujra.

Our Pakistani guide, Gul, a formidable Pathan from Balochistan, tells us that only those rooms with a naked bulb lit outside are open for business.

Tired faces, of young over made-up girls, waiting tabla players and desperate looking madams were busy calling out to customers to beat the 11pm to 1 am time allowed for such "entertainment."

Our choice falls on two sisters Hamida and Fatima, who look warily at me, a woman accompanied by six men, out to watch a very male form of entertainment.

Gul tells Khatoun, Hamida's mother and owner of the house, about the Indian girl who wants to see Hira Mandi's famous mujra, and, all doubts cleared up, a Rs 1,000 note changes hands, and it begins.

The sisters put on heavy ghunghroos and, clad in regular shalwar kameezes, they are a far cry from Rekha's turn as Zohra Bai in Muqaddar, but times are bad, mullahs have tried to close down the place too often, says Khatoun.

In honour of their Indian guests, the sisters dance to "Kaanta laga", all heaving bosoms and loud ankle bells. The Rs 10 notes are thrown at random, Gul instructing the rest on the proper "etiquette" of nyunchavar.

It is clear that the "inspiration" of a thousand mujra numbers is fast running out of steam, it is nothing more than a Mumbai dance bar.

Khatoun reveals that her girls are popular among expatriates and Indians. "We perform in London, Dubai, and if we are lucky enough to get a visa, we might go to Bhopal next month," she says. Soon we tumble out into the cold Lahore air after the performance is abruptly ended at the mullah imposed time of 1 am.

As always, the idea is more powerful than the thing itself. A search for the golden-hearted courtesan made immortal by Hindi movies ends in Hira Mandi where two hours is all you get, shorter even than a full length film.