It began with panic. Or, something akin to that — maybe, the ‘fear of the unknown.’ Or, simply, fright. Only we hadn’t the option of flight this time around. As the year of the pandemic unfolded, we saw and heard of too many deaths, from Covid-19, a life-threatening albeit unfamiliar virus (they called it “novel”) that was to keep mutating and resurfacing, each time with greater might than before, befuddling epidemiologists and scientists as well as those who had initially dubbed it an act of divine intervention and a comeuppance for our collective sins.

It set us mortals thinking and rethinking our place in the scheme of things. For those prone to dark moods, this triggered a downward spiral. We weren’t sure we’d be able to help ourselves, let alone those we loved and cared for.

There was no escape in view. As the countries of the world restricted travel, and community spaces such as cafés, parks, gyms, movie theatres, libraries and shopping malls were shut in one fell swoop — even the places of worship were allowed to function only with restrictions — we longed for the good old days, and realised how we had taken life’s many mercies for granted.

A few guidelines were supposed to keep us safe, chiefly to do with hand hygiene and mask-wearing. We were told that we must have a ‘reason’ to step out of the house, and that that reason could not be recreation or fun. We were told to shun socialising and practise (safe) ‘distancing’. Those with health conditions were asked to self-isolate. Though, for once it seemed that everyone was experiencing some degree of isolation.

We’re in this together, the reassurance came. Or, was it a warning?

The virus, they said, was a leveller; quite like death. That it did not differentiate on the basis of demographics. This was only a half-truth. As we saw, not everyone could afford to avoid exposure, and ‘work from home’ was but a privilege. Remember the doctors and paramedics who have remained in the frontline, some even losing their lives in the line of duty?

There was a silver lining to the clouds: the pain and grief taught us empathy, and showed us new ways to support one another, to give back to the society and reconnect with our core.

As we enter a new year, our emotional as well as physical carry-over from 2020 may not be easy to shed. Everything might still pivot round the pandemic — our thoughts, our decisions, our actions and the world outside. And although the world’s scientists eventually arrived at a handful of vaccines, even they can’t claim to have got the best of the virus which continues to wreak havoc across continents, to this day.

It affects you all the more when it hits close to home. As the number of cases of coronavirus in Lahore climbed, and the burden became too much for our fragile healthcare system to handle, the provincial government imposed a lockdown, initially for a fortnight, in mid-March.

April proved to be a crueller month, as there was a surge of the virus which had the authorities declare Lahore a hotspot of the pandemic. A report even suggested that there could be “0.67 million asymptomatic cases of Covid-19” in the city. Life in the metro was never the same.

The economy suffered as industry shut down and workers were sent home, without a clue about where the morsels for their next meal would come from. Education became a moot point as schools shifted classes online. Going digital was neither teacher- nor student-friendly, argued the analysts. Tourism came to a naught, and the hospitality
sector was forced to mull alternatives.

Urban planners initiated a dialogue on how to motivate change in the cityscape and whether there was a model for a ‘pandemic-resistant’ city.

Survival was the name of the game and the Lahoris proved themselves up to it, and how. Overleaf, Shehr looks back at some of 2020’s key events and trends that show how the city coped amid the pandemic.

Much like working from home, watching from home became the new normal. The creative arts industry tried to grapple with the ‘new reality,’ reimagining their exhibition spaces, as cinemas and theatres suffered heavy losses in the wake of forced closure, and art galleries were emptied. For some time, all filming was also stopped. It wasn’t before November this year that Pakistan got its first full-fledged drive-in theatre in decades (it used to be an exclusive viewing activity in the Karachi of 1970s and ’80s), in Islamabad. Lahore, despite being one of the major contributors of cinema revenue, is yet to catch up.

Later, the government allowed cinemas to reopen, albeit with conditions which weren’t acceptable to the exhibitors. Hence, it was status quo.

Digital platforms offered some hope. Local filmmakers and TV directors began pitching for international streamers like Zee5 and Amazon Prime. Web series was an acquired taste, but this year it became quite a thing of popular consumption. We also saw local versions of Netflix — namely, Rinstra and Urduflix. YouTubers and vloggers had a whale of a time putting out content to an increased demand.

Not willing to rest up, individuals behind some of the city’s highlight cultural events moved their activities online — from open-mic nights to Dastangoi sessions and art workshops. 2020 showed us that a theatrical performance could be streamed on the web, and though it might not replicate the magical experience of a live act, it was still enjoyable. Proof: Ajoka’s Manto Online, which had the theatre group’s acting students in different parts of the world performing remotely. Director Nirvaan Nadeem was hailed for this “bold experiment.”

As gyms and health spas were closed, fitness trainers stranded at home sought ways to resume work. Many started hosting Instagram-live workout sessions, while others began subscription-based online programmes for those interested. The fitness clubs, on the other hand, began to redesign their spaces to make them Covid-compliant. The Dojo, in Gulberg, took the lead as an open-air, rooftop wellness centre that offered bodyweight training without the need to share equipment.

Where dine-in services were put an abrupt stop to, and most cafés and restaurants were closed for a good part of the year, the food-crazed Lahoris invented ‘car dining.’ Although it meant a lesser experience, as the customers would miss the luxury of sitting inside a restaurant and enjoying a meal, car dining permitted them a sense of eating-out.

Of course, the good old takeaway never went out of vogue. Home deliveries also saw an uptick, though initially there was some scepticism about consuming food prepared as well as packaged and delivered by strangers.

In the Walled City, people took famously to rooftop dining, while posh restaurants such as Bamboo Union and Rice Bowl started DIY (do-it-yourself) meals service wherein you’d receive all the ingredients of a food item along with a recipe note.

Lockdown gave those starved of social interaction and mobility some bright ideas. Cycling became the new fad, as people of all ages pulled out their bikes and launched them on the largely empty roads, all decked up in protection gear. Private groups such as Tour de DHA and Covid Cycle Gang (of Model Town) also came to prominence.

The state too saw potential in this healthy activity, and once the lockdown was over, dedicated cycling tracks were introduced at Racecourse Park and Baghe Jinnah, by the PHA. Joyous families returned to parks. In downtown Lahore, deserted streets became play areas for the young.

Call it resilience or defiance, or pure zeal, but the faithful weren’t ready to give up on their worship places, despite warnings from religious leaders. Stringent SOPs were issued by the government, and heavy contingents of police were deployed at the 5,000-plus mosques in the city, to ensure compliance ahead of the two Eids. Yet, violations were reported at congregations.

Around Muharram, clashes erupted in the interior city between the police and those belonging to a sectarian minority who demanded that the ban on processions be lifted. It reached a point where the government had to give in. This prompted other groups to press for Data Darbar and rest of the shrines to reopen.

Safety protocols were routinely violated. The funeral of firebrand cleric, Khadim Rizvi, at the Minar-i-Pakistan, which saw a historic number of followers, is a glorious case in point.

After hoarding and panic-buying, we saw the people dive headlong into Eid shopping the minute the government eased restrictions. Little did they understand that the purpose of lifting the lockdown was mainly to address the woes of the daily wagers and essential-service providers. Most people behaved like they had been released from captivity — they flooded the marketplaces as if the virus didn’t exist. For the man in the street, corona was a figment of a conspiracy theorist’s imagination.

Mask wear became the latest sartorial accessory. From roadside stalls selling cheap, home-made, cotton-cloth facemasks, to fashion designers offering multi-coloured, printed pieces to suit every occasion and outfit, the market wasn’t short of variety.

Marriage halls remained shut for most part of the year, threatening the livelihood of those associated with the service. Social gatherings were also prohibited. But nothing could change the general obsession with elaborate weddings with hundreds of guests.

Hafeez Centre, Lahore’s hub of mobile phone and computer businesses, saw a catastrophic fire in late October, which gutted hundreds of shops and offices on its five floors and destroyed much of the merchandise. It took the firefighters well over 36 hours to douse the flames. The operation also caused damage to the stocks, especially those lying in the basement. The incident drew great criticism for the concerned departments of the city district government, chiefly the LDA and the MCL, for having failed to ensure compliance of building bylaws and safety codes. The government offered a compensation that was rejected by the traders. Some of them set up makeshift stalls of mobile accessories outside Hafeez Centre, in a bid to start afresh.

Pandemic or no pandemic, there was no stopping the rallies and marches. The civil society remained at the forefront, be it in the Liberty roundabout protests against the brutal incident of rape on the Lahore-Sialkot Motorway; or the Students Solidarity March.

In another part of the city, the farmers’ community rallied under the umbrella of the Pakistan Kissan Ittehad (PKI) and staged a sit-in, demanding redress of their issues related to sugarcane crushing and late payments. Following successful talks with the Punjab government, the protest was eventually called off.

Banquet hall owners were another group that took to the street over loss of business and livelihoods for “nearly four million people,” directly or indirectly associated with the industry.

Towards the end of the year, the PDM jalsa grabbed media headlines.