What's in a name? The hidden history of Lahore's streets

What is in a name? Should rose smell as same when we call it by another name, asks William Shakespeare in Romeo and Juliet. Toponymic politics has been the recipient of some attentions over the years. scholar Derek Alderman (2008) had argued that names of physical places are not merely geographical tags but "memorial arena". Streets, thus, are "tombstones of living memory" telling us about how 'placelore' carries the stories, meanings, myths and emotional associations.

In Punjab, the politics of street naming is no different where the battle of nomenclature reflects a deeper struggle. The recent decision by Punjab government under its Lahore Heritage Area Revival project to restore pre-partition names in Lahore is a move to showcase how diverse and pluralistic this region is. Islampura is back to Krishan Nagar and Rehman Gali is once again Ram Gali, amidst public uproar. Tania Mairaj, in her onomastic study of Lahori Gate area (2019), stresses that place names are "core of the culture of Walled City" serving as "signposts of its history". The way Krishan Nagar is the part of intimate vocabulary of the city's residents, Islampura could never be the part of muscle memory. This duality depicts a condition where residents remember even though the state narrative attempts to make them forget. The restoration drive is a forced reconciliation of city's official map with its folk memory; critics view it as soft power gambit. This is an attempt to project a more progressive, tolerant Punjab especially when it is the province where Basant was officially celebrated last year. The Lahore debate is not just about signboards; it's a profound conflict over who has the authority to write the nation's history onto its very streets, and whose memory matters.

The process of renaming, which begun during the partition, heightened during the Zia regime due to official nationalism designed to forge a singular, national identity based on Islam. Alderman would call it "spatial assertion of sovereign authority" aimed at creating singular national identity. Streets like Queen's road were named Fatima Jinnah Road, and Lawrence Gardens became Bagh-e-Jinnah constructing a new national pantheon effectively getting rid of non-Muslim signifiers. The 1952 Lahore Municipal Corporation proposal to rename 76 roads including a proposal to change the name of Lahore to Dasht-e-Muhammad. It is during this time that Guru Tegh Bahadur Street was renamed as Aurangzeb Street, and Muhalla Ram Garh became Mujahid Abad. These were acts of epistemic violence that sought to sever the city from its placelore. The idea of "ideological purification" or "epochalism" that rejected syncretic past resulted into excessive overwriting and negation while such names persisted in intimate vocabulary of locals.

It is quite surprising to see that the local assemblies and leaders let government make these changes without any impunity. Perhaps they wanted to overcompensate by proving an ideological commitment to Pakistan, a country established on religious reasons. Ironically, in doing so, the governments kept the same ideological register British used in naming Lahore making it what HR Goulding calls "a roll call of imperial worthies" in his book, Old Lahore: Reminiscences of a Resident (1924). Afterall Lahore itself was a city-text written by Britishers with empire visible in Abbott Road, Brandreth Road, and of course Goulding Road. However, as the diversity has disappeared in the town, will the symbolic act of renaming bring any real change? Restoring Jain Mandir Chowk is ironic as the temple along with local Hindu community is long gone. In this context, a change in toponymy is nothing but a performative act, a hollow signifier, a nostalgic idea rather than projection of lived reality. It is, perhaps, too late to bring back pluralism and while such attempts do counter thorough erasure but cannot undo structural inequalities and systematic violence against minorities.