I had picked up some clay pots in Multan for one of the stories for my puppet film “Risalo”, but felt that the larger ones were a bit roughly finished and I could use some more. The size I needed was not available at a number of shops I searched around Lahore, and a friend had suggested I go to Shama chowk.The chowk itself is around Ichra Bazaar, which is apparently the oldest part of Lahore. I had passed it many times while riding the metro across town and figured that I would go there at some point, but it had yet to happen. So it was, that I made plans to go. My friends Ifthikhar and Mohsin agreed to join me, and though that made us start about 3 hours late (it is seriously difficult to get people to stick to a schedule here), I was very thankful for the company.The metro was insanely packed. It is always packed, so when I say that it was even more packed than usual, that means I spent the duration of the trip pressed up against a lot of people rather intensely. Getting out was that much more of a challenge, but I made it out, like ripping free from the clutches of some hungry beast.Mohsin and Ifthikhar got there about 7 or 8 buses later. We walked down to the main road. An old man asked me how to get to the bus in the opposite direction. This is a huge problem with traffic and metro here. There is almost never a safe way to cross the street. I manage, but just barely, so you can imagine that elderly people or anyone disabled, or just any regular human being is going to find it difficult to impossible to cross through traffic that comes from all directions and never lets up. It is a cruel and dangerous setup. The metro does not have a way for pedestrians to cross from one side to the other. You have to walk down a long flight of stairs, cross anywhere from 6 to 9 lanes of traffic, and find an unobstructed crossing point in the middle, then run across the other side.I looked at the old man asking for directions to the other side. I glanced up and down the street. There were stairs that crossed over the street a good distance from where we were. I told him to cross there. We had to go the same way, so we saw him and four women hobble painfully down the street to the stairs, then up and down the other side, only to have to keep going to get back to the metro stairs, then up again.We continued on our way and found a shop that sold clay decorations. They had some pots that could work, but I wanted to explore more options before deciding. We would come back this way when taking the metro back home anyway, so I I figured we would go explore the bazaar for other options if there were any.Through backstreets we came across an old gateway with beautiful fine brick work. It turned out that the gateway lead to an old mandir, or Hindu temple. When Pakistan and India split in 1947 and the bloodshed of partition caused mass migration on both sides, the Hindus and Sikhs of Lahore left as many Muslims from across the border made their way here in one of the largest mass migrations and massacres.Refugee families came to Lahore, while many who had lived here for countless generations left. Those families that came here were allotted homes, including spaces within this mandir. So the numerous rooms that lined the perimeter of this large mandir had been converted into small single room residences where families had been living for at least three generations. They had treated the spaces with respect, though their former religious functions had ceased long ago. Then when the Babri Masjid was destroyed in India, by fanatical Hindus, the fanatical Muslim groups in Lahore decided that they needed to destroy mandirs. The Muslim residents told us how they were extremely afraid, running to save their families as crowds of politically motivated groups descended upon these long abandoned places of worship and caused damage that is still visible today.It always makes me sad to see these remains. The dead buildings seem to echo the anguish of all those displaced and murdered to make way for what exactly, I do not know. We explored for a bit, before continuing to Ichra. There were a ton of cloth and clothing shops. I picked up some sewing supplies that Umar had asked for as we explored. We did see some pottery shops, but none with anything useful for me. In the end, after much walking with friends, we went to the first shop near the metro to pick up the clay pots we had seen there. This time, the first man I had spoken to was nowhere to be seen and his assistant was running the shop. I asked for a dozen of the clay pots I needed. He mumbled something about six times and all I could figure was that he was quoting a higher price than the owner had earlier, but I could not make out exactly how much. I did not care. I just kept telling him the pots were rs. 30 each as had been stated earlier and that I would take 12.I got a ladder and brought them down. He filled all twelve in a single plastic bag. I had to insist, several times for two bags. He refused several times. Finally he said for me to pay him the money first, since he thought I would run away otherwise. This guy was quite the character. So, I paid him, he brought the change and we put the pots in two bags before Mohsin, Ifthikhar and I squeezed back onto the metro and head back home.Umar spent the night working meticulously on adding backing and borders to the backgrounds he had completed. I must say, they look quite incredible all finished and ready to hang.