Once, the streets of Peshawar glowed with cinema screens and Tea houses where poetry wasn’t just recited but lived. But what happens to a city when checkpoints and terror replace chai stalls and cinemas? This is the pre- and post-war story of a city once called “Paris of the East”.
Peshawar’s golden period
From connections to Bollywood legends like Raj Kapoor and Dilip Kumar, and tracing Shahrukh Khan’s family roots back here to the most thriving cinemas like Naz and Capital Cinema in the heart of the city, the city wasn’t just watching films, but it was raising stars who would uphold South Asian cinema. In those days, a visit to the cinema was more than just an escape; it was a routine. Movie posters were hand-painted, and even the ticket booth staff knew the regulars by name.
While cinema gave the city its glitter, it was poetry that gave it identity.
Poetry in its prime
At that time, poetry wasn’t confined to books and gatherings; it was lived in the backstreets of bazaars. Poets weren’t just writers; they were speakers of truth in times of silence. Poets like Ajmal Khattak, also a politician, didn’t always write about beauty and love but also about freedom and rebellion. Then there were Hamza Baba and Ghani Khan, both insane geniuses of Pashto poetry and literature. But long before cinemas and poetry, its bazaars were filled with caravans from Bukhara, Samarkand, and Kabul.
Silk and trade legacy
The city gained importance because of its location on the Silk Road, which connected China with Central Asia, the Middle East, and the subcontinent. Peshawar took pride in its markets, where you could hear ten different languages before you finished your cup of qehwa. Bazaars in Peshawar transformed into trading hubs, selling goods such as silk, spices, and handicrafts. Historic markets like Qissa Khwani Bazaar were known for selling luxurious items, including silk. This phenomenon made the city well known for silk throughout history, not because it produced it, but because it connected worlds through it.
Every golden age has an ending, sometimes with applause and praise, sometimes with gunfire and smoke.
After the good days
For Peshawar, it wasn’t the cinemas that went silent first but the streets. Even though the city’s markets stayed busy, the goods had changed, and so had the men who moved them. Peshawar became less of a trading hub and more of a crossroad for a war that wasn’t its own, yet it was forced to pay a price it had never chosen. And Peshawar was never the same again.
Soon after the Soviets invaded Afghanistan in 1979, the routes that carried spices and silk now carried rifles and bullets. Borders that were once open to traders became closed to ordinary people, but remained accessible to those who knew the right individuals or could pay the necessary bribes.
When a city loses its light
Borders that were once open to traders grew tight, and daily life grew quieter. One by one, the cinemas lost their light, with empty seats and dark screens. The war brought an influx of refugees along with weapons and fright. The routes became smuggling windows, and the city that once lived in light began to live in shadow and suspicion.
Echoes of the Old City
Still, the essence of the old Peshawar hasn’t completely vanished. In the narrow lanes of Qissa Khwani Bazaar, you can still find old shopkeepers and traders who remember the past, and a few weathered storytellers still weave and knit tales for those willing to listen. The abandoned cinemas still hold memories of old songs; the old spirit never completely vanishes. The golden days may be gone, but their proofs remain in the streets, refusing to be forgotten.