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Murree: Grace to Crowds

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This is an evening at Murree in the 1890s: the Mall Road at the hill station exhaled a hushed elegance at dusk, its air rich with the resinous perfume of pine as the sky dissolved into a painter’s blend of lavender and gold. Officers in immaculate suits, their bespoke leather shoes gleaming and cane sticks tapping lightly against the walkway, walked beside ladies beneath delicate umbrellas, all drifting in unhurried steps as their murmured exchanges wove seamlessly into the gentle chorus of the evening. The rhythm was unbroken and deliberate, the season’s social theatre playing out in soft voices beneath a line of softly glowing lanterns, like a strand of stars strung across the night. This was Murree in its once-enchanted prime, a vision so steeped in grace and romance that, today, it feels more like a page from a fairy tale than a chapter of living history.

Today, the same stretch is a different kind of stage: a crush of honking cars and motorbikes, neon shop signs flashing above crowded pavements, tourists snapping selfies, the air thick with the smell of grilled corn, sizzling snacks, and unhealthy street food, while hawkers greedily chase after visitors, and the ugliness of professional beggars adds to the decline in charm. It is no longer the cherished summer destination of the elite, and the question arises: how did Murree transform from an exclusive colonial summer capital into Pakistan’s most overcrowded hill station, and what will become of it in the decades ahead?

Fleet of double-decker buses to arrive in Karachi in coming weeks: Sharjeel

Murree’s tale unfurls in the mid-19th century, when the British, weary of Punjab’s blazing summers, sought a highland haven for their troops. Cradled at nearly 7,000 feet above the restless plains, close enough to Rawalpindi yet far from its fevered heat, the site seemed a sanctuary in the clouds. By the 1850s, the graceful sweep of Mall Road began to curve along the ridges, joined by the dignified lines of Government House, the spire of Holy Trinity Church, and the quiet order of the........

© The Nation