LAHORE, PAKISTAN — They are considered risque dens of iniquity and have been bombed simply for providing a place where men and women can (gasp) talk to each other.
Fruit juice bars may seem an unusual front line in Pakistan's war on Islamic militancy, but many of their owners feel deserving of combat pay these days for serving up cold smoothies. Although there haven't been any attacks for several months, fears linger and many people say they're aware that violence could come at any time.
Attacks on fresh juice bars in Lahore late last year centered on the Garhi Shahu neighborhood, where bearded men crouched on low stools in front of small shops gossip, gulp down sweet tea and launch tobacco clouds skyward from communal hookahs.
It's also a part of Lahore where many Afghans and Uzbeks have settled, residents say, creating a subculture of Islamic fundamentalism in a historically more tolerant city.
Anti-Taliban cleric Sarfraz Naeemi was killed in the neighborhood last month by a suicide bomber.
Navigating through a jumble of parked motorcycles brings you to Dasko Juice, decorated with dusty, low-hanging fruit of the plastic variety, a picture of London's Tower Bridge and pyramids of canned orange juice.
The reason Dasko was among those attacked with bombs late last year is six booths in an adjoining room, some of which have small curtains for privacy, where men and women can chat discreetly.
"Basically it's just a place where girls and boys come and drink juice," says Mohammed Naeem, Dasko's owner, dressed in a shalwar kameez, the traditional loose-fitting pants and long shirt. "These people try and portray us as immoral, but it's not true. They're just sitting and talking, but that's a threat to them."
As he speaks, a woman dressed in a burka enters with a male companion. She looks embarrassed at the presence of a foreigner and immediately leaves.
In one of the two booths without a curtain, businessman Mohammed Yasim, 45, sits talking with a woman in a head scarf. Asked whether it's a sensitive issue to be seen here with a female companion, he gets visibly irritated. "She's my sister, she's my sister," he blurts out. "We're only talking family business."
The coordinated attacks on Dasko and several competitors -- part of a chain of neighborhood threats and violence targeting cinemas, DVD stores and barbershops -- started about 10 one night in October with an explosion at the Chino Juice Corner down the street that some initially thought was a gas cylinder blowing up.
