LAHORE, PAKISTAN — The residents of this city of cafes, culture and good food always thought they were different.
Even when a few suicide bombers targeted the metropolis starting a couple of years back, most considered themselves relatively insulated from the worst of Pakistan's problems, the violence over the horizon in outlaw country near the Afghan border.
Residents consider Lahore the arts capital of Pakistan and feel proud of its free, open atmosphere, its tolerance, sense of fun and vibrant street life. It's the home of Pakistan's Lollywood, the nation's film capital.
But Tuesday's brazen attack on the visiting Sri Lankan cricket team has shaken the residents of this city of 10 million people.
The gun and grenade assault left seven people dead, not eight as initially reported, officials said. Six of the dead were policemen.
Saleem Kashmiri stood Thursday in the Liberty traffic circle where the attack occurred. Kashmiri, the principal of an elite high school, had several of his uniformed students in tow. He was visibly shaken as he contemplated the mound of flowers, the pictures of those killed, the ribbons and placards of sympathy, the periodic chants by angry citizens.
"Enough is enough," he said. "We are very, very upset. We understand the problems up there in the northern frontier. But this is Lahore, a place of culture and fun-loving people."
Under heavy pressure to show results, authorities Thursday issued four police sketches and claimed to have identified the heavily armed attackers, although they did not announce any arrests.
The dozen or so militants melted into the city after the attack. Video appeared to show them leaving calmly with little fear of pursuit. Some observers said police officers were ineffective and that some may have fled.
We were left "like sitting ducks," cricket match referee Chris Broad told a news conference in Manchester, England, after flying home. The militants should have been killed by specially trained police within three seconds, former President Pervez Musharraf told reporters.
"We know all our police," countered Mohammed Zafar Iqbal, a member of the Elite Force, at the traffic circle Thursday morning as he paid homage to his fallen colleagues. "None were the type who would run away."
Traffic was noticeably light, the sidewalks relatively empty.
At a real estate office 30 feet from the roundabout, Mian Azhar Saeed placed his finger in the bullet holes marking the walls.
