OMAR SHARIF would have liked to say goodbye from Tahrir Square. After all, it was this square that he looked upon from the balcony of his 28th floor suite in Hotel Semiramis in the heart of Cairo, soaking in the sounds and sights of a city in turmoil. This was the square that had turned into the venue - and the symbol - of a people's protest in Egypt.
When the Egyptian actor - best known for his roles in films such as Doctor Zhivago and Lawrence of Arabia - died last year, some wanted the government to facilitate his funeral prayers near Tahrir Square. But the prayers ultimately took place at a little known south Cairo mosque.
The times in Egypt are such that the administration is always wary. Prayers at Tahrir would have meant a massive congregation of people. And who can forget that it was a series of such gatherings - and ensuing protests - against Hosni Mubarak that led to the then President's ouster in 2011?
Any unusual activity at Tahrir Square, the whisper goes, sends those answerable to the occupant of Al Etehadiya, the presidential palace, into a tizzy. "Gestapo," a fellow journalist mumbles as she points to the same rotund policeman who, while trying to be discreet, has tailed us to a sheesha cafe, not very far from the sprawling square. He has been following us ever since we were briefly held at a police post, after an Indian news television crew tried to shoot a video of the square - arguably the most popular tourist spot in Egypt today.
The head of the post doesn't speak our language, we can't speak his. The words that he knows and we recognise - "India, namaste, Amitabh Bachchan, Bollywood, friends, no video" - don't help much. After an hour of arguments, flashing of passports and papers, explaining that we are journalists who have come at the invitation of the Egyptian government, we are allowed to leave. The policeman, I guess, is then ordered to follow us through the evening. I just hope he had a good time.
The next day, we are told by our Egyptian friends that the city had been swirling with rumours about sympathisers of the Muslim Brotherhood planning a surprise protest against the government of President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi for supposedly having gifted two islands in the Red Sea to Saudi Arabia. So the administration was on high alert - and even the motives of visiting Indians had to be probed.
Most Egyptians are wary of talking about the political situation in the country. Rumours rule the roost. Newspapers are under watch; television news channels report what the government wants to hear. There is no place for dissent in a regime that came riding on it.
Conversations get interesting - and the street food distinctly better - when we move away from the central districts and into the old parts of the city. It is almost like Old Delhi, with vivid aromas and colours, except it's much cleaner.
People in these parts don't mind wearing their political leanings on their sleeves. And many are critical of the government's "dictatorial" ways.
Cairo, clearly, is a city of contrasts. Largely chaotic, with traffic jams that last for hours in the morning rush hour, it is also a modern city with a rich seam of history - the great pyramids on the outskirts, ancient seats of learning, magnificent libraries and museums.
It is also the city of the Nobel prize-winning author, Naguib Mahfouz, whose writings stand for liberalism, and the bridge-playing actor, feted in a fitting obituary by Egyptian journalist Khaled Diab for "his ability to glide between cultures" and as a "symbol of an easy-going multiculturalism".
This easy-going streak is in evidence in much of Cairo. I see it as I walk through the labyrinthine lanes of the 14th-century Khan el-Khalili bazaar, as shopkeepers, badly hit by the dwindling number of foreign tourists, recognise us as Indians, and hail us with namastes.
I sit in Mahfouz's favourite El Fishawy, a coffee shop full of mirrors, sip mint tea and smoke fruity sheeshas, listening to Arabic songs sung by men playing Egyptian ouds. It's the music of happier times.
Egypt is also looking at troubled times. Despite its historical riches, the influence of Western invaders and streams of multi-cultural liberalism, the country is trying hard to deal with religious fundamentalism. There have been many sectarian attacks. But the hoardings on the streets underline an identity that Egypt is equally proud of. Men and women in Western wear promote everything from dates to television sets and spanking new colonies. As I watch women in hijab walk or drive past the hoardings, I stare at the many faces of Egypt, caught between religiosity and secularism, between tradition and modern development, and between religious nationalism of the Right and an entrenched but secular military.
This is the city where you are followed, but where you can also walk into any five-star hotel with a casino and gamble until the wee hours of the morning, or just cruise through the roads, watching men and women mingling easily, sitting over sheeshas, and enjoying themselves. The restaurants and food stalls bustle with life.
If politics divides, food unites Egyptians. "Falafel is not from Lebanon, nor is shawarma," our guide says. It's all Egyptian, he maintains, and waxes eloquent on how ancient Egyptians had mastered techniques that several Arabian countries claim as their own. "Remember, this is where it all began," our guide Hassanein Mahmoud says. "Remember."
Remember, I shall. For it's not easy to forget Egypt.
