Dilemma of a Capital City

Whenever I tell my wife and kids about my very first recollection of the federal capital, they all tell me I am disgusting. It really happens to be that of the misty vapours rising from the freshly delivered doggie poop lying on the Rawalpindi railway station platform, on arriving by the Khyber mail with my parents and brothers on a bitterly cold morning of a mid sixties winter. Having lived in Karachi until then, it was a novel experience for me, and probably the reason why this ethereal image has been etched in my mind for good. It tipped me off about the many more equally cold winter mornings that I was to see in years to come. However being an eight-year-old kid, incidentally the age of Islamabad at that time, the inclement weather was no problem, and growing up with a totally new city was a unique and wonderful experience.

In those days Islamabad was confined to Aabpara, and G-6/2, and kids like me were always exploring what seemed like uncharted territories. What is now F-6 was just a large wilderness which had to be crossed on frequent excursions to Saidpur which we reached only after passing through the mango orchards, where friendly encounters with the guards were frequent. Saidpur then, was a quaint romantic village sitting at the bottom of the Margalla hills with a very old school building , somehow associated with Tipu Sultan, although its only basis for this claim were the words, inscribed in Urdu, on its marble steps, and attributed to the great soldier, "One day in the life of a lion is better than a hundred year life of a jackal". Most probably it was just an ancient madrassa, but a visit to Saidpur was incomplete without seeing this building. Another charming feature of Saidpur was its pottery. At that time a large family of potters was settled there, making beautifully coloured ornate vases, decorated with small mirrors. There was a very convincing model of a train in their house, complete with tracks, signals, and all, made of baked mud and a picture of the head of the family presenting the train to the then president of Pakistan, field martial Ayub Khan. Years later when I eagerly took a relative of mine to show him this eighth wonder of the world, we were taken inside a small room, and a woman pointed out to something lying under the cots in one comer. There! To my utter dismay was the dismantled and dilapidated remains of the once majestic train.

Equally pathetic was the sight of the family of potters. Impoverished beyond belief, the remaining members of this once large and prosperous family, were eking out a living making mud ovens for the villagers. Most of the younger people had gone away finding jobs in the city. After this charming encounter with this rustic village, equally enchanting was the walk up the mountain, after crossing the small market place in Saidpur. The mountain trail led up to the ridge at the top, along a small stream of crystal clear water in which small fishes darted about. Those who persevered this tough and gruelling experience, were rewarded with hours of relaxation among the large black boulders, littered about, just some distance from the top, in a large streambed where refreshingly cool clear water flowed about between the crags.

Overhanging banyan trees provided shade for the weary climbers who could wait for the sun to go down, climbing down in the cool of the afternoon. Large rock crabs flitted in and out from under the rocks, providing recreation to us while monkeys lurked about in the distance, secure among the higher branches of the large trees. This spot is missed by most of the visitors now, because, the metalled road up to Pirsohawa has become the most popular means of reaching the top. As I grew up, so did Islamabad. I went away for further studies, came back and worked for five years, then went back again to study for my doctorate, ultimately coming back to settle down here for good. Wherever I went, Islamabad was never far away from my mind. Just like a lover catching glimpses of the beloved in every pretty face, I kept seeing visions of Islamabad, at every beautiful turn of the road. Like the time I was travelling on a road running along the top of a mountain ridge, in the scenic Shanandoah valley in NorthVirginia, and I suddenly felt as if I was driving along the Pirsohawa road with a picturesque valley on my left just like the one in which Gokina village is situated on the other side of Pirsohawa road.

Every time I came back it was always with great pride that I observed the growing up of the city, always happy to see the changes that had been brought about. However, now I am sometimes saddened by the way Islamabad is developing. On the one hand I too feel that cities cannot be stopped from growing; but at what cost? Here was, and still is, an opportunity for a whole city to live and grow in complete harmony with a beautiful eco-system which took millions of years to develop, but the rape of the Margalla hills by the crushing plants has been chipping away on this exquisite sculpture of nature, and it pains me beyond belief. It is as if somebody is tearing away at my own flesh. At the same time brick kilns are suffocating the flora and the fauna of Islamabad, and green sectors are being devoured by the hungry and the greedy. Now the recent talk of building a tunnel under the Margalla hills seems to be the last nail in the coffin. I already see many signs of depletion of the flora and the fauna of Islamabad. For example I hardly notice any more the beautifully adorned woodpeckers and the golden purplish wild doves that were common in Islamabad when I was a kid. Similarly I miss many types of wild flowers which grew in abundance here.

However, I must say that at the same time it gives me great pleasure too when I see so many newly settled nice and well-mannered people in Islamabad, increasing its population and making it a success story. The proof of any city becoming a successful viable habitat lies in the increasing number of people deciding to make it their home and my city is passing that litmus test, as more and more people from within and outside the country are making it their home, bringing in their entrepreneurial and social experiences from all over the world. It is increasing not only the richness and diversity of the culture in Islamabad, but is also bringing in more able people to increase its productivity and wealth. I see a great future for Islamabad, but only wish that somebody would take pity on the feelings of a fool like me and take good care of Islamabad as it grows into a metropolis, so that it does not lose that communion with nature that makes it so unique.