My City Bleeds

I believe that not only the Karachiites but all those people who live in the cities marred by waves of bloodshed and terror will be able to relate to my feelings. It has been more than eight years since I moved from Karachi due to my father’s posting and I still yearn for my native city, my birthplace. The bond that I feel with its soil cannot be described in words. It pains me to see my city bleeding!

I still remember the day about 9 years ago when I was having my ninth grade exams. I opened the newspaper that fateful morning before the exam to give my anxious mind some rest. Little did I know that what I was about to read would set my mind spinning! the news read:

“25 people shot dead in Mosque”

I do not know if it is just me or everyone feels this way, but my eyes watered when I read this news. The fact that people aren’t even safe while worshipping was something beyond me. They weren’t doing anything wrong; they were bowing down in humility in front of their Creator. Are not mosques supposed to be safe havens in Pakistan?

The time when Karachi used to be shut down due to wheel jam strikes! For me, even as a 14 year old, the idea of having a forced holiday in the middle of the week was a nuisance. I remember getting up and getting ready for a perfectly a normal day but my parents' stern announcement that I couldn’t go was incomprehensible. They tried to reason with me but I couldn’t gather the logic behind closing down everything.

Think of the mothers, newly wed wives, sisters and daughters waiting for their sons, husbands, brothers and fathers to return home. Rather, they get to witness the sight, which no one would wish for even an enemy. Back home comes a body, lifeless and cold. It is not simply the loss of one life but of the survivors whose life becomes meaningless, empty and barren also!

Every day, I live with the hope that things will get better, peace will return and normalcy shall prevail. This does happen occasionally though and then history repeats itself, like a lull before a fermenting storm. Still, I believe that one day, some day, Karachi will be the same city of lights that I remember. Maybe the child in me still hopes for the day when I can play in the streets, hum tunes in the rain and walk by night fearless.