Karachi has recovered from the catastrophe. Now
again it is bustling with life. But will the wounds of
those who had lost their loved and dear ones ever heal?
I remember the days when there was peace and harmony
in Karachi. Millions of people speaking different
languages, having different cultures were living together,
minding their own businesses. This spirit of brotherhood
was much more in the congested localities than
the posh ones.It was always called Mini Pakistan.
Now a spark flares up and engulfs the whole areas the
same that are very congested.
karachi West is especially a troubled area. Years ago
Liaquatabad was renovated with fresh high-rise buildings,
neon signs, tube-lights and sodium lights. These
became the first targets during flare-up.
Now when you pass through liquatabad you will see
the likeness of a battlefield.
I have never been to Oragni, just heared of it. The most
troubled area since Bushra Zaidi’s case. Many times I
thought of going there to see what had happened but I
didn’t find the courage. Here a brother was the killer and
brother, the victim. Who was the main culprit behind all
these killings or massacres we shall never know.
The nation has been divided into certain fractions,
many more are coming up, wish for the day when we
are united and called nothing but Pakistani.
During the ethnic clashes my youngest son, who is
not 10 as yet, asked me:
“Mother, what am I? Mohajir or Pathan?”
“My son” I answered “ we are Muslims and
Pakistanis.”
“But no one here is Pakistani! Some are Mohajirs
others are Pathan, Punjabis or Sindhis, So how can I be
one?”
The boy was not satisfied at all. Then he asked me!
“Mother, you are a Pathan and father is Mohajir, so you
are also enemies.”
“No my dear” I assured him, “You already know
that he is your father and I am your mother, we are husband
and wife; so how can there be enemity.”
He kept quiet but he was disturbed. Reports flowed
in through newspapers: so many had been killed with
the burst of Kalashnikovs, so many had been burnt
alive in a woodseller shop. Our house was full of gloom,
but we could not help in any way.
During this helplessness, a relative came to enquire.
He was from the in-laws. “I have just come to see how
the Mohajirs and the Pathans are getting along.” He
was in a jolly mood. But it was not a joke.
How I wished at that time to set an example of unity
to tell people that there are many examples above
provincialism, regionalism and linguistic bonds! But I
just kept quiet. All that I could do was to gather some
old clothes and some donations.
I have been brought up in a family where the father
is a staunch Muslim and a Pakistani, Being an officer in
the British army, he often recalls of how Pakistan came
into being. He was incharge of a refugee train from
“Jhansi to Lahore.” He boastfully says the train arrived
safely under his command.
When there was a referendum in the NWFP for
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