Every year on the 1st August we put up our flag on the roof top as a yearly ritual in preparation of the independence day. However, as 14th of August fast approaches this year, i am forced to think over a few things as a Pakistani. Do I really respect the flag that is my identity? Do I feel proud being a Pakistani at this time, when difficulties envelope us more than ever before due to the indulgent and laid back attitude of our caretakers?
I m not a coward to back out and declare I m not honest to my country but I certainly am tired of the games being played with us. I m tired of the politics of the politicians. I m tired of the world politics and the big evil schemes shrouded in the slogan of ‘helping developing countries’. I m tired of justifying the killing of my brothers and sisters based on some conspiracy theories and that all will end in good. In the real picture, all the waiting for a better and ‘peaceful’ tomorrow are distant and blurry. It’s like ‘waiting for Godot’ something that we are expecting but would never happen. The entire episode of waiting makes fun of our helplessness, mocking us right in the face.
I don’t want to sound a cry baby, nor am I complaining about my fate for putting me in a country lacking in almost all comforts that a citizen has a right to. My agitation is constantly nagging me to find answers to the questions in the dark corridors of power, politics and our caretakers. My lost patriotism, with much shame and disgrace falls on the predators we assumed to be our caretakers. I use the word ‘caretaker’ because that is what they are who sit on the seats of power, who travel on the taxes we pay, who drive in VVIP cars, who live in huge mansions with continuous power supply, indulge in luxurious activities, dine with super powers while the ‘taken care of’ face constant negligence.
This is a voice of everyone who has been affected by the turmoil, directly or indirectly. Although I m much disappointed in the power of pen, this is my only outlet. I come from what is called the young generation, successfully hopeless and dejected. I grew up in the times of 9/11 and have continued to see occupation, arms and ammunition, mass killings and bombs almost every day. I don’t want my children to learn that A stands for ammunition, B for bomb and W for war. But despite all the bleakness and the dejection -following is all that I ask for on behalf of my fellow citizens.
I ask not more than is my right. I voice no more than there is wrong in the world. I bleed no more than the pain of my brothers and sisters victimized by random drone attacks, shellings and guns. I don’t want false promises of long awaited peace with rehabilitation plans. I don’t want peace with broken limbs, maimed souls, forgotten identities, lost relations, war scars embedded into my skin, blood dried up on the barren land.
All I ask for is what I deserve. I want to see a blue sky, the green grass, a night sky that I can look up at without the fear of being hit by an unknown war machine. I want to breathe fresh air; open my eyes to a beautiful Pakistan every day. I wish to move around freely without any fear of insecurity, or risking my life to a bomb tied onto someone else. I want a true promise that would put a smile on every face. Do I ask for a lot?