Recollections of a dreadful mourning

Christmas will be limited to a simple prayer after the massacre of 134 students

Our home was a couple of hundred yards away from the ack-ack coastal defence guns on present-day Zamzama in Clifton - beyond this was nothing but wilderness, sand dunes and quicksand. I recollect pasting black paper on windowpanes so no light escaped outside and being told by my parents not to flash a torch skywards unless I’d want to be Indian toast. While during air-raid warnings, I recollect sitting in the trench dug in our courtyard and watch flak with short fiery tails whizz by in the night skies, accompanied by an eerie whooshing sound that terrified me.

As war escalated many warnings of imminent Indian attack came. On one occasion, people evacuated Gizri anticipating a massive Indian raid against Karachi’s coastal defences. Residents of Gizri fled on foot that evening seeking shelter elsewhere. My father stayed back; while the rest of our five-member family headed for St. Anthony’s Church located near Karachi Cantt. It was horrible walking two kilometers in total blackout and sleeping on an unpaved church courtyard with pebbles biting into me. By now the war had begun to exact a toll and I recollect hoping for war to end while blaming Indira Gandhi for my misery.

My recollection of that December 16 morning when we lost our eastern wing is of me awaking up scared and crying, while at a distance my father sat listening to the 7am Radio Pakistan broadcast that then announced a ceasefire. The nation was in shock, and I recollect no Christmas celebrations were held that year.

Once again, forty-three years to the day on December 16 the nation was stunned to hear of the massacre of 134 students at the Army Public School, Peshawar. So my Christmas will be limited to a simple prayer; may the new year bring health, wealth and prosperity to all men and peace to Pakistan.

Published in The Express Tribune, December 25^th, 2014.