This is what 'Pakistan' means to me
Pakistan is my naani, coating my parathas with four spoonfuls of desi ghee and insisting on adding more.
Walking or driving around the streets of my country, I can never give words to the mix of feelings and emotions that I experience. Is it the sense of belonging, which I never feel anywhere else in the world? Is it patriotism which brings tears to my eyes whenever I see a little boy running around the streets with a giant Pakistan flag?
“Why do you like Pakistan so much?”
“Why would you want to live here when everyone here wants to leave?”
“What is so good about Pakistan?”
These are the questions which have been hounding me for the last few weeks. However, the most poignant question, which left me speechless was,
“What is Pakistan to you?”
I had looked dumbly at the person asking me this question, but as the days went by I kept asking myself the same thing. Now that I am sitting at the airport waiting to board my flight back to London, I think I might have a few answers.
So, what is Pakistan to me?
Pakistan is my naani, coating my paratha with four spoonfuls of desi ghee (clarified butter) and insisting on adding more.
Pakistan is the rickshaw driver in Peshawer and the kind-hearted Tangay-wala (horse-drawn carriage) in Lahore, both of whom refused to take money from me when they found out that I was a visitor in their city.
Pakistan is standing on the side of a busy road in Islamabad eating rait wali chhalli (sand-roasted corn on the cob).
Pakistan is that precious dua (prayer) bestowed upon me by the needy old man at the traffic signal in Rawalpindi.
Pakistan is sitting in the lawn until the early hours of morning sharing life experiences and wisdom with my Khaala (maternal aunt).
Pakistan is walking through the fields and basking in the fresh air of the countryside.
Pakistan is sitting on a charpai (rope-woven bed) in the middle of nowhere and having halwa puri for breakfast.
Pakistan is being taught how to drive a tractor by my uncles, and of course failing miserably.
Pakistan is the quaint streets of Anarkali Bazaar and trying my best not to get lost in its beauty.
Pakistan is that friendly banter of the infamous hijra’s (eunuchs) of F10, who would shout Harry Potter whenever they would see me.
Pakistan is that refreshingly cold glass of lassi on a hot summer day.
Pakistan is the fresh gannay ka juice (sugar cane juice) from street vendors.
Pakistan is those millions of people, who constantly live in fear but still hold fast to their resilience and conviction of a better tomorrow.
Pakistan is the joy that the first rain of the monsoon brings to the faces of the eldest and the youngest.
Pakistan is the kid playing in the rain like it’s the ultimate bliss in the world.
Pakistan is trying to eat the spiciest gol gappay.
Pakistan is the pride of the wife of a martyred soldier.
Pakistan is my mother’s maid Munazza, who would do everything I asked her to, with the brightest smile on her face.
Pakistan is the serenity in the air, right after a heavy downpour.
Pakistan is those thousands of trucks on the road, each one of them more colourful than the other.
Pakistan is the smile on an old mother’s face when her son comes home from the border.
Pakistan is those long hours of power cuts, but it’s also the unforgettable stories shared during those hours.
Pakistan is those millions of poor people, but it is also the undying love those people have for their country.
Pakistan is all of these things. However, more than anything else, Pakistan for me is home.
They say that there’s no place like home. I say there’s definitely no place like Pakistan – my home.