Once upon a time in Pakistan

I have landed in Pakistan, a country surrounded by serenity, seduced by a sincere sense of security. People of various sects, religion and race walking hand in hand, ignorant of imparity, in a place once hard to maintain sanity. They say there was a time when poor bled in despair while the burjuva fed on vanity and others looted on the name of charity.

I am surprised to notice the rulers here, who live like ordinary servants of the state somewhere. They say once so well had they mastered the art of corruption, that they themselves would decide the result of an election. People struck again and again by destruction, continued facing the wrath as one nation; swam across floods and nurtured natural disasters, holding the hand of the Holy Master.

My purpose here in Pakistan is not for business, in fact it is to capture the scenic beauty of the most breathtaking mountains and well reserved rivers. Though the thought of terrorism gives me the shivers, but that was long ago when there was no one to deliver.

I have a keen interest in knowing how they got out of their plight. Under what light did they put up the fight that was fought till they got it right. How they began living than surviving. How their politicians now worry of peace and progress alone rather than ostentatious means to stick to the throne. Love prevails and no lawlessness now and they seem all set to show the world “how”.

A woman’s life and happiness was once left to the mercy of her husband, father or brother. Now she is divine, she is the holy and she is the mother. Art was burnt and artists in pain while musicians beat the drum in vain. He who spoke some wisdom was considered insane and such merciless and the brutality much hard to tame. Exposed was it all by the media and put to shame but sometimes the anchors themselves involved in the game.

I love the music of this land. It is like slipping sand in an angelic hand. It is like pouring water on God’s demand. How must one fathom the versatility of its resonance, for all you hear in it is a child’s innocence. It might’ve taken a hundred years for this land to reach to it’s innocence, but they say it was worth every note that sang, every word that wrote, every eye that saw, every drop that bled and every word unsaid. What beneath my feet is not just soil they say. It is the lives and souls of many crushed to make us step on a surface that smells like soya and reaps of diamonds. This he tells me is the new Pakistan !