—Anjum Wasim Dar
The excruciating pain that cuts through the heart cannot be felt by the opulent proud elites, for their eyes devour just land, and are blind to humans, who as nomads wandered close to rivers; made huts with broken branches, leaves, and mud; and felt satisfied. Not long later they had to abandon the threatened huts and found themselves homeless.
This was our home until 2014. We had to change the location, shifting to a two-bedroom flat in the suburbs of Islamabad, a township called Bani Gala, which is a hilly and cool area.
In a rented flat there was no feeling of being in a home. Most of the stuff was packed and had to remain so because of shortage of space. But one good thing was a broad window facing the main road and the bazaar. Sitting by it one could see humanity in its daily routines and life-styles.
Late night, delivery trucks made a lot of noise.
Shop owners woke up long after sunrise. They swept the front areas of their shops, opened the curtains, and then sat with a cup of tea, waiting for customers.
Many types of people came into view. Among them were poor beggars, surely homeless as they stopped by each parked car and peeked in with an extended hand… I would think, where did they spend the night? What was their bed like?
Where these poor ones’ parents? Did they have children to feed? Common questions rose in my mind. How did they become so poor?
These are times of a strange virus. Are they aware of it?
No answers to all such questions.
My mind flashed back to my early years of migration and reuniting with parents.
We too had given up our house but we had some support, fortunately, the result of public service for many years. After 40 years of service we still live in a rented two-bedroom flat, endless discussion about land plot-design and map study has not yielded any results.
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