Freedom At Midnight

Faisalabad was once Lyallpur. Karachi was once a fishing village. Lahore was once the capital of some of the greatest historic kingdoms; the Shahis, Ghaznavids and the Mughals

Pakistan was once India

At the stroke of midnight on 13 August 1947, all of that changed. A nation ceased to exist and two countries were born. It was a both a political triumph and tragedy. For the massacres that took place were so bloody that historians have been reluctant to study them.

Trains arriving with dead bodies. A canal in Lyallpur running red with blood.

Two historians, namely Larry Collins and Dominique Lapierre, have, through painstaking research ventured to give rare details about the partition in their book ‘Freedom At Midnight’. A historical masterpiece about a people struggling with different identities united only by the land they once called home, the book has been hailed by Time Magazine as the ‘Song of India’.

I ruffle its pages as if it has the power to being to life the horrific, gruesome scenes it has encapsulated.

As I sit here typing these words, I can hear the sounds of fireworks. Or is it firing? I hardly know. I don’t venture to look out.

This is the country I love to hate. This is the identity I might try to shake away when my feet touch foreign lands but will never be able to part from. This is the country that will be my blood, my life, my soul, my home.

The cool air from the AC reminds me how hot it is outside. I think about the beggars on the streets, fighting to survive, fighting to get away. My mind rages a fierce war against myself……as if I am responsible for the inequality you find in this city and even, this whole country. Maybe I am.

Who am I kidding? I definitely am responsible.

Maybe this existed before I was born; this wild, inhuman plethora of poverty and unrest across Pakistan. But if I am to truly mean all that I have written above, I need to embrace the spirit Pakistan has given me, given us. To be a Pakistani speaks volumes. It is a tribute to the fact
that we have seen what few people have, we have faced violence, even if at a
distance, we have heard the bomb blasts that ravage daily, we have wondered if
it has finally crumbled only to see it standing still and surviving,
forever surviving. Being a Pakistani is the realization of the delicate
balance we have with our humanity and our will to carry on. It is a reminder
that our eyes must have once watered, our hearts would have been left smarting
and still we go on. We may have blind faith in our country but it is not something
we have out of desperation….we have learned to have it.

And so tonight, I will choose to look out. I will choose to celebrate in whatever way I can. I will choose to embrace this wild, crazy and strong spirit. I will think of the lives lost on the way to the new home. I will think about the struggle for indemnity that plagues us still. Only this time, I will l consider all of this not with the distaste and pessimism of yesterday but the hope and freedom of tomorrow