My home was handed down to me by my elders, and it is old and it is dilapidated in places. it has got some rotten pipes and wiring and at times it is frustrating to maintain it. Some of the residents are much favoured, while others are less so. And the family fights and oft times there is injustice in the decisions. But for all the problems, it is my home, has been all my life and it is my identity. For the life of me, I have never been able to nor have any wish to be out of this home. Because it is mine and I love it. And to be truthful, what someone else (from another place) thinks of it, is of little relevance.
My home Is identified by an old, upright, stately man, the likes of whom I cannot see anywhere in the last century. It is identified, by high mountains, rivers, deserts, large fields, by another bearded human who gave his life working for the needy, by a man holding a crystal glass trophy aloft and then making a cancer hospital, by a painter who painted Allah's words every which way, by a poet whose words and wisdom will survive till the end, and by two women who brought our home awards on the world stage, for their courage and strength. It has had singers and artists galore and writers who the world admires.
It is no ordinary place and as I get older it brings a bigger wrench to the heart to see it suffering. More and more, it's songs bring tears to the eye and it's young bring a shine and glitter. I cannot define this love affair which has lasted a lifetime, but I know that by changing my green book for a red or blue one will not bring happiness. This home of mine has been given to me by my Quaid's generation and for better or worse, one will live and die here.
My prayer on this day is that we live together, we are just to our people, we love all and do our best. Rest we leave to Allah, who made this home on 27th Ramadan, for what purpose only He knows.
A very happy 70th birthday to Pakistan, our home!💖💖💖
