Fired up with a wholly unexpected bout of patriotism, I bought a large flag to display on the roof of my house long before August began. Independence Day brought around the usual bout of festivities at college, and as night came and the pale moon rose high up in the clouds, I settled down to watch TV for lack of a better thing to do, having slept away the day’s tiredness in the afternoon. Channel surfing, I came across an astounding number of concerts to celebrate Independence Day, and was overcome by an overwhelming wave of nausea.
Why was this country created? To give freedom to our tired, our poor, our huddled masses yearning to breathe free, freedom from British and Hindu chains, but for what cause? So we could go to schools where we sang praises of Allah and Muhammed (PBUH) instead of Bande Matram in the mornings, so we could advance forward in life without being crushed for being Muslims, so we could be free to follow Islam.
But August rolls around, and a normally comatose nation springs into action, selling badges, flags, wristbands in green and white, all for profit, and those who buy them feel no love for this beautiful country of ours, but do so to appear good in the eyes of their peers. Makes you want to hang your head in shame, knowing such people represent your country.
And August ends, and the nation sinks back into its stupor, as corruption and sin rampantly ravage the country, and reminds one of before, when exhausted from constantly having to fight, from being suppressed by the British, with tired eyes, tired minds, tired souls, we slept.
But sixty years have passed, and there’s no sign of another Quaid, no trace of an Iqbal, no whispers of rebellion, no spark of fire in the people’s spirit, no words like the Shikwaah. And so we sit here hath pe hath dharay muntazir farda, one more time, waiting to be rescued from ourselves.
Perhaps it is the folly, the Ignorance, the cockiness of youth that leads me to think I could make a difference. Perhaps it is simply a misplaced optimism that makes me believe we could change. But I have risen from my stupor, I will fear nothing as I raise my mighty quill to fight against the sickness consuming our minds, speak out against every atrocity committed by power hungry politicians, AND no longer take the mindless violence, the unthinkable crimes, in stride. I have roused myself from slumber; can’t we all do the same?