At 63 years of independance.

Salam Alaikum and warm greetings to all.

It's 14th August, a most well respected day. It starts with horns, dances, non-silenced motorcycle toots and almost everyone out on the road playing the tune of "Dil Dil Pakistan" with what ever they could find. It would be an eventful day, one worth taking a day off for. The beaches would be well populated, roads filled with festive mood Pakistani's and the entertaining motorcyclists riding their way in anything but a straight line. Televisions would show musical events all across Pakistan, broadcasts from P.T.V to Khyber and Sindh. The day would continue on like the sun's approach to it's horizon. Dimming away as the night arrives to embrace the city, with a warm reply lights floods the city streets. Neon Signs, Bun kebab and Chai Wala's pull their carts along the street where they can cater to a larger crowd. Neighbors retire on the seats with chai and lighting their cigarettes to enjoy the hustle bustle. Children crowd around ice cream and gola ganda carts. A fellow walks by shouting, advertising the swings and games are available for kids to ride. Even during the Holy Islamic month of Ramadan, the nights would be even more filled with the noise and laughter of Pakistanis crowding around.

Well, that's the way i remember 14th August from the days of my past. But today was different. Roads had deserted and the spirits of 14th August was somewhere hidden. Perhaps in the darkest deepest regions for us Pakistani's fears. The mere laughter of a child was shut by his parents. Crows went silent watching the dead city turn from its sunlight into the dusky mist. Houses where the noise and music would never die went silent. The traffic lights where the beggars refused to leave, were left abandoned. The city slept the sleep of timelessness. The night is yet to arrive, but the hustle bustle of daylight events echo in my head from the distant memories of my past.
It's not joys they seek to avoid. But respect for the dead. It all made sense when a fellow updated his status update saying "Happy B'day Pakistan, but please don't have a blast!". It made sense the "narebaz" had quietened and the citizens of Pakistan watched their motherland. No one played loud music this day, but silence was attempted to be maintained in respect for the mass citizens wiped out. The mass killing that occurred hardly a year or two down the memory lane. An old philosopher on the radio added to the serenity of the atmosphere. His voice cracked as he spoke out contrasting the current day with the day when Pakistan was born. He spoke " When Pakistan was born, the people chase the nation. But today, the nation chases for its people". His last word echos in my ear, like for that moment my skull seems empty. It's not his words that leave me bewildered, but the tone of his voice that connected too well to the emotions that pulled the strings behind that very phrase he spoke.
The night went even more silent, the kind we all have experienced before. Somewhat of the moment when the clacking heels of that strict teacher back in our high school memories entered the classroom and cracked her cane stick on the table top remind us all of the silence that we were to maintain. It was the silence where the wind even feared to be heard. A few men run to the closest mosque as the call for prayer starts. They scatter all around some rushing to the room of ablution and some straight into the mosque. But nothing more happens, the wind wheezes past a few trees and the sounds of branches bending becomes more obvious. The night still moves on.
This is the night of Independence. The night of remembrance of the dead beloved. No flutes play, no drums can be heard, just the deafening of the chilled silent night.
This is at 63 years of independence.