Pakistan

Pakistan. A name. A country. A far away land of my parents, community and people that surround me in married life.

Growing up in Australia, I was always in conflict with this place. Because of the differences in values, culture and not understanding what it represented.

A few days ago, I met someone who shed light on his love for Pakistan. In 2011, he is an elderly man but in 1947, he was a young inexperienced 14 year old youth. He was the head of his family. Bombay had been his home and now he had to leave. 

At 14, he was solely responsible for moving his family through the troubles and violence of partition into Pakistan. Imagine, 14 years old, in Bombay a place where muslims were being murdered hourily as they tried to escape.

He managed to get help and get his family onto a horse driven carriage. They somehow made it through the streets without being attacked. Once he arrived at the hostel near the loading dock for the ship he ventured out alone. There on the streets he saw murder, innocent women and children being attacked by rampaging mobs. Attacks that were senseless and a waste.

He and his family spent one night in the hostel that was unprotected and in the morning were able to get on the ship to Karachi.

His love of Pakistan is loyal and true. When his family arrived they were welcomed by the government and given tents and provisions to survive.

He managed to provide for his family and give them a good life. But, it was hard.

My 14th year, was nothing compared to that. The only reall drama I faced was having to deal with zits thanks to puberty. But this is different. Life can take a person anyware. 50 years later who knew then, that he would be telling me the story. Now it's for you.