Stranger in my own city

I feel like a stranger in my own city, as I see people around me glancing warily at a fellow passerby or a random street hawker. How can I not notice the look of mistrust and restraint in their eyes for almost everyone as they go on about their lives?

I feel like a stranger on these roads, not as devoid of life as I thought them to be as so many people are lurking around, yet devoid of the hustle bustle of human emotions, of smiles and laughters passed around, of small yet gratifying gestures of helping out someone, of warm hugs given around freely, or maybe just a simple pat on the back, of a sweet joke echoing through the pathways to make someone’s day. How can I not miss the way a stranger’s smile used to make me smile?

I feel like a stranger in these shops, as I see everyone around me busy in their agenda, whether it is to buy eggs, bread, milk, maybe just some air, or like me, someone who misses the general human connection, simply finding peace in being out. How can I not see the way each one is restricting themselves from making any conversation with the other, without showing some doubt in their eyes or discomfort in their words?

I feel like a stranger in these walls as I sit aimlessly, like an unbidden guest in my own house, wondering about what to do next. How to avoid thinking about what’s going on outside, in the country, in the world? How can I find joy when I feel like the most prized possession we had, our smiles, have been taken captive by burglars under names of N95 and FFP3? How can I find peace when the place where my heart feels in place, the beautiful essence of Lahore: its lively roads, euphoric streets, swarming, high-spirited markets, its restaurants filling the air with aromas of chicken karahi and bbq and chai and all the amazing different food dishes this city owns, specially the laughter and happiness heard from every nook and corner, isn’t the same anymore?

sakoon kese aye ab, jab apne hi shehr mein ajnabi sa mehsoos horaha hai.