We the memory-places

We the homes, schools, hospitals, offices, shops, malls, places of worship, and so on, we are not just buildings, we are memory-places. We are not just buildings. We are not just a mixture of sand, cement, iron and stones. We are not just structures of different shapes and sizes and colours.

We are witnesses. Yes, we are! And we preserve memories for life, for you, and for your lineage.

As hospitals, we have heard the first cry of the babies when they are born and the joy of its mother when she takes it in her arms for the first time.

As homes, we have seen the baby crawl and then when they stand without anyone’s help. We have seen the baby take its first steps and take every object in his mouth when he is to have his first tooth, and their parents cushioning any of our jagged edges. We have seen them snuggle to peaceful sleep with their mothers and play with their fathers and grow with their siblings.

As schools we have seen the babies cry the first day they are left alone by their similarly crying parents, and then how they grow, make friends, study, play, give exams in silence.

As colleges and universities we have seen them become graduates, become mature, specialise in their fields, become politically active.

As offices we have seen them work till late nights while taking endless cups of coffee, earn their livings and become independent of their parents’ pocket-money.

At shops we have seen them winning over customers and selling their wares with expertise.

At malls we have seen them shopping, first alone, then friends and wives and then with their children.

At hospitals, once again, when they fell ill.

At places of worship we have seen them bow their heads down, talking in whispers with their Lord, asking them for n-number of their wishes, repenting for their wrongs, and thanking them for the gifts bestowed upon them.

AND THEN WE HAVE WITNESSED…

We have witnessed the same babies who are now grown-ups, and those who have acquired proximity with a certain ideologue, a certain political outfit, a certain extremist group, roam around the streets in groups, with weapons that I shudder to see. They beat, maim, and kill who don’t adhere to their thoughts, to their philosophies. And when that is not enough, they come to attack us – US!!!

We, who had only given them shelter, from harsh climates, from theft, from dangers, from roving eyes. We, who were happy on their happiness, sad when they were sad. We, who kept all their secrets. We who guarded all their wealth. We, who stayed with their families as a protection, while they were out earning their livings.

They attacked us with rods and hammers, and harmed us. They put us on fire! We cried, as we do, in silence. Humbled, we crumbled. We are pained. But not that much for our pain, than for the people who were taking shelter in us. We failed in our promise of providing shelter to them, protecting them. We saw them crying, helpless, calling their dear ones to save them, dialling 100 frantically without getting any answer. We are horrified seeing them being locked, tortured, raped and burnt; we tried, but couldn’t close our eyes. Their shrill cries echoed inside us; we tried, but couldn’t close our ears. The valuables were looted, the (holy) books burnt, our identities violated, and the rioters laughed an evil laugh. And then they vanished in the dark. The eerie silence, the sobs of those yet alive, were enough for us. WE DIED!

When such happens, when we die, we die with the memories you would have wanted us to keep. With our death, your memories die too. We apologise. We couldn’t keep our promise.

But it was some of you, amongst you, who did this to us. And the others, others who could have kept us alive, helped us keep your memories, they looked the other way, they didn’t come to our help, perhaps because we were not to their liking. And this pains, a pain greater than the pain of DEATH.

- Faiz Anwar