I woke up with a startle and found myself sitting in the college library with my head on the open page of 'Guyton ', which had become wet with continuous dribbling of saline from my skin (as usual the AC unit was not feeling well). With sleepy eyes I looked at my watch which said that I had slept for about half an hour. I started wondering that may be Guyton had dissolved some kinds of sedatives in his book so that whenever any body opens the book, he would get drowsy and ultimately would fall asleep. This was my first stay in the college library after the college hours and it was not a good experience as I had slept more than I studied. It was the Maghrib time and it was getting dark.

I decided to explore the college after the Namaz. It was quiet dark and appeared as if the college administration had no knowledge about the great invention of Edison. I started walking towards the (un) hygiene block. As I walked on the 'Island', suddenly I heard a barking sound. Perhaps I had stepped on the foot of the 'constant ' figure of DMC, which was slumbering on the island waiting for the points to arrive. However I could not make out to which year it belonged. All was dark and quiet as if the college had worn a pall. Suddenly, I visualized a dim light glowing on the first floor of Anatomy Department. "Who could that be at this hour?" I wondered. There was a feeling which refrained me from going there thinking that it might be a peon or a technician, but at the same time there was curiosity rising inside me.

One of the cadavers was narrating his story; "I was the long awaited child of my parents. They always dreamed of a child - a child, their utmost pride, and a child who could belong to them, a child who could be the determinant of their existence. Finally they made it. I was born. Their long awaited desire was fulfilled. It was 1947. There was happiness all over. But fate was not on my side. When I was just a child, feeble and innocent, my parents passed away. Their dreams of making me stand on my feet; dreams of making me strong, dreams of making me what they wanted me to be were buried along with them. I was left alone - alone in the clutches of people who did everything to ruin me.

Soon I felt that my growth had slowed down. I was not properly fed nor provided any remedy to the infections I acquired. My own defense system was going feeble day by day. My body systems were seriously disrupted. I also found out that I had an autoimmune disease when the antibodies started destroying my own cells. Then I developed a serious problem with my left upper limb and soon it was amputated in 1971. I could not bear that painful moment. I could 'nt believe that I was being deprived of a part of my body. It was not at all the right decision for amputation. It could have been cured. I shouted and protested but nothing happened. The condition of my body detoriated with more foreign body involvement and more development of auto-antibodies.

I know that sometimes it's too hard to even think about it, it seems surreal. The intense pain, the suffering, and the social unrest are beyond our imaginations. We call ourselves Pakistanis, yet we have never experienced the hardships of being one, because we are the fortunate ones. So, what is the difference between those who face the cruelty of life everyday, and us who are lucky enough to live in peace and harmony? There are thousands of obvious, fundamental differences between them and ourselves. Most of us were not born in Pakistan; most of us have never lived there for more that a couple of months. Most of us belong to the elite, the upper class. None of us have ever lost a friend or a brother in a street riot, or gotten shot at on our way to a mosque. We don't know how it feels like to sell newspapers on the streets, to beg, or to steal, just to put food in our mouths. We have never shed a single drop of blood for Pakistan. We have never seen the inside of a landlord's jail, or slept a night without water, food, or electricity. We do not get harassed, beaten, or tortured by those in authority who are supposed to help us. On the other hand, our fathers are the owners of huge companies, and are financially stable. We are the educated minority who is in a position to help our country but yet we do nothing. I am sure that we would like to think of ourselves as being proud and patriotic Pakistanis. But whom are we really trying to fool. It is all a fascade to help feed our guilty conscience. We may be able to give fancy speeches, and write articles about poverty and indigence, but would we stop in the streets of a crowded city to feed a hungry child, or help an injured person? I don't thing so. We watch our brothers and sisters lying dead in the streets, but we hold our breath and walk on by. Yet we call them our fellow countrymen. We are quick to judge and criticize, sitting over here thousands of miles away, but have we really tried to change the system? I am not suggesting that we abandon our education, and go to the villages of Pakistan. No, I want all of us to educate ourselves, and obtain crucial positions in Pakistan and around the world. We will then be in a better position to reform our society and the legal system. It is not a choice that we have, it is our moral duty to help those who are less fortunate than us. We do not realize how much we take for granted here in the States, and how much we can do for Pakistan. Pakistan needs us now more than ever. We can not turn our backs on a country that is an inherent part of who we are. We must not only strive to be successful businessmen, lawyers, doctors, and politicians, but also successful human beings, so that we can give back to Pakistan, just as we will give back to this country a little of what we have received.
Long Live Pakistan!