Northern Area Of Pakistan

Northern Pakistan is one of the most beautiful places in the world, according to my mother – and after seeing the picture below, I can’t help but agree.

I was supposed to go there in two years, which will hopefully be the next time I visit Pakistan. To get to the Karakoram Mountain Range, which is a part of the Himalayas and is located in northern Pakistan, you have to drive up this really long, really steep, really scary highway, that is only one lane, but the traffic flow goes both ways. Rockslides are an extremely apparent danger, and there aren’t any fences on the side of the highway to prevent you from falling off.

At the end, however, you are rewarded with such beauty…forbidding mountains capped by glistening white peaks, the bluest skies you can imagine, a clear view of millions of stars after the sun goes to rest…and of course, yak butter tea, though that is an aquired taste, or so I’ve heard.

Unfortunately, northern Pakistan is also haunted by extreme poverty, Taliban rebels crossing the border from Afghanistan, and the threat of American bombs. President Obama has proposed bombing Balochistan, a region in Pakistan near Karachi, where my relatives live, and the Taliban now have control over the Sawat Valley, a pristine landscape in the northern areas. President Asif Zardari incited the mobilization of thousands of Pakistani citizens in his attempt to control the Supreme Court (following in President Musharraf’s footsteps) and outlaw a popular political opponent, Nawaz Sherif, from participating in the next elections. Pakistan is a troubled land. But that doesn’t stop me from recognizing its beauty.

Is it strange that I keep up with the news of the country of my parents? I wasn’t even born in Pakistan, and I hardly speak the language. I don’t know any traditional songs, I can’t remember the seemingly endless steps of the marriage process, and I’ve visited Karachi a grand total of three times in the entirety of my sixteen years of life. And yet, I feel at home traversing the busy, dusty streets of Karachi with my family, occasionally stopping to buy chaat (the only word I can read in Urdu) and samosas, or bhutta, which is basically grilled, charred Indian corn rubbed with a million different spices until it makes your eyes water to look at it. I love eating falsa berries and chit-chatting with my cousins’ driver, Imdad, who likes to laugh at my sister’s fluffy hair and our terrible Urdu, and play “chor-chor,” which is “tag” in Pakistan with my three cousins. I love going to the beach (Karachi is a port city, located right on the edge of the Arabian Sea), riding horses through the water, and sitting in a howdah on top of a camel, squealing when it sits down, causing the howdah to pitch forward.

I love the incredible amount of color, and the city’s down-to-earth feel. Yes, there’s poverty, and the crime is horrendous. But what strikes me most is how everyone in Pakistan is so friendly, and so easy to tease a laugh out of. I love how the fruit vendors and shop owners call my mother “baji,” a respectful way to refer to an older sister, and joke around with me, calling me “beta,” or dear. I’ve seen poverty-stricken children playing cricket in the street wearing dirty white clothes, running and chasing each other, still laughing and smiling the most beautiful smiles.

I think I’ll always feel this connection to Pakistan, even though I’ve never lived there. I grew up in such a way that I always knew where I came from and my responsibilities toward my homeland. Someday in the future, I’m going to go back and try to initiate some change, build a school, and tell the stories of my people. Yes, they are my people. I don’t think I will ever forget where I came from.