My Account of the Lahore Blast

When human needs and human emotions are so similar, how can we choose pain and agony for each other

A friend had gotten me in touch with Olga. We were to meet at 10:00 am at Second Cup, Z block. As I entered, I spotted her as I recognized her from her Whatsapp display picture. We exchanged the regular pleasantries and we headed upstairs to have our meeting. Representing a women empowerment initiative,Wowoman, that began in Azerbaijan in 2015, she shared her plans to expand the setup in Pakistan. It was quite an interesting discussion and as planned, the meeting ended around 11:00. She booked her uber and we were heading downstairs, when suddenly there was a huge blast. Through the glass walls of Second Cup, we saw massive clouds of smoke and dust with glass shattering everywhere. There were big pieces of material blown up in the air while we were still in a state of denial and shock. Has there really been a blast, I wondered. Is this it? The end of my story? We rushed to the back of the shop where the staff was already gathered. I wondered if there was a back exit but there was none. We stood there for what seemed like forever, thinking what to do. I expected the roof to fall on us any second but wasn't too confident about the idea of stepping outside too, as everyone feared that there might be another blast, or firing. Is this for real? Am I really witness to a bomb blast? (The thought was just too strange to accept)

And then I weighed the options; would I rather die under a roof collapse or go out in the open air and risk death a different way:) For some odd reason, I didnt panic nor did I fear dying. If somethings meant to happen, it will. I decided to step out but my friend resisted. So I went out by myself and what I saw seemed something out of a movie.

People were rushing around, there was smoke, glass, cars with their windows smashed, one car completely destroyed, I heard screams from somewhere up in a building of women crying for help, I saw a guard all covered in smoke and dust, grey from head to toe, and I thought to myself, this is what its like in movies. I wanted to do something to help but wasnt sure if it would be wise to stay. And all this time, my driver kept calling to me, 'Baji, hurry up, lets go, get in the car!'

Miraculously, the car escaped damage as the windows had been pulled down coincidentally. I signaled to my friend again to come out and join me but she didnt and despite not wanting to, I got into the car and left.

Totally shaken and extremely traumatized, I called Usman and told him that there has been a blast and I was there. Although I was fine, yet the near death experience had shaken me. It wasnt fear for my life, I feel, it was more the fear that the enemy is so close, so close to our homes, to the places we go to every day, to the life we thought was still safe.

When I got home, I called Olga immediately for I knew how shaken she was. She said she was on the road passing another cafe, Ole and was feeling quite lost and scared. I knew I had to go help her. I told her to stay right there and wait for me. I hardly knew the girl, I had met her only an hour ago,but I felt responsible for her, she is our guest in Pakistan and as her host, I felt I had to look after her. My driver warned me that the roads would be blocked and there would be heavy traffic at the blast site but I couldnt leave her stranded there. We parked the car at a distant and I ran off to look for her. She wasnt there at Ole. I didnt have mobile internet to call her from as she was using her country number. Clueless as to what to do, I looked around, and thankfully, saw her standing far away on the other end of the road. I waved to her frantically and she waved back. I rushed to her and we gave each other a massive hug. We had experienced so much together in that short time that words fell short in communicating that. That hug made up for it, it was a hug a relief, of gratitude, of joy, of sorrow, of shared pain and trauma, of 'being human' for while she came from another country, another religion, another culture and what not, but like me, she too, was a soul sent by Allah, a daughter, a sister, a person who meant no harm to others. She was still a pack of nerves and was full of questions about where my car was, who was driving it, did I know that man driving my car. I held her hand and comforted her. That incident pulled us into a connection unexplainable......

Later, at home, I cried, I cried for Pakistan, I cried for my children for I want them to grow up singing Dil Dil Pakistan and believing in it. I cried, for I can no longer hide the bitter realities from them. I cried for the lives lost, for the people traumatized just like me, for the hatred that is eating up our society, for the divide that is drawing us apart from each other...