After almost five decades the sluice gates began to open. Almost involuntarily.
We finally crossed over swimming freely beyond the pain barrier. Ice creams and clock towers, sweets and confectioners, tailors and outfitters and the two anna rented cycle took the turn past the shop window with the huge oversized leather shoe on display. The queen always had the globe in her left hand and there she was again, the bar where the white folk would hang out, the live band where they danced, the handsome uncle artist who could draw anything, the friendly accountant who knew everything, the Chinese girl, the hidden love letters, the mango tree, Noor Jehan, Changa Nanga railway station, Head Baloki, Gujaranwala, Sialkot. And Rattan still kept playing in the cinema houseful for almost a year. The cycle knocked into a tonga a secret accident forever until today. Look, see this tiny scar, here on the side of the nail. Lahore could have been my city. Should have. Perhaps it still is.