Importance of lives

April 16, 2013 - 4 minutes read


As she left for her job, her mom kissed her forehead and said the string of prayers that she regularly did for her daughter. She was the sole earner for her family, after her father died in a tragic car accident, when she was just thirteen years old. Ever since then, the family had struggled to make ends meet and now, after years of struggle, she had a job in a garments factory.

Her name was ‘Arzoo’, yet unlike her name, none of her dreams had ever come true.

Nadeem was a young father. After being married to his cousin at the age of 20, they now had a son, who was their whole world. The couple adored their only son and,

Nadeem strived hard to give his son all he had never managed to get for himself.

Zubair; a brother to three sisters, only son to a handicapped mother and an addict father, did all he could, to make their life a bit better. When his father was caught prey in the hands of drug mafia, he left school and ever since, he had been working in a factory.

These were only a few, of the people who had lost their lives to the fire that had engulfed the whole factory. The place was congested and had no emergency exits. There were no fire extinguishers and nobody had ever heard of a fire drill.

As a result, when the fire broke out, there was utter pandemonium and chaos.

Innocent lives were lost; lives which could very easily have been saved. Had there been some safety measures taken beforehand, the death toll would have been entirely different.

As the day drew to an end, Arzoo’s mother waited anxiously for any news about her daughter. She had only heard, from her neighbor that a fire had broken out on a nearby factory. That was all she knew and she kept praying hoping that the news would turn out to be a hoax or it just might be another factory or Arzoo might have left the factory early, as she had to get her younger brother new shoes.

Nadeem’s son would not go to sleep, no matter how much his mother tried to pacify him. He kept on asking,

“When will baba return?”

But that was a question she could not answer and thus, resorted to weeping with her son, the only treasure she had now, holding him close to herself.

Zubair’s sister had made his favorite “Daal Chawal” after a long time. She was waiting anxiously for him to return, so that they could enjoy the meal together. Little did she know that he had gone away, as far as possible, with no ways of ever returning.

The people who perished in the fire were random ones;they didn’t have any influential relatives,nor were they,themselves ministers.

All they were, the citizens of this nation.

They had no connections; nobody knew them;and nobody cared about what would happen to their family.
After the fire,all that the government did was, send in some telephonic condolences and a few ‘taziati paighamaat’.
It did not matter that in the houses of these victims, there was the scenario of Hell breaking loose.

Nothing mattered,because these poor people were not important enough to be considered.

Written By: Iffrah Malik

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