Learn to Live as Well
Piles of Property and the Massacre of the Present By Nadia Nizam Today, as I stand under the scorching sun of life, my father’s presence returns to me like a dense, cool, sheltering tree. I write this piece not only in his memory, but also as a lament for that lost simplicity which has quietly vanished from our times. Walking in his footsteps, I realize with piercing clarity that life was never a burden—we turned it into one ourselves. My father was a living book of logic and reason. He never accepted nonsense, yet paradoxically, his own life was built upon the logic of love. A modest salary, six children, and a three-room house in Islamabad—where my uncle also lived—felt like a small guesthouse. I still remember how the aroma from the kitchen and the laughter of guests could not be contained within the walls. Whether friends or relatives, my father’s dining table never felt small, because its measure was not his income, but the openness of his heart and my mother’s patience. While the...