Dear People of the Nation,
Thank you for being kind enough to remember my birthday. Amidst the loud fire crackers, silencer-less bikes, countless gun shots, I managed to hear that cakes bearing my name were baked and sold at fancy bakeries and many people wore green and white to remind themselves that they are one of those who walk on my surface spitefully every day.
But I also heard many people grumbling and clenching their teeth at all the celebrations. Many of you, deprived as you are, complained that I haven’t been of any service to you. People living in other countries are far more accomplished and happy than you are here, in your own country. Sadly, I have no other option than to agree with you. But am I ashamed? Should I be ashamed? I don’t think so.
I’ll be blunt with you all today, just like you are with me all the time. Those people are happy in their own countries because they thought for the future of their country instead of their own. Because they chose to not repeat the mistakes they made in the past. They chose to stand united. They chose to work together without being ashamed of their identity. They chose to contribute to their nation’s prosperity. They chose their country.
While ‘Delhi belly’ has turned into a mine of gold, I’m still suffering from the blood of those killed for honour. A lot of blood has started seeping in because of other reasons as well now. How many of you have tried to help those who suffer? I can’t help them without you, I’m just a piece of land. It is you people who give me an identity and get your own in turn. I’ll give you whatever you give me. And if all you are getting from me is violence, grief and insecurities, maybe you should go have a thorough look at yourselves. In all your cynicism and misery, you dismiss the enthusiasm and love of those who actually want to make me a better piece of land. Who try to heal the countless wounds I’ve borne throughout these years.
Despite all this, I still can’t wish that you’d leave me. It is a pity, really, that I should still depend upon you, who don’t mind washing dishes abroad but hate to keep me clean and make fun of those who try. I can only resent myself for loving you all so much even after all your disputes have put me through.
The Wounded Land of Pure
P.S. Make sure this letter doesn’t cross Jinnah’s eyes.