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Smoggy Morning on Mall Road
As winter arrives in Lahore, smog once again engulfs Mall Road. The
usual hustle and bustle of the streets softens, and the vibrant roadside
flowers appear muted, as if their colors have been stolen by the heavy
haze.
Amid the morning traffic, where vehicles race to beat the signal, cars
swerve impatiently to overtake one another. Trapped in this chaotic
flow is an old man on a motorbike, carefully weaving through the sea
of cars. His scarf is tied tightly around his face to shield him from the
pollution, and his breath forms small clouds in the cold air. Weathered
gloves cover his stiff fingers as he grips the handlebars. To the drivers
around him, the students heading to school, and the wardens stationed
nearby, he is invisible, just another ordinary man. Yet, despite the
traffic, the smog, and his own fatigue, his eyes remain fixed on his
destination. He perseveres daily for the welfare of his family, a father
and a son, a husband and a brother, determined to keep going, no
matter the hardships, until his final breath.
On the sidewalk, a beggar sits with eyes reddened from constant
exposure to the smog. Her frail fingers tremble as she grips an old can.
Leaning against a boundary wall, her tired eyes twitch, craving sleep.
But rest is a luxury she cannot afford. Beside her, two children huddle
under her worn shawl. The older child stretches out his hands, silently
pleading for kindness from passersby. Yet the pedestrians rush past,
their heads bowed, jackets zipped up to shield themselves from the
cold, ignoring the family on the curb. The beggar knows this routine,
her hope wavering yet persistent. Perhaps a kind stranger will stop and
drop a note, enough to secure a meal for her children. Her strength has
dwindled over time, but she cannot stop. For her, this is survival.
AC Chronicles
72