The Serenity of a Simple Life - My Beautiful Village in Northern Pakistan

It was my birthday last month, my 60th birthday! My little daughter asked me how I felt reaching 60? Honestly, I never thought of it. The question did however, made me to contemplate, and as I reflect on my life, pondering on what I have learned and gained, I can't help but feel a sense of loss; lost more than I have gained.

Six decades have passed in a blink of an eye. Life, as I feel mine, is very much like watching a sunrise at birth, with youth as the midday, and now experiencing a sunset with shadows growing longer, the day coming to a close, and the quiet of night drawing near.

I was brought into this world in a stunning picturesque village nestled in the northern region of Pakistan, where nature's magnificence was all around us. I can vividly recall the lush scenery and the abundance of nature in my village. Memories of my childhood flood my mind of my beautiful village and my childhood.

Some four to five decades ago, the village folks lived a life of simplicity, honesty, and innocence, and the mere thought of materialistic living was far from our minds; it was a completely different time.

Our abodes were made of humble mud and wood, a reflection of our modest living, simple yet inviting, with open spaces from where we could gaze at the full moon and count the stars in the clear and peaceful night sky as we fell asleep lying in our beds on the roof and yard. We crafted our own pottery used in our daily lives, which was a testament to our resourcefulness.

The atmosphere was always serene and calm. Early mornings before dawn were ushered in by the sound of the rooster. We rose before the sun, excited to witness the beauty and magic of the sunrise with the harmonious melody of the birds chirping in the background.

Our parents’ days were filled with hard work on the farms and fields to earn our living. We were healthy, our bodies were healthy, content with the fruits of our labour, content with what we had, and empathetic towards each other. We shared each other's sorrows and joys, happiness and laughter, tears, and smiles.

Evenings were a time of reflection and quietness, with the sunset's beauty serving as a reminder of the hard day's work that had come to an end. The birds returned to their nests, settled into the trees with a loud chirping, showing their presence as we also settled in our homes, content with the simplicity of our lives. This was our way of life; a beautiful and natural norm.    

Our food was pure and natural, sourced from the very farms, fields, and livestock that surrounded us. Our thirst was quenched with the pure natural water of the streams and wells and the pure milk from the livestock, which also served us with butter, eggs and other dairy products. We relished the beauty of nature in all its forms - the mesmerizing spring with its beauty all around; the scorching summer where we sat under the shades of the lush green trees, swam in the cool pond; the delightful autumn; and the chilly winter, which we spent around the wood-fire.

In my village, nature's splendour was ever-present, surrounding us with an awe-inspiring view of mountains, valleys, and lakes. The very air was tranquil and serene, and the ambiance was always calm, welcoming everyone with open arms. The sound of stream flowing nearby provided the perfect soundtrack to our idyllic lives. We had a profound and unshakable love for nature.

Everywhere we looked, we could see the bountiful nature. Back then, all these experiences were not an exception but rather a norm of our beautiful life.

Growing up in our humble village, entertainment was scarce, but we found pure bliss in our simple games. The absence of technology allowed us to relish in the tranquil silence of the night. Our childhood happiness and joy were found in the uncomplicated games we played in our small village. Our days were filled with laughter and merriment, waking up early and going to bed early, embracing the beauty of nature around us. In the simplicity of our village life, we found joy and happiness in the most ordinary things. Our games were uncomplicated yet engaging, filling our hearts with laughter and excitement. The air was filled with the sound of children's laughter, and the streets were alive with the cheerful chatter of friends.

Hide-and-seek, hopscotch, and kite-flying were some of our favourite games. We played in the open fields, under the clear blue sky, our imaginations running wild. We ran after each other, our feet pounding against the earth, our breaths coming in short gasps. In the evenings, we sat under the shade of a tree, singing folk songs and clapping to the rhythm, our spirits uplifted by the simple melodies. We shared stories, passing them down from generation to generation, keeping our culture alive.

Walking to the government school was always an adventure, and we couldn't wait to see our friends and teachers. The crisp morning air filled our lungs as we prepared for another day of learning. With a skip in our step and a smile on our faces, we made our way to the classroom. Upon arriving, we took off our shoes and sat down on the cool, smooth floor mats. Our writing pads were simple yet elegant, made of sturdy wooden Takhtis that we wrote on with ink and Kalam (hollow bamboo pens). As we delved into our studies, we were filled with a sense of wonder and curiosity, eager to soak up all the knowledge we could.

As the sun began to set, we retreated to our homes, sitting around the wood-fire sharing stories. The only sound accompanying us was the radio that the elders listened to for news. It crackled with static, and the voices sounded distant, but it was a connection to the outside world that we treasured. In the village, we were content with the simple things in life and found happiness and joy in the things that mattered most. We were a community bound together by our love for life and each other.

The village had no televisions, iPads, or computers to distract us. The only phone we had was communal, and it was used only for important calls. Communication was a luxury we didn't take for granted, and we relied on the written word. Newspapers were scarce, and we eagerly awaited their arrival. We would gather around the learned ones as they read aloud from the pages. For those who couldn't read, letters were the main mode of communication. The educated ones would often help those who were uneducated to write letters. The act of dictating a letter was magical as the words flowed from our hearts onto paper. The postman was our gateway to the world. When a letter arrived, it was as if the outside world had made its way into our humble abode, a momentous occasion.

Our village life was simple, but it was rich in its own way. Each piece of news was valuable, and we appreciated the effort that went into each letter. It was a different world, but one that we were proud to be a part of.

A few months back, as I stepped foot into my village after many many years of absence, I couldn't help but notice the changes that had taken place, and not for the better as I see it. The allure of modern technology had crept in. The village that was once a place of simplicity, honesty, and innocence had now been infiltrated by technology. The greenery that once surrounded us had been replaced by urbanization - buildings of all sizes made of cold concrete and glass that blocked out the sunshine, stars, and moon, taking away much of what once made it beautiful and lit up our lives.

Gone are the days of interacting face-to-face and sharing each other's joys and sorrows. Now, our relationships, congratulations and condolences are reduced to digital messages on WhatsApp and other platforms. Children who once played outside with toys are now glued to electronic gadgets, losing the pure and simple joys of childhood.

Technology has brought us some benefits and advantages, but at a great cost. The drawbacks have taken away the essence of our village life. It has stripped us of our empathy, sympathy, love, and health. We are always angry and stressed, with no apparent reason, and we don't even understand why. Our mobile phones have become an integral part of our lives, even in intimate spaces. Our lives have become robotic routines that revolve around our jobs, making money and more money, mobile phones, processed food, and processed emotions.

Everyone is busy making more and more, chasing materialistic things that bring no real happiness, never content with what we have. Our lives have become programmed machines, doing the same routine day-in and day-out. We have lost ourselves in the chaos of modernization, forgetting what truly brings us joy. It is only when we reach our sunset that we realize the mistake we made. We have forgotten to live and enjoy the little moments that matter.

The natural, unprocessed way of living that we once took for granted has now become a luxury, a delicacy that we call "organic." The sounds of children laughing and playing outside had been replaced by the frightening silence of electronic gadgets, while relationships and emotions are now communicated through impersonal digital messages. The empathy, sympathy, love, and health that were once cherished values in our village are now lost. The joy and sadness that we used to share with each other now remain buried deep inside us.

In those days, the village was a place of warmth and comfort. Time was abundant, and we had it for everyone - friends, neighbours, and village folks. We were there for each other when anyone needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to share their happiness, successes, and joy with. We were a community that believed in giving without any expectations of receiving something in return.

Our parents saw us grow up right from our birth-day, and it was a beautiful thing to watch. They witnessed our playful mischiefs, saw us grow into young adults, and become accomplished individuals. Living in a combined family, love, affection, respect, and empathy knitted us together. Materialistic needs were absent, and honesty was always present.

We celebrated the little things in life that mattered the most, and all the villagers came together to help those in need. We made sure that everyone slept soundly without any worries or fears that would disturb their peaceful slumber. Sleeping pills and medicines were unheard of because we were content and happy with what we had, our bodies were strong and healthy, our eyesight remained perfect and even at the age of 90 some climbed hills and worked in the fields with the livestock, and it never felt like a chore.

But sadly, all of that is gone now, and everything seems to be working in reverse. I sit back and think to myself, reminiscing about the life we used to lead. It's a life that I was unable to share with my family, and I regret that I couldn't give them the experience of the simple village life that I cherished so much. That is the sense of loss I have.

Despite that, I still see beauty in the world around me. Even now, to some extent, the village continues to be a hub of natural beauty. The colours of the sunset still take my breath away, and the stars in the night sky still leave me in awe. I have learned to appreciate the little things, like the sound of the birds chirping in the morning, the smell of freshly baked roti-paratha, tea, and the warmth of a loved one's embrace.

Looking towards the future, I wonder where we are headed and what the next 40-50 years will bring. We have become so consumed with materialistic things that we have forgotten the importance of relationships. It is time to step back and re-evaluate our lives, to give time to ourselves and to the people who matter, the very people and family that we are "working for." In the end, it is love, empathy, and relationships that bring true happiness. It's time to pause, to give time to ourselves and to the family.

As I reach the twilight of my life, I realize that the most valuable things in life are the relationships we build and the memories we create. I may have lost some things along the way, but I am grateful for the experiences that have shaped me into the person I am today. And as the day comes to a quiet, I can only hope that I have made a positive impact on the world and the people around me.