THE word “war” isn’t a distant concept for me; it’s the chilling melody that filled the soundtrack of my childhood in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Pakistan. The constant rumble of helicopters, the earth-shattering boom of explosions, the fear etched on people’s faces – these are the memories that war has branded into my soul. Our province, once famed for its emerald valleys bursting with vibrant fruit orchards, became a battleground. The lush forests, once teeming with life — home to playful monkeys swinging through the canopy and birdsong painting the dawn — stood skeletal, their fragrant blossoms replaced by the acrid stench of smoke. The fruits, bursting with juicy sweetness in my childhood memories, now shriveled on barren trees, a cruel reminder of the bounty stolen by conflict.
The human cost of war transcended the physical destruction. Skin diseases, a consequence of polluted water and poor sanitation, became a constant companion. But the most heartbreaking change resided in the eyes of the children. The laughter and carefree spirit that should define their youth were replaced by a haunting wariness. Playgrounds were deserted, replaced by bomb shelters as their only refuge. Traditional games like “gullidanda”........