Lahore, my wounded city,

How you once wore the monsoon like a crown - draped in silver rain, alive with laughter, perfumed by eucalyptus. But now, your beauty is bruised by neglect. I mourn your lost gardens and vanished avenues and remind you - and myself - of the city you could still be.

Today, after yet another episode of cloudburst that choked the traffic all around, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of frustration - and even anger. We complain, blame and joke, but the truth is: we, as the custodians of the city, have failed. The gardens have been sacrificed for concrete, and rapid, unplanned suburban development has devoured green spaces, making the city more vulnerable to floods and pollution, while ambitious rainwater projects remain empty promises.

I escape into nostalgia, imagining myself in the novels of Bano Qudsia, Mustansar Hussain Tarar or Quratulain Haider. The dark clouds over Mall Road and the scent of rain-soaked eucalyptus are bittersweet reminders (Raja Gidh/Pyar Ka........

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