he smell of fresh halwa puri every Sunday morning, the comfort of my bed under the thick, warm blanket; and the sound of the jingle played by the ice-cream vendor in the street could always turn even the worst moments in my life into the best of days.

Every time I heard the jingle, I’d rush out of my room, steal some money from my mom’s purse and head out into the street barefoot, in the hope of stopping the ice cream wala to get my daily serving of a Jetsport.

To this day, hearing the ice cream song transports me back to a time when all my worries could be solved with a 10-rupee Jetsport. Today, however, neither do my problems have a clear solution, nor is the bright orange ice-lolly sold for Rs 10 (it costs Rs 50 now).

The shock that I felt when the street vendor told me about the price of my favourite roadside ice cream may come as a surprise to many reading this column. But, this seemingly abstract issue of a 40-rupee increase in the price of an ice lolly is a matter of personal relevance and meaning. It made me realise — in fact, I felt troubled by — the complexity of the issues my nation faces, be it the highest recorded rate of inflation in the past 50 or so years (31.5 percent, as of February 2023); IMF’s demands in return for aid; or even the 2022 floods that caused a loss of nearly $3.7 billion to the Pakistani government (according to The Third Pole).

As a thinking person, my feelings of frustration,helplessness and anger conflict with my desire to remain hopeful. What I cannot make sense of is how the common man can even remain hopeful in these times when the price of a mere ice lolly for his children has risen by 400 percent. 

As a thinking person, my feelings of frustration, helplessness and anger conflict with my desire to remain hopeful. Though I come from a privileged household - I can easily afford a 50-rupee Jetsport - what I cannot make sense of is how the common man can even remain hopeful in these times when the price of a mere ice lolly for his children has risen by 400 percent.

I truly hope that in the near future a Pakistani child can associate with the feelings that I felt while running outside of my home barefoot, with my mom chasing me and yelling at me to wear my shoes, with nothing in mind, besides grabbing that 10-rupee Jetsport!

The writer is a student