s a child, I often heard my mother talking about Lahore. She’d regale me with stories about the city, its places, its people and its liveliness. All that would lead me to create a fantasy image of the city in my head.

My childhood was spent in Dera Ismail Khan. Allow me to say that life there is very different from what it is in other parts of the country.

That said, I always wished to visit Lahore. Well, my wish was granted only recently — in February this year, to be precise; four months after I had got married.

Goes without saying, I was very excited. It was just too overwhelming. The night before I was to leave for Lahore, I was unable to sleep. Finally, after nine long hours of travel, we reached Lahore. When I set foot on Lahore, I was intimidated for a good while — it was a big city… way bigger than what I had imagined. I got rather nervous amidst chaotic crowds, messy traffic and the noise of vehicles honking.

There were too many faces to see. It sort of scared me.

I spent four days in Lahore. During that time, I visited a few landmarks of the city, including the Lahore Fort, the Badshahi Masjid, the Anarkali Bazaar and the Old Lahore. Also the commercial side of the city, including the Emporium Mall. For me, it was a completely new experience. I was amazed to see girls walking around confidently, dressed quite unlike they do in my city.

I also had the chance to attend the Lahore Literary Festival. It was another experience altogether. Again, it reminded me of how the folks in my city are living in an entirely different world. The women at the festival were talking about things like IT development. I wanted to tell them that back in my hometown we need development in a lot of other sectors too; that we are lagging behind in so many ways, and we don’t have the kind of opportunities and exposure that they do.

I began to feel kind of insecure. Why was I deprived of the things that these girls enjoyed? Why was I not given the freedom and the right to step out and explore the artist inside me? I felt as if I was an insect and that the people at the festival were giants.

I also met some people who had moved to Lahore for higher education. One of them was Talha Shafique, a GCU graduate. Talking to an intellectual like him brought me to the conclusion that Lahore offers the kind of opportunities we, the DI Khan natives, can’t even imagine — certainly not until we land here. I couldn’t understand why life in the two cities in the same country is so different.

On my last day in Lahore, which was a Sunday, I visited the old city where I saw streets lined with old books. I wanted many of those but ended up buying just three. I don’t know whether it was due to a financial compulsion.

It broke my heart to see books lying randomly on the pavement. It was even more heartbreaking when I saw it all in relation to how the branded toiletries had been displayed on shiny shelves in the glass shops close by.

By now, I had begun to feel homesick. Something inside me just wanted me to return to the city where I belonged — my birthplace — even though it’s a place where I am no more than a woman; where there is no one to see my talents. I wished I never had to go back. But I had to. This ‘helplessness’ itself was tearing me apart.

That night, I lulled myself to sleep. I woke up the next day, only to leave with a heavy heart. I felt like crying, if only to end this state of helplessness and suffocation.

Crying did help. I made a promise to myself. I’ll work hard to achieve things that life in a backward town does not give you.

The writer is a content writer based in Dera Ismail Khan. She writes about women, culture and literature. She can be reached at sonia.nigar273@gmail.com