This is a story of two houses. In one house, the grandparents sit in the courtyard, under the cool shade of the mango tree and feed leftover bread to the birds. A squirrel scurries across the yard and a few hens roam around, looking for their share in the bread. The dog sits lazily in the sun. The children alternate between games of hopscotch, hide-and-seek, climbing the tree and taking turns on the swing that hangs from it.

In a large tray, raw mango is being prepared with spices, to be sun-dried for making achar (pickle). As night falls, the charpoys are brought out and the family lies down to rest. They gaze at the night sky full of stars, the sound of the crickets is loud and random frogs add a croak to the symphony of sounds. There is no light except that of the moon and the fireflies.

In the second house, the sound of the generator and the smell of fuel meet the senses as one enters. The grandparents are in their room, and the TV is on. Their tray of medicines is on the bedside. The newly weds are in their little annex built in the courtyard where the mango tree used to be. The others are busy on their laptops or phones. The younger ones are waiting for the burgers and fries they have ordered from the local fast food joint. No one can hear the horn that honks persistently outside, trying to be heard over the din of the surrounding traffic, the generator and the earphones in everyone’s ears.

At night, they are all going to a dinner and movie but they have to set out an hour early to beat the traffic rush. The night air when they step out of the house is stuffy, almost making it difficult to breathe. The sky has a pall of dust. Not a single star is visible. They quickly get into their cars and turn on the air conditioning.

Yes, this is the story of Lahore. For many of us this is the story of our childhoods and our present.

The new Lahore is where development has come, where there are signal free roads, underpasses, bridges and fancy metros, where there are high rises and plazas, but the trees have gone and so have the squirrels and the birds, the clear skies and the fireflies. Instead of the pigeons and sparrows, we have kites and vultures circling over the spots along the canal where the meat-sellers throw sadqa (charity) meat.

Instead of the song of birds, we have the din of traffic. Instead of the clear starry skies, we have smog and pollution. Instead of homegrown fruits and vegetables, we have processed food. Instead of indigenous shade giving trees to beat the heat, we have ornamental plants adorning the roadsides.

Some will say Lahore is now greener than before, but do not confuse eye-pleasing landscaping, that too in selective areas, with overall tree cover.

The practices of doctors are thriving as incidence of blood pressure, obesity, heart, skin, lung diseases and all sorts of allergies rises steadily. Where you could drain your tension simply by looking at an expanse of green (and, yes, there are studies on that), you now have to pop a pill and pay for it to boot. Where you could sleep under the stars with a simple pedestal fan, the concrete in the city has caused a gradual rise in temperatures meaning a simultaneous rise in the use of coolers and air-conditioners, putting scarce water and power resources under further strain.

That sadly is the cost of development in our beautiful Lahore. Not just a loss of trees, but a transformation of lifestyles. The mango tree in the courtyard was not just a tree; it was the repository of a whole ecosystem and daily life revolved around it. By cutting down trees, we are destroying that ecosystem, along with our way of living. We are destroying the memories of our childhoods and the promise to our children, of a city that they could love.

Lahore Lahore hai? Not anymore, not if we don’t stand up and resist. We have to get our fireflies back.