As I passed by the ever-popular Abdullah Shah Ghazi Mazaar, something caught my eye. Normally there are nearly a hundred people meandering around the place at any time of the day, but today it seemed that their meanderings were devoid of any actual joy or purpose. A large crowd was gathered at the scene of accumulated rubble, uncharacteristically quiet. There was no shoving, no good natured insults and elbow jabs being traded, a sea of men and women stood side by side in the heat, staring. I realized then that the reason my eye had been drawn to a location I would normally pay no attention to, except to honk and wave my fist angrily at the droves of the devoted crossing the street at a leisurely pace: the emptiness. The line of Daig Houses that stretches out at either side of the enterance to the Mazaar has been sneakily demolished in the night. Owners sat hunched in the rubble, unable to comprehend where their shops had gone overnight. Frequenters, young, old, male, female, all stood in a loose semi-circle around the shell-shocked ex-shopkeepers in silent compassion, collectively still staring silently at the pile of broken walls. I watched them as I rounded the corner and disappeared to into my own life again, their silence seemed to speak the heart of anyone who has been up against the powers that be in this country and has lost.

Several hours later, I re-emerged from my busy life and passed by the Mazaar again. The formerly standing silent masses had now settled down to sit in the exact same spots they always did while the shops were standing: only this time they sat on uneven bits of rubble. Still, they sat right there, defying anyone to remove them from thieir spots, and nobody has.