After a three-hour delay in departure from Islamabad, it was a turbulent flight to Quetta. The faint-hearted mumbled, while the seasoned passengers were disappointed at not being served hot beverages. But once we arrived, there was as much turbulence to be felt on land as there had been in the air.

The mood of the young women and men I met or heard — graduate and postgraduate students, junior academics and other professionals from the same age cohort — was sombre, but not subdued. In the conversations, followed by the questions they raised, they made no qualms about being aggravated and unhappy. The occasion was the first Quetta Literary Festival (QLF) organised some days ago at one of the reputable public universities in the city — the Balochistan University of Information Technology, Engineering and Management Sciences — established about 16 years ago. It has a fairly competent faculty and draws its student strength from Balochistan as well as other parts of the country, particularly Khyber Pakhtunkhwa.

As is increasingly the case with many such festivals organised in the name of literature around the country, QLF also showcased wider concerns which certainly went beyond poetry and creative writing. It is not a complaint, but an acknowledgement of what the younger generation — that has developed a sharp consciousness — wants to see, hear, discuss and debate. This is a consequence of the unique political and sociological experiences of Pakistan, as compared to most other countries, if not all. Also, it is rather rare that younger people living, studying or working in smaller cities get an opportunity to come together in an environment which is relatively open and provides them a possibility for a serious discourse with outsiders.

Most of the speakers invited by the organisers of the QLF were neither didactic nor conservative in their approach. This sat very well with the politically aware and socially conscious young audience which was inquisitive, critical and challenging. They were enthused by, and took definite interest in, poetry, fiction, literary nonfiction, music and the performing arts. But this audience became charged when different themes and genres of art and literature were either blended with or placed within the domains of larger cultural and civilisational discourse, ancient and modern history, local and global politics and the structures of our state and society. Then there were book launches, talks, a re-enactment of the popular television show Zara Hut Kay and some interactive panel discussions which looked at a variety of issues, from local politics to regional instability.

What I found to be the constant refrain in the number of sessions that I attended, or the conversations I had, was Baloch and Pashtun students and young people complaining that they were considered traitors and treated accordingly if they criticise state policies. There was no other opinion but a consensus that this is because of the abysmal policies pursued by state institutions — military and civil — within Pakistan and in the wider region, policies that have created in the past, and continue to create to this day, the mess in which we find ourselves.

There is grief in Quetta which is palpable. Participating in the multilingual mushaira where poems were read in Hazargi, Pashto, Balochi, Brahvi, Sindhi and Urdu felt like seeing the drawings of children who live in refugee camps. Holding crayons in their nimble fingers, the only landscape these children can draw is their neighbourhood being attacked, trees fallen, buildings burned and people killed; they only draw war. Similarly, the poets of Quetta, young or old, only write pain. It is the pain of the Hazara being identified through their distinct facial features and killed because of their religious sect. It is the pain of the Baloch who, on a daily basis, find themselves stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea while braving restrictions, crackdowns, disappearances and murders from both sides of the conflict. It is the pain of the Pashtun who have been trapped in a devastating war for decades unending. It is the pain of ordinary Punjabis who are killed for no fault of their own.

I wonder how and when we developed this knack of inflicting violence and suffering on our most beautiful cities.

The writer is a poet and essayist based in Islamabad

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, May 13th, 2018