I went to Edhi's grave because women couldn't go to his funeral
Because I never had a chance to meet Edhi sahib in life, I thought I would meet him in death.
The night he succumbed to his longtime illness, I decided I would go to his funeral.
But my resolve to participate in the funeral procession of the world’s greatest humanitarian was thrown into doubt when I heard women were barred from attending.
Once my family heard this news, they discouraged me from going to the funeral, saying it just wasn’t possible. Funerals were not only dominated by men, but somehow for them as well. If women mourned, it didn’t matter.
Because of a lack of provisions for women, I couldn’t meet Edhi at his funeral. It seemed like an insult to the legacy of a man, who went out of his way to provide for women and girls when he was alive.
If he did that in life, then why did the people responsible for honouring him in death not remember that?
Take a look: 'Edhi, move or you’ll get shot'
And thus, because I couldn’t meet Edhi sahib at his funeral procession, I decided to visit his grave instead.
The day after his funeral, my family and I drove to Edhi Village, the little colony on Super Highway that Edhi founded for orphans and psychiatric patients.
We set out in the clear hours of the morning, right after Fajr time. The sky was greyish white with a light drizzle and the air smelled of dirt, flowers and rain.
On the way to the Edhi Village, I saw sights I’d never seen before in Pakistan. Pillared buildings imitating ancient Greece, and a sprawling metal structure, the likes of which I’d only seen at the Universal Studios in Florida, filling the landscape.
When I asked what it was, I was told it was Bahria Town under construction.