WHEN I first returned to Gilgit after years of studying in Lahore, I felt as though I had stepped into a strange version of the home I once knew. It was like re-entering a more chaotic Lahore in a parallel universe, one where everything felt vaguely familiar yet disturbingly different.

The old, serene environment that once defined Gilgit — the peaceful valleys, the untouched fields, and the pervasive calm — now stood drowned under the weight of unregulated modernity. In the name of progress, the place I had always called home had transformed into something unrecognisable. It was not the same. It felt like the soul of Gilgit had been stolen.

As I scrolled through old pictures, I felt a deep, gnawing anxiety. Sometimes, it felt like an ache, a constant reminder of what was lost, and, at other times, it spiralled into something darker, something that left me feeling heavy, almost depressed.

Unfortunately, the pristine landscapes that once defined my childhood were now mere snapshots of a fading memory. I realised I was not just mourning the loss of a place, but of a time; a simpler, more peaceful time.

When I spoke of the old Gilgit to friends and family, they would brush me aside, telling me I was being too sentimental. “Change is inevitable,” they said, “you must embrace it, welcome it, not fear it.” But how could I? How could I embrace a change that felt so destructive, so unkind to the land and the people who had shaped it for generations? It was not just about modernisation; it was about losing the essence of what made Gilgit home.

Not all change is good, especially when it comes at the cost of a place’s soul. Drastic, unchecked changes, ones that bring social and environmental harm, should never be accepted blindly. They need to be regulated, to be tempered by a respect for the past and a thoughtful approach to the future.

Yet, all we seem to hear these days are talks of climate change, endless discussions and debates, but little is done to reverse the damage. The rhetoric is everywhere, but without real action, these words are hollow. If we do not act soon, places like Gilgit will only become memories lost to unchecked development.

The conversations must now evolve into concrete actions, policies, regulations and genuine efforts to protect what is left.

Rakhshanda Abbas
Gilgit

Published in Dawn, October 22th, 2024