“Bury me without a funeral, without a shroud. No one helped me in my entire life. I don’t need any favors after my death,” a man’s will who ended his life in Punjab
Zaheer Udin Babar Junejo
Last week in Punjab, a man ended his life. In his final words, left behind in a handwritten will, he pleaded: “Bury me without a funeral, without a shroud. No one helped me in my entire life. I don’t need any favors after my death.” His words are not only haunting, they are damning. A sharp reflection of the hopelessness bred in a country where dreams are lost to inflation, injustice, and indifference. He wasn’t a celebrity, not a politician or a social media sensation. Just an ordinary citizen whose pain had grown louder than his hope. A soul that died long before the body gave up.
Unfortunately, a country founded in the name of justice and equality under Islamic principles has become a place where the poor are left to rot in silence while the powerful bask in privilege. This is not just about one suicide or one tragic will. This is about the state of our society, how far we have strayed from compassion, and how numb we have become to the suffering of others. Since childhood, we’ve been taught that every living being is made up of cells tiny units that adapt, evolve, and respond to the world around them. And just like that, societies are made of people. When the energy of a cell is misused, disease follows. When the goodness in a society is neglected, chaos and cruelty take root. Peace, therefore, cannot thrive until kindness becomes the heartbeat of a nation.
I’ve grown up watching a stark divide two kinds of people the “special” and the “ordinary.” The special are those who have access to corridors of power, to privilege, to comfort while the ordinary struggle to survive, unnoticed even within the family, and unacknowledged. But even in the 1980s, there was some humanity left. People cared. Evil existed, but it was still shy, still hidden in corners. Today, evil walks boldly through our streets, dressed in expensive suits, and seated on thrones carved from corruption. I’ve spent time in nearly 15 countries, many of them non-Muslim, and surprisingly, not welfare states in the strictest definition. But the systems there were built with purpose from cradle to grave, life was treated with dignity. I recall once in a European country, a friend caught a cold. The hostel supervisor took it seriously enough to contact a hospital, where he was admitted and treated for 15 days. The care was the responsibility of the government. The system worked quietly, efficiently, and without fanfare, will any of us even think of the same in our country?. The roads were so clean and inviting that even someone like me, lazy by nature, walked for miles daily. When tired, an electric bus or a near-free tram awaited. Their food systems were so organized that fresh meant fresh, and prices were rational, not dictated by the whims of mafias. Even their graveyards were peaceful and well-kept a quiet dignity for the dead, unlike the squatter settlements our living citizens have to build for themselves. When the weather fluctuated from 18 to 24 degrees during a summer in one of those countries, a three-day holiday was declared, and an uninterrupted electricity supply was ensured. Drinking water and domestic use water came from separate taps. Public health facilities were dependable. Cleanliness wasn’t just a slogan, it was a lived reality.
Unfortunately, a country founded in the name of justice and equality under Islamic principles has become a place where the poor are left to rot in silence while the powerful bask in privilege
Contrast that with our every day here: dirty water, fake medicines, broken hospitals, dishonest governance, and educational institutions that produce more despair than dreams. Life here is like walking through a marketplace full of counterfeit goods — nothing is what it claims to be, and everything comes at a price no one can afford.
We, the people of Pakistan, have become united only in negativity. We take to the streets for strikes, chant slogans for political theatre, and cheer in cricket stadiums but fall silent when a neighbor goes hungry, or when a man like the one from Punjab writes his final plea for an invisible funeral. Our governments? They’re busy blaming one another. Not a single regime has yet proven itself capable of placing people’s well-being at the center of policy. Promises are made in manifestos and broken in office. Corruption is the common thread that binds every political party, and every tier of governance.
The truth is, our state will only begin to heal when it decides to serve all citizens without discrimination when it puts the well-being of the common man before the luxuries of the elite. That will be the day when hospitals are not just for the rich and to earn but to serve, when schools don’t need to be private to be functional, and when no one has to choose between food and medicine. And perhaps then, no man will feel the need to write such a will a heartbreaking testament to how we, as a society, failed him. That day will mark the rebirth of our lost humanity. That day, we will begin to truly deserve the name “Islamic Republic.” Until then, may he rest if not in peace, then at least in silence.
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Zaheer Udin Babar Junejo is a Community Development Specialist based in Hyderabad, Sindh, Pakistan
