by ANIQA ATIQ KHAN
The tragedy of Karachi Zoo is not just caged animals dying a slow death in the name of “education” but the haunting reflection of our own moral decay.
I had never set foot in a zoo before; I now wish I hadn’t.
As a mom of two feline monarchs who rule my home and a self-appointed custodian of strays that stumble into my orbit, my lessons in love have come padded in fur and whiskers. Cats, after all, love without surrendering their sovereignty. They teach you that affection can be fierce yet uncompromising of selfhood. That dignity breathes in freedom. And if dignity breathes in freedom, naturally, captivity is its slow suffocation. Few places advertise that suffocation as boldly as cages built in the name of leisure and ‘education’.
So when my editor assigned me a story on the Karachi Zoo, I knew it wouldn’t be one of those breezy reporting days, neatly filed away before lunch. This one would sit heavy.
But journalism, inconveniently faithful to reality, does not make exceptions for personal aversions. Zoos exist whether I approve or not, and my job was to bear witness. So, I went (a naïve corner of my heart clung to the hope of encountering some grace).
I didn’t.
Don’t get me wrong, the zoo surprisingly brimmed with life, just not the kind its caged inhabitants could claim. It was a life monopolised by the visitors. There were no roars, screeches, growls, or chirps — the very sounds I had imagined would dominate a place primarily built for animals. There was only the droning hum of speakers pumping out Bollywood classics from the 90s that I could have happily grooved to anywhere else. Children shrieked with delight as they bounced on trampolines and kicked footballs; families engrossed in mere mirth and laughter as they spread chadors across the sun-kissed grass for their little picnic.
Dawn for more