I think I am a child of Border Areas, deprived of that certain sense of belonging which comes with living in the mainland. Our world lies sequestered between the barbed wire of the enemy on one side and the picket fence of the society on the other. That vaunted culture doesn’t run in our blood, for it has been shed too often. We don’t like to waste our evenings listening to lifesaving hymns but would rather drink and dine to the glory of those who entered Valhalla from here. The rumble of tanks at Patton Nagar of Khemkaran, the clinking of grenades unpinned by Havaldar Abdul Hamid at village Assal Uttar and the sonic boom from the aircraft dogfights over Tarn Taran still reverberate in our souls. We have chosen backwardness over backing out.