Ppp (Pakistani Pension Problem)

That is exactly what I got to witness. Forty five minutes before the bank had even opened, all the above mentioned were already full and the outskirts of the bank were brimming with activity. The female queue was somewhat less but still intimidating. With a heavy sigh I took my 80 something grandmother to the first checkpoint and gave her pension booklet to an old lady and told her to please put the booklet on the table. The reason for this was that a lot of people were hurdled around the guy verifying the booklets and hence we could not reach him. After the book was placed, I nestled my grandmother around her peers who were sitting on the stone steps of a shop that had not opened as yet. After this I stood at a rather vacant spot and analyzed the whole scenario. The same feeling of depression along with the profuse sweating drenched me as it always did whenever I came to this place. Dozens of old people of both genders were waiting in line, almost everyone showed a sense of tired anxiety to get this whole ordeal over with. Some were swatting due to the fatigue of what seemed like endless waiting. The female queue situated on the first window sill had swelled up to the point where if told to be positioned in a straight line would have blocked the road adjacent to the bank and mind you, it was a main road. Almost all of these old folks belonged to the socio economic class C and D. The ones who were coming in their cars gave one glance at the entire spectacle and immediately dispersed, knowing that it was not worth it. The entire geriatric outlook of this whole situation made me feel like that I was sprouting white hair at that very instant, the drooping back of course being caused by muscle fatigue. During this entire observation, one old man came up to me. He had a piece of paper in his hand on which a number was scribbled. He was asking what was written. I looked at it and told him that the number sixty one was written. This was his number in the queue. Bear in mind that five minutes were still left in the opening of the bank.

Now being a 21 year old hailing from an upper middle class background, I cannot really make a connection with these types of people. The only way I have to see them is because my grandmother has to accompany me because it is required that the pensioner be present. However I can completely empathize with these people as this pension means a lot to the working of their respective households and not getting it can mean troubling times ahead. It is because of monetary pressures that these people succumb to the type of inhumane and degrading situation in which they are put. Even though the pension is by regulation to be distributed in a weeks timeline, many people come on the first day fearing that they might not be able to get it the next time due to lack of funding. Even at their old age, these people are being forced to do something which is completely inappropriate of their age due the pressure it can put on them mentally and physically. With the recent events regarding the flooding and other media spicy topics like the Sialkot killings, one might wonder that this sort of thing is incomparable to the other major problems that the country is going through. However I have always felt that the way a country treats its elderly pretty much defines its character and from my vantage point this country is nowhere near attractive.

Eventually after about four hours of sweating, swearing and crowd tugging, my grandmother and I were finally able to retrieve the pension money and the moment we got it, we sort of limped towards our car with a mutual feeling of winning a major war. I wish that this system improves the next time I come here, but I have been doing that for a very long time and so far this government and its workings have not failed in keeping me consistently disappointed.