It is not as if Muhammad Asif, 45, lives in abysmal darkness after his violent encounter with a bomb attack that left him blind. Robbed of the ability to see light, he has learned to feel it. Everyday, he returns to the same run-down shop on Temple Road, places himself behind the photostat machine, and lets his fingers stumble against paper and glass in search of light.

A decade-long struggle to adapt his vestigial memory of colours and words to patterns and shapes finally culminates as the machine spits out white sheets dressed in perfectly pressed words.

"It is an ongoing struggle, spending my later years slaving away at a job that I had mastered in my youth. Still, I will never see if I am any better at it than I once was."

On March 11, 2008, at least 26 people were killed and 175 others wounded when suicide bombers struck the provincial headquarters of the Federal Investigation Agency (FIA) on Temple Road. The pick-up rammed through the gate of the FIA building blowing up the vehicle. The blast wrecked the eight-storey building and caused devastation in the nearby Mall Road area. Amidst the bustling shops and commercial complexes, Asif, from his little shop near the FIA building, witnessed the sky burst into the whitest of white.

"Bewildered, I glanced to the northeast. I saw a sharp light before everything was swallowed by an overwhelming bang," he tells TNS. "Under the loud sound, everything trembled. A force smashed against my face, knocking me to the ground. I regained my footing only to be struck down again. Perhaps, trying to get up was my biggest mistake.

"In the following days, I drifted in and out of consciousness, in and out of hospitals, all the while trying to open my eyes to see visions other than those of swollen, burned bodies. I remained in the hospital for a month or two before being brought home wrapped in bandages. I finally woke up to a broken body pulsing with pain. Little did I know this was just the beginning of a tragedy that would stain my life pitch-black."

The worst torture is the one that lingers. This is certainly true in Asif’s case as his years became punctuated with hospital visits where he tried to get to the root of the intensifying pain in his eyes. Throughout this time, he kept his waning vision a secret from his family and his employer (at the photocopying shop); until, finally, four years after the blast, he was left completely blind. The pressure wave from the bomb explosion had irreparably damaged his brain (occipital lobe) leaving him bereft of vision.

Terror attacks and bomb blasts have troubled the nation since the beginning of the 21st century, leaving the people almost inure to the blows. When leaders and citizens alike briefly grieve and process the metaphorical aftershocks of the hundreds of deaths, one specific set of people are left alone in their struggle. For the survivors, the bombing is a personal incident. Like Asif, they are permanently engulfed by darkness, their minds hauling screams and stench, and their bodies forever harmed. Only a few have the strength to piece together the remnants of their life and return to a world that has betrayed and forgotten them.

"I had no choice. I had a two-year-old son and a four-year-old daughter, and they were as much my responsibility after the blast as before," he continues. "In addition, the former owners of the photocopying shop had given me the complete ownership [of the shop], so I was forced to stand up and face my suffering forthrightly."

Eleven years after losing his eyesight, Asif runs the shop with his brother-in-law. Still struggling to acquire the mastery he once had, he occasionally faces the wrath of oblivious customers.

"The society forgot about me. I was alone, and the only thing that kept me going was my child. They are all grown up now, and everyday I trace my fingers along their faces with the wrenching longing to see them again, in the light, on a beautiful day."

Mohammad Asif is a blind man with little to his name, limited knowledge of the world, and unfulfilled aspirations, yet he represents all of us. Much like Asif, we are blind to what is outside our immediate vicinity. Much like him, we long to see our children with a brighter future, in a happier world.