It was a lazy Friday afternoon.

I was going back to Lahore after spending two weeks in the power corridors of Islamabad. I drove past the staff quarters of Zarai Taraqiati Bank Limited (ZTBL).

What I saw took me back about four decades: these were the residences where I had spent quite a few summer vacations with my cousins, where most of us puffed our first cigarettes and joked about the marijuana growing wild around the quarters.

My aunt spent a good part of her life in one of these quarters (her husband used to work in what was then called Agriculture Development Bank of Pakistan).

It now has an Urdu name. The bank has even opened a branch in this area - perhaps to support the ‘farmers’ who choose to stay in Islamabad, as it might be too inconvenient for them to travel to their agricultural lands in rural areas.

A lot has changed ever since, I thought to myself. Recalling memories from ‘80s and beyond, I remembered the re-advent of (non-party) democracy of 1985, the home-coming of Benazir Bhutto in 1986, her rise to power in 1988, followed by what is now called the ‘lost decade of the ’90s that witnessed the tug-of-war between Benazir Bhutto and Nawaz Sharif.

Then, in 1999, came General Musharraf with an agenda to clean politics and recover ‘the looted wealth’. It was followed by the Shaukat Aziz period when people were once again informed that the country was finally on the road to prosperity.

As my driver took a detour from Faisal Avenue, near Zero Point, I was struck by the sight of three old beggars - two women and a man - asking for money, rather aggressively. And why wouldn’t they - the Covid 19 Pandemic has crippled the economy and the poor are the hardest hit.

The technocrats’ government was followed by another ’90s-style PPP-PMLN era. During the 2010s, somehow, the nation witnessed the rise to power of the PTI.

This party now holds the reins and promises ruthless accountability and a new Pakistan.

As my driver took a detour from Faisal Avenue, near Zero Point, I was struck by the sight of three old beggars- two women and a man - asking for money, rather aggressively.

And why wouldn’t they - the Covid 19 Pandemic has crippled the economy and the poor are the hardest hit.

The passing cars, despite being on a turn from a fast-moving main road, made sure to stop and give some change to the beggars. Islamabad is full of influential-rich people, and, the few minutes I stopped there were enough for me to conclude that each one of the beggars will make at least Rs 10,000 in a day, an amount similar to what the government is handing out, as a one-time grant, to the poor, in wake of the corona pandemic.

I tried to persuade the three beggars to move to the other side of the road, under the shade, and a little away from the turn, for their own comfort and to avoid traffic congestion that may cause a road accident.

They, however, couldn’t care less for the comfort or the accident hazard. The generous support from the largesse of Islamabadians was too much for them to think of anything else. They hardly cared about themselves or anything else before Corona. Why would they care now?

I then recalled the beggars of the area in the ’80s. There were fewer of them and they were rather shy and happy to receive 50-paisa coins.

As I walked back to my car, I saw a cigarette, still lit, which the male beggar was trying to hide from me. He had tucked it under his shalwar, not realising that it could burn his clothes. I asked ‘Chacha saadi hey?” (Is it plain, uncle?). He sheepishly replied ‘Jee, doosri milni aaj kal muskil hey’ (Yes! The other one is difficult to get these days). Not much has changed after all from the ’80s, I thought.

The author is the CEO of SMEDA and writes on social and economic Issues. He can be  reached at hashim.raza@smeda.org.pk