The road was bustling with traffic as Mr Iqbal drove towards the supermarket. The drive was tiring, with potholes and roads dug up at random spots.

“Curse this system! No one follows traffic rules and everything is so messed up,” he grumbled, swerving to avoid a speeding bike.

He finally reached the supermarket, parked and headed towards the neatly lined-up trolleys. As he pulled one out and approached the sliding doors, he spotted a middle-aged man by a shelf. His eyes lit up. It was an old friend, Mr Saleem.

The two men hurried towards each other and shook hands warmly.

“Assalam-o-alaikum, Iqbal. It’s been so long. How have you been?”

“Wa-alaikum-assalam, Saleem. Fine, Alhamdulillah. Just here for my monthly groceries,” replied Mr Iqbal. “How are things on your side?”

We cannot complain about corruption and injustice while being dishonest and unfair ourselves. Before blaming the system, we must examine our own actions

“All is well. Come, let’s talk while we shop,” said Mr Saleem, and they began walking down the aisles.

“You can’t imagine the traffic on my way here. There’s no enforcement of traffic laws, and the potholes and dug-up roads are the cherry on top,” said Mr Iqbal, placing a loaf of bread in his trolley.

“Oh, I can understand. The whole system is a mess. I can’t wait for a chance to move abroad,” replied Mr Saleem.

“Tell me about it! There’s so much corruption and injustice. No one is safe here and inflation keeps rising. We pay our taxes, yet our salaries remain the same while the system works us to the bone. We’re treated like slaves. There’s no accountability. I’m so done!” exclaimed Mr Iqbal.

They moved to another section of the supermarket.

“By the way, your son is the same age as mine, isn’t he? Mine just got his matric results and secured an A grade. What did your son get?” asked Mr Iqbal.

“My son got an A grade too, but between you and me, he isn’t really the studious type,” said Mr Saleem. Leaning closer, he added, “He’s a free spirit. He’s always talking about starting a business and doing his own thing, so studies have never been his priority. But with a little help from a few friends and some connections, everything worked out perfectly,” he chuckled.

“Ah, Saleem! You haven’t changed a bit,” laughed Mr Iqbal.

The men continued shopping before heading to the checkout. Luckily, only one person was ahead of them.

As they waited, Mr Saleem said, “Gosh, I’m craving something sweet.”

Just then, Mr Iqbal noticed an open jar of chocolates on the counter. Several jars stood behind it, and the customer ahead of them had asked for chocolate bars. As the cashier added them to the bill, someone called out to him, leaving the jar unattended.

Mr Iqbal swiftly took two chocolates and handed one to Mr Saleem. They popped them into their mouths and tossed the wrappers on the ground. Soon, it was their turn. After paying, they walked out.

“I just remembered I need to buy biryani for dinner. Know any good shops nearby?” asked Mr Saleem.

“I know a good place within walking distance. I’ll take you there.”

They returned their trolleys, loaded their groceries into their cars and headed off to buy biryani.

At the shop, they saw a man ordering food, with a young boy waiting behind him. By the time the men arrived, the customer had finished. But before the boy could step forward, the two men pushed past him and Mr Saleem began placing his order.

“Excuse me, Uncle, but I was here first,” the boy protested.

“Have respect for elders, lad. We won’t take long,” replied Mr Iqbal, dismissing the irritated boy as Mr Saleem finished ordering. Mr Saleem then nudged him, signalling that it was time to leave.

“What an awful child! Back in our day, kids were so respectful and well-behaved,” said Mr Iqbal.

They returned to their cars and, after promising to meet again soon, parted ways. Mr Iqbal started his car and drove home.

As Mr Iqbal entered the driveway, he spotted a little boy sleeping on the swing in his garden. The sight enraged him, shattering his peace of mind. He flung open the car door, stomped towards the boy, yanked him up by the collar and forced him to his feet.

“How dare you?!” Mr Iqbal roared. “How dare you, filthy creature, sleep on my expensive…” He paused and pointed at the swing. “Do you realise how much it costs?”

The drowsy boy stared at him, fear in his eyes. Just then, the housekeeper came running out.

“Sahib, I’m so sorry. My son didn’t mean to. I’ll teach him better. It’s his fault and mine. Please forgive us!”

“It’s fine, I guess. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again. You should be thankful, Shakoor, not everyone gets a good master like me,” said Mr Iqbal.

The housekeeper hugged his son and nodded. “Yes, Sahib. Indeed.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “Sahib, you still haven’t paid me last month’s salary, and half of this month has already passed. Could you please tell me when you’ll pay me?”

“Ah, Shakoor, what’s the rush? I’ll pay you in due time. I’m not going anywhere. And please bring the groceries inside, too.”

Mr Iqbal headed towards the door. As he opened it, the lights went out.

“Curse this system! I completely forgot to get my generator fixed.” He slapped his forehead in frustration, stepped inside and angrily shut the door.

We cannot complain about corruption and injustice while being dishonest and unfair ourselves. Before blaming the system, we must examine our own actions, because a better society begins with people who practise what they preach.

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 7th, 2026