Often these days I find myself longing for spicy biryani and haleem, googling Youtube in search of ghazals, and at times trekking half way across London to watch desi films. At such times it is the bomb blasts and general lawlessness of the old country that hold me back from jumping on to a PIA plane. As friends point out, it's not Pakistan I miss but the Pakistaniness. How and when this change took place is a mystery to me. All I know is that one day, sitting silently in the clockwork traffic queues of UK, I found myself day dreaming about the crazy lawless driving of Karachi where the only rule is, Don't Get Hit. I recalled fondly the street humour of Karachi life, the impulsive unexpectedness of life there which I used to find frustrating.

You never knew when you'd come across a flapping cloth banner in the middle of the street advertising computers for sale by the kilo (there being no room for byte on the cloth), Hakim Dilbar's herbal cures to solve your 'lovely' (instead of lonely) manhood problems, political posters of Nawaz Sharif half-plastered with hair transplant ads, forcing you to wonder what he is actually campaigning about. And how can you ignore the colourful buses with equally colourful slogans like 'Look but with Love,' 'Buri nazar wallay tera mu kala,' and the gurgling, smoke-spewing rickshaws with two kohled eyes, painted on the back above words like, 'Khatoron kay khiladri,' racing past you like speeding bullets. How can all that compare with the clean streets of suburban London where the only sign of life is dog waste?

In the silence of London traffic, punctuated only by the radio instead of the constant tooting and bonnet slapping of my old home city, I even miss the beggars that threaten to knock out your window with their incessant tapping. A noise which one learns to ignore but is humiliated into acknowledging when your driver lowers the window, handing out a five rupee note, and says into the mirror, 'Allah gives.' But what I don't miss, are the heartbreaking barefoot children that run up and down, between the lanes, trying to sell their cello-taped roses, making me reek with shame at my own limitations to help. Nor do I miss the bike-rangers who, late at night, ride up to your car at traffic signals, a gun in their jacket, forcing you to hand over your valuables.

Here in my newfound nation, crime is comparatively less, everything ordered and routine with CCTV cameras to watch over you and smart phones to reassure you. There are no power breakdowns or political shutdowns. Even emotional meltdowns are rare! But living life by the book here, I miss the mad chaos of hundreds of relatives streaming in and out, dispensing free advice and unneeded opinions, smothering one with affection and criticism whether one likes it or not. How I miss the maids and the cooks, always there to help you and to drive you mad at the same time.

When I'm dishing out £60.00 an hour for a technician, I miss the crazy, or should I say highly skilled, Pakistani electricians and plumbers who turn the taps every which way and pull out every wire until they find out what is wrong. At such times of crisis I curse the very Pakistani habit of throwing out all the instructions when we buy something new but keeping the plastic and the carton with a firm 'Kaam aye ga,' look to the kids.

We may not be a nation that abides by rules but there are some unwritten laws that we Pakistanis never break; such as running down our country every chance we get. Wherever you see four or more of our countrymen together you can be sure to find some Paki bashing going on. Whether it's politics or society, fashion shows or TV dramas, absent servants or ever-present in-laws, heck, even the person next to us, as long as he is out of earshot. And so, on Independence Day, as we gather to snitch and moan about how the country has gone to the dogs, let's take a break and think of those who are no longer there to join in the bonding...I mean complaining. Yes, those very same ex-countrymen who escaped to greener pastures....green being the colour of longing for a time when they too were Pakistani.