The disappearance of Balochi Language

The rain had just stopped when I reached Lahore’s National History Museum. The roads were quieter than usual, the air felt fresh and, for the first time in weeks, I wasn’t in a hurry. I had postponed this visit for years, ever since a brief stop during my internship at the Lahore Museum left me wishing for more time. This Sunday, I finally had it. I have also realised something over the past few weeks. Waiting for friends before exploring new places often means never going at all. So I decided to spend the afternoon on my own, following nothing except curiosity. As I entered the museum, Floor Supervisor Tabish welcomed me and arranged a guided tour with Muhammad Shamsher, a PhD scholar in History who also serves as one of NHM’s guides. His explanations never sounded like a lecture. Instead, he connected historical events with the people behind them, making every gallery feel like part of one continuing story. Growing up, I believed museums were places where objects sat behind glass while visitors quietly read information panels. That idea came from childhood visits to museums in Islamabad, Taxila and Harappa, and later from my internship at Lahore Museum. The National History Museum challenged that idea completely. Through digital displays, sound, projection and interactive exhibits, history became something to experience rather than simply observe. Every gallery encouraged visitors to slow down and become part of the story unfolding around them. One exhibit that caught my attention focused on the making of Minar-e-Pakistan. Like many Pakistanis, I had always admired the monument without knowing much about the person who designed it. The museum introduced architect Nasreddin Murat-Khan and displayed photographs that offered a glimpse into the creative process behind one of Pakistan’s most recognisable landmarks. It reminded me how often we celebrate monuments while forgetting the people who imagined them. The journey then moved towards Partition, where history became deeply personal. The restored railway carriage, once part of the North Western Railway, stood quietly inside the gallery. Visitors could step inside and experience a virtual reality presentation recreating the migration of 1947. I had watched countless documentaries and films about Partition, but sitting inside that carriage created an entirely different feeling. The sounds, voices and uncertainty surrounding the experience made history feel much closer than any textbook ever could. The museum then shifted from the birth of Pakistan to the challenge of building a new country. One gallery recreated the early government offices established after independence. I found myself studying old files, furniture and official records, imagining the enormous responsibility carried by those tasked with running a newly created nation. Nearby, early Pakistani passports were displayed inside glass cases. Different in design from today’s passports, they represented the same hope of a country beginning to define its identity. Another section I found especially engaging was Camera from the Past. Visitors could stand before a vintage-style camera and have their photograph taken, creating a small connection between the present and the past. The gallery also highlighted photographer Aziz Ahmed Azmi, whose images documented Pakistan’s early years. Looking at his work, I realised that photographs often become history long after the moment they capture has passed. Perhaps the gallery where I spent the most time was Popular Culture. Having studied Mass Communication with a specialisation in Theatre, Film and Television and continuing to work in journalism, I naturally found myself drawn towards the colourful Lollywood posters and displays celebrating Pakistan’s cinematic heritage. Reading about Azra, the country’s first colour film, and Zinda Laash, Pakistan’s first horror film, reminded me how rich our film history is, even if many younger audiences know little about it today. Before leaving, I also explored Husn-e-Hunar, an exhibition celebrating Pakistan’s traditional craftsmanship. Alongside literature, music and cultural displays, it served as a reminder that a nation’s identity is shaped not only by political events but also by its artists, craftsmen and storytellers. When I stepped back outside, I realised I had spent far longer inside the museum than I had planned. I didn’t leave with pages of notes or dozens of photographs. Instead, I left with a greater appreciation for how history can be presented when museums invite visitors to participate rather than simply observe. The National History Museum doesn’t just preserve Pakistan’s past. It encourages visitors to pause, ask questions and discover the stories that continue to shape the country today.