PESHAWAR — the ancient heart of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, a city that has witnessed empires rise and fall at its doorstep.
Once a passage for Greek armies, a spiritual home for Buddhist monks, a resting point for Afghan warriors and a jewel along the Silk Route, Peshawar has always held history in its palms. It was lovingly called “the city of flowers,” its air fragrant with chrysanthemums, kahwa simmering in teahouses and the art of storytelling alive in bustling bazaars. Today, however, that Peshawar seems lost. The city that was once clean, orderly and full of life now shocks and saddens anyone who remembers its former charm. Bustling gatherings, fragrant evenings and cheerful streets have vanished, replaced by dust, noise, chaotic traffic, foul odours and piles of garbage—where even breathing feels like labour and the city’s historic vibrancy is all but gone.
Qissa Khwani Bazaar, once a haven for storytellers and tea houses, now mirrors the disorder consuming the city. Rickshaws, chingchis, motorcycles and carts collide for space, as if discipline has long departed. Open manholes lie scattered across the streets, broken pipelines spill filthy water and these scenes extend far beyond a single market. A brief spell of rain brings the city to its knees. Major roads transform into streams, potholes disappear beneath muddy water, accidents multiply and the city’s mismanagement becomes painfully visible. This is not merely inefficiency, it is a reckless disregard for public safety.
Worse still is the crisis that rises into the air. Uncollected garbage, exposed sewage, stagnant water and dust from broken roads have turned Peshawar’s atmosphere toxic. Wearing white is pointless, it turns grey within hours. Dust clouds hang constantly above the city, making every breath feel like an ordeal. Respiratory illnesses, throat infections, eye irritation and asthma have become alarmingly widespread. Hospital emergency rooms are filled with patients suffering from conditions created by the city’s own air.
Saddar, once a symbol of calm, refinement and a thriving café culture, faces the same decay. Families once strolled here, students wandered for fresh air and writers debated ideas in quiet coffeehouses. Today, crossing a few kilometres can take hours. And the chaos goes beyond traffic. As soon as you enter Saddar or any major commercial area, another heartbreaking reality confronts you: organized beggar groups. Small children and young girls, women holding newborns and elderly men and women surround vehicles, knocking on windows and running alongside. The moment a car stops, they swarm it as though collecting a mandatory tax. Their numbers run into the thousands and this is now a citywide phenomenon. Yet the administration remains disturbingly indifferent to this growing social crisis.
The disorder spreads through Peshawar University, University Town, Hayatabad and the industrial Karkhano Market as well. Areas once known for education and tranquility now present scenes of broken roads, encroachments and flowing sewage. Hayatabad’s wide, once-pristine streets are now dotted with garbage heaps and open manholes. Combined with relentless traffic chaos, the city feels unsafe for anyone, whether walking or riding a motorcycle.
Perhaps the most startling neglect is visible outside the Provincial Assembly and Peshawar High Court, institutions responsible for governance and justice, yet surrounded by overflowing drains, rotting trash, haphazard parking and suffocating stench. If those entrusted with authority tolerate filth at their own doors, what hope remains for the city? For over thirteen years, the province remained under the same leadership, with grand speeches and tall claims, while basic urban necessities—cleanliness, traffic planning, sewage, streetlights, footpaths and parking—were ignored. Citizens vote for solutions to daily struggles, yet Peshawar today proves these struggles were never prioritized.
But the blame cannot fall on the government alone. Citizens are equally complicit. Even where trash bins are available, many consider using them beneath their dignity. Fruit peels, wrappers and leftovers are tossed onto sidewalks. Motorists chew sugarcane and throw the fibres out of their windows. Shockingly, such behaviour is common even among university students, those expected to set an example. No city can improve if its own people treat it with indifference. Awareness campaigns, school-level civic education and strict fines are essential if Peshawar is to reclaim any semblance of order.
Peshawar’s decline is the shared failure of its administration, its government and its residents. Yet hope is not lost. With serious commitment to cleanliness, traffic management, sewage reform and pollution control and with citizens adopting healthier, more responsible habits, the city can rediscover its lost fragrance. Without such collective action, however, the dust clouds, garbage heaps, open manholes, polluted air and swelling human desperation will continue to define it. The people of Peshawar deserve better. And this historic city, rich in memory, culture and heritage, does not deserve such neglect. The time has come for decision-makers to awaken and for citizens to rise alongside them.
—The writer is Barrister, Solicitor & Notary Public, Usman Law Professional Corporation, based in Canada.
