Standing With the Forgotten
When the floods swept across the Indian–Pakistan subcontinent, they didn’t just wash away homes and villages. They carried away dreams, histories, and fragile hopes for tomorrow. It wasn’t one storm we witnessed—it was three.
The first storm came from the rivers. Waters rose without mercy, swallowing entire communities in a matter of hours. Families watched helplessly as the homes they had built over generations disappeared beneath the flood. Fields of crops—their only means of survival—vanished into muddy waters. Schools and places of worship collapsed, leaving behind nothing but broken walls and silence.
The second storm came from the people’s eyes. Tears fell as parents clutched their hungry children, unable to promise them food or warmth. Young boys and girls stared into the distance, their futures blurred by despair. Elderly men and women, who once carried stories of resilience, now carried only grief. Their past—photographs, heirlooms, the very soil they tilled—was gone, washed away in an instant.
The third storm, perhaps the heaviest of all, was the one that poured into our hearts. Standing in the flood’s aftermath, we felt something break within us. At that moment, it wasn’t just water running down our cheeks—it felt as if our own blood might spill from our eyes. No human heart can see this suffering and remain untouched.
And yet, in the darkest hours, light finds a way.
At Common Grounds Foundation, we wanted to reach every flood victim, to stand beside each one and promise them they were not forgotten. But the truth is, we felt helpless. Limited funding and limited manpower meant we couldn’t stretch our hands to all. So we made a difficult decision: to start with whatever we had, wherever we could reach.
We began small but sincere. We provided tents and charpaies (movable beds) to dozens of families, though thousands needed them. We delivered fodder for cattle to the few families we could access, because livestock is often the last lifeline of survival. We prepared food parcels—not for all, but for hundreds of men, women, children, and the elderly whose hunger could not wait. We brought clean water to drink, and even simple pots to store it, because dignity lies in the small things.
In every gesture, we held one principle close: these families are not beggars. Just one night before the floods, they were the helping hands of others—farmers, laborers, mothers, fathers, providers. In a single night, their past was erased, their present shattered, and their future left painfully uncertain. Our task was not only to provide aid, but to restore dignity and remind them they are not alone.
These moments have left us humbled. We have realized how small we are—and yet how big we want to be. The need is overwhelming, and without people like you—people blessed with both heart and resources—our hands will always feel too few.
This is where you come in.
Your generosity is more than charity. It is a lifeline. Every donation you give becomes food in a mother’s hands, shelter for a family with nowhere to go, medicine for a sick child, and hope for a future that now feels impossible.
The floods may have brought three storms, but together, we can be the fourth force: a wave of compassion strong enough to restore lives, rebuild futures, and remind the forgotten that they are never alone.
Will you join us?
Raja Arshad Kayani