The writer is a journalist.

IT’S alright if you missed Mufti Muneebur Rehman (or Maulana Popalzai if you prefer) announcing the sighting of the Eid moon, because that blessed event is more effectively heralded by the volleys of gunfire directed at the sky by the armed, ignorant and jubilant.

Handguns, automatic weapons and what could possibly be belt-fed light machine guns are all used to celebrate this occasion, and many other less sanctified days as well.

We know the drill: whether it’s chaand raat, New Year’s Eve, independence day or a host of smaller celebrations such as weddings or the electoral victory of a favoured candidate, the first shot is a cue to take cover before the hard rain starts to fall.

Bullets fired into the air won’t harmlessly float down.

We know the numbers too: the dead and the injured that fall prey to the barbaric practice of aerial firing and sometimes, we also hear the names behind these numbers.

Names like Muhammad Hussain, a 15-year-old boy from Karachi who stood on the balcony of his house, lured out by the fireworks that were being set off to celebrate Pakistan’s win in the Champions Trophy.

As he watched, four men on two motorbikes drove by, firing shots in the air. One of these bullets hit Hussain in the ribs, and the boy only had time to shout to his father that he had been shot. They rushed him to the hospital but the doctors were unable to save him.

Another name is that of Noeen Khan, a cherubic six-year-old from Peshawar who spent 60 hours in a coma, battling for life after a stray bullet penetrated his skull, finally succumbing to his injuries.

When June 18, 2018, rolls around, we will mark it as the anniversary of Pakistan’s cricketing victory. There will be jubilation, special reports on both electronic and print media with all the trimmings and so on, but for Hussain and Noeen’s family, it will forever be remembered as the day when they lost the light of their lives.

When counting the dead, we tend to forget the injured and the scars they will bear for the rest of their lives. Take Ghulam Mustafa, who suffered brain damage when a falling bullet shattered his skull and injured his brain on chaand raat six years ago. He recalls sitting outside a small bakery when he felt something hit his head. Mustafa collapsed, unable to move or speak, and his brother rushed him to the hospital not knowing what had happened to his brother since no injury was visible.

Once there, they learned that a bullet had lodged in his brain and could not be removed. Now jobless and confined to his bed, Mustafa suffers fits and can only walk slowly and with the help of a walking stick.

There are countless other stories like this, and the danger posed by injuries is sometimes compounded by the fact that many victims don’t know exactly what has happened to them, especially in the case of children. A report by the National Institute of Health lists many such cases, including that of a one-year-old shot in the pelvis by a stray bullet.

Despite the clear dangers, people who engage in aerial firing consider it to be some sort of inalienable right — a socially acceptable and somehow virile form of celebration — and education and social standing seem to not be a bar here.

Many even believe, or choose to believe, that bullets fired into the air will somehow harmlessly float down to earth like some kind of feather. This is not so: even though the bullet will reach zero miles per hour at its zenith, gravity will then do its work and return it to the ground with enough velocity to kill or maim.

If you re foolhardy enough to question (or try to stop) someone firing AK-47 rounds at, say, a wedding, the likelihood is that you will be greeted with an irate stare and be told that this is part of our culture and tradition. If so, that begs the question as to what form this hallowed tradition took before the invention and spread of firearms? Did one shoot arrows into the air instead?

There’s little point (customary though it is) to call for effective legislation and effective implementation of existing laws, but surely a public-awareness campaign can be mounted? If millions of rupees can be spent on promoting governmental accomplishments, surely some money can be spared to campaign against aerial firing? If the National Accountability Bureau can send mass messages — ‘say no to corruption text messages’ — surely a few characters can be spared for this cause?

And given that the Pakistan cricket team is rightly flying high right now, why not enlist them in this cause? People who don’t ordinarily heed the government may just pay some attention then. The alternative is to continue mourning our Noeens and Hussains.

The writer is a journalist.

Twitter: @zarrarkhuhro

Published in Dawn, June 26th, 2017