Every city has its icons. For Paris it is the Eiffel Tower. For New York it is Times Square. For Istanbul it is the Bosphorus. And for Islamabad, nestled in the heart of the Margalla Hills, that icon was Monal.
For years, Monal was more than just a restaurant. It was a symbol of Islamabad’s charm, a blend of nature and modernity where families gathered, diplomats entertained, and tourists discovered a softer, brighter side of Pakistan. It represented the capital at its best, with green hills, fresh air, and a panoramic view that reminded everyone why Islamabad is often called one of the most beautiful capitals in the world.
And now, it is gone.
The loss of Monal is not just about one business shutting down; it is about losing a part of Islamabad’s identity. Diplomats, visiting officials, and international guests were often taken to Monal as the ultimate showcase of Pakistan’s hospitality. In a country where international headlines are too often filled with negativity, Monal was a positive postcard to the world. Its pictures were shared across social media, its sunsets trended on Instagram, and its ambience branded Islamabad as modern, peaceful, and welcoming. That loss cannot be measured in money alone.
The loss of Monal is not just about one business shutting down; it is about losing a part of Islamabad’s identity.
We often cry about Pakistan’s negative image abroad, yet when we have something that projects our country’s soft power, we let it slip away. The closure of Monal has left a digital and cultural void, erasing content and stories that once told the world Pakistan is more than chaos and conflict.
But this story is not only about lost prestige. It is also about governance, or rather the failure of it. Why does a business in Pakistan always have to live under the sword of uncertainty? Why do entrepreneurs, after investing millions, have to wonder if tomorrow the courts, the bureaucracy, or some other institution will undo their efforts? The fate of Monal is a harsh reminder that in Pakistan, success is fragile and even icons are disposable.
And what has replaced Monal? Ironically, the closure was justified in the name of protecting the Margalla Hills. Yet today, the same site is abandoned, desolate, and littered. Tourists still climb up to that spot, but instead of finding a managed space with food, music, and light, they now sit on cold stones, staring into emptiness. Plastic bags and bottles decorate the hillside. No authority seems bothered to clean it up.
Worse, the absence of Monal has given rise to activities that go against the very spirit of Islamabad. Reports and viral TikToks show indecent dances and inappropriate gatherings at the empty site, a far cry from the family-friendly environment Monal once provided. Is this what protecting nature was meant to achieve? Was the closure of an icon really intended to replace a cultural landmark with chaos and vulgarity?
For tourists, the loss is equally painful. Monal was a place where they could sit for hours, enjoy a meal, listen to music, and take in the breathtaking views of the capital. Now they still go, but they sit uncomfortably on rocks, with no service, no hospitality, and only trash piling around them. Pakistan’s tourism sector, which desperately needs encouragement, has lost one of its brightest jewels.
It is time to ask difficult questions. Why do we destroy our own icons? Why is Pakistan so quick to dismantle what others would preserve and celebrate? Instead of finding solutions such as regulating Monal, ensuring eco-friendly practices, or developing alternative sites, the answer was simply to erase it. In doing so, we have not protected the Margalla Hills, we have scarred Islamabad’s cultural and social landscape.
Monal’s fall is not just the story of one restaurant. It is a case study of Pakistan’s inability to value its assets, its failure to nurture success, and its tendency to turn potential into wasteland. It shows how our shortsightedness deprives us not only of economic opportunities but also of pride, dignity, and beauty.
Monal should have been celebrated, regulated, and improved, not destroyed. It was never just about food. It was about Islamabad’s spirit, the memories of countless families, the laughter of tourists, and the positive face of Pakistan that the world could admire.
Today, in its place, there is silence, trash, and vulgarity. Citizens now ask a simple question: was this worth it? More importantly, they are demanding Monal back, because an icon like that should never have been allowed to vanish in the first place.
The writer is Digital Comms & PR Practitioner