A lesion on her lower lip — caused by cutaneous leishmaniasis (CL), a skin disease locally known as ‘kaal daana’ — has made eating difficult. But physical discomfort is only part of Malaika’s ordeal.

At school, she says, other girls laugh at her. “‘What happened to your lip?’ is the question I hear most often,” she tells Eos. The ridicule is not limited to school and accompanies her even when she steps out, she adds.

“I tell my classmates and friends that it is due to a mosquito or fly bite,” Malaika says. Her voice trembles as she recalls another girl who left school after classmates repeatedly mocked a lesion on her nose.

In Balochistan, girls and women with cutaneous leishmaniasis face not only the disease but also the prejudice attached to visible scars, compounded by barriers to healthcare

Malaika’s story is not unusual in an area where access to healthcare is limited, treatment can be costly, diagnosis is often delayed and awareness of the disease remains low.

THE BITE AND ITS AFTERMATH

Leishmaniasis is a vector-borne disease that is transmitted to humans through the bite of infected female sandflies. Cutaneous leishmaniasis, its most common form, usually affects exposed areas of the skin, including the face and limbs. It causes skin lesions and may result in permanent scarring, but it is rarely fatal.

The World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates that 600,000 to one million cases of cutaneous leishmaniasis occur worldwide each year, though only 200,000 are reported. Pakistan is among the countries that account for a large share of the reported cases.

A 2026 study in the Eastern Mediterranean Health Journal, titled ‘Epidemiology and Risk Factors for Cutaneous Leishmaniasis in Pakistan’, estimated that Pakistan records between 21 ,000 and 35,000 cases annually.

The study estimates that the total number of cases in Pakistan is around 400,000 — 10 percent of the global estimated total of four million cases. It identified Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa as the most affected provinces, especially their rural areas.

According to WHO data, Zhob, Killa Saifullah, Killa Abdullah, Kalat and Lasbela are among the worst-affected districts in Balochistan, with 1,500 cases of CL registered at the WHO’s diagnosis centre in Zhob in 2025.

BEYOND THE VISIBLE WOUND

Patients in the region can seek diagnosis and treatment at a centre in Zhob, about 200 kilometres from Muslim Bagh, or at a Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) facility in Kuchlak, on the outskirts of Quetta. MSF also runs three facilities in Quetta, providing free diagnosis, treatment and medicines, along with mental health support and health education.

“In our society, any woman with a scar or lesion on her face is considered incomplete, or even ugly,” says Pashtana, 24, who was at the Zhob centre for the French-manufactured Glucantime injection to treat her wound.

Pashtana says facial lesions that heal with permanent scars can become a source of stigma at home, at school and in the community.

Some cases of cutaneous leishmaniasis can heal without treatment, but recovery can take months or even years. The outcome depends on the parasite species and the patient’s immune response.

But not getting the lesion treated can result in discomfort, itching and soreness. And leave a permanent scar. “While the disease affects men more, it can shatter a woman’s world, especially if you are young,” says Pashtana. “Girls have to pay the highest price. You can die a spinster.”

WHEN CARE IS OUT OF REACH

Razia, a middle-aged housewife, could not afford the journey to a treatment centre and did not receive timely care. As a result, she tried a local remedy, but without success. “When you are living in a remote area, getting proper medical care is not easy,” she says.

Razia’s experience highlights the barriers facing women in remote towns who must travel to urban areas for repeated treatment. For some, travel is further complicated by social expectations, even compulsion, that they be accompanied by a male relative.

Dr Anne Marie Morales of MSF says delayed treatment can worsen the lesions and increase the risk of scarring. The wound can be made worse by traditional remedies, such as plant extracts, caustic substances and even battery fluid, which can make treatment more difficult and increase the risk of permanent scarring.

Razia says people started avoiding her, worried that she could infect them. “Others thought I had cancer, and I was even blamed when my brother’s children developed a lesion,” she tells Eos.

Dr Kamal Khan of the Balochistan Institute of Psychiatry says people affected by leishmaniasis may experience embarrassment, fear of judgement and social rejection, and may avoid gatherings. “Patients and their families may worry that visible lesions or scars could negatively influence marriage prospects or acceptance by a prospective spouse and their family,” he says.

Such concerns can cause significant emotional distress, reduce self-confidence and create anxiety about the future. Dr Khan says patients need empathy and support, rather than judgement based on their appearance.

For Malaika, the wish is simple: to study without being laughed at, to attend weddings without people staring at her and to look into the mirror without feeling defined by her scar.

The lesion on her lip may eventually heal. Ensuring that its social scars do not endure will require more than medical treatment; it will also mean improving access to care and challenging the stigma surrounding the disease.

The writer is a Balochistan-based independent journalist. He can be reached at: mandokhail.rafi@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 1st, 2026

In 2024, Laiba Khan Lodhi posted a video of herself doing donuts in her Mercedes, a skill she had learned at the Pro Drift Academy Dubai.

The video caught the attention of the local street-racing community, and someone made a meme out of it, making fun of the young female driver. All sorts of negative comments, such as “Women belong in the kitchen” and “Leave driving to the boys” along with teacup emojis, abuse and threats, started pouring in.

It disappointed her. At the same time, it fueled her passion, motivating her to adopt drifting as a career.

“The attitude behind those comments implied that motorsports somehow was a property of men only — I wanted to challenge that,” Laiba says while talking to Eos. “I knew I couldn’t change everyone’s mind, but I could prove that women belong on the track too.”

Mocked in a meme and flooded with misogynistic online comments over an early car drifting video, Laiba Khan Lodhi used that negativity to fuel her drive to become a professional drifter

Drifting is a type of motorsport in which the car must slide sideways in an oversteer condition — such as the rear-wheel slip during cornering — and be controlled by the drivers. Competitors are judged based on their drifting skill and manoeuvring, and drivers must demonstrate speed and control of the drift.

When she asked her parents to allow her to pursue drifting professionally, they did not hinder her. In fact, they restored her confidence and encouraged her to prove her detractors wrong.

“Their support has meant a lot, especially at a time when so many people were trying to discourage me,” she says.

GROWING UP WITH CARS

Cars have always been a part of Laiba’s life. Her father owned a car business in Islamabad and would often bring different vehicles home, sometimes wanting her to be the first to drive them.

From convertibles to classic cars, she grew up experiencing all kinds of rides and gradually developed an emotional attachment to them.

“I get attached to cars very easily,” she admits. “I still remember the cars I’ve sat in, and I’ve even cried when we sold a few of them.”

Still, a career behind the wheel was never part of her life plan. Her ambitions kept changing as she grew up. At one point, she wanted to join the army and, later, she considered becoming a pilot. Though her career aspirations had always been adventurous, drifting never crossed her mind.

Then came the meme, and it changed everything.

THE CHALLENGE OF DRIFTING

Instead of retreating under social pressure, Laiba took it as a challenge to the stereotype, reflecting her strong personality.

By 2026, Laiba had become a household name in Pakistan’s drifting and racing community, earning over a million followers on Instagram, with drifting videos garnering millions of views.

Drifting is not cheap, and Laiba knew that when she chose it. You need a well-maintained car, you pay for tracks, and you spend on training. To bear her expenses and grow as an individual, she creates content around cars, collaborates with brands and also runs a modest-wear brand, Ajwa Modest Wear.

“I have even bought [drifting] cars with my own money, which makes me proud. Being financially independent matters a lot to me,” she says.

Her hard work and skill have gained her some international exposure. Earlier this year, in January, she competed in the Saudi Toyota Drift Championship in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, where she was the only female drifter and the sole representative of Pakistan.

THE FIRST ACCIDENT

Then came a different kind of test. Looking to push her limits and conquer other tracks, Laiba competed in the Cholistan Desert Rally in the Women’s Prepared Category, venturing into unfamiliar territory.

It was a tough but memorable experience, as she had her first accident while driving. She got off to a difficult start when she hit a tree, damaging the side mirror and front windscreen, but carried on. Later, she could not spot a pothole in time, and the impact hurt her arm so badly that paramedics had to check on her.

“It was a lot to go through in my first race, but I consider it an important experience,” she says. “Motorsport always carries risks, and that day reminded me how much proper preparation and safety matter. I was proud that I finished, and even came away with a podium [finish].”

Laiba Khan Lodhi has come a long way from the girl who faced online hate. Today, people tell her they are proud of her, and parents say their daughters want to try drifting, too.

“Hearing that makes me really happy,” she gushes. “I feel that by showing up and continuing, I have helped make the sport feel more possible for other women.”

The writer is a communication specialist and a freelance sports journalist

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 1st, 2026

Imagine losing 15 pounds in two weeks. It might sound like a dieter’s dream; for me, it was a warning sign.

I was a student-athlete, specialising in high jump, at the start of my high school journey in July 2023. That year, I went from hospital to hospital in Karachi as doctors repeatedly misdiagnosed my symptoms. My family and I lived with the quiet dread of an illness no one could identify.

For a time, my life revolved around repeated blood tests, doctor visits, second and third opinions, endless examinations and trials-and-errors with medication. The ordeal would have rattled any high schooler, but it was especially difficult when the illness itself affected my gut.

Eventually, I finally had a name for it: inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), specifically Crohn’s disease. Although its exact causes remain unclear, Crohn’s disease is understood to involve interactions between genetic susceptibility, immune-system dysfunction and environmental factors.

After a year of misdiagnoses in Karachi, a student-athlete turned Crohn’s disease into a research question, and a reason to keep clearing the bar

I’ve lived with it for the last three years. In Pakistan, gaps in data and repeated misdiagnoses meant I spent my first year with the disease without a diagnosis.

TACKLING IT LIKE AN ENGINEER

While the diagnosis brought relief, it came with a harder task: building a life in which chronic illness did not limit my ambition. How could I prepare for the Junior National Games while managing my diagnosis?

One of my strongest qualities is that when something affects me personally, I instinctively want to understand the mechanism behind it rather than simply accept it. I began studying how the disease develops, while continuing my athletic pursuits.

Supported by my family, mentors and friends, I knew I also had to be my own first line of defence. They say I approached the challenge like an engineer. In a way, I did. I designed routines: planning meals around what my body could tolerate and the nutrients it needed; scheduling hospital visits; tracking triggers and flare patterns like experimental variables; and protecting recovery time, so exams and athletics would not collide with my body’s limits.

Athletics made my curiosity physical. Training turned observations about my energy and recovery into data. I saw how breathing cadence affected performance, sleep influenced adaptation and nutrition shaped results. Recovery, I learned, was not simply rest but rebuilding.

FROM PATIENT TO RESEARCHER

My experience made me question how many others in Pakistan might be suffering without an accurate diagnosis or access to appropriate care. My search for answers expanded into a broader question: how do geography, socio-economic circumstances and healthcare infrastructure shape diagnosis and access to treatment?

I began investigating the relationship between ‘Westernisation’ and Crohn’s disease prevalence in Pakistan. The argument is that a Westernised diet — high in animal protein, saturated fats, refined carbohydrates and additives but low in fibre — can disrupt the gut microbiome and reduce its diversity.

But Westernisation involves more than dietary changes. Urbanisation also brings changes in hygiene, antibiotic use, pollution and exposure to microbes, all of which can affect the developing gut microbiome. Childhood antibiotic use has also been linked to a higher risk of IBD, while limited exposure to harmless microbes early in life may affect how the immune system develops. The shift from rural to urban living, therefore, changes the microbial exposures that help shape human immunity.

In December 2025, a two-week internship at the Aga Khan University Centre for Regenerative Medicine and Stem Cell Research resulted in hands-on laboratory experience in DNA extraction, polymerase chain reaction and gel electrophoresis while being part of Crohn’s disease-related research.

I later published my research in the August 2026 issue of the digital, peer-reviewed Global Scientific Journal. The paper explored whether changes in diet, behaviour and environmental exposures associated with Westernisation might contribute to microbiome disruption and Crohn’s disease prevalence in countries such as Pakistan.

In summer 2026, I virtually attended the Global Health Leaders’ Conference at Johns Hopkins University in the US, where I presented my research on Crohn’s disease and industrialisation to an international audience. Living with Crohn’s disease gave me firsthand insight into the physical and emotional challenges IBD patients face, often compounded by stigma, limited resources and weak support systems. Patients must also have a voice alongside clinicians, public-health experts, policymakers and scientists working to improve IBD care and research.

CLEARING THE BAR

Now, when my spikes hit the track and the crowd blurs into a wall of noise, I find silence. My focus narrows to the bar, my breath and the decision to commit. I pursue precision not because it is easy, but because it brings clarity.

I hope that advances in transnational research will one day transform the treatment of Crohn’s disease and other immune-mediated conditions. A breakthrough of that scale would be like the Fosbury Flop: a new way of clearing a hurdle once thought insurmountable.

To everyone living with IBD: be proud of your resilience and adaptability. Life may look different than you imagined, but accepting a new chapter does not mean settling for a worse one. My motto may help on your journey: “My illness does not define me. My response to it does.”

The writer is an A-Level student at the Karachi Grammar School. He can be
contacted at zayanajanee08@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 1st, 2026

Tetris is an interestingly simple but challenging game. Blocks of different shapes descend on to a confined board and the player must continuously find space to accommodate them. Every placement affects the next move. As the board fills, choices diminish, mistakes become increasingly expensive, and even the right piece arriving at the wrong time can become a problem.

The evolving global geopolitical landscape bears an astonishing resemblance to this game. Yet the intrinsic simplicity of the game is missing: the blocks are getting larger, time and space are shrinking, and states have less freedom to position themselves without new vulnerabilities.

A bird’s eye view of the prevailing environment reveals that Russia remains locked in Ukraine in a contest it portrays in terms of security, strategic identity and its place in the European order. Europe, meanwhile, is grappling with the perceived long-term threat from Russia, the burden of sustaining Ukraine, changing ties with Washington, the demands for greater burden-sharing, energy insecurity and sluggish growth.

Long-standing assumptions underpinning European security no longer appear immutable. In the Middle East, the widening confrontation involving Iran, Israel and the United States has transformed an already unstable region, where escalation can have consequences far beyond its geographical boundaries. A prolonged crisis in the Gulf can rapidly translate into higher energy costs, inflation, disrupted supply chains and slower growth in South and Southeast Asia.

As global power shifts, the world gets reconfigured and crises become increasingly interconnected, Pakistan must decide which relationships to prioritise — and which commitments it can no longer afford

Amid this deafening strategic noise, China has displayed what may be described as strategic restraint. Beijing has enormous economic stakes in the stability of the Middle East and the international trading system, yet it prefers to remain cautious of direct entanglement in these conflicts. Whether this represents deliberate patience or a preference to let others exhaust themselves is debatable. China’s willingness to help shape the emerging order remains uncertain.

Such is perhaps the defining characteristic of today’s geopolitical Tetris: the pieces are no longer independent of one another. A conflict in Ukraine alters Europe’s security and energy calculations. War in the Middle East affects Asian economies. Competition between Washington and Beijing influences technology, trade, investment and supply chains across continents.

Global interdependence has erased the geographical separation between crises. The question, therefore, is not how individual crises will end, but what international system will emerge as the pieces settle.

THREE WAYS TO READ THE BOARD

Let us see how various schools of thought view the changing global landscape.

Offensive realism holds that great powers operating in an uncertain international system seek power, favourable balances and regional predominance, because they cannot entrust their survival to the intentions of others. Viewed through this prism, the present turbulence may represent less an aberration than a redistribution of global power.

Such an order may contain several poles yet revolve predominantly around two centres of gravity: the US and China. Russia, India, Europe and other consequential powers will occupy important spaces, but much of international politics could increasingly be influenced by competition between Washington and Beijing. At its extreme, this could produce informal spheres of influence, accompanied by expectations of non-interference in each other’s core strategic spaces.

Another view sees the turbulence of [US President Donald] Trump 2.0 as a disruption rather than the definitive end of the US-led international order. Institutions, alliances, financial networks and economic relationships built over eight decades possess considerable resilience. A post-Trump US could return to its traditional alliances and restore much of the tone and tenor of the previous order, albeit under changed circumstances.

A third viewpoint holds that the emerging system may be neither conventionally bipolar nor genuinely multipolar. It could become an untidy combination of both, with several centres of power operating beneath an overarching US-China rivalry. A country may depend upon China for infrastructure, the US for technology and finance, the Gulf for energy, Europe for exports and another state for security cooperation. Geopolitical blocs increasingly overlap. This is almost the projection of the existing fragmented order in a more orderly manner.

WHERE PAKISTAN FITS

For Pakistan, this geopolitical Tetris raises several practical questions. Should Pakistan lean towards China or rebalance towards the US? Should it privilege its Gulf relationships or accommodate Iran? Should regional connectivity or traditional security considerations determine its approach towards India?

In my view, Pakistan must equally avoid strategic overextension. It neither has the economic capacity nor needs the ambition to seek a leading role in global geopolitics. Its priorities should remain economic growth, development, political stability and regional integration. Strategic relevance should follow national strength, rather than become a substitute for it.

There is, however, a limit to how long strategic optionality can be preserved. As in Tetris, the available space diminishes with every falling block. The time may be approaching when Pakistan will have to make harder choices, use the lifelines available to it and place some blocks decisively before the space to manoeuvre disappears altogether. Strategic autonomy should therefore not become an excuse for indecision.

Pakistan must have the confidence to say no when its vital interests are compromised, say yes when enduring national interests converge, and exercise restraint when involvement would overstretch its capabilities without commensurate gains. The test should not be who is asking, but what serves Pakistan’s long term national interests.

If the world evolves towards a sharper US China bipolarity, Pakistan should avoid becoming a frontline state in their competition. But it cannot disregard the depth, geography and strategic significance of its relationship with China. China should remain Pakistan’s principal strategic anchor, while Islamabad preserves the scope for productive relations with the US, wherever interests converge.

If a multipolar order emerges, Pakistan should exploit the greater diplomatic space it offers. Stronger economic and political engagement with the US, Russia, Europe, the Gulf, Iran, Türkiye and Central Asia can coexist with its relationship with China. But multipolarity offers greater room for manoeuvre only to a Pakistan economically strong to use it.

However, if the US-led order regains much of its earlier character after the Trump era, Pakistan should avoid both unnecessary confrontation with it and a return to dependency that characterised earlier phases of the relationship. Engagement with Washington should remain substantive and mutually beneficial, without being at the expense of relationships that serve Pakistan’s longer-term interests.

THE DOMESTIC FOUNDATION

One constant across all three eventualities is that Pakistan’s future lies principally in its own region. China will remain its neighbour and strategic partner; Central Asia will remain a potential gateway for connectivity; Iran and Afghanistan will continue to influence its western security environment; the Gulf will remain vital for energy, investment and economic linkages; and India will remain a neighbour with which competition must be managed and a more stable modus vivendi sought.

However, no external relationship, however strong, can compensate for domestic weakness. A weak economy constrains foreign policy choices before external demands even arise. Our strategic investment must therefore remain domestic, focusing on economic growth, political stability, human development, energy security, stronger institutions, technological capacity and the expansion of our productive base.

Pakistan does not need to be present at every geopolitical table, mediate every conflict or seek relevance in every contest. There is strategic wisdom in knowing where not to become involved. A state overstretched abroad while economically fragile at home eventually discovers that visibility is not the same as influence.

The emerging world order may be bipolar, multipolar or a modified restoration of the old order. Pakistan cannot determine which will take shape, but it can determine whether it enters that order economically vulnerable and strategically dependent, or internally stronger, regionally integrated and confident enough to make choices on its own terms.

Tetris offers one final lesson: a player cannot wait indefinitely for the perfect block. Decisions must be made with the pieces available and the space that remains. For Pakistan, that moment may be approaching. The challenge is to recognise which options are worth preserving and which choices can no longer be postponed.

Pakistan cannot determine the shape or sequence of the blocks descending on to the geopolitical board. But it can strengthen its foundations, secure its regional space and choose its placements wisely. In the emerging geopolitical Tetris, survival may depend not on fitting everywhere, but on knowing where Pakistan truly belongs.

The writer is a retired lieutenant general of the Pakistan Army and president of the Islamabad Policy Research Institute

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 1st, 2026

Twenty-four years ago, on September 11, 2002, Gen Pervez Musharraf signed the Higher Education Commission Ordinance that formally launched Pakistan’s ground-breaking higher education reforms.

This legislation dissolved the University Grants Commission and, in its place, created the Higher Education Commission (HEC) with vast regulatory, financial and administrative autonomy, and an express mandate to restructure the national higher education system and set Pakistan on course to become a knowledge economy.

Over the next five years, the budget allocation for higher education went up by 5,000 percent. Billions were poured into setting up new universities. A landmark agreement was negotiated with the US to launch what was then considered the world’s largest Fulbright scholarship programme, worth $150 million. Some 5,000 PhD level scholarships were announced for foreign universities, the largest such programme undertaken by a developing country, as well as 3,000 indigenous scholarships. A tenure track system with very competitive salaries was launched to attract and retain the finest academics.

To term these plans ‘ambitious’ would be an understatement. Other countries sat up and took notice. Professor C.N.R. Rao, former chairman of India’s Scientific Advisory Council, told former Indian prime minister Manmohan Singh in 2006, “Science is a lucrative profession in Pakistan. It has tripled the salaries of its scientists in the last few years.” This was reported in the Hindustan Times and this particular story carried the by-line: “Pakistan may soon join China in giving India serious competition in science.”

Launched in 2002 with unprecedented funding and ambitious reforms, Pakistan’s higher education experiment once attracted international attention. Today, Pakistan has nearly 280 universities, millions of students and a rapidly expanding research output. Yet, beneath the impressive statistics lies a system struggling with mounting debts, poor educational outcomes and questionable scholarship. What has gone wrong? And is there any way out?

Bangladesh is a big fan of Pakistan’s higher education reforms to this day. Large-scale academic delegations from Bangladesh have visited Pakistan frequently over the last two years, touring our universities, building institutional ties and doing homework for their own reforms. In 2025, Bangladesh’s Ministry of Education released the draft Higher Education Commission Ordinance, explicitly modelled on our framework.

It was an auspicious start, but it was not to last.

Within a decade, the HEC’s autonomy was challenged and higher education funding was dramatically slashed. In an earlier piece, we tracked the collapse of Pakistan’s tenure track system and the mass exodus of Pakistan’s best and brightest academics. Now, as our higher education experiment enters its 25th year — its silver jubilee — it is time to ask the big questions: where do we stand today? What have we accomplished? What mistakes have we made? And, most importantly, how do we move ahead?

Here is a look at the good, the bad and the ugly in the wide-ranging landscape of our higher education system today.

LET A THOUSAND UNIVERSITIES BLOOM

The most obvious indicator of success is the explosive growth of our universities. As per HEC data, in 2001-2002, we had a total of 58 higher education institutions in the country. This count almost doubled to 116 in 2005-2006 and crossed the 200 mark in 2017-2018. As per the Pakistan Economic Survey 2025-26, we now have 278 universities, an increase of almost 400 percent, an unprecedented achievement.

Leading Pakistani institutions now routinely feature in international university rankings. Exact positions tend to fluctuate year by year — and we seem unable to break into the global top-350 universities category — but it is most definitely a win.

Student enrolments have similarly skyrocketed, from around 276,000 in 2001-2002 to more than two million in 2023-2024, an increase of more than 600 percent. Moreover, in 2002, student enrolments were split with 63 percent males to 37 percent females. By 2025, this gender gap had almost hit parity, with 52 percent males versus 48 percent females.

Another very remarkable milestone is that in our first 54 years of Independence (up to 2002, when our higher education reforms were launched), Pakistan had produced almost 3,000 PhDs. Now we produce more than 3,000 PhDs in a single year.

This also reflects in our academic publication count, which has simply exploded. Our global academic publication count ranking has climbed from 51 to 26 in 25 years. As per the SCImago database, Pakistan’s indexed publications increased from approximately 1,600 in 2002 to over 45,000 in 2025. This March, the HEC formally honoured over a thousand Pakistani researchers featured in a list (curated by Stanford University) of the world’s top two percent scientists.

These are landmark achievements. Very few countries can claim such incredible progress in so short a period of time. After surveying these highly impressive statistics, one would not be remiss in thinking that our higher education experiment is faring very well indeed.

FROM BOOM TO BAILOUT

Unfortunately, one has only to scratch the surface to unearth grim realities beneath.

Our massive university expansion is now collapsing under its own weight. This issue burst into the spotlight last year with news that almost all public universities in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KP) were experiencing severe financial distress. A leading academic staff association has demanded a Rs25 billion package to bail out the entire sector.

This is not just a KP issue. Deficits are running high in many prestigious universities, salaries are being doled out in instalments, pension payments are being delayed and staff are striking and heading for the courts.

This August, the federal government approved a Rs2 billion bailout for Quaid-i-Azam University in Islamabad. Mounting costs had completely exhausted the university’s pension fund. It was a struggle to fund even basic operations, such as replenishing laboratory chemical supplies.

In Sindh, Karachi University reported a Rs1.3 billion deficit, followed by a paralysing strike that made nationwide headlines. The Federal Urdu University of Arts, Sciences and Technology in Karachi has piled up a backlog of Rs1.2 billion in salaries, pensions and other liabilities, and requires another Rs1.7 billion infusion for daily operations. Sindh University’s 2026-27 budget includes Rs3.75 billion in grants from the provincial government and Rs1.716 billion from the federal government and the HEC.

This March, the Balochistan government stepped in with Rs857 million payment to 11 universities in the province. Soon after, in a rare and very welcome move, Balochistan Governor Jaffar Khan Mandokhail announced an increase in the public universities’ budget from Rs2.5 billion to Rs8 billion.

The University of Azad Jammu and Kashmir has reported a shortfall of more than Rs1.3 billion, with staff threatening campus shutdowns. Punjab University has reported a Rs3.68 billion deficit, which they intend to address through internal borrowing.

THE WALKING DEAD — UNIVERSITY EDITION

These numbers are just some highlights, but this crisis has been a decade in the making and the entire sector is on life support today. So, what’s the worst case scenario?

In 2024, reports emerged that a leading international lending agency — its identity was not revealed — floated a study indicating that around 80 percent of our public universities would default within three to four years. This reads like a mass-extinction event. There are multiple reasons for this.

First and foremost, the federal government has capped the recurring budget for universities at Rs65 billion, a limit in place since 2017-18. But back in 2017, we had almost a hundred universities less than we do today. And, of course, in 2017, the US dollar averaged Rs105. Those were the ‘good old’ days.

This year, the HEC had internally calculated a requirement of Rs138 billion and had requested the government for at least Rs100 billion, but that requirement was not met. The provinces have also been grossly remiss in their contributions. This trend is not a higher education problem, it applies to the entire education sector as a whole. Last year’s Pakistan Economic Survey revealed that Pakistan’s education spending had dropped precipitously to just 0.8 percent of the country’s GDP, far below Unesco’s recommended benchmark of four to six percent.

It gets much worse. To get a sense of this Rs65 billion number, I looked up the balance sheet of the University of New South Wales (UNSW) in Australia, where I did my own postgraduate studies. In 2025, UNSW reported operational expenses amounting to AUD3.28 billion, around Rs630 billion. In short, this one university in Australia — an undeniably good international university, but certainly no global superstar like the Ivy League universities in the US or the Russell Group universities in the UK — has an annual budget almost tenfold what our government allocates to all of Pakistan’s public sector universities put together.

THE GREAT ‘SUPERMARKETIFICATION’

Setting up new universities in Pakistan has also taken on an unfortunate ‘franchise’ mentality — as first documented by the historian Dr Yaqoob Bangash — akin to setting up branches of a departmental store chain. Little thought is given to genuine need, excellence and standards or long term sustainability. For instance, last year in KP, with most universities on the brink of collapse, the provincial government moved to set up two new universities.

Launching universities has also become a potent grift, a way for politicians and administrators to score political benefits, securing lucrative development contracts, setting up employment avenues and putting the government on the hook. In this model, explicated by former member of the Planning Commission Waqas bin Najib in his Dawn Op-Ed ‘Building the Knowledge Economy’, universities may be conceptualised as “patronage vehicles.” And the HEC acts as “a real estate fund manager.”

Our universities are also decades behind international best practices, featuring cumbersome processes and paperwork reminiscent of our colonial era and abysmal governance.

A Supreme Court order of 2024 noted that most universities are in contravention of their own laws and are being run on the “personal whims” of those in charge. Almost all public sector universities have too many non-academic staff, significantly in excess of the HEC’s prescribed 1:1.5 ratio of academics versus non-academics. A recent HEC survey found that a staggering 40 percent of key faculty and administrative positions in universities were lying vacant.

With numbers like these, one cannot help but wonder: how are things still even working?

THE EMPEROR’S NEW DEGREES

But, are things really working?

A common refrain we academics hear is that universities are not producing skilled and capable graduates. There is little hard data for this claim. Our systems are very good at recording and advertising glittering statistics, such as university counts, student enrolment and publications, but relatively quiet when it comes to graduate outcomes, employment numbers, career progression etc.

But, every now and then, we get hints that lay bare the sheer magnitude of this problem.

For instance, at a session organised by the American Business Forum (ABF) and the Lahore University of Management Sciences (Lums) this September, Federal Minister for IT and Telecommunication Shaza Fatima Khawaja revealed the results of a national baseline test of 33,000 final year computer science students from 190 universities. Across 10 employability competencies, only 0.4 percent students scored above 80 percent. A mere four percent scored above 68 percent. Overall, 61 percent students languished below the 50 percent mark.

Likewise, the Central Superior Services (CSS) written examination results were announced in August. Of over 16,000 candidates appearing in all papers, only 476 qualified for the next stage, a share of 2.74 percent. This brutal rate is not an anomaly; the CSS exams are certainly very competitive. But examiners noted a definite decline in standards. In a written note to the National Assembly, Senator Ahad Khan Cheema attributed this high failure rate to poor academic background, weak analytical and comprehension skills and subpar written expression.

The most alarming story I personally came across is from 2023, when the KP Public Service Commission (PSC) revealed that candidates with postgraduate degrees struggled to solve basic math problems without calculators. In language and literature tests, students’ grammar, syntax and pronunciation were found to be abysmal.

“It has been noted that the quality and extent of knowledge of the candidates, having postgraduate qualification, is superficial,” stated their report, noting that candidates were “shaky and lack confidence” during interviews. They then asked the obvious question: “Are the teaching institutions properly equipped with teaching faculty and do they provide a scholarly environment to their students?”

These examples are deeply unsettling. And even as there is growing recognition of this collapse in educational outcomes, we have yet to see serious meaningful solutions. Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif has called for audits and urgent reforms. The HEC has mandated professional internships and industry-relevant certifications for undergrad degree programmes. The Federal Minister for Planning, Development and Special Initiatives, Ahsan Iqbal, has directed the chairman of the HEC to undertake an immediate and comprehensive review of all university degree programmes and curricula across Pakistan to align programmes with industrial trends.

THE EMPEROR’S NEW RESEARCH

University research output tells an equally disturbing story.

Behind the glitzy numbers, the overwhelming trend in Pakistani academia is now to publish papers in journals of middling to low quality — typically predatory or mega-journals — which charge extravagant article processing fees to rush publication without rigorous peer review. The end result is a flood of papers of mediocre and questionable quality, but which nevertheless tick all the boxes needed to get promoted in our system.

This practice is not research, it is more akin to a transaction. An entire industry of shady journals now operates, earning billions every year in pumping up the research credentials of academics in developing countries like ours. This practice is widely acknowledged in our circles and is usually met with a shrug. But it has now reached critical proportions that we can now only ignore at our peril.

For instance, a study from 2024 analysed around 500 social sciences and humanities articles published by 50 Pakistani professors over a five-year period. They found that almost 70 percent of the sampled papers were published in journals that were unrecognised by the HEC’s online journal recognition system and classed as predatory. Another study, also from 2024, focusing on the physical education and sports sciences domains, found that almost 90 percent of sampled papers appeared in questionable or predatory journals.

These are catastrophic numbers. However, these are just snapshots of the overall sector. We urgently need more comprehensive studies to tell us how deep this rot really runs.

THE RANKINGS REALITY CHECK

The standards of our research output also reflects in international rankings, which specifically prioritise research quality over quantity.

The Times Higher Education University Rankings are particularly research-driven and this year they included 56 Pakistani universities. However, the results were abysmal. No Pakistani university features in the global top 500. Quaid-i-Azam University, our highest-ranked institution, shows up in the 551-600 range. The vast majority of Pakistani universities are ranked 801-1,000.

The Academic Ranking of World Universities (ARWU) — popularly referred to as the Shanghai rankings — which places a very high premium on quality research, included only four Pakistani universities in its assessment this year: COMSATS University, the National University of Sciences and Technology (NUST), Quaid-i-Azam University and the University of the Punjab. All of them were in the 801-900 global range.

Likewise, the SCImago Institutions Rankings, a research and innovation-focused system, ranks COMSATS University Islamabad as Pakistan’s best at the 1,715 position globally. NUST is second at 2,126. The majority of Pakistani universities show up after the 5,000 mark.

THE INTEGRITY DEFICIT

Unethical practices also feature prominently in our system.

A 2025 study undertaken by the renowned John Ioannidis from Stanford University, a pioneer in the study of research practices, ranks Pakistan as one of the world’s leaders in paper retraction rates (at 28.1 retracted papers per 10,000). This rate lags only slightly behind Saudi Arabia (30.6) and is almost double that of India (15.2).

A retraction indicates a research paper that can no longer be trusted and is therefore withdrawn from the record. This could be because of an honest mistake or oversight on the part of the authors or publisher. However, it is, more often than not, due to falsified data, fraud or plagiarism.

In their 2025 study, Ioannidis and colleagues matched retraction records against their database of the world’s top-cited scientists in their sub-domains. Of the handful of Pakistani authors on the list, they found that almost 30 percent also had retracted papers on their record.

In an article in the renowned journal Scientometrics, Ioannidis again highlights Pakistan prominently in his list of countries where “extreme publishing” is sharply on the rise. He identifies “spurious practices”, such as consortium agreements, self-citation and gift authorships, which researchers use to inflate their publication metrics.

What do these terms mean exactly? A recent study on Pakistan’s publication culture titled ‘Research Culture in Pakistan’s Higher Education Institutions’ features a despairing quote by an anonymous academic: “People tend to self-cite or ask their peers and students to cite their work abundantly to appear in the so-called two percent list published by Stanford University. This number game has produced research cartels and people seem to scratch each other’s back.”

We certainly have local researchers who are no doubt genuinely prolific, sincere to their calling and their valuable achievements should be celebrated. But our universities lack the institutional checks and, more importantly, the will to stop this unscrupulous numbers game.

A METRIC THAT MATTERS

When unethical practices become institutionalised and systemic, they invariably get flagged at the international level. For corruption, we have the Transparency International ranking, for democracy, there is the Freedom House score and the Economist’s Democracy Index. For research, we have the recently developed Research Integrity Risk Index.

This tool evaluates universities using a metric focused on retracted papers and anomalous citation patterns. Of 19 leading Pakistani universities featured in this system this year, almost all were flagged as red flag (extreme or significant deviation from global norms), high risk, or on the watch list. Only one university (Aga Khan University) was classed as relatively normal. No Pakistani university exhibited low risk, ie “strong adherence to publishing integrity norms.”

The results of this index have generated heated debate in countries such as India, Egypt, Malaysia, Indonesia and Morocco. Unfortunately, it’s crickets here in Pakistan.

REFORM BEGINS WITH RECKONING

So, here we stand today. The bold reforms of 2002 that were to transform Pakistan into a knowledge economy have instead mutated into a gargantuan Frankenstein’s monster, which limps into its 25th year, too big to fail and too difficult to reform.

We want a knowledge economy but we do not seem to care about knowledge at all.

I have written on national-level issues before — our perennial smog problem, broken elections etc — and I often get emails from readers telling me they enjoyed the piece but wish I had offered ‘solutions’. Unfortunately, there are no magic bullets here. Our problems are immense, fiendishly complex and infuriatingly bound up with our colonial baggage.

The only real suggestion I can offer would read as painfully naïve: that stakeholders confront these inconvenient truths, make education a priority — the priority — set aside their egos to engage with critics and sceptics in good faith, and rebuild this system brick-by-brick. The hard truth is that many people saw this collapse coming from miles away and they sounded the alarm, but were largely ignored.

As an academic who has worked with government ministries, civil servants and politicians, I also realise this is a very difficult ask. It is much more tempting to set up yet another high-powered committee, call in the international consultants or introduce some new foreign and glamorous system. In short, business as usual.

NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN

It might surprise many to learn that the original architects of our higher education enterprise foresaw this collapse. They even spelt it out explicitly for us in the original Task Force report of 2002, the founding document of our higher education experiment, which resulted in the Higher Education Commission Ordinance and the creation of the HEC.

Early in the report, they listed prominent challenges faced by Pakistan’s higher education sector, amid logistical and material issues, infrastructure, governance, politicisation and the like. They noted the curious problem of “[s]trong scepticism about the realisation of reform.” At the very end of their report, they quoted a report penned in 1959 by the Commission on National Education, one of the earliest attempts to reform Pakistan’s education system. And the authors of that particular report did not mince their words, which is why their statements are worth quoting at length:

“Education… can meet its responsibilities only if a revision of attitudes on the part of the professional

educator is accompanied by a change in the view point of the government and the public… In education, the prevailing attitude of the public and those responsible in government was that it warranted low priority… Although our leaders were now the architects of policy rather than the implementers of the policy of others, education was neither in fact nor theory given the importance that would enable it to meet the needs of a people who controlled their own destiny…

“We cannot escape the conclusion that our fundamental need is for a revolution in attitudes, through which the cynicism, lethargy, opportunism, suspicion, dishonesty and indifference that have characterised the outlook of so many of our people and officials in the past will give way to a spirit of individual initiative, personal integrity, pride in accomplishment, trust in one’s fellow men and a ‘private sense of public duty.’ We have no illusion that this reorientation of values can be brought about quickly or completely, or that it can be realised only through fiat, yet come it must if we are to achieve any substantial improvement in our education system or any other sphere of national endeavour.”

Nearly 65 years later, these words could not ring more true. One is sorely tempted to frame them and set them up on the desk of every higher education professional in the country, not just teachers and researchers, but especially the administrators, the vice-chancellors and the bureaucrats.

It would be apt to close here with another prophecy all too self-evident in Pakistan today. This is a quotation by the novelist and historian H. G. Wells, which opens the World Bank’s landmark ‘Higher Education in Developing Countries: Peril and Promise’ report from 2000: “Human history becomes more and more of a race between education and catastrophe.”

This is the second in an investigative series that does a deep dive into the myriad issues faced by Pakistan’s higher education sector

The author is an academic based in Islamabad. He is grateful to colleagues for extensive discussions and feedback on this article. He can be reached at taha.ali@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 1st, 2026

Winter offers a range of options for vegetable gardens. In Pakistan, the easiest to grow are vegetable plants from the Brassicaceae family, along with other leafy greens. Winter vegetable seeds can generally be sown from late September to mid-November, depending on local conditions. Here are some tips for growing winter vegetables successfully.

ONE CONTAINER, ONE VEGETABLE

Despite limited space, more households across Pakistan are taking up kitchen gardening, often using pots and grow bags. A single plant of a cruciferous vegetable, such as cabbage, broccoli, kale or cauliflower, can be grown in a 12- to 14-inch container, provided it is sufficiently deep.

A little space is all you need to grow winter vegetables at home. Just keep in mind some of these tips for success…

For best results, sow one seed per cell in a seedling tray in late October or early November. Alternatively, sow four seeds in a four-inch pot. Once the seeds germinate, select the strongest seedling. Look for a short, stocky plant with a thick stem, vibrant green true leaves and a compact structure rather than simply choosing the tallest one. Transplant it into a 12- to 14-inch container.

SMALL POTS, BIG HARVEST

Although many plants grow better with more room for their roots, several herbs and leafy greens thrive in smaller pots and compact spaces. For example, coriander, fenugreek, rocket, garlic chives, mustard greens, spinach, lettuce, bok choy and Swiss chard can be grown in pots of six to eight inches. S

ow several seeds in each pot, following the recommended depth for each crop, and cover lightly with fine potting mix. This produces a dense crop of leafy greens in a relatively small space. To manage space, leafy vegetables and herbs can also be grown around already potted plants. Many of these crops can also be harvested more than once during the season, provided the growing tips or outer leaves are left intact where appropriate.

COLLECTING THE PRIZE

Wooden fruit crates and raised beds can accommodate peas, garlic, onions and root vegetables such as radish, turnip, beetroot and carrot. Most kitchen gardeners grow these vegetables for everyday cooking. It may take a fortnight or longer to harvest enough for a family meal, depending on the crop and the number of plants. Some crops take longer to mature. Red radishes and rocket, for instance, may be ready to harvest in about six weeks, depending on the variety and growing conditions.

NO RAIN, NO PAIN

In areas prone to heavy seasonal rain, it is best to sow winter vegetables after the rains have eased and the soil drains well. Waterlogged soil can damage seeds and seedlings. Standing water can cause root-rot and encourage fungal diseases. During germination and early growth, keep seed trays in a sheltered spot, protected from heavy rain, while ensuring adequate light and ventilation.

SEASON’S GREETINGS

Every winter, readers ask which plants can be grown between mid-December and mid-January. The question often comes from parents who want to introduce their children to gardening during the winter school holidays.

For many winter vegetables, October and early November are suitable sowing months, although the ideal timing varies by region and crop. If you want to start gardening in December or January, buy healthy, established seedlings from a local nursery. Many winter vegetables can be harvested through March, depending on the crop, variety and local climate.

Please send your queries and emails to doctree101@hotmail.com. The writer is a physician and a host for the YouTube channel ‘DocTree Gardening’ promoting organic kitchen gardening

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 1st, 2026

The Cliftonian Book of General Knowledge

A Textbook for Children in Grade Three

By Cliftonia Ali, BA, MA, KMC, PECHS, DHA (Honoris Causa)

Pages: 782

Single Curriculum Publishers

Chapter One: History

In the old days, there were no people in Cliftonia. It was empty. Like our minds. Then, suddenly, a big bang happened and many handsome, fair-coloured, warrior peoples started to arrive.

The story of how the world’s manliest warriors came to inherit the Republic of Cliftonia, its mountains and its sugar mills

From the backside, all Cliftonians are made up of Vikings, Mongols, Central Asians, Arabians and Englishers. All arrivals had one thing in common: they were extremely manly. It can be said that they were manly to the moon and back, that’s how manly they were. And since all macho men by nature are warriors, they became famous across all Cliftonian gated communities as the martial races. All the Cliftonian men we see today sitting in cafés and enjoying Sunday brunches in country clubs are descended from these fighter folk.

In 1139, one tribe of such fighter peoples saw a group of Browns in the distance, tilling their fields. Unable to tolerate such behaviour, the martial tribes attacked them and took over their villages. This was done for the benefit of the Browns because all their leading tillers looked corruptful.

When the Brown chief explained the rules of their village, the martial leader — who was tall, fair and lovely with big muscles and a bushy mustache — said these rules made no sense and should be thrown in the dustbin. The Browns were confused as they did not know what a dustbin was. In response, the martials showed them a dustbin and dumped them all in, along with their rules. Peace immediately prevailed.

Chapter Two: Geography

Cliftonia is a land blessed with rivers, mountains, seas, deserts, glaciers and sugar mills. In fact, the word Cliftonia comes from the Latin word clift meaning countless and onia meaning sugar mill. The rivers of Cliftonia flow from north to south and from here to there. They bring fish, lumber, gold, frankincense and myrrh to the arid regions of the Republic.

In 329 BCE, a great flood ravaged the upper echelons of Cliftonia. It was a sudden deluge. There was water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink. Admiral Coleridge, one of Cliftonia’s earliest heroes, came to the Republic’s rescue and diverted nature’s fury towards the Browns of the land, while ensuring the overflow of the rivers stayed as far away from the sugar plantations of the martial races as possible. This act was appreciated by all, Browns and martials alike. Much clapping was heard across the land.

The mountains of Cliftonia are a wonder to behold. That is why it is best not to behold them. But martial adventurers, who make up most, if not all, of Cliftonia’s gorgeously proportioned citizenry, love to mount things, including some of the tallest mountain ranges in the whole wide world. Cliftonia’s mountains are full of snow and ice. Many also have mountain goats and snow leopards, which are used to make shawls and cash.

Cliftonia also has deserts. One of the deserts reaches all the way to the sea. The sea has many fishes of all shapes and sizes. These fishes sometimes swim troutfully up the rivers and travel all the way to the northern areas for their summer holidays.

Chapter Three: Science

Nature is everywhere in Cliftonia. It is available for free and greets Cliftonians with open arms. Inside nature, there is a great deal of science.

Most of the forests of Cliftonia, for instance, are full of botany just like the people of the Republic are full of biology and the animals are completely zoological. The astronomy of Cliftonian skies at night is a wonder to behold, and like our mountains, it is recommended they not be beholden.

Cliftonia has its own gravity, just like some of the most advanced nations of the world. The laws of physics are accorded special gravitas by the scientists of Cliftonia, who seem to know everything under the sun. They also know everything under the moon. In this respect, they are just like the clergy, private equity experts and media folk of the country.

All Cliftonians have a lot of chemistry. It is visible in their electro-magnetic fields as well as in their auras, but only on clear, pollution-free days.

Questions:

1. How macho are the men in your family, on a scale of Viking to Mongol?

2. How many martial men in your tribe have been part of Cliftonian martial laws?

3. What were you doing in 1539? Provide a detailed daily schedule with notarised proof.

4. Do you personally know any Browns?

5. How many glaciers does your father own? If not, why not?

6. Can you reverse engineer a mountain goat out of a shawl?

7. Who is the most astronomical person in your extended family? Provide proof, preferably via James Webb, if not Hubble space telescope.

8. How much electro-magnetic energy does your family harvest from the Browns in your employ?

Farid Alvie was born. He currently lives. He’s on Instagram @faridalvie

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 1st, 2026

Dear Auntie,

I am a 22-year-old man, currently doing my MA in English from the University of Sindh. Although I am happy with my studies and focused on my future, I am worried about my elder brother. He is extremely unsupportive and insensitive towards people’s feelings.

My father recently retired from his job and, like many retirees, he may have to wait several months for his payout, including pension and gratuity, to be calculated and paid. Hence, until our father gets his compensation, my brother and I must now help support the family.

‘My Elder Brother Is Not Helping Out the Family’

However, my brother is trying to avoid his financial responsibilities to the family. I don’t know how to handle this situation.

Worried Brother

Dear Worried Brother,

A breadwinner’s retirement can put a family under financial strain. For you to be upset with your elder brother for not contributing and doing his bit is completely understandable. In our culture, children are often expected to help their parents by sharing the financial burden if they are in a position to do so.

However, before concluding that your brother is selfish, try to understand why he is avoiding this responsibility. Is he earning enough to be able to contribute? Does he have financial commitments of his own? Or does he simply think that supporting the household is someone else’s problem? These are important questions because you cannot expect everyone to contribute equally at home if their circumstances are different.

You need to sit down with your father and brother and discuss the family’s finances openly. Work out how much money is needed each month for things such as groceries, utility bills and other expenses, and how much each person can contribute realistically.

Instead of accusing your brother of being insensitive or stingy, you should explain to him that the family needs his help during this difficult time. As in most things in life, an open discussion will probably achieve more than an argument.

Also, remember that you are only 22 years old and are still studying. While helping your family is important, you should not sacrifice your education or take on more responsibilities than you can reasonably manage.

You could also consider tutoring or taking on part-time work without compromising your studies. At the same time, you should not assume that your father’s retirement benefits from his workplace will solve every financial problem that your family is facing. The family needs to think about managing its expenses in the long term, particularly now that he will no longer receive his regular salary.

Your brother may or may not agree to help and you cannot force him. But you can make your expectations known to him and encourage your family to figure out how to stay afloat under the changed circumstances. Don’t let resentment towards your brother distract you from building your own future.

Disclaimer: If you or someone you know is in crisis and/or feeling suicidal, please go to your nearest emergency room and seek medical help immediately.

Auntie will not reply privately to any query.

Please send concise queries to:

auntieagni@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 1st, 2026

For years, political analysts across the board, from pro-Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaf (PTI) commentators to supposedly neutral and anti-PTI observers, insisted that PTI was the most popular political party in the country. This narrative was even widely echoed by Western media outlets.

Lately, however, that conviction has eroded. Commentators first began backtracking by limiting their claims about PTI’s dominance to Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KP), but even that has started to falter. What many mistook for widespread support may simply have been what political scientists refer to as “manufactured popularity.” Manufactured popularity is not a reflection of unmediated public sentiment. Instead, it is a carefully crafted construct accumulated through symbolic engineering, media management, state or institutional sponsorship, and the strategic exploitation of public disillusionment.

At its core, manufactured popularity depends on presenting a leader as a spotless saviour, who is capable of dismantling a ‘corrupt’ old order. This form of popularity is built on exaggerated promises and carefully curated media narratives. But the moment an engineered project makes the transition from opposition to executive power, tensions between rhetoric and governance begin to dissolve the illusion.

Throughout history, political regimes and movements have demonstrated how manufactured popularity can decay when confronted with cold realities. In the 1950s, former president Juan Perón’s initial popularity in Argentina was sustained by heavy state subsidies and nationalistic appeals. Yet, as economic historian Carlos Díaz-Alejandro documented in his analyses of Argentine economic history, the regime’s inability to sustain fiscal extravagance amidst soaring inflation and foreign exchange depletion eventually caused Perón’s populist economic model to unravel, hastening widespread unrest and military intervention.

While PTI’s online dominance is often taken as proof of overwhelming public support, digital visibility, electoral success and the ability to mobilise people on the streets are three very different measures of political strength

In post-communist Eastern Europe, the rise and fall of political movements that relied on media-driven anti-corruption narratives, such as Simeon Saxe-Coburg-Gotha’s movement in Bulgaria during the early 2000s, illustrate that popularity constructed primarily on outsider status and high moral claims quickly evaporates when administrative ineptitude and economic compromises take hold in daily governance.

PTI, formed by Imran Khan in 1996, is an intriguing example. It remained a minor player on the margins of Pakistani politics till its transformation into a dominant force in 2011. The transformation was not merely an ‘awakening’ but also a carefully constructed political phenomenon. PTI’s popularity was methodically cultivated, mainly by the military establishment. Indeed, the party effectively mobilised a real sense of grievance among urban middle-class voters who were exhausted by the perceived ‘corruption’ of traditional parties such as the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N) and the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP).

But this was amplified by institutional engineering through a hybrid scheme. According to the Pakistani political scholar Muhammad Waseem, in this scheme, intelligence agencies steered the media narrative, weakened political opponents, and directed influential political “electables” towards PTI.

The architecture of PTI’s popularity was heavily built on a modern communication strategy. According to the media researcher Ifrah Nadeem, PTI pioneered the use of “computational propaganda.” It unleashed tightly targeted social media campaigns, and emotional messaging. By leveraging digital spaces, the party bypassed mainstream journalistic scrutiny, portraying Khan as an incorruptible reformer who alone could usher in a ‘Naya [New] Pakistan.’

According to economists such as Atif Mian and academic assessments by the International Crisis Group, governing a state such as Pakistan that is under severe balance-of-payments distress required unpopular policy adjustments. But this contradicted PTI’s idealised campaign claims. So, when Khan was placed in power in 2018, the election of an ‘honest leader’ was framed by the party as a good enough condition for economic revival and institutional purification.

But Khan blundered his way across almost all vital areas of governance. This resulted in the gradual pullback of the military establishment’s patronage of his regime. Therefore, the manufactured framework sustaining the government collapsed, culminating in Khan’s removal via a constitutional vote of no-confidence in 2022.

The erosion of manufactured popularity reveals a recurring dynamic in politics. According to the American political scientist Samuel P. Huntington, while media manipulation, emotional appeals and institutional patronage can create an impression of overwhelming public approval, they cannot transform into tangible administrative competence and economic stability. While failing leaders who were elevated through manufactured popularity often switch to narratives of victimisation or conspiracy to retain a dedicated core, the initial perception of popularity begins to alter when tested by on-ground political realities.

But here’s the interesting bit: even after Khan’s fall, the narrative of his ‘popularity’ did not recede as such. At least not in the media. Political commentators and international monitoring groups viewed the support for PTI-backed candidates in the 2024 general elections as proof of this. However, one can posit that this was largely achieved through PTI’s formal and informal social media apparatus transitioning the party’s narrative from that of producing an incorruptible saviour to one of moral victimisation.

In the aftermath of Khan’s arrest in 2023, PTI’s media apparatus cleverly converted the general public anger over rising inflation and political instability (which Khan’s regime left behind), into an unquestioning loyalty to the imprisoned Khan. This was further reinforced by digital algorithms that amplified symbolic/performative acts of resistance, creating an impression of impressive public mobilisation.

However, the eventual reality check occurred when the limits of this online and sentiment-based popularity were tested on the ground. The definitive moment arrived when the current coalition government-imposed emergency measures and governor’s rule in KP recently, sidelining PTI’s provincial government there. Contrary to expectations of an uprising, the public response was muted. The failure of the party to mobilise street demonstrations underscored a disconnect between online sentiment and real-life capacity.

This led political analysts to re-evaluate the nature of the party’s popular base. They began recognising that much of what had been interpreted as deep political commitment was, in fact, passive sympathy, digital noise, and an anti-establishment protest vote rather than an organised, resilient political movement.

The illusion of overwhelming popularity unravels when passive sympathisers who express support on social media or through voting, decline to transform into active political actors on the streets. They are in the majority, and many are even stationed abroad.

The loss of PTI’s last institutional foothold in KP demonstrates that, while manufactured popularity and grievance-based narratives can maintain an electoral pull, they remain inherently fragile when confronted with state power, and the reality of growing public apathy. The electoral pull too is now likely to recede, especially with the likelihood of Khan remaining behind bars in the foreseeable future.

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 1st, 2026

An orphaned infant sleeps soundly in a cardboard box that is, by chance, stamped with the label “FRAGILE”. Photographed in the aftermath of the 2005 Kashmir earthquake, the image carries the plight of the thousands of children left parentless by natural disasters and it does so without a trace of melodrama.

It is the kind of photograph that outlives its moment. What begins as an image becomes a historical record, preserving traces of people, places and ways of life that time has since transformed. It is one of the pictures that anchor ‘The Unbearable Solitude of the Third Eye’, a retrospective of photographer Arif Mahmood’s four decades-long career, which recently opened to the public at the Mohatta Palace Museum.

For Mahmood, the pursuit began in 1985, after he had returned from Otterbein College in the US with a business degree. By 1990, his editorial work was regularly being featured in major national publications, before reaching international outlets such as Time magazine and The Gulf News. In the past 40 years, Mahmood’s work has been exhibited in numerous group shows in Pakistan and abroad. Mahmood also has 14 solo exhibitions to his credit and his prints have made their way into the permanent collection of The Museum of Fine Arts in Houston.

What began as a pursuit of the moment gradually became a meditation on impermanence. “I got conscious of this impermanence as I grew older,” Mahmood reflects. “The loss of close ones makes you become more aware of this constant state of change.”

By bringing together four decades of his work at the Mohatta Palace Museum, Arif Mahmood’s retrospective reveals how photography preserves both a nation’s collective memory and the fleeting details of individual lives

The theme runs through his long-term photo essays, among them Pestonjee, a portrait of a Parsi gentleman he photographed for a decade until the man’s death in 2024. The prints at the Mohatta Palace work like windows to a past that many visitors have lived through, yet they are startled to meet it again, suddenly, on a gallery wall.

The exhibition, spread across four halls, begins where that encounter is most immediate. The first, ‘The City by the Sea’, brings together Mahmood’s photographs of Karachi, the city where he spent his youth and which has remained a constant subject since the 1980s. The second, ‘Endeavours of the Spirit’, gathers images of events, places and encounters that extend beyond the photographic frame, from the 2005 Kashmir earthquake and the 2010 Sindh floods to the shrines and sacred sites of Hinglaj, Sehwan, Khairpur and Bhit Shah.

The third hall, ‘Citadels of Light’, turns to Lahore and Punjab, tracing their architectural splendour and cultural life. Among the photographs, an image of devotees in a state of spiritual ecstasy at Lahore’s Shah Jamal shrine, taken in 1994, stands out for its palpable sense of movement and fervour.

In the fourth hall, ‘Legacies in Stone’, the passage of time assumes a different form. Here, photographs of Gandharan sculptures, part of Mahmood’s more recent work, appear alongside images from Italy. A photograph of the archaeological remains of the Fasting Buddha is particularly striking, its textured surface carrying as much weight as the haunting shadow that falls between the sculpture’s upper and lower halves.

A regular presence in the first three halls is Mahmood’s portraiture. Beyond their striking composition and often rich black-and-white tones, what stands out is how immediate they feel, each carrying the essence of its subject so fully that one almost senses the person standing in the hall. The portrait of a Bodla Fakir whom Mahmood calls “Mama”, the first image a visitor sees upon entering the museum, is a strong example. So is a 1994 silver gelatin print of the poet Jaun Elia leaning against a tree.

Other icons whose photographs are presented here include Javed Miandad, a very young Ali Azmat, Saeed Akhtar and Iqbal Hussain in their studios, and an immersive portrait of Zia Mohyeddin in an empty theatre. Yet, the celebrated faces are only part of the story. “I have photographed several iconic and interesting faces,” Mahmood says, “but what has changed since my early years is that now all sorts of faces draw me, even those we consider ‘ordinary’.”

Although impermanence is not the exhibition’s only concern, it remains one of its defining themes. Mahmood says, “It took me two-and-a-half years to make an edit of around 1,500 images from my archive. These images have been selected from several projects and stories that I have been fortunate enough to document.” Over the course of his career, his subjects have ranged from fashion and music to creative and photojournalistic assignments. As Mahmood puts it, the exhibition offers “a flavour of what I have shot over the span of my career.”

The photograph selection process spanned several months, with the final edit undertaken by the exhibition’s curator Hameed Haroon, bringing the exhibition down to 104 photographs. With more than two dozen books to his name, Mahmood has also developed an extensive body of work beyond the retrospective. Books such as Silver Linings, which is Mahmood’s documentation of the Sufi trail, and Phase 8 Project, which turns his lens towards his own family, offer a more expansive view of his photographic encounters and the breadth of his archive.

Yet, these photographs offer more than documentation. Many possess a distinct visual and artistic quality, while their compositions and treatment of light lend them an almost painterly character. As Haroon observes, “His [Mahmood’s] work affirms that photography stands shoulder to shoulder with other art forms, demanding intention, evoking emotion and offering a unique voice.”

At the Mohatta Palace, the retrospective brings together four decades of Mahmood’s work, underscoring his contribution not only as a documentarian of Pakistan’s social and cultural life but also as an artist whose photographs invite us to reconsider what images preserve and what time inevitably takes away.

‘The Unbearable Solitude of the Third Eye’ is on display at the Mohatta Palace Museum, Karachi from October 4, 2026-April, 2027

The writer is a university student with an interest in urban history, culture and public spaces. Email: pakistaniumer04@gmail.com Instagram: @umersheikh__

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 1st, 2026

Reading has long been a social activity. One early precursor to the modern book club was Anne Hutchinson’s Bible study group in the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1634. Women met to discuss weekly sermons and religious texts, creating a space for debate and intellectual exchange, at a time when many women lacked access to formal education.

Since then, readers have gathered around books in homes, libraries, bars and literary societies. Today, reading communities also extend into mediated spaces: television, radio, podcasts and social media. The difference is in how these groups of readers connect through books.

Conventional book clubs unite readers by discussing a mutually agreed, shared book. But in events like Book Doof, Silent Book Club, Reading Party and The Offline Club, there’s no assigned book: participants connect through the shared practice of reading.

Reading alone, together, is all the rage at book doofs and reading parties. What makes it social?

These events let readers read alone, together. Conversation is optional and people can come alone. They don’t have to perform sociability or literary expertise. Silent reading events offer readers a low-demand belonging: being present is enough.

They don’t ask readers to choose between solitude and connection. They let them have both.

BOOK DOOF

Hoping to make reading “something you look forward to with other people”, Book Doof is “a rave for readers.” It recently held silent reading meet-ups at Melbourne’s Fed Square and Abbots Yard. You bring your own book. There is curated ambient music and you can read for the whole four hours with fellow readers. Bookish conversations do not drive the event; there is no required small talk and you can be social in silence.

Book Doof just launched in Canberra, with a booked-out event supported by the Canberra Writers Festival. It promised the same “cosy sanctuary — an afternoon of reading, good tunes, and quiet community.” The same no-small-talk, no-book-club-discussion approach followed.

SILENT BOOK CLUB

Silent reading events are not new, though. Silent Book Club has been gathering readers to read their separate books in the company of other readers since 2012. A “book club where you could just enjoy books, friends and drinks — without any homework”, it follows the same BYO book format, with socialising not mandatory.

Started in San Francisco by friends Guinevere de la Mare and Laura Gluhanich, Silent Book Club officially launched as an organisation in 2015. It now has more than 2,000 chapters in over 60 countries. The Sydney event was held at the Darling Square Library on October 11. It will recur on the second Sunday of each month.

READING PARTY

Reading Party Melbourne is a silent reading party where readers bring their own book, have a drink and read in a comfy spot in a boutique bar or restaurant. The tickets usually include a complimentary drink. It’s a space for readers to get off their phones and read with no distraction, where the founders promise there will be no judgement about what you read.

Readers start reading for an hour when the bell rings. They can start socialising when the second bell rings — or continue reading if they prefer.

THE OFFLINE CLUB

Taking the off-screen, no-phone-time idea further, The Offline Club, founded in Amsterdam in 2024, holds silent reading parties across the world. It debuted in Australia last year, with a series of events for Illuminate Adelaide.

Their recent Bali reading party kept the location secret until 48 hours before the event. It invited readers to a one-hour shared silent reading. The event urges readers to “prove that a room full of humans can still choose the page over the screen.”

Their upcoming Amsterdam Reading Party also promises “a relaxing reading time free from digital distractions.” Readers are invited to leave their phones in a “phone hotel.” Those who prefer to keep their phones with them are encouraged to switch them off and keep them out of sight.

The Offline reading parties, too, let readers bring any book and allow them to stick around to connect with other readers after the reading hour is up if they want to.

SOCIAL READING ONLINE

Online reading communities — like BookTok, Bookstagram and BookTube — similarly don’t require readers to be reading the same book in order to participate. They connect through shared tastes, genres such as romance, tropes such as enemies-to-lovers or fake dating, book recommendations and emotional reactions.

Like in silent reading events, these reading communities don’t necessarily connect through a shared book — though particular books and series can become common points of reference. Sometimes that connection is the act of reading, or identifying as a reader.

Just like in silent reading parties and similar events that happen in physical spaces, belonging to an online reading community doesn’t require constant interaction. Members can choose if they want to post, comment, recommend books — or just lurk, reading or viewing what other readers post.

OFFLINE READING, ORGANISED ONLINE

Some organisers genuinely frame silent reading parties as relief from screens. Many view them as antidotes to scrolling, or a backlash to the digital world. But people organise, book, discover and circulate these events digitally. Scholars call this “postdigital”: online and offline are now so intertwined, even attempts to stay away from screens are often organised through them.

Part of what appeals to readers about these events is that simply being there is enough. There is also a kind of recognition in being surrounded by other people who have chosen to spend their time reading.

Research on online reading communities has found that online reading can create both close-knit communities and looser forms of affiliation around a shared interest in books. Silent reading events make something similar possible in a physical space: you can look around and see other people doing the same thing you are, without needing to talk to them or even read the same book. The community is shared, while the reading can remain private.

Taken together, these online and offline spaces suggest the social life of reading is not simply becoming more social. It is becoming more flexible. Readers can move in and out of a community: talking, recommending and sharing when they want to, or simply reading alongside others when they don’t.

Perhaps that is the appeal. Being part of a reading community no longer has to mean giving up the solitude that makes reading pleasurable in the first place.

The writer is a PhD candidate in Publishing and Communications at the University of Melbourne, Australia

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, November 1st, 2026

From A to Zed: A Life in Cricket
By Zaheer Abbas
Fairfield Books
ISBN: 978-1915237828
160pp.

Pakistan has produced several world-class cricketers but Zaheer Abbas remains among the finest. Known as the ‘Asian Bradman’ for his run-scoring prowess, the elegant right-hander terrorised bowlers across continents and became the first Asian and the third non-Englishman to score more than 100 first-class centuries. His achievements merit a book that fully captures his greatness. Unfortunately, From A to Zed falls short.

The problems begin with its presentation. At 160 pages, divided into just nine chapters, the book feels too brief for a life so rich in cricketing history. The large font makes it look more substantial than it is, while its price of over Rs14,000 will make it inaccessible to many readers.

Even fully illustrated coffee-table books aren’t priced this high these days and, with the decline of the library culture, the book might end up just in the hands of a few collectors. That is sad. In fact, a recent biography of Sir Garry Sobers — one of Abbas’ idols — costs less than half this book. For a younger generation hoping to discover one of Pakistan’s greatest batsmen, From A to Zed is a missed opportunity.

The question of originality also arises. Abbas’ 1984 autobiography, Zed, was a limited circulation publication, and much of the new volume revisits familiar territory, particularly his playing days. Some photographs and information are new but, overall, it extends the earlier book rather than offering a fresh, comprehensive account of his life. A more rigorous editorial process could have eliminated repetition, corrected inconsistencies and given the narrative greater direction.

From remarkable batting records to memorable encounters with cricketing greats, ‘Asian Bradman’ Zaheer Abbas has plenty to recount. But the bat of his latest autobiography doesn’t quite middle the ball

Abbas seems to be speaking directly to readers from a chair in his London residence, but autobiographies need more. They need honesty, clarity and, above all, the ability to deliver on the reader’s investment. Sadly, the treatment of his personal life is particularly frustrating. Najma, his first wife, is prominently featured in Zed, where Abbas acknowledges her contribution to his success, especially during his years in England. In From A to Zed, she is mentioned only once. His later life and marriage to Sameena receive some attention, but the circumstances of the earlier relationship remain unexplained.

Readers don’t need sensational revelations, but an update on his family would have been fair. In his autobiography, Wasim Akram showed that complicated personal circumstances, including marrying twice, can be discussed candidly and respectfully. Abbas’ story deserved the same openness.

Yet, there is plenty to enjoy. Born in Sialkot and raised partly in Karachi, Abbas developed his love for cricket early. Long before Dennis Lillee reportedly called Faisalabad a graveyard for fast bowlers, Abbas grew up playing cricket in his ancestral village’s graveyard. There, he learned patience and the importance of watching the ball since the surface he played on was uneven.

His childhood anecdotes are among the book’s most entertaining passages. On a train ride, his father lectured him that ordinary people travelled in non-air-conditioned compartments, while educated people earned the privilege of an air-conditioned berth. Thankfully, the lesson did little to alter the course of his life. His mother, meanwhile, occasionally punished his lack of attention to his studies with a heated spoon. This led Abbas and his friends to devise a code that let him sneak out to play during her afternoon nap.

Born in Sialkot and raised partly in Karachi, Abbas developed his love for cricket early. Long before Dennis Lillee reportedly called Faisalabad a graveyard for fast bowlers, Abbas grew up playing cricket in his ancestral village’s graveyard. There, he learned patience and the importance of watching the ball since the surface he played on was uneven.

While other children gazed at the stars and imagined constellations, Abbas imagined wickets. This memory captures the single-mindedness that would eventually make him a great batsman. He even mentions his earliest supporters, including Saadat Ali, a club cricket organiser, who helped his early progress by introducing him to cricket clubs including his own Park Crescent Club, which signed him for grade-level cricket.

Abbas recalls watching greats such as Wes Hall, Hanif Mohammad and Rohan Kanhai in action, unaware he might one day share the dressing room with them. He also recalls realising he needed glasses and that, during his playing days, many people, including Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, urged him to try lenses.

He says that, although his international journey began with disappointment, he soon became a regular in the Pakistan squad after scoring 274 against England in 1971. That innings helped him a lot, as his name appeared in newspapers in both England and Pakistan, and it helped him meet his idol, Sir Garry Sobers. He also recalls meeting Sir Don Bradman, who said he had never seen another batsman less likely to lose his wicket.

Such anecdotes are delightful, but they also reveal the book’s central weakness: they are often too brief and too straightforward. A good editor would have polished these passages so that revisiting them would have been a treat. Sadly, that’s not the case here, as the narrative jumps from one place to another, then back to the old one.

The achievements themselves are remarkable. In 1976, Abbas had scored 2,000 first-class runs by early August, breaking a decade-old county cricket record . In 1977, he became the first batsman to score a hundred and a double hundred in the same match on three occasions. His first encounter with Ian Botham and the lighter stories from county cricket, including a car accident involving five Gloucestershire players, offer welcome glimpses of life beyond the scorecard.

The book also touches on the players’ stand against inadequate match fees, which preceded Kerry Packer’s intervention in world cricket. Abbas explains the reasoning behind World Series Cricket, as well as the decisions that led to star Pakistani players missing a home series against England but returning to play against India. These episodes deserved considerably more space, given their impact on the players’ international careers and the future of professional cricket.

Abbas’ county career receives more coverage than his international career. The 1978 India-Pakistan tour gets only four paragraphs, while the book discusses only one World Cup innings: his celebrated 93 against the West Indies at the 1979 World Cup. His batting slump from 1979 to 1981, when he struggled against India, the West Indies and Australia, also warranted more attention.

His account of the 1982 Australian tour and the captaincy controversy involving Javed Miandad mirrors what he wrote in Zed. The episode offers an intriguing glimpse into dressing room politics, though it could have gone deeper, especially since he is no longer an active player. Yes, he mentions his stints as ICC president and match referee (only briefly), but he says nothing about the most important event of his post-retirement career: his involvement, or lack thereof, during Pakistan’s 2006 tour of England, when he was the manager and the team forfeited a Test match.

Had the book been written in collaboration with a proper cricket journalist, he might have started there, with Abbas reflecting on his career in England and how the players representing the country agreed to an action that left a black mark on cricket relations between the two countries. But it goes directly ‘from A to Zed’, just as the title mentions.

The biggest revelation in this book is regarding Abbas’ retirement from the game in October 1985. After 78 Tests and 16 years at the highest level, he eventually felt his body could no longer withstand the demands of Test cricket. He wanted to focus on one-day internationals but, as he reveals, the captain, Imran Khan, reportedly made it clear that leaving Test cricket meant leaving the game altogether.

Ultimately, From A to Zed is an enjoyable reminder of Zaheer Abbas’ extraordinary achievements, but it is not the definitive account his career deserves. His memories provide enough material for a compelling autobiography. What is missing is the depth, editorial care and personal candour that was needed to make it truly memorable.

The reviewer is a broadcast journalist who also writes on sports, film, television and popular culture. X: @omair78

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, November 1st, 2026

The Maid’s Secret
By Nita Prose
HarperCollins
ISBN: 978-0008708542
403pp.

In 2022, the Canadian-born novelist Nita Prose rocketed to fame with her debut novel, The Maid, which sold over two million copies. She constructed a murder mystery around the character of Molly Gray, a remarkably dedicated and diligent maid at the Regency Grand Hotel (RGH). Molly plays detective when a body is discovered in the hotel’s opulent penthouse suite.

Prose’s debut was followed by The Mystery Guest (2023), and The Maid’s Secret (2025) completes the trilogy. (Incidentally, The Mistletoe Mystery, a novella featuring Molly, was also published in 2024.)

While each novel can be read as a standalone work, readers will be drawn to read all three because Molly’s character and the backstory of her beloved grandmother, Flora Gray, steal the show throughout. Although the first two novels were ostensibly murder mysteries, a large portion of each was committed to underscoring Flora’s story, who basically trained Molly in the arts of housekeeping and housecleaning.

The Maid’s Secret does not contain a murder per se. However, it focuses on a piece of art which Molly inherited from her grandmother, and which she firmly believes is a good imitation of a Fabergé egg. The originals were trinkets (egg-shaped objects made of precious metals and gems) designed by the House of Fabergé, which acquired great value over time, especially due to the patronage of Russian tsars who often presented them to their wives and loved ones.

The third part of a trilogy revisits the main protagonist hotel maid and her beloved late grandmother who trained her, and adds in an inherited multi-million dollar Faberge egg

Excitement builds at the RGH when a pair of very prestigious auctioneers, Thomas Beagle and Baxley Brown, decide to appraise various objects belonging to the hotel staff for an entertaining TV show. Much to the surprise of Molly and her fiancé Juan Manuel (a Mexican-born immigrant who works at the RGH as a pastry chef), they assess that Molly’s trinket is a genuine Fabergé egg, which can potentially be sold for several million dollars.

Molly is overcome with apprehension, but everyone else, ranging from auction groupies to the hotel’s staff, is wildly excited. The hotel manager, Mr Snow, immediately places the egg in the hotel’s office safe, and the doorman, Mr Preston, is particularly thrilled because he loved Molly’s grandmother in their youth and appreciates the fact that Molly will now be able to live a rags-to-riches story.

Ironically, the only one who is less than thrilled is Molly herself, since the televised aspect of the find leaves her with no privacy whatsoever. A truly virtuous and humble young woman, Molly has no desire to be catapulted into the fame of becoming a millionairess. However, Brown and Beagle rightly claim that the find is too major to be ignored, since the egg appears to be the major prototype of several others that were created after it.

Interspersed with the action of Molly’s story, the reader is made privy to the egg’s provenance, which is inextricably linked to Flora’s story. Flora was born and raised in a highly privileged milieu in the earlier half of the 1900s. Intelligent and sensitive, she eventually rebelled against her snobbish parents’ desire to force her into marrying a consummate rake, Algernon Braun.

It turns out that the egg (which ends up being gifted to Flora) was stolen by the Braun family from a noble, rich baron who was a major art collector. Molly only discovers all this by reading her grandmother’s diary during the latter portion of the novel. The reader will find the connections between Beagle, Brown, Braun, and Barons entertaining, albeit somewhat predictable.

Over the course of the novel, the egg gets dramatically stolen during the auction that is set up for it. Much to everyone’s surprise, however, it gets returned to Molly. In a startling plot twist, the thief places it in Molly’s RGH housekeeping trolley, amidst a mound of toilet paper! Given that the auction valued the egg at close to $10 million, this plot twist comes across as highly amusing.

Molly eventually figures out who the thief is and why he took such pains to first steal the egg and then put it back in her belongings. While the mystery is enjoyable, and its solution quite satisfying, only about half the space of the novel is devoted to it — the rest of the novel consists primarily of Flora’s story.

Nita Prose never really manages to make Flora Gray emerge as an authentic character, possibly because too much of her tale involves recounting a plot which tends to become tedious on occasion. Molly comes across as a far more interesting character because one can sympathise with her, thereby experiencing her feelings and sentiments, rather than having them placed mundanely before one in the form of a slightly dull, saccharine diary.

Moreover, the portion of the mystery that focuses on Molly’s friends and acquaintances does tremendous justice to minor characters. Cheryl, a supremely lazy maid, is as well-sketched as a young man named Speedy, whom Mr Preston is training to take over as the hotel’s doorman. Speedy’s speech contains some hilarious malapropisms; for instance, when asked to be discreet, he quips, “Excretion is my middle name!”

Little details, such as the point that Juan Manuel takes great pride in making beautiful animal figures out of marzipan (which he calls “marzipanimals”) make the Molly-segment of the book far more engrossing than the section devoted to her grandmother’s youth.

It is evident that Nita Prose enjoys placing her heroine in predicaments which require Molly to use her own intelligence actively and assiduously. Molly does not disappoint; she approaches every mystery she encounters as if it were a particularly difficult piece of furniture that requires cleaning and polishing.

Naturally, a fair bit of the novel requires a suspension of disbelief — one can understand why Flora eventually found Algernon to be repulsive, but the manner in which she flees from her snooty parents is undeniably far-fetched. Be that as it may, Molly’s relationship with Juan Manuel is based on real love and, although the Fabergé egg ends up causing her no end of trouble, her fiancé admirably sticks by her through thick and thin.

This may be why one simply smiles rather than groans as the novel ends on the maudlin but sweet phrase “love is the greatest gift of all.” The moral of the story is that good-hearted Mexican immigrants can provide one with more satisfaction than glittering Fabergé eggs can!

The reviewer is Associate Professor of Social Sciences and Liberal Arts at the Institute of Business Administration. She has authored two collections of short stories, Timeless College Tales and Perennial College Tales and a play, The Political Chess King

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, November 1st, 2026

Dr Nasir Abbas Nayyar is a distinguished Urdu critic and short story writer, whose critical writings initiated postcolonial debates in Urdu literary studies. He has authored several books on the theoretical and practical aspects of modern and postmodern criticism and has produced detailed analytical studies of major classical and modern Urdu texts. In his fiction, he portrays the existential and psychological conditions of human beings in a unique manner, particularly those shaped by history and destiny.

This book is his second collection of English essays and columns published in various newspapers and periodicals. It engages with literature, history and the contemporary world. His first compilation came out in 2021.

Pakistan Wars and Peace
Brig (retd) A.R. Siddiqi
Delhi Punjabi Saudagran Foundation

Brig (r) Abdul Rahman Siddiqi, who turned 102 on September 6 this year, has, through the years, been in the thick of events at critical junctures of history. He joined the Inter-Services Public Relations (ISPR) as a captain in 1950 and rose to the rank of brigadier in 1970. He retired in September 1973.

With his weapon of choice being the pen, before joining the army, he enjoyed a wonderfully diverse cycle of experiences as a journalist, first with Dawn as a sub-editor in 1947 in Delhi and then as a special correspondent for the Civil and Military Gazette in Lahore from 1947 to 1950, when he joined the army. After retirement, he launched the monthly Defence Journal in early 1975.

The book presents a cross-section of articles from the Defence Journal, including a detailed account of the 1971 war that led to the creation of Bangladesh. It is a fascinating read, offering insights into the officer corps’ thinking on both sides and the individual and collective heroics of frontline warriors. It also introduces readers to the geography of the erstwhile East Pakistan and to the quaint villages, steeped in splendid isolation and anonymity, which suddenly rose to prominence because of their strategic locations. The book also contains chapters on military philosophy that apply equally to civilian life.

Shahjehan Syed Karim — The Journey: From Public Service to
Lasting Legacy
Ejaz Wasay
Lightstone Publishers

The book traces the remarkable path of Shahjehan Syed Karim from British India through decades of distinguished service in the Pakistan Civil Service and the United Nations.

It explores the experiences, choices and values that shaped him and ultimately led to his greatest legacy: the founding of the Institute of Business Management (IoBM), one of Pakistan’s most respected educational institutions.

The book has been written by Ejaz Wasay, who has over 50 years of marketing experience with leading multinational and local companies. He also served as president of the Marketing Association of Pakistan in 2005 and has been a juror for the PAS and Effie Pakistan awards since their inception. Wasay was also head of media studies and associate professor at IoBM, the very institution founded by the man whose life the book chronicles.

Unconventional: The Bank No One Saw Coming
Sibtain Naqvi
Liberty Publishing

The book tells the story of Meezan Bank, which is not just the history of a financial institution. What began as a small initiative in a challenging environment grew into Pakistan’s first Islamic bank.

The book chronicles the turning points, the trials and triumphs that helped the bank grow from a bold idea into a leading commercial bank. As Pakistan’s Islamic banking leader, Meezan has not just earned a market share but deep corporate trust.

From almost nothing 23 years ago, Islamic banking now accounts for almost one-fourth of a much larger banking sector. The journey towards the goal of establishing Islamic banking in Pakistan, as narrated in the book, makes for fascinating reading.

September ’65
Brig (retd) Amjad Ali Khan Chaudhry
Lahore School of Economics

This is the third edition of the same book, published in 1977 and 2015. It is dedicated to all ranks of 4 Corps Artillery, about whose performance in the September 1965 war then president Gen Ayub Khan wrote: “By all accounts the part played by the 4 Corps Artillery can only be termed as magnificent.”

This latest edition has a foreword by the former chairman of the Senate Standing Committee on Defence and Defence Production, Mushahid Hussain Sayed.

He writes: “Both September 1965 and May 2025 were blatant acts of aggression by India against Pakistan, violating international law and the United Nations Charter. In both military encounters, Pakistan got the better of India, which emerged badly bruised and, in both situations, the Pakistan Air Force excelled.

“Both military encounters saw China and Turkey firmly supporting Pakistan, militarily and diplomatically. Both military encounters galvanised the Pakistani nation through pride in Pakistani nationalism, backed by a deep-rooted patriotic fervour. Finally, the way Pakistan repulsed Indian aggression in September 1965 and in May 2025 clearly demonstrated that size does not equal strength and the determinants of a country’s national defence include will and skill, morale and motivation, talent and technology.”

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, November 1st, 2026

You hear it again: more gasps. The lighting is low, a droning score builds tension, and your heart rate climbs. The people around you continue to audibly react. You haven’t seen anything scary yet, so what is everyone else responding to?

The camera slowly pulls back, and then you see her: Annie, Peter’s possessed mother, crouched on the ceiling in an unnatural way.

Watch the scene again and you might notice that Annie was in the shadows on the ceiling the whole time, following Peter through the house.

Halloween may be over, but the scares are far from finished. From ghosts lurking in the background to figures glimpsed out of the corner of your eye, horror films know exactly how to exploit the tricks your brain plays on you

How could you have missed a human being on the ceiling, in plain view?

As a cognitive psychologist who studies visual perception, I’ve noticed that horror movies often exploit the gap between what’s in front of your eyes and what you consciously see. Directors and cinematographers act like folk cognitive psychologists, intuitively drawing your attention exactly where it needs to be to create a scare.

DIRECTING YOUR ATTENTION

Horror movie fans have pointed out numerous examples of spooky figures and other unnoticed details in the background of scenes.

These blind spots exist because your visual system can’t process everything in a scene at once. You extract detailed information only from wherever your attention is directed. Anything outside the spotlight of your attention may go unnoticed, no matter how strange.

Inattentional blindness is the failure to notice something in plain view because your attention is engaged elsewhere. It’s the phenomenon behind the infamous invisible gorilla experiment, in which about half of participants busy counting basketball passes failed to notice a person in a gorilla suit strolling through the middle of the game.

Horror leans on inattentional blindness frequently, from the ghost boy in Insidious to the background ghosts scattered through Netflix’s The Haunting of Hill House. Something is plainly visible, though you often don’t notice it until a rewatch, and this delayed discovery can make the scene even creepier.

A related effect, change blindness, is the failure to notice something changing right in front of you. The difference can be as simple as a shirt’s colour or something drastic like the possessed girl Janet in The Conjuring 2 morphing into an old man during her interview with Ed Warren. The camera stays on Ed while Janet sits slightly blurred in the background, making the transformation easy to miss until she abruptly changes back.

Directors also steer your attention to set up a scare, pulling your focus away from something creepy, or putting it in exactly the right spot just before a jump scare.

Eyeline match is a perfect example of this strategy. In The Conjuring, a girl sits up in bed, her fearful eyes fixed upward. The film cuts to reveal she’s staring at the ghost Bathsheba, crouched atop a wardrobe.

This editing technique works because it’s similar to something your visual system does: when someone near you looks sharply in one direction, your eyes follow automatically. Psychologists call this tendency ‘gaze cueing’, a reliable effect in attention research. Editing just mimics the real-life version to create tension, which resolves the moment you finally see what the character sees.

Sometimes directors do the opposite, giving your attention nothing to follow at all. The opening sequence of It Follows is a wide shot of a panicked girl running in and out of her house. With no eyeline or cut to guide you, the wide framing forces you into visual search, scanning corner to corner for a danger that may not even be there yet. Will something appear in a window? Follow her out the door? The uncertainty and the search build the tension.

THE SPLIT BETWEEN DETECTING AND IDENTIFYING

Your visual field isn’t equally good at everything: some parts of your visual system perform the initial detection, others identify what was detected. For example, the fovea, a tiny pit in the retina that processes the spot you’re looking directly at, contains photoreceptors called cones that process fine detail and colour.

Beyond that central spot is your peripheral vision, dominated by photoreceptors called rods that are sensitive to motion and low light rather than detail. In a sense, your peripheral vision is set up to help you quickly answer the question: “Did something just move?”

When there’s motion at the edge of your vision, your peripheral system detects it almost instantly. Your eyes make a saccade — a rapid eye movement — to place the fovea on to the target to identify it. That gap between detecting and identifying can create a feeling of unease because something registered, something is there, but you can’t yet say what.

Playing with peripheral vision is almost a trope in horror movies now. Think of any hallway or mirror scene where you’re focused on a character and something moves behind them, grabbing your attention before you can figure out what it is.

FACES WHERE THERE ARE NONE

Human beings evolved to quickly detect, identify and respond to potential threats, such as moving animals. That’s one reason vision is so sensitive to detecting movement.

It also explains why people are prone to pareidolia: the human bias toward detecting faces even where none exist. Have you ever seen a face in your curtains or toast? Missing a real face is potentially far costlier than perceiving a fake one, so our brains likely evolved to respond even to patterns that vaguely resemble faces.

Midsommar exploits pareidolia directly. As Dani is carried towards the feast after her crowning as May Queen, viewers have noticed a face in the trees. The Night House uses a similar trick, where ambiguous object configurations resolve into figures and faces that capture your attention. The 1963 film The Haunting does the same with a wall pattern during a particularly creepy scene.

Directors decide what you get to see and what they leave hidden, from ambiguous shapes to sudden movements to shadowy figures in the background. They seem to understand how your visual system works, and they use this knowledge to create tension in that space between perception and recognition, as your brain tries to determine what, exactly, you’re seeing.

The writer is Assistant Professor of Psychology at the University of Richmond in the US

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, November 1st, 2026

Tenzing (2026, Apple TV)

The story of the first successful ascent of Mount Everest in 1953 has often been told through the figure of New Zealand climber Edmund Hillary. But what about Tenzing Norgay, the Sherpa mountaineer who stood beside him on the summit?

Tenzing, a new feature film directed by Jennifer Peedom, seeks to put Tenzing firmly back at the centre of his own story.

Starring Genden Phuntsok as Tenzing, alongside Tom Hiddleston as Edmund and Willem Dafoe as expedition leader John Hunt, the film follows the historic expedition and the struggle to have Tenzing recognised as a full member of the climbing team, rather than merely a supporting figure in a British-led endeavour. Caitríona Balfe plays expedition secretary Jill Henderson, while Thinley Lhamo portrays Tenzing’s wife, Dawa, whose encouragement is central to his journey.

What makes the story particularly compelling is the contrast between the climbers’ perspectives. For the Western expedition, Everest represents a formidable peak to be conquered; for Tenzing, Chomolungma — the Tibetan name for Everest — is also a sacred mountain, bound to his identity and spirituality. The film explores the tensions of class, colonial attitudes and recognition alongside the physical dangers of climbing at extreme altitude.

Take your pick from gripping mountain documentaries, stories of record-breaking climbs and a Hollywood blockbuster that takes danger to ridiculous new heights. There’s plenty in Icon’s selection to keep you glued

Peedom, whose previous works include the acclaimed mountaineering documentaries Sherpa (2016) and Mountain (2017), brings considerable experience of high-altitude storytelling to the project. The result is a timely reminder that mountaineering history is not only about who reaches the summit, but whose contribution gets remembered.

Tenzing arrived on Apple TV earlier this month. It’s a compelling watch for mountain lovers and anyone interested in the people behind one of the greatest achievements in climbing history.

The Last First: Winter K2 (2026, Apple TV)

Within days of Apple TV being available for Pakistanis, The Last First: Winter K2 made its debut on the platform and immediately hit #1 globally.

What happens when one of the world’s most dangerous mountains becomes the stage for a race involving national pride, commercial interests, social media and the pursuit of mountaineering glory?

The Last First: Winter K2, directed by Amir Bar-Lev, offers a gripping and deeply unsettling look at the 2021 expedition to summit K2 in winter — a feat that had eluded climbers for decades. The documentary premiered on Apple TV on October 2.

At its heart are Icelandic climber John Snorri Sigurjónsson and Pakistani father-and-son mountaineers Muhammad Ali Sadpara and Sajid Sadpara, who set out to achieve the historic first winter ascent of the 8,611-metre peak. Their expedition becomes increasingly complicated when they find themselves sharing the mountain with Nirmal “Nims” Purja and his Nepali team, commercial expedition clients and a growing media entourage.

What begins as an extraordinary test of endurance and technical skill evolves into a much bigger story about ambition, class, power, money and who gets credit for achievements in the mountains. The film draws on expedition footage and interviews to revisit a climb that ended in tragedy, with Ali Sadpara, John Snorri and Juan Pablo Mohr failing to return from the mountain.

For Pakistani audiences, the documentary carries particular weight. Ali Sadpara was one of the country’s most celebrated mountaineers, while Sajid’s survival and subsequent efforts to understand what happened give the story an intensely personal dimension.

This is not simply another adrenaline-fuelled climbing film. It asks uncomfortable questions about the commercialisation of extreme mountaineering, the pressure to achieve records and the human cost of pursuing them. For anyone interested in Pakistan’s mountains, this is essential viewing.

Vertical Limit (2000, Netflix)

Just for fun, why don’t we kick back and watch this classic? Directed by Martin Campbell and starring Chris O’Donnell, Robin Tunney and Bill Paxton, Vertical Limit follows a desperate rescue mission on K2, Pakistan’s 8,611-metre giant, after a climbing team becomes trapped in an ice cavern.

Released in 2000, the Hollywood blockbuster grossed more than $200 million worldwide, bringing high-altitude adventure to audiences far beyond the climbing community. With spectacular mountain scenery, avalanches, daredevil rescues and enough cliff-hangers to exhaust even the fittest climber, Vertical Limit helped fuel popular imagination around mountaineering.

For many viewers, it was an introduction to the drama and danger of climbing the world’s highest peaks. For actual mountaineers, however, it is something of a comedy: the improbable stunts, questionable safety practices and increasingly ridiculous plot twists make it difficult to take Vertical Limit seriously. The opening climbing sequence alone is enough to make seasoned climbers wince.

Still, the film has a special appeal for Pakistani audiences. Set on K2, it brings the country’s extraordinary mountain landscape to the screen, even if the Hollywood version takes considerable liberties with reality. More than two decades later, Vertical Limit remains an entertaining, over-the-top adventure — best enjoyed with a healthy dose of disbelief, especially if you have ever climbed a mountain yourself. Watch it for the spectacle; stay for the mountaineering absurdity.

Savage Mountain (2026, Sky Documentaries/NOW)

A new documentary, Savage Mountain, revisits Kristin Harila’s record-breaking 2023 ascent of the world’s 14 highest peaks in just 92 days, alongside climbing partner Tenjen “Lama” Sherpa, and the controversy surrounding the death of Pakistani high-altitude porter Mohammad Hassan on K2.

Directed by Even Sigstad, the film draws on previously unseen footage to examine ambition, ethics and the human cost of pursuing mountaineering records. It is streaming on Sky Documentaries and NOW in the UK, but is not currently listed for streaming in Pakistan.

It is particularly disappointing that a film so deeply connected to Pakistan’s mountains, and to the death of a Pakistani porter, may be inaccessible to audiences in the very country where its central events unfolded. Pakistani viewers deserve the opportunity to watch and engage with this story, too.

The writer is a journalist, an award-winning documentary filmmaker and radio correspondent. She can be reached at syed.madeeha@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, ICON, November 1st, 2026

Mohabbat Mukhtasir | Hum TV, Sundays 8.00pm

Maaz (Usama Kh­an) and Mirha (Madiha Imam) think they are strangers who found love by chance, but their fates were connected before they met. Black-and-white characters and a harsh socio-economic divide make for a good story, but leave out the nuance.

Usama Khan and Madiha Imam play up their soft sides, bringing life to their ‘meet cute’. But, like most romantic comedies, their interactions are very politically incorrect. Maaz chasing Mirha seems fun because the audience is in on the joke, otherwise it would be considered workplace harassment. However, the writer does score an emotional point by allowing Maaz to be a soothing presence in the heroine’s life, rather than an angry alpha male.

Atiqa Odho and Alyy Khan play the nasty couple from hell very well, but it is hard to understand how their son Maaz turned out to be a good man. Lurking in the background are hints of Maaz’s father’s fraudulent and criminal actions. Maaz has lived a stolen life that should have belonged to Mirha. This serial is simple, entertaining and popular, but could have been better with a faster pace.

Mohabbat | Geo TV, Mon-Tues 8.00pm

Some serials are so layered and well-written that, even if they lose the interest of the masses, they can still garner critical praise. Others can be pure masala and have no pretensions beyond mere entertainment, yet still succeed. Mohabbat is neither of those, yet curiously manages to capture a decent audience share, possibly due to Feroze Khan’s occasional appearances.

In this show, no mother wants her son happy, whether she is a DHA begum or a lower-middle-class ammaji. Yahya’s (Feroze Khan) wealthy mother is vicious in persecuting her son’s secretary and love interest, Asiya (Nawal Saeed), so she disappears. Asiya wants to convince Yahya and his mother, Saleha Nizami (Savera Nadeem), that she is dead, but lands a job at Yahya’s chief competitor and rival. Funnily enough, she even tells the rival the exact details of her affair. Now he plans to use her for information and revenge.

Meanwhile, the real secret behind this show’s ratings, Shahvir Kadwani (younger son of producer Abdullah Kadwani), is forced to confront his close relationship with his friend Meherman (Aina Asif). Shahvir Kadwani is still a novice actor, and a lot of work is required to make him a better performer.

Hey Fam | ARY Digital, Wed-Thurs 8.00pm

After Seerat (Duaa Zahra) goes viral with a funny Instagram post, she enters a new world where everyone wants to meet her, but they also judge her.

Faizan (Zaviyar Ijaz), an investigative journalist, is starting a podcast and needs her fame, but is contemptuous of her ignorance. Her conservative fiancé, Adnan (Hassan Khan), and her neighbours are shocked and distance themselves from her family after her appearance on a morning show. The people who stand by Seerat are her family, especially her father, Mumtaz Ansari (Nauman Masood), who defends and encourages her. The serial takes us on a journey into the world of ‘new media’ as opposed to its more traditional counterpart, and explores how it is often misunderstood. This would be a much better show if it had been shot in a more serious style, rather than as a slapstick comedy.

Duaa Zahra is difficult to watch, despite being a YouTube star herself, as her childish and zany presentation is more irritating than sweet. The story makes some good points, but is handicapped by the silly, slapstick genre it has chosen to inhabit. Zaviyar Ijaz is the one performer who, despite his flashy styling, gives the better performance.

What To Watch Out For (Or Not)

[Unnamed] | ARY Digital, Coming soon

After last year’s Parwarish and Kafeel, director Meesam Naqvi is shooting a new script with Aashir Wajahat and Samar Jafri, highlighting Gen-Z issues.

Published in Dawn, ICON, November 1st, 2026

Written at the height of the Cold War “Red Scare”, Arthur Miller’s 1952 play The Crucible was a retelling of the 17th-century Salem witch trials (1692-93), which soon became the classic parable of mass hysteria.

Miller’s play has long been described as “a cornerstone of American theatre” and “an allegory of our times.” Adapted into a 1996 Oscar-nominated Hollywood film, recent stage revivals on Broadway (2016) and at the UK’s National Theatre (2022) further confirm its enduring popularity.

A staple of the high-school syllabus (a YouTube search yields over 3,200 school productions), the play has also come to shape popular understandings of early modern witchcraft. As Miller (1915-2005) foresaw, its interpretation of Salem became a flexible model applicable to other tragedies — so flexible, in fact, that “witch-hunt” has, in recent years, devolved into a virtually meaningless political catchphrase.

While acknowledging some artistic licence, Miller still claimed to have captured Salem’s “essential nature”, insisting that “the fate of each character is exactly that of his historical model.” As a work of history, however, The Crucible is deeply flawed; as a morality tale, it can even be described as positively harmful.

Arthur Miller’s celebrated 1952 play The Crucible was as much a reaction to his own marital failings as it was to mass hysteria

DRAMATIC TWIST

The central conflict driving the play — and the witch-hunt — is sparked by the illicit romance between John Proctor, an affluent householder, and his former teenage servant, Abigail Williams.

As the witch-hunt unfolds, Abigail — described in the stage instructions as “a strikingly beautiful girl… with an endless capacity for dissembling” — feigns bewitchment and accuses Proctor’s suspicious wife Elizabeth (who had dismissed her from their service), in an apparent bid to take her place.

To save his wife and undermine Abigail’s credibility, Proctor confesses to the affair. This gamble, however, spectacularly backfires when Elizabeth perjures herself, denying knowledge of the relationship to save her husband’s reputation — a dramatic twist that legitimises their servant’s accusations and seals their fate.

Notoriously, the Salem court executed only those who maintained their innocence. In the final act, Proctor is offered a reprieve if he confesses to witchcraft, but he dramatically refuses to lie: “How may I live without my name?… I have given you my soul; leave me my name!”

With this final defiance, the flawed hero chooses death and redeems himself. To drive that point home, the play concludes with Elizabeth’s absolution: “He have his goodness now.”

In his 1987 autobiography, Timebends: A Life, Miller described visiting “half-forsaken” Salem himself and going through the records and accounts in its Historical Society building.

“Almost every testimony I had read,” he recalled, “revealed the sexual theme, either open or barely concealed.” He found “hard evidence” of Abigail Williams’ “determination to get Elizabeth murdered”, recognising in one description “the joyous terror of the killer about to strike.” In a 1996 New Yorker article, he maintained again that “John Proctor had bedded Abigail.”

John Proctor was indeed one of the 19 victims of the Salem witch-hunt; Elizabeth survived the panic, her execution at first postponed because of a pregnancy. The real-life Proctor had also been a scathing critic of the court’s use of spectral evidence — the diabolical fits supposedly experienced by the child accusers.

This, however, is where the historical evidence and Miller’s drama diverge. Proctor was in his 60s, not in “his middle 30s.” Abigail Williams is presented as 17 in the play; she is played by a 24-year-old Winona Ryder on screen. Miller acknowledged that “Abigail’s age had been raised” but never stated by how much. Contemporary sources make clear that she was at most 12 years old. There is no evidence she was ever Proctor’s servant, let alone his lover.

ART IMITATING LIFE

All too often, when we study early modern witches, we see ourselves. Miller’s supposed “hard evidence” was little more than personal projection. In Timebends, the playwright admitted that he “had been searching a long time for a tragic hero.”

In The New Yorker, he reflected how his own marital failings had caused him to empathise with Proctor: “My own marriage of 12 years was teetering and I knew more than I wished to know about where the blame lay. That John Proctor the sinner might overturn his paralysing personal guilt and become the most forthright voice against the madness around him was a reassurance to me and, I suppose, an inspiration.”

This relatable Proctor did not exist; Miller had invented him.

This points to two ways in which The Crucible is a deeply problematic work of fiction. First, by blaming the Salem tragedy on Abigail Williams, Miller roots a witch-hunt — of all things — in female malice. Second, by constructing Proctor as his hero, the playwright also employs the play and its supposed historic content as a vehicle for his own redemption.

Underpinning both distortions is a refusal to engage with the complexities of history. They show how easy and tempting it is to simply invert the original moral polarity, transforming not only accused witches into saints, but an allegedly bewitched child into a conniving teenage vixen.

Historians now recognise that many of Salem’s young accusers were deeply traumatised survivors of the Indian Wars (1688-97); some even witnessed the brutal murder of their parents. Abigail, too, was orphaned, though the cause remains unknown.

Attributing blame and responsibility is rarely as straightforward as we would like it to be. Historical research requires careful study of both the evidence and our own biases. The Crucible does not capture the “essential nature” of the Salem witch-hunt, but it does reveal a great deal about its mid-20th century author — and the anxieties, desires and misogyny that drove him.

The writer is Reader in History, Archaeology and Religion at Cardiff University in the UK

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, November 1st, 2026

When local police chief Ko Bum-seok (Hwang Jung-min, The Wailing, Veteran) arrives on scene, he is met by a party of hunters armed with heavy firepower, led by Ko Sung-ki (Zo In-sung, Escape from Mogadishu, The King), the police chief’s headstrong cousin. They’re convinced that a tiger has come in from the mountains and forest near the village.

Their claim has a fatal flaw: the slash marks on the cow are deeper than any tiger known to man.

The hunting team is sent into the woods, while Ko Bum-seok rides into the city and notices the carnage: the market is vacant and torn apart, pillars of smoke rise from alleyways, followed by gunfire and screams. Then, he sees a car tumbling over a screaming man who is trying to run away. A few seconds later, a bicycle flies from an alleyway just around the bend, totalling the shop front that he was standing in front of.

Pakistan’s shorter theatrical cut gives Hope a much-needed boost, but director Na Hong-jin’s unwieldy alien thriller still struggles to live up to its monstrous ambitions

And then, he sees it: a 10-foot humanoid monster, screaming like a banshee, running through the streets towards him like a derailed locomotive. The heavy-duty guns are mostly ineffective against it — however, something catches Ko Bum-seok’s eye: the monster is crying and angry — it almost looks pitiful.

By now, nearly an hour has passed into Na Hong-jin’s two-hour, 36-minute-long film. So far, its relationship with the viewer has been a tough push-and-pull game.

Hope’s build-up, thick with atmosphere and ambiguity, keeps one in intrigue while the hunting party sidetrack pulls one out of the pace and emotion. To misquote Rudyard Kipling, it would have been better if never the twain should have met. But then they do… in the version I saw days before Hope’s Pakistani release (available to rent online).

The awkward, long drawn-out pace of the original cut wasn’t as great a creative call for the director of The Wailing — a film that pays off in spades after the end (you have to really think about it in order to get it) — nor is Hope as engaging as Na Hong-jin’s perfect serial killer thriller The Chaser.

Na Hong-jin should have cut the movie down to size instead. So imagine my surprise when the local version did just that: Hope’s theatrical Pakistan cut slashes 25 minutes off the original runtime. The reduction improves the pacing and the viewer’s connection, and makes the unappealing aspects (of which there are quite a few) less conspicuous.

Despite this tightening, one still disagrees with the monster designs and story.

The main monster, Va’migere, is stylistically different from the others. While it looks like a reject from the Attack on Titan anime — and moves like one too — its ilk share starkly different designs.

The second, Ma’veyyo, a giant dog-like creature, looks like it lunged out from a Resident Evil game. The third, Ai’dovor, is a long-limbed female with nature-esque traits, blending more naturally with the forest and the trees. And the fourth, J’aur, is another giant female. However, she has antler-like branches coming out of her back, a shiny, opal-like complexion, and visibly defined lips, as if she just put on some make-up.

The creatures are aliens voiced by Hollywood actors Michael Fassbender, Alicia Vikander, Taylor Russell and Cameron Britton, playing Ma’veyyo, J’aur, Ai’dovor and Va’migere, the first alien that bulldozed the village, respectively.

Near the climax, they speak — their human forms and faces emoting intelligence, sadness and a backstory. The audience realises that we humans are the bigger monsters, and that a much larger intergalactic threat looms. The reveal is late, inelegant and unenticing, signalling a part two that may never come (the $46 million film has only grossed $47 million to date).

Unlike his last few films, Na Hong-jin let the cat slip out of the bag on this one. While his main actors, Hwang Jung-min, Zo In-sung and Jung Ho-yeon (playing Im Sung-ae, the tough rookie cop you see in the trailers and posters) are fine performers, one hardly connects with their characters, given how little we know of their backstories.

If the director had stuck to consistent designs, streamlined the story and kept the bigger reveals for sequels, Hope could have hoped for a better run in cinemas — especially if it was cut down like the far better Pakistani version.

Released by Hum Films in Urdu (rather, Hindi) and English-dubbed versions, Hope is rated “U”, despite showing scenes of hacking, slashing and an alien’s autopsy

The writer is Icon’s primary film reviewer

Published in Dawn, ICON, November 1st, 2026

It was 15 years ago that the drama serial Humsafar — directed by Sarmad Khoosat and starring Fawad Khan, Mahira Khan and Naveen Waqar — became, arguably, the most popular Pakistani TV play of the 21st century. Last week, Hum TV, which aired the Momina Duraid production, announced on social media that it will dub Humsafar into Spanish. This prompted a swift comment on a social media post from Sarmad K, “If only there were royalties.” Yep, we agree with him. The tiny problem is, these things need to be negotiated prior to undertaking a project.

The Netflix Complex

Actress Urwa Hocane is a trifle miffed. She doesn’t like it when people who are associated with Pakistan’s showbiz industry praise their product using the phrase “Netflix quality.” The actress, in an interview, said that she finds it lame when someone commends a project by using such a phrase because she thinks local productions are doing way better on their own. Well, it’s a bit of a head-scratching moment for us. We await and hope for the time when Netflix producers start calling their products “Pakistani drama quality.”

Rashmika’s Wish List

Actress Rashmika Mandanna appeared on an episode of the last season of Koffee with Karan. During the chitchat with the host, filmmaker Karan Johar, aka K-Jo, she replied to a question about which Bollywood star she’d like to work with. So far, Rashmika M has mostly worked in Kannada, Telugu and Tamil films, though she has appeared in a couple of big name Hindi films as well, where critics have criticised her Hindi delivery. In her words, she said, “It would be really interesting to have a Shah Rukh Khan and Rashmika Mandanna film.” Girl, two things. First, the feeling has to be mutual, so SRK should want that too. Second, given your mostly forgettable roles so far, we’re not sure it would be really interesting.

Zoya Schools Haris

A few weeks ago, actor Haris Waheed ran into comedian Sacha Baron Cohen in London who, addressing Pakistanis, said, “Yo, big up the Pakistan, man.” It prompted responses full of praise from local netizens. But then actress Zoya Nasir raised a very pertinent point about the hype. She reminded people about the openly Zionist comedian’s past and present, and that his comedy is replete with racial and religious stereotypes. “I’m sorry, but the sheer lack of awareness is staggering. Sacha Baron Cohen has been openly hostile towards Muslims. [The] majority of his movies back that up,” she wrote on Instagram. Spot on, Zoya N! No applause for Sacha BC.

HSY’s Digital Disaster

Technology can be both bane and boon. When it’s the former, it can hurt you deeply. On October 20, someone hacked renowned fashion designer Hassan Sheheryar Yasin’s (HSY) WhatsApp, email and contact lists, putting him under a great deal of stress. He immediately took to Instagram and wrote, “Yesterday, 20 October, my phone, WhatsApp, email and contact list were compromised. I do not know the extent of the messages that may have been sent, but hundreds of people have received messages from my accounts.” We hope the hacker wasn’t able to release a new line of clothing. On a serious note, however, the government must take stern action against such miscreants. In this day and age of rapid technological development, there’s no reason why their whereabouts can’t be traced.

A Princely Name

Prince William made a surprise appearance, kinda, on the Graham Norton Show, with fellow guests including Cate Blanchett, Robert Irwin and Hannah Waddingham. As the programme went on, he revealed that, in his salad days, he had tried his hand at being a DJ, and the name that he chose for himself was “DJ Zara with an X.” This was a big moment on the show because not just the audience but his fellow guests became quite inquisitive about it — one of them even called the name “rubbish” — and put questions to him about the moniker and whether he had any moves. Prince William said he didn’t and confessed that he “never got that good.” Well, how about a new name — Prince of Xara and Wales?

Published in Dawn, ICON, November 1st, 2026

“Paid propaganda against a film is upsetting because the industry ends up paying the price. Reviews appear the morning after a Friday release, sometimes by people who haven’t even watched the film, using similar words.”

— Faysal Quraishi, actor

“A bad director will remain a bad director, no matter how many good actors they assemble in their movies. Period.”

— Shamoon Abbasi, actor and director

“Have you seen Kylie Jenner walking the ramp in Victoria’s Secret’s [$50] million [Fantasy] bra? People are appreciating it without thinking about the fact that Victoria’s Secret was secretly involved in the Epstein files. They’re also completely discarding the fact that a [$50] million bra could literally give so many homeless people a home. Where are women’s rights and gender equality?”

— Naeema Butt, actor

“People say individuals like Abu Bakar and his mother [in Dar-i-Nijaat] don’t exist in real life. Why are basic human traits like kindness, empathy, forgiveness and overlooking others’ flaws becoming so rare in our society that characters who display them seem unreal to us?”

— Umera Ahmed, writer

Published in Dawn, November 1st, 2026

The first Laam Fashion Week (LFW) took place in Lahore earlier this year. It was a razzling, dazzling, fashion-forward show, but one had seen many of those before. One had also heard promises in the past of sequels that never materialised, so one wasn’t sure a second edition would ever take place, especially at a time when the economy is seemingly perpetually in freefall, and wars keep breaking out across the globe.

Therefore, one wondered whether the second LFW would truly manage to arrive on schedule, delivering on its promise.

But the second edition of LFW did arrive, with a four-day-long second season that just culminated last Monday. The glamour of the catwalk, the red-carpet excitement and collections that inspired, surprised, and set trends in motion were all back. Of course, so were the not-so-good collections. After all, fashion weeks are not without their occupational hazards.

However, in retrospect, the highs of LFW far outweighed the lows.

Laam Fashion Week’s second edition brought 43 shows to the runway, mixing fresh talent with established names and bold ideas with collections that played it safe. It seems to have revived fashion weeks. More importantly, it has brought conversations about fashion back…

One remembers that, back when fashion weeks used to be dotted all through the yearly calendar, conversations about how being in the spotlight inspired designers to think out-of-the-box. Those conversations have now returned. The designer line-up featured the work of retail brands that mostly toed commercial lines but also, occasionally, made successful attempts at innovation.

The ‘LFW Edit’ segment featured the work of emerging labels with fresh ideas and, in many cases, impressive, cohesive collections. Given some time, these brands could become the future heavyweights of Pakistani fashion.

And then, there were the main designer showcases, featuring major veteran names, many of whom delivered work that was genuinely exciting.

FASHION, FOR THE FUTURE

It would be fair to say that ‘The Edit’ was possibly the most promising segment at LFW. The established designers have already proven their mettle. One is already acquainted with their aesthetic and knows, to some extent, what to expect from their shows. They already have their clientele sorted, their campaigns mapped out well in advance.

In contrast, some of the new names, curated in ‘The Edit’, introduced new ideas. There were some — not all — brands that had well-defined aesthetics and really knew their way down the runway. Some even went the extra mile with styling, proving that a thoughtfully put-together show can elevate a collection considerably.

It was quite refreshing: Hath Ghar with its Subcontinental ethos, Sadhbarg Lahore’s play with silhouettes, embroidery and prints, U & I by Umer Imrana’s focus on hand-woven textiles, Dhundli Zameen’s mixing and matching of trendy separates, Kibo bringing Japanese influences into the mix and Dreams by Arthur with his pro-Palestine fashion statement. Given some time, one could see some of these brands trickling their way to the main designers’ showcases, gaining popularity and loyal customer bases of their own.

“We are particularly proud of The LFW Edit,” says Executive Director, Designer Experience and Curation at Laam Fashion Week, Maheen Kardar. “LFW as a platform stands very much on the principle of a united, cohesive, singular voice of Pakistani fashion, and a big part of that is the future.

“The brands in ‘The Edit’ stand for that,” adds Maheen. “The ones you saw on the runway over the last four days were handpicked after much research. Some I had to convince to show! And they’ve done us proud — we have seen so much innovation, technique and signature styles. This will be a regular part of all the seasons going forward and we are incredibly excited.”

POWER PLAYS

Many of the main designer showcases also raised standards: Sania Maskatiya’s experimentation with silhouettes and patterns, Mihha’s delicate embellishments and beautiful garment construction, Duno By Hassan and Yahsir Waheed’s deconstructed, handcrafted garments, Emraan Rajput’s impeccable tailoring, Mo By Mohsin Tawasuli raising the bar with his expert draping and Fahad Hussayn’s intricate, gorgeous embroideries.

And let’s not forget Jugnu Studios’ extensive line of standout, head-turning prêt, Deepak Perwani’s fine finishing, Souchaj’s old-world classicism and the finale act by HSY, unfailingly delivering on drama and glamour.

Nilofer Shahid’s ‘invite-only’ showcase was outstanding, featuring treasures from the designer’s extensive archives, updated for the present-day catwalk. There were artisanal florals, embroideries inspired by different historical eras and regal silhouettes on an extensive catwalk that had the audience spellbound.

Many of the collections inspired ‘trend reports’ on social media the next day, with commentators analysing the ins and outs and design innovations.

It is important to note that many of the designers showcasing their work were seasoned veterans who release regular collections at least twice a year. Their businesses are well-established, their operations well-oiled and their clientele dependable. Had they continued working outside the fashion week circuit, some might have spent the next few years producing collections that stayed comfortably within their established aesthetic, ticking all the right commercial boxes.

The fashion week runway, though, inspired them to push boundaries.

Saad Ali, the event’s co-founder and CEO of event management company Design651, points out that this competitive element is essential.

“Being part of a runway show with their peers inspires and elevates designers,” he says. “Celebrated designers may have thriving businesses, but when they are showing at a fashion week they will make sure that they put out their very best. They will want to compete and move out of their comfort zone.”

He offers an example. “The ‘Starry Night’ showcase at LFW featured designs by some of the country’s most renowned ateliers, inspired by the night sky. One of the designers actually made a new outfit just for the show, instead of sending out something from the archives.”

He adds, “I am even intrigued by how many of the manufacturing brands that have participated are trying to raise their own standards. Ignorance is bliss. While they were working within their own zones, manufacturing millions of units within their factories and earning huge profits, they were complacent when it came to design. Now, when they become part of a fashion week and start creating for the catwalk, they see all that they can do, and everything that they have been missing out on.

“They already have the infrastructure and they may eventually decide to collaborate with professional designers, go to institutes, hire students or young designers or partner with brands. It’s a win-win for the fashion industry.”

There is also the matter of aspiration. Fashion weeks are not merely about putting clothes on a catwalk; they are about giving a brand a story.

“Ultimately, a fashion week is a marketing platform,” Saad points out. “Like a campaign placed on a billboard, it can establish a brand’s identity, help in building its story, making it aspirational in the consumer’s eyes. I see how so many new brands have come under the LFW umbrella, wanting to stand out with their design and I see how things are changing.”

WHEN THE RUNWAY DISAPPOINTS

Brands may be becoming more aware of the power wielded by the catwalk but, at the same time, there were also collections at LFW that failed to impress.

The retail brands could be excused for having commerce on their minds, the collections in the LFW Edit could be pardoned — considering that they were put out by newbies — but quite a few of the main designer showcases, the so-called ‘veterans’ in the fray, also disappointed.

There were a fair share of badly fitted suits, of wedding wear that felt like forgettable imitations of other designers’ past creations, of untidy embroideries and substandard fabric choices. These were unfortunate reminders that simply securing a place on the runway does not make a collection worthy of it.

When the council-led fashion weeks were in their heyday, recurring conversations took place on the importance of editing a collection. Considering that LFW is associated with the online portal Laam, a very successful commercial e-store selling a diverse range of design, was the focus just on including whoever wanted to participate and could pay the participation fee? Were collections not vetted and weighed before they were allowed on to the LFW roster?

“Laam may be commercial, but LFW’s vision is not commercial at all,” responds Saad. “Our selection committee is currently at daggers drawn with a multitude of brands because they were turned away and asked to come back next time with a better collection. There are others that they have decided to give a chance to. And then there are the brands that were too scared to participate and that we took on board, counselled and gave the confidence to come on to the runway.”

WHAT COMES NEXT?

Now that they have wrapped up a whopping 43 shows over four days, the LFW crew isn’t ready to take a break. They have a ‘Couture Weekend’ planned for December this year. And a lot more.

Amir Iqbal, COO and Co-Founder at Laam, outlines the plans. “We have a minimum of four and a maximum of six events planned out for next year,” he says. “There are the LFW Flagship shows [fashion weeks featuring collective designer showcases], the LFW Presents shows, featuring solo designer shows or events such as the recent Kaleidoscopic Karachi, and other interesting things in the pipeline. The key is to make fashion exciting again. When the industry grows, every single player benefits.”

Has LFW made Pakistani fashion exciting again? Yes, for sure. With its second season, it has also ironed out the timing issue that persisted the first time around, with shows ending around a sensible 10pm this time. A QR-code system eliminated the need for hard copy invites. Like last time, a digitised passageway led to the main event. It was very Instagrammable and very cool. The catwalk was lit up by zigzagging lights, providing a grand stage for the shows.

The fashion wasn’t always great but, after a long time, there were conversations on fashion: discussions, debates, critiques and praise.

Are fashion weeks back, then? Yes. Let’s hope the fashion is worth coming back for.

The writer is a fashion and entertainment journalist with over two decades of experience.She can be reached at maliharehman1@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, ICON, November 1st, 2026

The book traces Churchill’s life from his birth into an aristocratic family to his schooldays at Harrow and his experiences in British India, Sudan and South Africa, where he served as a soldier and war correspondent. His writings earned him recognition, while his daring escape from captivity during the Second Boer War made him a public figure long before he entered politics.

Churchill’s political career saw him rise through the ranks of the British government. He was among the early voices warning of Adolf Hitler’s threat, though his concerns initially went largely unheeded. When Hitler began invading other countries, Churchill became prime minister and guided Britain through one of its darkest periods. His powerful speeches reassured the public and inspired the nation to resist Nazi Germany.

In 1951, Churchill returned for his second and final term as prime minister, serving until 1955. Although his later years in office were affected by declining health, his wartime leadership remained his greatest legacy.

The book also explores his life beyond politics, including his historical writings, memoirs and paintings. He became the only British prime minister to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II and was honoured by the US Navy, which named a guided-missile destroyer after him in 2001.

Labrecque places Churchill’s life in the wider context of British history, covering his family background, Parliament and the two World Wars. Written in a straightforward style, the book makes his life and achievements accessible to readers. For anyone curious about the man behind the famous wartime speeches, it’s a good place to start.

Published in Dawn, Young World, October 31st, 2026

But there was one thing Ali struggled with: speaking in front of others. He often knew the answers in class, yet his hand would sink back down as soon as another classmate raised theirs.

“What if my answer is wrong? What if everyone laughs at me?” he would wonder nervously.

During group activities, Ali preferred to stay behind the scenes, writing things down while his classmates presented their work. If a teacher asked him to explain something, he would stare at his desk and mumble, “Can someone else do it?”

To Ali, excellent marks were proof enough of his abilities.

Then, one Monday morning, his English teacher made an unexpected announcement. “Our school is holding a Young Speakers Competition. Each class will choose one student to represent it.”

Ali hoped no one would mention his name.

But his teacher turned towards him. “Ali, I think you should take part.”

“Me, Miss?” he asked nervously.

“Yes, Ali. You have so many wonderful ideas. Now you need to learn how to express them.”

Ali wanted to refuse, but his teacher encouraged him to give it a try.

That evening, Ali prepared a speech titled “Small actions, big changes”. He chose simple ideas, such as saving water, helping others and keeping the environment clean. He memorised every sentence and practised aloud, only to discover that delivering the speech was much harder than learning it.

Two days later, the participants presented their speeches to the class. As Ali stood before his classmates, his hands grew cold and his voice faltered. He forgot two sentences and stared at the floor as a few classmates whispered among themselves. Feeling ashamed, he returned to his seat.

“I knew this would happen,” he thought.

His teacher, however, did not scold him.

“Ali, you know your ideas well. You’re simply afraid of making mistakes,” she said. “Remember, a mistake doesn’t make you a failure. It teaches you what to improve.”

She gave him a simple challenge. “Starting tomorrow, speak for two minutes every morning. Choose any topic you like — a book, your breakfast or something you noticed on your way to school.”

Ali took her advice seriously. He began by practising in front of a mirror, then recorded his voice on his phone. Listening to himself, he noticed that he rushed through his words and fell silent whenever he felt nervous. He took a deep breath and tried again, determined to improve a little each day.

Gradually, his voice grew clearer and his confidence improved.

One morning, his younger sister appeared at the door.

“Are you talking to yourself?” she asked, giggling.

“No, I’m practising my speech,” Ali explained.

She listened for a moment and smiled. “Wow! It really does sound much better now!”

For the first time, Ali smiled instead of feeling embarrassed.

A week later, the competition day arrived. The school hall was packed with students and teachers. Backstage, Ali clutched his speech, his heart pounding.

“I can do this,” he whispered.

When his name was called, he walked to the microphone. For a moment, he wanted to turn and run. Then he remembered his teacher’s words about learning from mistakes.

Taking a deep breath, he began. His first few sentences were shaky, but he kept going. Soon, he focused less on his nervousness and more on his message. Looking up at the audience, he spoke about how small actions, such as turning off a tap, planting a tree, helping a classmate or picking up litter, could make a big difference.

When he finished, the hall burst into applause. Ali returned to his seat, filled with pride. He had stood before everyone and shared his ideas! He didn’t win first prize, but he received a certificate of participation. That evening, he proudly showed it to his father.

“I’m proud of you, son!” Dad said.

“So am I, Dad! Do you know why? Because I stood there and spoke.”

His father smiled. “Then you’ve learnt something far more valuable than winning a prize!”

From that day on, Ali kept practising. He still made mistakes and felt nervous when speaking in front of others, but he no longer allowed fear to silence him.

Published in Dawn, Young World, October 31st, 2026

Published in Dawn, Young World, October 31st, 2026

At first, I didn’t understand what I was supposed to do, but soon I realised it was a memory game where we had to draw famous logos from memory. For example, you’ve seen the Apple logo hundreds of times, so drawing it should be easy. Try it. The funny part is when you get the leaf or the bite wrong. That’s when you realise that just because we see something every day, it doesn’t mean we remember all the little details.

Logos From Memory tests how well you remember the logos of famous brands. Here is how it works. The game gives you a brand name and a blank drawing space. There are no hints. All you have to do is draw the logo from your head, using your mouse or your finger on a phone, and you can pick from a few colours. When you finish, you press “reveal,” and the real logo appears. Then you look at your drawing next to the real one and try not to laugh. Maybe the bite is on the wrong side of the Apple logo, but it’s okay; you can keep trying.

The game is not only for laughs, though. It shows you something about your own brain. You can recognise a logo in half a second, but that is different from remembering its details. Most of us are great at recognising things, but not at recalling things. Think of the signboards you pass on any street. You know them all, but could you draw one properly?

So if you think you know your favourite brands, take a test. You might be surprised how little you noticed.

Visit: neal.fun/logos-from-memory

Published in Dawn, Young World, October 31st, 2026

Hi! My name is Riley. I’m 15 years, old and I have a confession to make. I absolutely hate Halloween.

I know, I know. Who hates Halloween? There are so many costumes! What’s not to love? Well, everything. Especially the creepy houses.

Unfortunately, I live right next to the creepiest house in town. It’s this enormous, abandoned mansion with broken windows and a garden full of dead flowers. Nobody has lived there for years,. At least, that’s what everyone says. But every Halloween, a light appears in the attic. And every Halloween, someone disappears.

“Riley! Hurry up!” my best friend, Emma, shouted from outside.

I grabbed my candy bucket and ran downstairs. “Coming!” I called out.

When I stepped outside, Emma looked me up and down before sighing dramatically. “Are you seriously wearing that? You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

“What’s wrong with my outfit? It’s black. Halloween is literally about scary things.”

“It’s about costumes, Riley. Costumes!” She rolled her eyes and I followed her down the street. Honestly, sometimes I wondered why we were even friends.

That night, 8:47 p.m.

We had been trick-or-treating for almost two hours when Emma suddenly stopped walking. Across the street stood the old mansion, its windows dark and its front gate hanging loosely from one hinge. Except something was different this time. A faint yellow light flickered in the attic window.

I froze. “Absolutely not,” I said, turning around.

“Oh, come on!” Emma grabbed my sleeve. “We should check it out. Imagine the stories we could tell!”

“Or imagine us getting hurt. That sounds slightly less entertaining.”

Emma laughed. “You’re such a coward.”

Now, I’m not easily offended. But there is one thing I cannot stand, and that is being called a coward. So, naturally, I marched straight toward the mansion, completely ignoring the fact that every instinct in my body was telling me to run in the opposite direction.

The front gate creaked as we pushed it open. Dead leaves crunched beneath our shoes and something rustled in the bushes beside us. I told myself it was probably a cat, although I had never heard a cat sound quite like that.

When we reached the porch, Emma knocked on the door. Nothing happened. She tried the handle and, to our surprise, it opened.

“Hello?” she called as we stepped inside.

The door slammed shut behind us. I immediately spun around and pulled at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. The entrance hall smelled of dust and something strangely sweet, almost like rotten flowers. Old paintings lined the walls, their subjects staring at us with unsettling expressions.

Before I could say anything, we heard footsteps coming from upstairs. Slow, heavy footsteps, followed by the sound of a little girl humming.

“Which one of you took it?” a voice whispered.

Emma squeezed my hand. “Took what?” she called back, her voice trembling.

A shadow appeared at the top of the staircase. It was a little girl wearing a white dress, with long, tangled hair covering most of her face. She held an empty candy bucket in one hand. Slowly, she began walking toward us.

“My candy,” she whispered.

I swallowed. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My candy!”

Her scream echoed throughout the house. Emma panicked and threw her entire bucket of candy up the stairs. Chocolates and sweets scattered across the wooden steps. The girl stopped screaming almost immediately. She crouched down, picked up a chocolate bar and examined it carefully.

Then she smiled. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

The front door clicked open. Emma and I didn’t need to be told twice. We ran outside, slammed the gate behind us, and didn’t stop until we reached my house.

The next morning, Emma came over for breakfast and we spent almost an hour discussing what had happened. Surprisingly, she seemed more upset about losing her candy than about nearly being trapped in a haunted mansion. I couldn’t entirely blame her. She had sacrificed an impressive amount of chocolate.

Later that afternoon, I walked past the mansion again. The attic light was off, and the windows were dark. However, something caught my attention. A small pumpkin sat on the porch, and underneath it was a folded piece of paper. Curiosity got the better of me, so I picked it up and unfolded it.

“Thank you for sharing. See you next Halloween.”

I stared at the note for a moment before laughing nervously. Perhaps the little girl wasn’t evil after all. Maybe she was just tired of watching everyone celebrate Halloween without ever sharing anything with her.

Or perhaps I was being ridiculously optimistic. Either way, I decided I would never enter that house again.

Well, unless she had more chocolate.

Published in Dawn, Young World, October 31st, 2026

Forget the hockey field — underwater hockey played at the bottom of a swimming pool is making waves! Players wear snorkel masks and fins, using short, curved sticks to push a weighted puck into the opposing team’s goal.

Each team has six players and no goalkeeper. Players must hold their breath while chasing the puck, surfacing only when they need air. Matches last 30 minutes, divided into two halves.

Originally called octopush, the sport was invented in England in 1954 to help divers stay fit during winter. Though still relatively unknown, it has fans around the world. Hong Kong recently hosted a tournament that brought together players from across Asia, testing their stamina in a sport some describe as “physical hell”.

Venomous snake found in a bedroom

An extremely venomous eastern brown snake was found hiding behind a pet mouse’s cage in a young girl’s bedroom in Queensland, Australia.

Snake catcher Stuart McKenzie captured the snake after being called to the home. Sunshine Coast Snake Catchers 24/7 shared a video of the rescue on Facebook.

The snake, one of the world’s most venomous species, was safely released into a wilderness area. “No mice were harmed in the making of this video,” the post said.

Cuban zoo fights to keep its animals alive

Staff at Cuba’s National Zoo are struggling to care for nearly 1,000 animals during a crisis that has left many people struggling to find food and other essentials.

Due to fuel shortage, workers are having difficulty in reaching the 345-hectare park, 20 kilometres from Havana. Many now travel by bicycle, scooter or electric motorbike to ensure the animals receive food and water.

The zoo is an important international conservation centre, home to vulnerable and endangered species, including rhinos, hippos and jaguars. But shortages of meat, medicine and water have taken a heavy toll. Food is being rationed as meat becomes harder to obtain, while power cuts lasting up to 30 hours make food storage even harder.

Belgium’s quest for the perfect fries

Belgium is taking its love for fries to the next level with a TV competition to find the country’s best chip shop! The show, La meilleure friterie, pits 12 fry shops against one another, with judges visiting establishments across French-speaking Belgium to find perfectly crispy, golden fries.

Belgium has around 4,600 specialised fry shops, and some fans are so enthusiastic that they attend filming dressed as giant cones of fries. However, the competition has also sparked debates over sauces and even faced a voting glitch. In Belgium, winning the title could mean a big boost in business — proving that the humble potato can be a serious matter!

Published in Dawn, Young World, October 31st, 2026

Batman is set to cross over with Kamen Rider Zero-One, a Japanese superhero from a franchise that began more than 50 years ago.

The comic, Batman x Kamen Rider Zero-One, was announced at a Batman Day event in Japan. Writer Kenny Porter will work on the project with Japanese manga artist Tokitokoro.

The Kamen Rider franchise began in 1971 as a live-action TV series and tie-in manga created by Shotaro Ishinomori. It follows motorcycle-riding superheroes in insect-inspired costumes. Over the years, the franchise has introduced many new versions of Kamen Rider across television, manga and other media, including Kamen Rider ZEZTZ, which debuted in 2025.

Sonic and Godzilla clash in finale

The Sonic the Hedgehog x Godzilla comic miniseries will end with its fifth and final issue on December 16, 2026.

Published by IDW, the series pits Sonic, Tails, Amy and Knuckles against giant monsters from the Godzilla universe. Dr Eggman is also using the kaiju in his latest plan to take over the world.

The first two issues featured battles with Mechagodzilla and Mothra. The third continues the chaos as kaiju attack the city. The final issue features Sonic and Shadow on its cover.

Disney’s Robin Hood returns

Disney’s 1973 animated film Robin Hood is returning in a new comic book series, marking the character’s first comic series in more than 50 years.

Published by Dynamite, the series expands the film’s world, featuring familiar characters including Maid Marian, Prince John, Friar Tuck, Lady Kluck and Alan-A-Dale.

The story begins after Robin breaks into Prince John’s castle every day for a week. When the prince discovers what Robin has taken, he launches a hunt for the legendary thief.

The first issue will be released on November 11.

Published in Dawn, Young World, October 31st, 2026

It was Ali’s last day in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. He had just returned from Makkah after performing his second Umrah. It was early morning, and the sun was already high in the sky.

The room was quiet, its silence broken only by the chirping of birds. Fallen leaves made the street look beautiful and peaceful. It felt as though time was flying by. Ali was excited, as he had a flight to Dubai in a few hours.

As time passed, he reached the airport, excitedly running here and there. Since it was morning, he and his family had breakfast in the lounge while waiting for check-in to open. He enjoyed his breakfast until the counter opened. They were the first to reach it. When they presented their Pakistani passports, the officer’s expression changed. He instructed them to have their suitcases checked. Their luggage was searched, leaving a mess on the counter. The process took half an hour and the officer finally let them go once he was fully satisfied.

Taking a deep breath, Ali moved to the immigration counter. The bright airport lights felt harsh as the officer picked up his passport and examined it in silence. The silence stretched on, making Ali’s heart pound.

The officer’s eyes shifted from the photograph on the passport to Ali’s face, then back again. Ali knew his appearance had changed after performing Umrah. His head was shaved and he had tanned a bit too.

The officer’s expression hardened, giving nothing away. Seconds turned into long, unbearable moments. The line behind Ali grew restless, while the guards exchanged words. Ali swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the counter. Just then, his nerves could take no more. The officer looked up sharply, and Ali froze, holding his breath.

“You will have to stay here. Your face doesn’t match the picture in your passport,” the officer said.

Ali’s heart sank, and panic began to rise. People in the line behind him began to murmur, but he stood there, unsure of what to do next.

The officer examined the documents carefully before picking up the passport again. Ali’s family pleaded with him, showing old photographs and documents to prove Ali’s identity. The officers studied them closely, flipping through the pages and comparing the faces. An hour passed, each minute seeming to stretch endlessly as Ali’s heart pounded.

Then, the flight announcement echoed through the hall, making the tension almost unbearable. Finally, the officer’s expression softened, and a hint of recognition appeared on his face. With a decisive motion, he stamped the passport and handed it back.

Relieved and exhausted, Ali clutched it tightly and ran towards the gate just as boarding began.

Published in Dawn, Young World, October 31st, 2026