Inspired by Andrew Lane’s Young Sherlock Holmes novels, this eight-episode series is as interesting as it gets. Yes, there was a Young Sherlock Holmes film released in the mid-1980s, but the new one is different. Here, hero Fiennes Tiffin stars as Holmes, who is sent to Oxford as a punishment by his elder brother Mycroft, not as a student but as a servant. It is there that Sherlock meets his arch-nemesis, James Moriarty, hones his deductive skills and develops an interest in crime-solving.

The icing on the cake was that Holmes did all the learning while on the run for a crime that he didn’t commit, had to apprehend an impostor who made his life hell, and tried to get to the bottom of a family feud that involved his father and sister.

Does he solve the case of his departed sister? Does he find out who really murdered the professor? How does he and Moriarty get along when the readers know that their paths would diverge in the long run? Answers to all these questions can be found in this series, which has been renewed for a second season as well.

If you are a die-hard fan of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, then you will definitely love this series, which is available on Amazon Prime. Yes, it could have been much better, but the way the director Guy Ritchie has created a world before Sherlock Holmes is impressive. Both Hero Fiennes and Donal Finn excel as Holmes and Moriarty, while Joseph Fiennes, Natascha McElhone and Max Irons bring Sherlock’s family alive, with the first two playing parents and the latter playing brother Mycroft respectively.

Add Colin Firth to the equation, and you have a series that would definitely not bore you, and may even make you want to relive other Sherlock Holmes reincarnations, such as the series featuring Jeremy Brett as the great detective, or the ones where Robert Downey Jr or Benedict Cumberbatch bring Holmes to life. Don’t be late, the game’s afoot!

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

“Nashra, are you listening?”

“Hmm,” I replied. The truth was, I wasn’t listening. How could you listen when your head is pounding and your heart is racing? I couldn’t focus on Ammi’s words. The phone in my hand felt like a bomb, destroying every rational thought.

“Send your pics :)” is what the message said.

“What to send?” my mind screamed. Alina was probably waiting for a reply, and the group chat was, as always, ready to admire her. And I was overthinking everything.

“And then your Nani has to shop for clothes, so I’ll drop you at her house. You can stay with your cousins until we come back, okay?” Ammi asked.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I replied absentmindedly.

I decided to play it safe and sent one where my face was half-hidden. Something is better than nothing. I put down my phone and sighed.

I was never the kind of person everyone wanted to befriend. My dark skin had always been a target of mean nicknames, and my curls had also been criticised. Though now, with social media trends, it had become slightly more acceptable. I’m still waiting for the day when colourism stops being normalised.

I wasn’t popular. I wasn’t well-known. I was just… there. Someone people knew, but couldn’t quite remember.

Later, I went to Nani’s house. I was happy to see Aimen, my cousin. She was full of energy, like a tornado with sparkles.

“Nashra! I finally started a new anime!”

“After a month?” I raised my eyebrows.

“I had exams!” she protested, dragging me into her room and launching into a full rant about the plot.

I zoned out. Aimen wasn’t afraid of being herself. Was it just me?

“Hey, Nashra! You okay?” she asked, suddenly serious.

I sighed. “You remember Alina? She makes me feel left out. I’ve tried everything, but she treats me like I don’t matter.”

Aimen went quiet for a moment, then said, “Do you want advice or should I roast you first?”

“Advice,” I muttered.

“Be yourself. If people find it weird, that’s their problem. Life is too short for this. It won’t be easy, but find people who are worth your time. Someone out there will like you for who you are, even if it’s just me.”

The next day, I tried to follow her advice. In debate class, we were given the topic of being ourselves. Everyone supported it. I felt hopeful.

After class, I went up to them. “You guys were awesome!” I said, nudging Alina slightly.

She glared at me. “Watch where you’re going, freak.”

I stepped back, my confidence fading instantly. Changing is hard. Everyone talks about it like it’s easy, but it isn’t. It’s easier said than done.

That evening, when I got home, my phone buzzed again. It was the group chat. For a moment, my heart started racing, just like before. I opened it slowly. Messages, reactions, pictures, everyone was there, as usual. Perfect angles. Perfect poses. Perfect replies.

I stared at the screen for a while. Then I scrolled up to the picture I had sent earlier, the one where my face was half-hidden.

I hesitated. Then, quietly, I opened my gallery again. This time, I chose a different picture. Not perfect. Not edited. Just me. My finger hovered over the send button.

For a second, all the doubts came rushing back. “What if they laugh? What if they ignore it? What if…”

I took a deep breath and pressed send. Nothing dramatic happened. No sudden change. The chat kept moving, just like always. But somehow, I felt a little lighter.

Maybe not everyone would accept me. Maybe some never would. But hiding myself hadn’t helped either.

As I put my phone aside, Aimen’s words echoed in my mind, “Someone out there will like you for who you are.”

And for the first time, I thought… maybe I should start by being someone I like too.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

This is regarding the story “The price of a typo” by Humna Naeem (YW, March 14).

The story included multiple themes, such as humour, fear, stress and the weight of mistakes. It showed how a single, simple typing error can lead to chaos and exhaustion for those involved.

We should always be careful because a single character can change the meaning of a message and therefore, one should always check any message before sending it.

Anas Naushahi
Karachi

Powered by caffeine

This is with reference to the story “Powered by caffeine” by Wasfa Khan (YW, March 14).

The story presents an interesting reflection on how habits, even small ones like drinking coffee, can quietly take over our lives. It showed that relying on external stimulants for energy or focus might work temporarily, but they can also prevent us from understanding our own limits and natural rhythms.

Breaking such a cycle is not easy and requires patience and self-discipline. I think this is an important reminder that balance matters more than intensity, pushing ourselves nonstop might feel productive, but it often comes at the cost of rest and health.

Zoya Rafiq,
Lahore

Calligraphy: where writing becomes art

This is regarding the cover article “Calligraphy: where writing becomes art” by Umamah Shaheen (YW, March 14).

I loved reading the article because calligraphy is my favourite hobby. The article highlighted the beauty and history of calligraphy, showing it as more than just decorative writing. It was a refreshing reminder that in a world dominated by screens, some skills, like slow, careful and intentional work, have value beyond the final product.

Safiullah Behroz,
Karachi

Eid is for everyone

This is regarding the cover article “Eid is for everyone” by Benazir Raz (YW, March 21). An article like this on Eid is not only appreciable but essential.

Eid is a Sunnah of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH). The spirit of Eid comes alive with girls wearing multi-coloured dresses, rushing to choose henna designs, matching bangles and more, all described vividly by Ms Raz.

Mothers, meanwhile, tirelessly manage the kitchen, preparing special dishes and sweets for their children and guests. Today’s girls, Inshallah, will grow up to be efficient mothers of tomorrow, carrying forward these traditions with care and love.

Dr M Qudrat-e-Khuda,
Karachi

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

You wouldn’t believe it, because there shouldn’t be a book like this, but trust me, there is. The World Almanac and Book of Facts 2026 is the book that will take you around the world at whatever time you like, depending on how much you are willing to learn.

In a world of brain-rotting videos on YouTube and false information on social media, this book is nothing short of a breath of fresh air. Not only is everything in this book unbiased and verified, but it is also part of a legacy dating back to 1868. Remember the almanac that was pivotal to the plot of Back to the Future II? It was one such book that made the villain rich and if you use it wisely, richness will be yours too — the richness of the mind.

The book caters to all kinds of readers — those interested in current affairs will be satisfied with the newsy sections, such as Top 10 News of 2025 and Year in Pictures. Those looking for history will be thrilled to read the profiles of all 196 nations, 53 U.S. states and territories, and 100 American cities.

Not just that, but the past and present celebrities (writers and entertainers) are mentioned in these pages with their date of birth and date of death (if they aren’t alive), giving you information that you only thought the internet could provide. The same goes for the popular awards, deadly disasters and accidents that became news when they happened and are now part of history, a topic this book covers well.

A special section on health and disorders shows that most diseases can be controlled early or even avoided. That’s not all; a coloured map of all the continents, as well as details about all religions, languages and even planets, will surely make you a more informed person by the time you are through with it.

Don’t be surprised to know that Bengali and Hindi are spoken around the world more than Urdu, or that only three FIFA World Cup finals have been decided on penalty kicks.

Some of the sections in The World Almanac and Book of Facts 2026 might be reserved for older readers, such as those on money matters, but they can also appeal to young minds. The sooner they learn about the world, the better and this book is ideal for that.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

“Not yet,” she answered.

Dado gazed at the wall clock. It was half past eleven. It was the start of the weekend and the family was still resting. She was habitual to wake up early. A couple of days ago, she had arrived at her son’s house to spend some time with his family. Sunday was the only day when the whole family was at home. Instead of making it a family day, they spent it sleeping.

They met at lunch. Slowly, around 12 pm, the kids came out of their rooms. Dado could see that they still looked lazy.

“Dado, last night we watched an animated movie and played video games. We slept late,” the kids told her.

Their father was busy watching a video on his smartphone. The kids were screen-addicts too. Sadly, the whole family had the habit of spending most of their time with screens.

Before sunset, their parents went out for groceries. The kids started playing games on their mobiles once again. Dado sat in the lawn. There, ten-year-old Hamad joined her.

Seeing him low, she inquired, “What happened?”

“I am bored.”

“Credit goes to your routine,” she laughed softly.

“I can’t understand, Dado,” he rolled his eyes.

Maryam joined them out of curiosity. She was eight years old.

“What is your routine?” Dado asked gently.

“We go to school. Once back, we have food and study. We play games on the mobile phone and watch cartoon series on TV,” answered Hamad.

“We watch movies and play video games on weekends. It’s fun to stay up late,” added Maryam.

“Sad! No physical activity, exercise, walks or creative hobbies? You don’t even spend time with family. If you had a healthy routine, you would never get bored,” said Dado in a thought-provoking way.

“Would you like to do something different?” she asked.

“Yes, but what?”

“Well, you have to do as I say. This Sunday will be different from your previous Sundays. Agree?” she asked while extending her hand.

“Done!” the kids eagerly placed their small hands on her palm. There was curiosity in their eyes.

The next morning, the kids got up early. They offered Fajr with Dado and recited the Holy Quran. Then they went for a morning walk.

“How pleasant the weather is. Such a cool, exciting breeze. Wow! We have so many lovely plants and flowers in our lawn,” Hamad expressed his joy.

“It is so peaceful, and the smell is pleasant, Dado,” said Maryam.

After half an hour of exercise, when they went inside, breakfast was ready. They usually ate their breakfast half-heartedly and quite late. But exercising made them feel active and increased their appetite too.

After breakfast, they came out with their colour palettes and brushes. While talking and laughing with Dado, the kids painted flowers and birds. Dado was fully engrossed with them and also gave them ideas on gardening. Till evening, the kids had done a lot of new things. It was surprising that they neither felt the urge for screens nor got bored.

When evening came, the new energy in the whole family made them sit together in the lawn and have tea with snacks. Then Baba played cricket with the kids. They thoroughly enjoyed their family time after a long while.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

A man from Tarnów finally passed his theoretical driving test after nine years and 139 failed attempts, spending about €1,800 ($2,100) on exam fees.

Most drivers pass the computer-based test in one to three tries, but he persisted despite repeated failures. Officials said his progress improved after he switched from a demo prep programme to the full version, which covered all possible questions.

Now he must pass the practical driving test or he’ll have to retake the theory exam. Though unusual, his effort isn’t the Polish record; another driver in Piotrków Trybunalski took 17 years and 163 attempts to pass the theory test.

Thrill seekers zip 280m above the Chinese sinkhole

The Monkey Ear Sinkhole now features a high-altitude tube zipline, letting visitors hang 280 metres above the ground while taking in the breathtaking scenery of Kaiyang County, Guizhou Province, China.

Opened on February 6, 2026, the installation has gone viral online, with some comparing it to a real-life version of the mobile game Temple Run. Adventurers strap in, grip the handles and glide across the 300-metre-wide, 280-metre-deep sinkhole for a exhilarating experience.

A woman carves carrots with her teeth

A Chinese woman, Chen Qin, 25, from Enshi, has earned the title of “world’s only tooth carver” for sculpting intricate designs out of carrots using only her teeth.

She discovered the talent by accident while streaming during last year’s Spring Festival, shaping a carrot with her teeth and earning praise from viewers. Chen focuses on carrots because they are firm, easy to carve and gentle on her stomach.

Her portfolio includes more than 100 creations, with her edible versions of the Great Wall of China and Yellow Crane Tower being particularly popular for their fine details. She consumes the sculptures as part of her cooking and uses scraps as animal feed to avoid waste.

Man suffers brain haemorrhage after roller coaster ride

A 40-year-old man from Taiwan claims a visit to the Ferrari World roller coaster led to a brain haemorrhage requiring surgery. He reported dizziness and headaches after the high-speed, high-G-force ride, with scans later revealing chronic bleeding in his skull.

Doctors explained that age-related brain shrinkage and reduced blood vessel elasticity can make older adults more susceptible to injury from intense acceleration and deceleration. The man shared his story on social media, prompting warnings from others over 40 about the risks of roller coasters, especially for those with eye or vascular conditions.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

Warner Bros is returning to Middle-Marth with a new Lord of the Rings sequel, titled The Lord of the Rings: Shadows of the Past, now in early production. Director Peter Jackson, who brought the original Academy Award-winning trilogy and the Hobbit films to life, announced the project on X/Twitter alongside Stephen Colbert, who is co-writing the script.

The sequel draws inspiration from six chapters (III–VIII) of The Fellowship of the Ring that were largely skipped in Jackson’s earlier adaptation, including the mysterious Tom Bombadil episodes.

Shadows of the Past is being positioned as a continuation of Jackson’s Middle-Earth legacy, aiming to expand the story in ways unseen on film before.

New Aquaman look in Emperor Aquaman #15

Aquaman gets a fresh start after DC K.O. in Emperor Aquaman #15. The issue shows a young Arthur Curry meeting his older, more experienced self, setting off a mission powered by Omega Energy to defeat the Crimson Queen and save his friends.

This new story marks a major transformation for the King of Atlantis following DC K.O., where heroes faced Darkseid’s Omega-powered threat and hints at upcoming Crisis-level events in the DC Universe.

A terrifyingly clear-headed Joker in Batman #7

In Batman #7, the Joker returns in a shocking new form: fully lucid and able to see through Batman’s disguise. Confined in Arkham Towers under Doctor Annika Zeller’s care, he now operates with absolute clarity, making him more dangerous than ever.

Batman faces him while also navigating threats to Bruce Wayne’s identity, which was exposed during a violent confrontation involving Zeller and Damian Wayne. This version of the Joker blends classic menace with a chilling, calculated intelligence.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

It was a bright, beautiful morning. Birds were chirping and the sun was warm, but pleasant. I looked at the clouds and the weather felt just right. After breakfast, I picked up my bag, said goodbye to Mum and headed out.

Along the way, I met my friends and other students from school. We were all discussing our results because it was the much-awaited result day. Like everyone else, I was worried. Although I had studied well and done my best, I still felt unsure.

When we settled in class, our teacher walked in with a smile. After a short chat, she said she would start with the top three positions and then announce the rest. She called out the third place — we clapped. Then the second — we clapped again. And then the first — we clapped even louder.

My friend nudged me to get up. I looked at him in confusion, then realised everyone was looking at me.

I couldn’t believe it! My eyes filled with tears. I slowly walked up to my teacher. She handed me my report card and congratulated me. I felt shy and happy at the same time. Everything felt light, almost unreal.

When I got home, I told my father about my result. He was very proud and that alone meant everything to me. Then he said he would take me out and let me choose any present I wanted. I was overjoyed. I hadn’t expected it at all, so it felt like a big surprise. I was so excited, I couldn’t even sit still.

There is no doubt that every child hopes for a reward when they achieve something.

Later, we went to the market. I chose three things: one for myself and two for my younger sisters. I bought a smartwatch and some colour pencils.

It was one of the best days of my life. The next day at school, my close friends gave me a gift and asked for a treat, a small party, since it was the first time I had secured the first position in class.

I decided to have a small celebration for my friends at home. However, the next morning, the weather turned bad with thunder and lightning. Unexpectedly, my friends showed up anyway. They came in and we ended up having a lot of fun. My mum made snacks for us and we had a cosy little party on a rainy day.

After the rain stopped, everyone went home. I was so tired that I just went straight to bed, but I didn’t fall asleep immediately. As I lay in bed, I thought about the day. It wasn’t just about getting first position or receiving gifts. It was about seeing the result of my hard work and the happiness it brought to the people around me.

That day taught me that when you truly put in effort, the reward is not just what you receive, but how it makes you feel.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

When exams are around the corner, they take over everything. Your table fills up with notes, your mind keeps circling dates, topics, lessons and results. But sometimes, the best way to deal with that pressure isn’t to push harder, it’s to take a small break and do something a little different.

So, in the middle of all this exam chaos, I thought, why not make something useful — but with a twist! This is not just any bookmark, but a snake bookmark. A tiny, playful companion that slips into your notes or books and “bites” exactly where you want it to.

Things you need:

1. Sketch pad or paper
2. Scissors/paper cutter
3. Ruler
4. Black cardboard
5. Glue stick
6. Pencil
7. Black and red markers

Directions:

1. If you can draw a snake, that’s the best option as it makes the whole process more creative. However, if you don’t want to draw, you can download a stencil from the internet, print it and cut it out on any coloured paper.

I enjoy drawing, so I sketched my snake according to how it would slither along the page of a book; picture

2. Make sure the width of the snake is more than 1 cm, and at curls make it a bit wider. Then fill it with colour. I chose red, pictures 3 and 4.

3. Use a black marker for the outline and add a simple pattern on the snake. You can create any design you like, picture 5.

4. This part needs a bit of care. Cut the snake out from the sketch paper. Because of the curls, cutting can be tricky, but the result is worth it, see pictures 6 and 7.

5. To make the bookmark sturdy, cut the same snake shape out of cardboard. I used black, but you can choose any colour.

6. Then paste the coloured snake on top of the cardboard sheet. This makes it firm, pictures 8 and 9.

Your bookmark is ready — a fun and interesting touch to your exam prep!

The writer can be contacted at ithecraftman@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

“Mama? Mama?” Ayra called impatiently.

“Yes, dear, what happened?” her mother replied.

“Mama, where’s my letterbox?” she asked.

“I suppose it’s somewhere in the attic. Why do you need it? It’s been so long since you last touched it,” her mother said.

“Mama, four years ago, I put all my unread letters in that box, especially Dadi’s. After that, I stopped receiving letters because my friends got busy and grandma passed away,” Ayra explained.

“Oh, I see. You can go and check there,” Mum said.

Ayra opened the attic door. “Ugh, it’s so dusty,” she muttered, waving her hands in the air. She searched through drawers until she finally found the box.

She rushed back to her room, cleaned it and opened it carefully. Inside were many unopened letters.

“From Zara? No… from Eman? No… from Aina? No… from Dadi? Yes!”

There were several letters from Dadi that she had never read. She had always thought she would read them later — but she never did. Ayra opened them one by one, from the oldest to the newest. She opened the first letter: December 20, 2022.

“That’s… one day before Dadi passed away,” she whispered.

She read it.

“Dear Ayra,

I’ve made something for you as a birthday gift. I wasn’t feeling well and so I couldn’t come to see you. I really wish I could have seen you wearing it. If I had been able to, I would have come to your home without a second thought. But I suppose God has His own plans. I’ve kept it safe in the cupboard.

Your Dadi”

Her hands trembled. She remembered how upset she had been when Dadi didn’t come that day.

Then she quickly opened the other letter, which was written on December 21, the day she said goodbye to all of us.

“Ayra,

My sweetheart, I hope you had a wonderful birthday yesterday. I know you must be a little upset with me because I promised to come and give you your present, but I couldn’t fulfil it. I’m really sorry for breaking your tender little heart. I wanted to call you, but I couldn’t get through. I wish you all the happiness in the world, my dear.

Stay blessed.

Your Dadi”

Ayra broke down. Tears streamed down her face.

“What happened?” her mother asked, entering the room.

“Nothing, Mum,” Ayra said, wiping her eyes.

“Mama, can you ask Mamoo Jaan to check Dadi’s cupboard? She made something for me,” she said softly.

Soon, Mamoo Jaan arrived with a sweater. Ayra took it and ran to her room. She hugged it tightly.

“I’m sorry, Dadi,” she whispered, sobbing.

That day, Ayra learnt an important lesson — we often fail to value things when they are with us, and realise their worth only when they are gone.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

At his school, it was a tradition that every week a random student was selected to give a short morning assembly speech on Fridays, and the selected student’s name was pasted on the notice board at the start of the week. The purpose was to build confidence in all children, not just the ones who always raised their hands to speak.

Naeel had stage fright. He was intelligent, but speaking in front of everyone required courage, and Naeel never had that. Even during presentations, his legs felt like jelly and he would often forget what he had to say. And now, he was to speak in front of the entire school! It was his worst fear. Naeel was a quiet boy who sat at the back of the class and did his work without being noticed.

He was still standing near the notice board when his teacher noticed him. She smiled and said, “Just speak from the heart,” as if that were the easiest thing to do. Naeel could do nothing but nod in agreement.

When he arrived home that evening, he went straight to writing his speech. Soon enough, he was surrounded by crumpled papers. Nothing sounded right. He was even more scared.

He didn’t want to sound rehearsed, nor did he want his speech to feel copied from other students. What he wanted to talk about was pressure, the ever-growing competition, the fear of disappointing parents and the exhaustion during exam times. But who talks about that during an assembly?

And just like that, Thursday night arrived. Naeel folded his speech paper and put it in his pocket.

The next day, students lined up in neat rows under the morning sun. Teachers stood with their respective classes and the microphone crackled. The day had arrived.

“And now,” the principal announced, “Naeel Ahmed from Class 9 will address the assembly.”

Naeel’s heart thudded so loudly that he wondered if everyone could hear it through the microphone. His hands trembled as he took out his paper. Slowly, he unfolded it. It was blank.

What had he been thinking? That somehow it would fill itself with an amazing speech in the morning? Yes, he had thought that. But now reality made him look up. Hundreds of faces stared at him. Naeel took a deep breath. And then another. The silence was starting to become painful.

“Good morning,” he began in a shaky voice. “I didn’t prepare a speech today,” he continued nervously.

A murmur ran through the assembly.

“I tried,” he said honestly, “but everything I wrote sounded fake. So instead…” He gripped the microphone tightly, as if it might shatter in his hands. He was gaining momentum and a little courage. “I want to talk about something real.”

The assembly grew quiet.

“We come here every day trying to excel, to get top grades, to learn good behaviour, and that’s good. But sometimes, in this race, we get tired. Some of us are scared of failing. Some are scared of disappointing our parents. Some feel like they don’t fit in, no matter how hard they try,” Naeel’s voice steadied.

“If you feel that way, then I’m here to tell you: you’re not alone. There are many, many students like you. The difference is that no one says it out loud,” he paused. “And no matter what you’re going through, be kind to each other, because someone might be fighting something we can’t see.”

Naeel folded the blank paper as he ended with “Thank you.”

For a second, nobody moved. Then the principal started clapping and soon the entire assembly followed. Naeel stepped down, his heart still thudding, but lighter now.

Later that day, students whispered to each other about how they felt the same. Some even thanked Naeel for speaking up. His teacher smiled proudly at him.

And that’s the thing about speaking, you don’t have to speak perfectly, just truthfully.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

Notes: Go through your notes, classwork and homework once. You already know there are topics you skipped or missed. Find them before the exam does.

Your syllabus: You must have the syllabus. Just print it or screenshot it. Paste it where you can easily see it.

Your phone: Decide where your phone goes during study time — another room, face down in a drawer or with your mum. Just decide before you sit down, so you’re not negotiating with yourself every time you hear a notification tone.

Your schedule: Not a colour-coded masterpiece. You can write it roughly, just to have an idea of what you’re covering today, tomorrow and the day after.

Water and food: Always eat before you sit down to study. Hunger is the best excuse to get up and never come back.

The night before the exam

First of all, stop opening new topics. That ship has sailed. Tonight is not the night to learn something new. Your brain won’t hold it anyway.

Bag: Pack it tonight. Put in all your stationery items: pens, pencils, eraser, sharpener, a calculator (if needed), admission slip and your ID. Do it now so that in the morning you are only having breakfast and nothing else.

Revise: Flip through what you already know. Not to learn, just to remind yourself. Light revision only. You’re warming up, not cramming.

Sleep: You need to take sleep seriously. Staying up till 3 am going through notes you’ve already studied does more damage than good. A sleepy head in an exam helps you with nothing.

Exam morning: Eat a healthy breakfast and give yourself enough time to get to your school or college without rushing. Rushing before an exam puts your brain in panic mode and, on exam day, you don’t need to panic, you just need to stay calm.

Exam hall: Always read every question carefully. Double-check that you are understanding it correctly. Take deep breaths and start with what you know.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

Perhaps it’s not wrong. You have the motivation to start your studies accordingly. Whether you actually studied or the schedule became the whole project, at least you started. But there is a specific type of student with the most organised notes, the most colour-coded timetable, the neatest desk setup and, somehow, they actually do study.

So that leaves the rest of us — the big lot — the students who also genuinely try, sacrifice sleep, panic-watch YouTube lectures and explanations. But the results still don’t match the effort they put in, leaving them confused and demoralised.

What makes their efforts fail? Mostly, it’s study methods that don’t work. The pressure is on vigorous study, giving long hours, reading again and trying harder, but they were never taught how to actually study.

Recently, a new buzz among Gen Z and Alpha is study methods inspired by Chinese or Japanese cultures. These methods have been working in their original countries for decades. But do they actually work for us? For our world of notifications, 30-second videos and group chats that never stop?

The answer is yes, but only if you understand what these methods actually are, and not just the beautiful version of them you saw in a TikTok/YouTube video with a person sitting at a perfectly organised desk at 5 am.

THE KUMON METHOD

Why reading your notes six times does basically nothing

Think of the moment you read a page and thought, “Oh, I know this.” And if you thought you learnt it, the truth is, you didn’t. It was your brain recognising something it has seen before. Recognition and actually knowing something are completely different things, and passive studying tricks you into confusing the two.

You read the same page again. It feels familiar. Your brain goes, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen this.” And you tick the topic in your head and move on.

But exams need you to produce that information from scratch, in your own words, from what you learnt. And when you do, suddenly nothing comes to mind. And whatever comes is mostly broken and makes no sense because your brain never held onto it. It just had to recognise it while looking at it.

To curb this frustration, in 1954, a mathematics teacher, Toru Kumon, in Japan, developed what became known as the Kumon Method, originally to help his own son get better at maths. In this method, you study, then you close the book or put the notes away, and then try to write down or say out loud everything you just learnt, without looking.

You will be shocked to see how little you actually remember. And that struggle to remember is exactly where your brain tries to pull information out. Even unsuccessfully, it creates stronger memory connections than passively reading the same thing ten times.

The whole idea is simple. You don’t move to the next thing until you actually know the current topic from your memory. The method spread across Japan and eventually worldwide because it worked, not because it was complicated. It was actually very simple.

KAIZEN

Stop trying to study everything in one night

Kaizen translates roughly to continuous improvement in personal life, home life and workplace efficiency. It originally came from the business and manufacturing world in Japan after World War II. But the idea behind it is so straightforward that it applies to almost anything, including studying.

Kaizen is not a complete transformation, nor is it about changing your entire life or waking up at 5 am. It’s about making things slightly better every single day without stopping.

In studying, this becomes very practical. Instead of trying to cover everything in one massive session because exams are just a few days away, you focus on one small thing you didn’t understand yesterday and try to understand it a little better today.

That’s it. One concept or one topic. This small, consistent progress every day actually builds something that stays.

Although this sounds too slow and cramming feels productive, cramming is the opposite of Kaizen. It exhausts your brain and creates the feeling that you have done a lot. However, in reality, only a few bits remain in memory, the core of the topic just evaporates.

SPACED REPETITION

Why do songs stick in your head but your notes don’t?

There is a reason you can remember every word of a song you haven’t heard in three years, but can’t remember what you studied last Tuesday in your geography class. It’s just how memory works. Memory fades unless it gets reinforced at the right moments.

Spaced repetition is the practice of reviewing material across increasing time gaps. You study something today. You look at it again in two or three days. Then a week later. Then maybe two weeks after that. Each time you review something you’re about to forget, you strengthen it and it lasts longer before it starts fading again.

This is deeply embedded in Japanese study culture. You spend the least effort for the most retention because you’re studying at exactly the right moment. Even 10 or 15 minutes of reviewing a topic from last week keeps it alive in your brain. You study it, revisit it again and again, and it eventually becomes something you actually know rather than something you vaguely recognise.

THE SHUCHU

The phone is not the enemy, your habit around it is

Every study advice article eventually gets here, and so does mine. I know this is the point where Gen Z and Alpha get irritated. But there’s a reason it keeps coming up.

Whatever activities we participate in, the environment around us is highly responsible for the outcome. And when it comes to studies, we already know that they require more attention than anything else. So when a phone is on the desk, even face down, your brain is still aware of it.

There is an invisible pull towards it. There’s actual research on this, not just vibes. The mere presence of your phone nearby takes up cognitive space because part of your brain is managing the temptation to check it. That part of your brain could be working on what you’re trying to learn.

This is where the concept of Shuchu comes in. Shuchu means deep, concentrated focus. It is built on the idea that focus isn’t just willpower. It’s something you train through consistency: same place, same time, same activity. After a while, your brain stops fighting it and just shifts into study mode when the conditions are right.

Trust me, putting the phone in another room for 40 minutes or giving it to someone in your family works. All other distractions, like the TV, music player, game box, etc, should be kept away so that you have fewer distractions. Remove the option and the problem mostly solves itself.

ACTIVE RECALL

I’m not going to tell you to wake up at 4 am. I’m not going to suggest a four-hour morning study block, because that’s not realistic for most people and, even if you did it once, you’d burn out and quit.

Something that actually works and doesn’t require becoming a different person: start by spending 10 minutes trying to recall what you covered yesterday. No notes open. Just you and a blank page. Write down everything that comes to mind. You can write words, sentences, topics, key points and what goes inside them. This feels like a slow start, but you’re actually doing the most important thing, which is making your brain retrieve information under mild pressure.

Then do a focused study block on new material. Forty minutes is good. If you can’t concentrate for 40 minutes, start with 20 and build up. Take a real break afterwards. Lie down, eat something, go outside. Don’t scroll, because that doesn’t actually rest your brain, it just switches what it’s processing.

Come back for another block. At the end of the session, before you close everything, spend five minutes trying to recall the main points of what you just studied. Close the notes and test yourself.

Then, over the week, keep going back to things you covered earlier. Not big review sessions, just a few questions or a quick recall exercise on something from three or four days ago. This method builds on how memory actually works, which is more than most study routines can say.

Final thoughts…

You don’t need to overhaul your life. You need to stop cramming and start testing yourself. None of this is complicated. Most of it is uncomfortable at first because it removes the comfortable feeling of fake productivity. But that discomfort is just actual learning starting.

The goal isn’t to have a perfect study session every time. The goal is that your routine doesn’t break. Because a routine that survives bad days is the only kind that actually works.

Published in Dawn, Young World, April 25th, 2026

Ethnicity and Development: Addressing the Gaps in New Institutional Economics
By Shahrukh Rafi Khan
Routledge
ISBN: 978-1032630830
92pp.

Identifying the factors that caused some nations to progress and prosper, while most others continue to struggle in poverty and deprivation, is the holy grail of development economics.

There are a number of theories, ranging from the obvious effects of the gains of colonialism (which essentially involved plunder), to theories on the effects of climate on development (the idea that people work less in hot countries). The only consensus is that there is probably a mix of factors — geography, history, environment and the occasional sagacious ruler — that have, over millennia, shaped the world as it exists now.

Amongst the long list of development economists who have tried to crack the code, so to speak, the name of Douglass North — and his framing of New Institutional Economics (NIE) — has stood out over some decades. North was an economic historian who emphasised the role of institutions in shaping development.

The core idea was simple — that economic agents may well be considered rational, but they lack complete information on markets, and incur costs in investigating potential partners and rivals, as well as market trends in general. However, if countries build institutions that can enforce contracts, ensure basic law and order, and provide reliable information on how markets are operating, then rational economic agents can operate with minimal transaction costs. This gives them an incentive to invest and save and thus drive economic growth. North’s essential premise has been examined further by many academics, notably Daron Acemoglu and James Robinson.

A brief treatise by a well-known Pakistani economist explores the impact of ethnic friction on the success or failure of nations

The brief treatise that is the subject of this review was written by Dr Shahrukh Rafi Khan, a well-known Pakistani economist. It examines the NIE hypothesis and posits that it is blind to the effects of ethnic diversity and conflict on development. Thus, according to Dr Khan, low- and lower middle-income countries (L/LMICs) that have ethnically diverse populations need to build national cohesion as a priority, along with building institutions for economic regulation and the establishment of the rule of law.

This premise is explained in some detail in this book, which reads like a paper in an academic journal, and is also structured as such. The book begins with a detailed review of literature on the success and failure of nations. But the first chapter concludes with the contention that L/LMICs, most of which are post-colonial states characterised by hastily drawn borders, need to focus first on “horizontal inclusion”, and build a sense of nationhood amongst their (often) ethnically diverse populations, before institutions of the state and regulators can effectively do their jobs.

To explain his point further, Dr Khan makes a distinction between what he calls “natural” nations, or those which feature a dominant ethnic identity, and “constructed” nations, which are ethnically, as well as culturally and/or religiously diverse. He cites a number of quantitative, cross-country studies that uphold the hypothesis that ethnically diverse nations are more prone to internal conflict, which in turn undermines social and economic development.

Dr Khan picks up two case studies to further explore how ethnic diversity (or, on the other hand, uniformity) may impact economic development. The first is a “natural” experiment, ie the comparison of Pakistan and Bangladesh. This is a case that lends itself to the examination of Dr Khan’s hypothesis, given that the two nations were once two wings of the same country, but had quite different ethnic characteristics. East Pakistan (now Bangladesh), being largely ethnically homogenous, and West Pakistan being anything but.

After the 1971 war, and Bangladesh’s declaration of independence, the two countries have diverged significantly in terms of economic and social progress. Dr Khan examines a range of economic and governance indicators and, unsurprisingly, finds that Bangladesh has not only left Pakistan behind on key indicators, but has also succeeded in progressing without exacerbating inequality in society. Thus, Bangladesh has not only demonstrated sustainable growth over the last decade or so, but seems to have achieved this in an inclusive manner.

The second case is that of the Balkans, mainly the nations that once constituted the former Yugoslavia. Of the eight Balkan states whose data was analysed, two (Croatia and Kosovo) are largely ethnically homogenous, while two more (Serbia and Slovenia) also have a homogenous population (with more than 80 percent of the population belonging to one ethnic group). But the four other nations are ethnically diverse, and have not only witnessed ethnic tension, but in some cases, outright conflict.

However, the social and economic progress of all eight Balkan states was exceptional, post-independence. According to Dr Khan, the push factor in this case may have been independence itself, which encouraged national development, with or without ethnic diversity.

There is no denying that the basic hypothesis of this study is intriguing and has interesting policy implications. And the hypothesis, stated simply, is that building an inclusive and just society that can counter ethnic and social conflict is crucial for long-term sustainable development. Whether or not it is proved from the data and two case studies cited is a point for discussion.

One could argue that Bangladesh, despite its ethnically homogenous population, was a low-income economy for many years post-independence. Its growth is more due to corporate giants searching for cheap labour (reference Daewoo’s pioneering partnership with Desh Garments, which launched readymade garments manufacturing in the country) and quota restrictions on China and India than any social developments. The author also acknowledges that, while ethnic conflict is practically non-existent in the country, it is riven by political and ideological conflict.

Similarly, with the Balkan states, their emergence as independent nations was preceded by more than four decades of Communist rule, which may have been oppressive and stultifying but did equip them with systems for universal healthcare and provision of basic education across the board. With that strong base, the move towards high growth and social development was perhaps easier to accomplish.

As the extensive literature on the subject suggests, it is notoriously difficult to understand what makes human societies develop (or descend into anarchy). Often, there are too many factors at play. But any scholarship that seeks to shed light on the underlying issues is welcome, and Dr Khan’s research has added a new dimension to the existing work.

The questions raised here need to be discussed more widely, and presented to a wider research community. We hope that the publication of this book will set that wheel in motion.

The reviewer is a researcher and policy analyst

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, April 19th, 2026

Between the 16th and 18th centuries, Persian language poets in Iran and India established a parallel universe of poetic expression, which sought to engage the mind with complex metaphors, personification of abstract concepts, and imagery that was both intellectually complex and marvellously fresh. Despite its focus on engaging the intellect, like all sophisticated artistic expressions about the human condition and its subjective reality, it was also emotionally moving.

This style of poetry came to be known as Sabk-i-Hindi (Indian style), which critic Nasir Abbas Nayyar calls the modernist movement of Indian Persian poetry, and which preceded the modernist movement in the West by four centuries.

Some of the greatest proponents of Sabk-i-Hindi were Baba Faghani Shirazi (d. 1519), Jalaluddin Muhammad ‘Aseer’ Shahrestani (d. 1639), Abu Taleb Kalim Kashani (d. 1651), Ghani Kashmiri (d. 1666), Nasir Ali Sirhandi (d. 1697), Muhammad Ishaq Shaukat Bukhari (d. 1699), Ghanimat Kunjahi (d. 1713), Abdul Qadir Bedil (d. 1720) and Mirza Qateel (d. 1817).

In Rang-i-Asrar-i-Digar [Transcendental Hues], internationally acclaimed poet Afzal Ahmed Syed offers, in Urdu translation, a selection of nearly 450 verses from Abdul Qadir Bedil, the prince of Sabk-i-Hindi poetry, whose influence reaches beyond India and Pakistan into Central Asia and all Persian-speaking regions. He also left a profound impression on both Ghalib and Iqbal’s thought and poetry.

Nasir Abbas Nayyar’s insightful preface to this important selection offers a useful frame for understanding the reasons why Afzal Ahmed Syed has translated Bedil and other Sabk-i-Hindi poets in the past, and how Syed’s engagement with Bedil and this tradition has helped to integrate it into the world of contemporary Urdu poetry.

Nayyar writes: “Modern Urdu poetry has faced a rupture since its birth in the late 19th century, and to express itself, it has employed the logic of the same rupture. The resulting vacuum is simultaneously historical, cultural and aesthetic. To be a modernist poet in our time is to completely negate the classical tradition, history and the indigenous literary canon. This negation becomes absolute when not only the corpus of classical poetry, classical aesthetics, and the temporality which provides them meaning are sidelined, but the ingredients of the narrator’s selfhood are also changed. And not only that, to legitimise this negation and change, progress is presented as an overriding principle…

“In our time, the one who has addressed this rupture creatively is Afzal Ahmed Syed. Others have explained this rupture with the ideas of nationhood, religion, history and metaphysics; Syed has only focused on literature… Syed does not see classical and modern traditions from a post-colonial lens. He bases his understanding on literature’s free-spirited, feral nature. This is the main reason for his interest in the Sabk-i-Hindi poets, especially Bedil…

“The reason he is not striving for a revival of the classical literary world view is because the desire for revival sprouts where the past remains a static, sanctified presence and one feels an existential alienation towards the present. It is something extraordinary that he studies the Sabk-i-Hindi poets like contemporary poets. He sees many commonalities in poetical approach between them and the exponents of modern poetry, which is to say that he sees a continuation of the poetic vision introduced by the Sabk-i-Hindi poets in the contemporary poetry, in his own work and in the work of his contemporaries… In simple words, he does not consider Bedil a fossilised presence from the past, but an eminently engaged poetic presence.”

The poetic world view presented by the Sabk-i-Hindi poetry was so novel that it was not immediately appreciated and, for 200 years of its existence, poets writing in this tradition faced an inner exile from the accepted literary tradition of their time. The Sabk-i-Hindi poets were heretics in the established poetic order of their time.

The ultimate test of any artistic expression is whether or not it is able to engage our humanity. Through their abstraction, the Sabk-i-Hindi poets created a rarified vision of human existence that is both delicate and endearing and imbues our physical and emotional existence with venerability.

I have attempted a translation of some verses which give a flavour of the couplets Syed has selected for his translation:

Aik shokh [mashooqa] jis ki aasteen rag-i gul se bani hai, humain giraftar karnay ki ghaat mein hai
[Magar woh itni nazuk hai ke] Rang-i-hina ke saaye se [bhi] uss ka haath [jaisay] pathar ke neechay aa jata hai

[A coquette whose sleeve is made from the veins of rose-petals, sets her eyes on my conquest/ When her hands are [so delicate they are] bruised even by the imprint of henna]

Meena khana-i-hairat ki aaghosh mein bohat si nazakatain hain
Palkon ko na jhapka ke kahien tu rang-i-tamasha ko bigaarr na de

[Many subtleties exist in the embrace of existence›s mirror house/ Do not snap your eyelashes or their interplay would go awry]

Saari umr teray saath jaam takratay rahay aur hamara
ranj-i-khumaar nahin gaya
Kya qayamat hai ke tu hamaray pehlu se hamaray pehlu tak nahin pohanchti

[We knocked cups together a lifetime and could not dispel hangover’s pangs/ What a pity you did not budge from my side to my embrace]

When an oversized presence like Bedil appears on poetry’s horizon, and leaves a lasting imprint on his own and subsequent ages, it saturates the poetic vision with multifarious hues. Afzal Ahmed Syed’s selection from Bedil is also important in that he has delineated his own imaginative and intellectual galaxy from the universe created by Bedil.

This selection is a demarcation of the metaphors, abstractions and ideas in Bedil’s poetry that appeal to Syed and, in this respect, it is also a perpetuation of his own poetic expression.

The columnist is a novelist, author and translator.
He can be reached via his website: micromaf.com

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, April 19th, 2026

Ruttie
By Zaif Syed
Tilismaat Publications
ISBN: 9786-279487032
286pp.

It is the night of February 20, 1918. On the marble floors of the Taj Mahal Hotel, Ruttie Petit sways in a sea-green chiffon saree, as if water itself has learned how to dance. It is her 18th birthday.

In front of Bombay’s elite, she moves without hesitation into Jinnah’s arms and turns towards the Anglo-Indian bandleader Ken Mac, asking him, “Play Chopin’s Tristesse… for me today.” In that moment, her ethereal beauty and her laughter, light as bangles, are at their peak. The melody rises: “So deep is the night… no moon tonight…” and Ruttie feels as if life is eternal, as if nothing could ever dim this shimmering moment.

Years later, the same melody drifts into the marble veranda of the Karachi Club. It is the evening of August 15, 1947. A new nation is born, history itself stands at a turning point, yet one heart remains lost in the shadows of the past. The Quaid-i-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah has called Ken Mac over from Bombay. A whisper echoes: “Will your memory haunt me till I die? So deep is the night…” He stands alone; alone in the crowd, alone at the centre of history. The night is just as deep, and the moon is still absent.

Zaif Syed’s new Urdu novel Ruttie emerges from this inner sorrow, this unspoken ache beneath history’s grand narratives. It begins with a single letter, ‘J’, which becomes both the universe of Ruttie’s life and the symbol of its undoing. Syed is among those rare writers who break away from conventional storytelling, creating a narrative that is not merely told but deeply felt, almost lived. In Ruttie, love, history and memory merge into one another so seamlessly that the boundaries between them dissolve, as if time itself were a living character.

A new Urdu novel imagines the life of Ruttie Jinnah, bringing to life a woman lost in the margins of history and rescuing her from silence

The novel traces the 29 years of Ruttie’s life against the turbulent backdrop of the Subcontinent. Her love for Jinnah and the unrest within their marriage are woven, with remarkable subtlety, into the political upheavals of the time. One of the novel’s most striking features is that everyone and everything in it speaks, except Ruttie herself. There are multiple narrators who reveal the different layers of her personality, each voice adding a new shade to her presence.

Petit Hall reveals how her birth turned its barrenness into bloom. The Taj Mahal Hotel reflects her beauty and charm. Bombay tells its own restless story. And South Court Mansion sings of her love for art and beauty. Dina, her daughter, speaks with longing for her mother, while Kajal, Ruttie’s cat, reflects her quiet tenderness and emotional depth.

Kanji Dwarkadas, Ruttie’s friend, recalls her companionship and loyalty and Diwan Chaman Lal, Jinnah’s close friend and colleague who witnessed the final days of the couple’s marriage, recounts her final days with a restrained, almost unbearable sorrow.

Syed gently brings to life a woman lost in the margins of history, rescuing her from silence. Ruttie emerges as the rose of Bombay, a flickering light in darkness, the queen of Petit Hall, and a prominent Parsi woman of unshakeable strength. To Kanji, she was a brave and devoted friend and, to Mahatma Gandhi, she appears as a symbol of life itself: vibrant, restless and luminous.

The novel, at the same time, portrays Ruttie as a figure of remarkable courage, one who stood in court against her father, Sir Dinshaw Petit, in steadfast support of Jinnah, and who gave up wealth, privilege and certainty in the name of love. Yet, in time, she comes to realise that a life lived entirely on one’s own terms does not always lead to happiness; that freedom, too, can carry within it the seeds of solitude.

The author does not compare but he reveals. Jinnah is discipline personified, a man shaped by restraint, order and purpose, while for Ruttie discipline feels like a form of death. Jinnah knew that only Ruttie could truly see into his inner self, into the spaces he kept hidden from the world, and perhaps this very understanding became a silent torment for her, a closeness that deepened distance rather than bridging it.

Ruttie transformed Jinnah’s South Court, from a mere residence into a living, breathing space, filled with warmth and imagination. She replaced legal files with books by Shakespeare, Keats, Milton, Tagore and Ibsen; softened the cold marble floors with thick carpets; dressed bare windows with velvet curtains and adorned plain walls with fine paintings. South Court came alive because Ruttie had come there not just to live, but to truly exist, to create a space where life could be felt in its fullness.

Yet these two personalities — Ruttie, vibrant, impulsive and deeply attuned to beauty, and Jinnah, the embodiment of restraint and discipline — were like two shores that could never meet. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, their world turned into a cold, silent stillness. It was not a silence born of conflict or confrontation, but of suffocation, a quiet, invisible erosion, like termites eating away at the foundation of their love.

Syed writes that Ruttie’s life was a continuous rebellion against the expectations imposed by society and, perhaps in more subtle ways, by Jinnah as well. The novel also explores her deep bond with animals; she had come to believe that humans may deceive, betray or withdraw, but animals remain purely loyal. As Jinnah became increasingly absorbed in politics and the demands of leadership, Ruttie turned inwards, seeking spiritual solace. Her bright eyes grew distant, her radiant presence dimmed. She still smiled, but her spirit was wounded.

Jinnah, consumed by his mission and its responsibilities, could not hear the heart that beat for him. The attention, which Ruttie had given up everything for, slowly faded into absence, and Jinnah became, above all else, a leader belonging not to one person, but to history itself.

Through Syed’s narrators, we watch Ruttie fade away moment by moment, while the bottles of the sleeping aid Veronal beside her bed multiply almost unnoticed. Jinnah, entangled in constitutional drafts and political complexities, could not untangle the complexities of his own life. On her 29th birthday, she finally freed herself from life’s burdens, leaving behind not just a memory, but a question that lingers. The date February 20 becomes both her beginning and her end — a single date holding an entire story.

The author leaves it to the reader to decide whether, for Jinnah, winning Ruttie was merely a case he sought to win against Sir Dinshaw Petit, or whether it was, in its deepest sense, love. Such is the power of Syed’s style and imagery that the reader no longer remains a spectator, but becomes part of Ruttie’s life.

One basks in the glow of her beauty, loses oneself in the rhythm of her poetry, laughs and dances with her, and then breaks down, grieving alongside her. And as life begins to slip through her fingers like sand, the reader, too, slowly begins to fade.

In the novel, the flow of events is so compelling that one cannot look away even for a moment. Every turn, every scene holds the reader in its grasp, refusing distance, demanding emotional presence. And then come those moments: quiet, deep and piercing, when one cannot hold back tears. And the story continues to echo long after it has ended.

The novel closes on a powerful and haunting note, linking Ruttie’s story to the 2008 Taj Mahal Hotel attacks and its legal aftermath, creating a haunting symbolic circle. In the end, Ruttie’s final letter leaves a lasting echo: “Remember me as the flower you chose, not as the one you crushed under your feet.”

The reviewer is a writer, social activist and performing artist

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, April 19th, 2026

Fortress of the Forgotten Ones
Translation of Qila-i-Faramoshi by Fahmida Riaz
Translated by Sana R. Chaudhry
Open Letter Books
ISBN: 978-1-960385-51-2
216pp.

Sana R. Chaudhry’s recent translation of Fahmida Riaz’s novel Qila-i-Faramoshi, titled Fortress of the Forgotten Ones, has won the 2026 Armoury Square Prize for Literary Translation.

To render the specificities of a work that qualifies as historical fiction is difficult enough; to do so across a linguistic divide is no mean feat. To understand the translator’s triumph, one must contend with the architecture of the novel itself.

The concise book opens with a poignant dedication to the Parsi community from Riaz, the original author, which serves as a prelude for the reader to begin a story set in fifth-century ancient Persia, during the Sassanid Empire. The narrative follows the life of the central character Mazdak, a historical figure whose story is artfully fictionalised in this work.

The narrative unfolds within the rigid geometry of systemic inequality, a landscape where the earliest echoes of human history are defined less by progress than by a siege. Its origins can be traced back to a foundational sin of the Neolithic era: the moment when granaries became the stronghold of a few. The priests and the well-born do not merely govern; they curate a surplus and preside over a hoard of resources, whereas the labouring classes are relegated to the thin, frantic margins of scarcity.

The English translation of late Fahmida Riaz’s novel Qila-i-Faramoshi offers the Anglophone world a window into ancient Persian history through an Urdu lens

By centring the story on the centralised control of the storehouse, the author exposes the machinery of the myth: the priests and nobles exist in a realm of perpetual excess, while the rest of humanity is defined by lack.

Amidst this picture of systemic inequality, the capital city of Ctesiphon is shown in the grip of a devastating famine. While traditionalists view the catastrophe as a divine curse, Mazdak interprets the crisis as a man-made failure of distribution. The ensuing revolt, the core of the narrative, originates from within Mazdak’s internal moral struggle. Driven by the core Zoroastrian tenet that “all are equal”, Mazdak transforms his private convictions into a public uprising and leads the labouring classes against the Sassanid elite.

A diverse cast of characters, which includes King Qobad, his high-ranking military officials, and his influential wife, is drawn into the unfolding struggle. Their involvement highlights the complexity of the revolution. As the uprising begins to permeate the highest levels of Sassanid power, it forces the ruling elite to confront Mazdak’s radical vision.

Riaz’s profound and rare command of Zoroastrian history offers readers a nuanced glimpse into the culture, social structures and linguistic dynamics of the Sassanid era. This scholarly depth firmly roots the work in the genre of historical fiction, a sophisticated amalgam of historical fact and creative imagination.

As the narrative progresses, Mazdak transitions from being a priest to a prophet. Drawing from his interpretation of Zoroastrianism, he introduces radical social and religious codes. Of particular interest is his emphasis on dietary abstinence, specifically the propagation of a strictly vegetarian diet. Furthermore, the author refuses to sanitise the more ‘scandalous’ tenets of ancient Persian society: its rejection of private lineage in favour of a communal sharing of wives and offspring. By refusing to look away from these ancient social ruptures, the novel achieves a rare kind of historical honesty.

While the narrative centres on the ignition of a revolution and the resulting palace intrigues, its true depth lies in Riaz’s exploration of historical symbolism. She masterfully traces the origins of the hammer and the chisel by conjuring the tale of a legendary blacksmith who once rose against a tyrant king. Similarly, the swastika is reclaimed as an ancient symbol of Aryan courage; its perpendicular arms represent the revolving sun and the ‘Wheel of Mithra.’

Crucially, if history is the ultimate litmus test for a writer of historical fiction, translating such a work is a bigger challenge. One must consider how this Urdu-to-English translation secured the prestigious Armoury Square Prize: the answer lies in Sana R. Chaudhry’s masterful execution.

Chaudhry’s translation is consistent and evocative. The translation undoubtedly reflects a sophisticated hermeneutical approach. In simple words, given the vast syntactical differences between Urdu and English, the translated version comprises remarkably clear and coherent prose. By avoiding over-saturation, she ensures the text remains fluid and accessible, all the while allowing the historical weight of the narrative to shine through without the interference of clunky phrasing. For readers who appreciate sensory detail, the novel offers exquisitely translated descriptions that breathe life into the Sassanid world, such as in the passage:

“The vast doors had been flung open. Inside, hand-woven rugs were lined with bolster pillows, while decorative pots and vases adorned tables of various sizes. In one corner, a large carpet held a low table set with a chessboard. Inside a lapis lazuli box lay chess pieces carved from black and white marble, and a glazed blue tray filled with dried fruits rested on a central table.”

We read historical fiction not to escape the present but to understand the ghosts that continue to haunt our current political and social landscapes. For the translator, the task is a delicate sort of dual demand that requires the creation of a language that revitalises the forgotten past while resisting archival coldness. Chaudhry achieves this without relying on unnecessary footnotes or endnotes, which can often be jarring for the reader.

It is through the use of italics that a seamless transition between the character’s inner monologue and the outer setting is achieved, an aspect of the text that doesn’t feel out of place. Most significantly, she successfully captures a range of distinct voices of varied characters that bring about different levels of consciousness. These characters span the social spectrum of the Sassanid Empire — from the resilient wives of common labourers to the politically astute Queen and the formidable, warrior-like fighters.

Each character possesses a unique personality and is given a voice that varies between poised and aggressive. This reflects different cross-sections of the Sassanid society, which includes farmers, miners, craftsmen, nobility and kings. True to the late author’s feminist legacy, the novel ensures that women are afforded equal voice and representation. By centring these diverse perspectives, Riaz elevates the narrative from a traditional historical chronicle to a vibrant exploration of female agency within a revolutionary struggle.

Published by Open Letter Books, the English translation of Qila-i-Faramoshi brings Fahmida Riaz’s vision to a global Anglophone audience. The Armoury Square Prize for Literary Translation has carved out a vital space for under-represented South Asian languages, by offering the Anglophone world a window into ancient Persian history through an Urdu lens.

Beyond its introduction of Zoroastrian customs and the “first socialist revolution”, the novel expands its canvas in the 40th chapter by linking the Sassanid era to the mysterious Ranikot Fort. Though its true origins remain shrouded in history, Riaz imaginatively suggests a Sassanid foundation — a connection that feels remarkably grounded and plausible within the narrative.

The novel’s structure is accessible and engaging, though its chapter divisions are notably irregular. Some chapters, such as the fourth, are as brief as a single paragraph, a stylistic choice that lends a sharp, cinematic vividness to the storytelling. While the narrative’s sweeping historical breadth leaves little room for exhaustive character studies, its compelling novelistic quality ensures a gripping experience.

Readers will find it deeply rewarding to trace the hero Mazdak’s journey through his trials, triumphs and eventual failures. Ultimately, the pulse of the novel is the timeless desire for equality, captured in the radical decree: “All the wealth of the rich must be seized and distributed equally among all people.”

And finally, it is in the deafening background thunder of the ongoing US war with Iran that the novel becomes all the more discernible and necessary.

The reviewer is a PhD scholar working on Punjabi poets.

She can be contacted at ayesharamzan83@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, April 19th, 2026

Annieville, an East Coast town in the United States, nearly becomes the next Atlantis when a Category 5 hurricane floods the landscape, sealing the fate of a handful of idiots who ignored the government’s advice to run for their lives.

The few include Dakota (Whitney Peak), an agoraphobe who decides to brave the storm and the flood in her home — knowing fully well that American houses, made primarily of wood, can easily be swept away in storms. Then there’s Lisa (Phoebe Dynevor), a pregnant woman trapped inside her car; and Ron, Dee, and Will (Stacy Clausen, Alyla Browne, Dante Ubaldi), who are at the mercy of their state-assigned foster parents (Matt Nable, Amy Mathews).

There are also a few saps who get what they deserve, a few good Samaritans who die because the film needs to kill minor characters to raise the stakes, and Dr Dale Edwards (Djimon Hounsou), a marine researcher and Dakota’s uncle.

Thrash — sharks in a Category 5 hurricane flood — is exactly as ingenious as it sounds and nowhere near as fun as it should be

Dale knows the water is the least of their worries, because the sweeping tide has brought in something far more sinister: sharks! A number of bull sharks have invaded the town, but a larger threat lurks among them — a massive great white named Nellie, whom Dale has been tracking.

Yes, the film is exactly as ingenious as it sounds, and nowhere near as fun as it should be. The story is weak, the screenplay is weaker and the direction — well, you get the message. Credits for both writing and direction go to Tommy Wirkola (Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters, Violent Night).

Adam McKay (the writer-director of The Big Short, Vice and Don’t Look Up), who produces here, was the primary reason this reviewer chose to see the movie. One might be inclined to say “never again”, but McKay has produced several good — and good-enough — films in the past. One can also see the allure of the premise — people scrambling for safety as their houses flood while being picked off by sharks — but the execution, irrespective of decent visual effects, is poor.

The film’s greatest flaw is its lack of character engagement. The people on screen hop, scurry, climb and swim, but they carry no emotional weight or depth. Frankly, films such as Crawl — where alligators prey on townsfolk during a Category 5 hurricane — have handled this concept much better.

One thing is certain: because of this movie, I’ll forever read the word ‘Thrash’ without the ‘h’.

Streaming on Netflix, Thrash is rated 16+ for the usual fare: mauled cow carcasses and chomped off people

The writer is Icon’s primary film reviewer

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 19th, 2026

Whatever the reason behind the abrupt halt in the airing of Pakistan Idol Season 2 (which was being watched avidly before the month of Ramazan), the fact remains that it’s a deeply disappointing situation. The people responsible for the show should sit together and reflect on the embarrassment this has caused them, as well as the exceedingly talented contestants who have been left in limbo. The sooner they resolve the issue, the better. Also, keep in mind that the Pakistan version of the international franchise was giving its Indian counterpart a run for its money. Food for thought?

A Classic Gone Awry

Make no mistake, Shafqat Amanat Ali is an excellent singer. He has a number of incredible songs to his credit. But his attempt to redo Mohammad Rafi’s classic song ‘Hum bekhudi mein tum ko pukarey chaleygaye’ from the 1958 Dev Anand classic Kala Pani leaves much to be desired. Rafi sahib sang the song with the kind of emotion and on a scale that was perfect for the protagonist of the story. Kudos to the legendary composer S.D. Burman, too! Emotion is the key word here, which Shafqat A A’s version seriously lacks.

Won’t Hear Ye

Rapper Ye, formerly known as Kanye West, was set to come to England for the Wireless Festival, which will be held in the summer and which he was supposed to headline. Not anymore. The British authorities have banned Ye from travelling to the UK because of his repeated “antisemitic and pro-Nazi” comments, which he has been making for the past few years. British PM Keir Starmer himself announced the ban. The organisers of the Wireless Fest have claimed that, before booking musicians, “multiple stakeholders” were consulted and no concerns were expressed at the time. Well, it’s good to know the UK PM has something important to say and do while the world struggles to avert World War 3.

For World Peace

It was heartening to see Pakistan mediate peace talks between the US and Iran, which led to a two-week ceasefire between their warring armies. Pakistani celebrities, like the entire country, felt super happy and proud about it. The likes of Mahira Khan, Shaista Wahidi and Farhan Saeed expressed satisfaction and breathed a sigh of relief that the world was saved from a possible major catastrophe. Indeed, that was the case. On the other hand, Indians (whose government is not even close to the international diplomatic table) are flocking to cinema houses to watch Dhurandhar: The Revenge, perhaps to ponder how brave their actors are in make-believe fights.

The Fall

Indian actor Akshay Kumar is known for not using stuntmen or visual effects for the action sequences that he performs in films — after all, he is a black belt in karate. But then age is a ruthless thing. Recently, while shooting for Bhoot Bangla, helmed by Priyadarshan, the 58-year-old actor lost his balance mid-kick and fell awkwardly. It hurt him, though thankfully not too seriously. The little accident caused a delay in filming. We urge Akshay K to kick the habit of not seeking a stuntman’s help. No point in kicking the air in an ungainly manner.

Nepo Talent?

K-pop star Dayoung has a new video out, titled What’s a Girl to Do, which features Shiloh, the 19-year-old daughter of divorced Hollywood couple Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, as one of the background dancers. Apparently, she didn’t get the dancing role because of her famous parents. Here’s what the Korean star’s management team has said: “We held an open audition in the United States of America to cast performers for Dayoung’s music video. Among those who took part were several performers affiliated with a dance crew called ‘Culture’. Shiloh was selected in the final round and ended up joining Dayoung’s music video.” Yes, and horses can fly.

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 19th, 2026

“We can be critical of our governments and we should be. But we must also give credit where it’s due. Our government played a major role in advancing peace and contributing to something bigger than ourselves, it deserves to be acknowledged. Proud to see Pakistan in global headlines for peace.”

— Sidra Niazi, actor

“Wedding pictures [of me and Khushhal Khan] were leaked and shared without our consent. It’s invasive, disrespectful and unethical. To the pages chasing clout off our private moments — stop. This is not content to exploit. I’ve always kept my personal life private and will continue to do so. As I step into this new chapter, I expect all images to be taken down immediately.”

— Ramsha Khan, actor

“I can’t wait for Ranveer Singh to take credit for the ceasefire in Dhurandhar 3.”

— Durefishan Saleem, actor

“I am worried about the hypocrisy in how Pakistani TV shows are censored. In Aik Aur Pakeeza, Nameer Khan’s bare shoulder had to be blurred even though it was important to the storyline, while other dramas show shirtless males frequently. These selective standards are problematic.”

— Bee Gul, writer

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 19th, 2026

Several episodes of Mirza Ki Heer — IDream Entertainment’s new drama, which has just started airing on ARY Digital — are currently being shot here and they revolve around a ‘shaadi ka ghar’ [wedding home], which means that the mayun décor will stay put until the scenes are wrapped up.

A seating area is set up in one corner, a bright yellow sheet laid over it and yellow and orange cushions strewn across it. There are marigold garlands bordering the stairs, the window sills and the pillars. They keep falling every now and then, and one of the spot-boys patiently tapes them back on.

A HOUSE THAT TELLS A STORY

There are little details in the various nooks and corners of the house, quietly reinforcing that this is, indeed, our hero, Mirza’s (played by actor Ali Raza) home. Family portraits hang on the walls, an old TV set has been placed inside the room belonging to the grandparents, bowls and vases are scattered on ageing tables, old crockery can be seen in a cupboard with dusty glass doors and there are bags, carelessly propped on chairs, symbolising the hotchpotch, not very affluent lifestyle of the residents of ‘Mirza House.’

With meticulous world-building, young, new leads and a formidable antagonist, director Aehsun Talish’s Mirza Ki Heer is betting on grand romance — the verdict on how well it will do remains to be seen

Evidently, the staircase snaking its way up from the courtyard to the upper floor has been specially constructed for the drama. When you go up it, you realise how makeshift it is, with some of the planks slightly rickety and creaking as you step on them. However, Mirza prances up them quite adeptly in the drama’s first episode, thus proving his acting mettle.

The cast can be found in one of the rooms on the first floor. Around the time that I arrive, Ali is about to have lunch with some of the cast and crew while the titular Heer — actress Hina Afridi — is getting her hair and make-up done.

Ali Safina, who plays Mirza’s happy-go-lucky uncle, walks in a few hours later. Zahid Ahmed, the villainous Dilnawaz, hell-bent on thwarting the two young lovers, is going to arrive at night for his scenes. Perpetually pacing up and down the courtyard are director Aehsun Talish and his right hand, his son Raza Talish, ironing out the nitty-gritties before the camera rolls.

DETAILING THE EVERYDAY

“Details are very important,” Aehsun says, once I have navigated the entire location and peered into all the rooms.

“In a lot of dramas, you see rooms that look completely artificial. They usually have a bed, two lamps, a very proper curtain, and then the hero puts on a tie, the heroine gets her hair curled, and they are both filmed there. It doesn’t connect because it’s all so perfect and manicured. TV audiences are very sharp and notice such things.”

He explains that, since Mirza’s family has been living in the house for 70 years, the team ensured the space looked lived-in. Simply placing portraits on the walls wasn’t enough; clutter was deliberately added — including plastic bags strewn around on a sofa — as such homes sometimes lack adequate storage space — to reflect the reality of such households. These personal touches, he emphasises, are essential.

The drama’s producer, Abdullah Seja, observes, “Hundreds of dramas have been shot in this very house, but we went the extra mile, restructuring it, so that the audience would not recognise it from previous dramas. I think it’s important to make these efforts in order to improve the visual experience and keep the story fresh.”

He further reveals that the courtyard was originally a covered area; the roof was removed, the staircase built, and the interiors redesigned to make the setting believable as Mirza’s home.

There’s more: “We have been experimenting a lot with Artificial Intelligence [AI] and, in this drama, we have utilised it to create most of the background music,” says Seja. “This is just the beginning. I am hopeful that soon we will be implementing AI into many more aspects of production.”

A SHIFT TO GRAND ROMANCE

Mirza Ki Heer, according to its makers, is a ‘grand romantic drama’, a genre that iDream Entertainment and Aehsun Talish hadn’t explored extensively before, both having focused instead on social commentaries in Sharpasand, the painful family tug-of-war in Bismil and the heightened filminess in Sher.

While shooting these earlier dramas, I had met Aehsun on various occasions and he had been very enthusiastic every time, excited about what was to come and discussing the nuances of the scripts at length. Today, he is similarly energised for Mirza Ki Heer.

“It’s very important to be excited,” he says. “You need to be convinced that there is something special about the script and then figure out ways of storytelling that will keep the audience engaged. Most stories are more or less the same. It is the way they are translated visually that makes them stand out.”

A fresh new romantic ‘jorri’ (pair) has been cast in the drama. Why Ali Raza and Hina Afridi?

“They are both young and there is a freshness to them,” says the director. “Young actors have a lot of energy and both Ali and Hina are very enthusiastic, offering new ideas, owning the project and promoting it. It helps that they are both friends and so they are comfortable with each other and are able to perform without any inhibitions. They have both acted very well.”

I later get to talk to these two young actors, who agree that they are very comfortable acting out romantic scenes, though they end up laughing through most of them.

“We do laugh a lot but, then, it’s work and we have to try and get the scenes right,” says Ali. “It’s a good thing that we’re friends. Hina is like family to me and so we are very comfortable with each other. We improvise a lot and we react well to each other, so that the flow of the scene does not get disturbed.”

Hina adds, “We often discuss a scene beforehand, suggesting how he could act and, then, what I would do and running our ideas by Aehsun sahib.” She laughs and continues, “Aehsun sahib doesn’t say cut very loudly. We will be acting out a scene, looking into each other’s eyes, not realising that he has softly said ‘cut’ and the shooting has wrapped up!

It’s very important to be excited,” director Aehsun Talish says. “You need to be convinced that there is something special about the script and then figure out ways of storytelling that will keep the audience engaged. Most stories are more or less the same. It is the way they are translated visually that makes them stand out.”

“There was this one time when I had to cry in a scene and for three-and-a-half minutes, I was crying, giving different expressions. Then, I heard Aehsun sahib’s voice behind me, asking: ‘Why is she still crying? Why are you crying, Hina?’ I hadn’t realised that the scene had already been completed,” she grins.

Both Ali and Hina’s initial acting trysts have been promising and both young actors have built up considerable fan followings. What attracted them to Mirza Ki Heer?

“It’s a very romantic drama, and I wanted to act in one. And in all the scripts that have been offered to me recently, this was the best one,” says Hina. “Ali’s mother is actually a very good friend of mine. She helps him decide what project to do, and she helped me out, too. She read this script, and we would be WhatsApping long voice notes back and forth, discussing the story.

“I was excited to be working with Aehsun sahib,” she adds. “I have been his fan ever since he directed Suno Chanda. By then, I had made my acting debut with this production house, in Pehli Si Mohabbat. This is my second project with them.”

Hina continues: “This drama was offered to me around the time that I was getting married and my manager told me that, if I signed up for it, I would be giving up the 15 days that I had taken off after my wedding. I said that I did not care and I was on the set just five days after getting married. That’s how excited I was!”

And what about you, I ask Ali. “I wanted to work with Aehsun Talish and I was excited to be working with iDream Entertainment for the first time. The last drama I had acted in was for Hum TV, while this one was for ARY Digital — I like switching channels with each project.

“I also really liked my character. He is an athlete and, to some extent, I got to show my comedic side in some of the scenes. Later in the story, the character undergoes a complete transition, which also struck me as very interesting.”

Ali, in his short career, has often been linked to his co-stars, with fans conjecturing whether there is a real or reel romance on screen. Why does he think this happens?

“Yes, why?” he questions with a grin. “I think I am able to build chemistry well on-screen which is why people just start assuming things. It has never made me or my co-actors uncomfortable, because we’re just doing our jobs. And it’s good for the project.”

Hina adds, “That’s how it should be. We’re doing our job and trying to do it right.”

Here, Ali decides to offer some acting tricks, “Not just with dialogues and your actions, I think that it is important to emote with your eyes in a romantic scene. Position the lighting towards our eyes so they sparkle.”

They both burst into laughter.

ENTER THE ANTAGONIST

Putting a spanner in the works of this romance, sparkling eyes and all, is Zahid Ahmed’s Dilnawaz. The drama’s teaser introduces him as someone with ‘fear in his shadow’ and the initial episodes depict him as the nefarious villain, stalking about predatorily, speaking in a deep, sinister drawl, intent on seizing anything that captures his interest.

Just as expected, the unassuming Heer, reeling from the shock of her father’s suicide and trying to repay his debts, catches Dilnawaz’s attention.

Zahid, of course, is a veteran actor with a slew of exceptional performances to his credit. His trajectory has never leaned towards being a generic ‘hero’ or ‘villain’. Instead, he has always professed an interest in a role that is meaty. “That’s me, always in search of meat. The perpetually malnourished actor!” he quips.

So, there’s meat to Dilnawaz?

“Yes, the villain plays a prominent role in this story,” says Zahid. “He’s a central character and so, I put my faith in the producer and director and signed on.”

For producer Abdullah Seja, Mirza Ki Heer is a “high-octane love story” in which the villain is actually more powerful than the hero.

“Zahid is a brilliant actor, which made him a great choice for this role,” says Seja. “This villain is scary and crime is an everyday part of his life. In the drama, the hero actually gets created because of circumstances. He is originally a happy-go-lucky young boy, and it is because of the villain and what happens with Heer that he changes. And then, how the hero goes on to defeat the villain is going to be interesting.”

Aehsun Talish agrees. “We needed a powerful antagonist and Zahid is a wonderful actor. He has a voice that commands attention and an immense screen presence. It is only when the villain is formidable that it becomes enjoyable seeing how the hero will beat him.”

While the drama has already started airing, the shooting is still ongoing. “I think we’ll be shooting for the next few months,” says Ali.

WAITING FOR THE VERDICT

Do they get encouraged or discouraged by the audience’s reviews of a drama that they are still shooting?

“You can get influenced and this has its advantages and disadvantages,” says Ali. “If they like the drama, there is a chance that you might get overconfident, thinking that what you’re doing is good enough and not trying to do even better. Your 110 percent doesn’t come through because you decide that you’re doing very well and just keep working at that pace. As long as you don’t become overconfident, positive responses from the audience keep you motivated.”

And what if the response is negative? “Then, we just keep working. We are actors and we have to do our job,” he says.

Hina adds, “You can’t let negativity affect your work. There are so many good projects that just don’t become commercial successes. You never know.”

“But this drama has been shot very well,” says Ali. “New technologies have been used and a lot of details have been added in. It is a story with commercial appeal and, as long as it is executed in a compelling way, I think that people will enjoy it.”

It’s early days yet for Mirza Ki Heer, with only the first few episodes having aired so far. Will the audience like it and pronounce it an all-out hit? You never know. But the cast and crew are certainly putting in their all, investing long hours into the shoot, discussing scenes at length, traversing Mirza House in Karachi and, before that, Dilnawaz’s ancestral haveli at a location in Wazirabad, their smart watches clocking in more than 20,000 steps daily (as revealed by Aehsun Talish).

Perhaps some of that passion, that excitement, that belief in this grand, romantic rollercoaster of a story will ultimately filter through on screen.

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, April 19th, 2026

Riz Ahmed’s Bait is an exceptional piece of television. Not only for its satirical exploration of the entertainment industry, but for the psychological narrative running underneath it.

At its heart, the Prime Video series is a quietly devastating study of the pressures placed upon British‑Pakistani men. What appears to be an eccentric comedy about a struggling actor auditioning for James Bond soon reveals itself to be a nuanced portrayal of shame, internalised stigma and the early signs of psychosis.

The series follows Shah Latif (Ahmed), whose obsessive pursuit of validation becomes a catalyst for a psychological unravelling. Shah’s downward spiral is shaped by relentless scrutiny and the fear of not belonging. These themes resonate strongly with a growing body of research on psychosis in British‑Pakistani communities.

A 2024 study in The British Journal of Psychiatry found a significantly higher incidence of first‑episode psychosis among British‑Pakistanis, compared with the majority population. This offers an important parallel to Bait. Shah’s sense of cultural drift, his distance from grounding community structures and his struggle to inhabit multiple identities all heighten his vulnerability.

Bait sheds light on British-Pakistani mental health struggles rarely seen on screen

The show does not name psychosis explicitly, but Shah experiences intrusive thoughts, escalating paranoia, fragmentation of self and delusions. This reflects real trajectories observed in early intervention services.

Racism and psychosis

One of the most incisive threads in the series is the portrayal of racial microaggressions that Shah absorbs without resistance. These include remarks about his “Britishness”, comments on his appearance, and the persistent insinuation that he exists outside the cultural centre.

Recent research has shown that racial discrimination is one of the strongest predictors of psychosis risk. It increases the likelihood of psychotic symptoms by 77 percent, with physical racial attacks multiplying the risk five-fold.

Shah’s encounters — ranging from subtle jabs to overt dismissal — operate cumulatively, shaping his internal monologue and eroding his self-esteem. The brilliance of Bait lies in how it embeds these aggressions into the comedic structure, illustrating the subtle normalisation of harm.

The series highlights the importance of family dynamics, a key but under-researched factor in understanding psychosis among South Asian Muslims in the UK. A 2009 study found that families often had to navigate stigma, concerns about privacy and honour, and tensions between medical models of illness and culturally rooted understandings of distress.

Shah’s relationship with his family shifts between warmth, expectation and pressure, reflecting this complexity. Family can act as both a source of support and a cause of psychological strain. Research examining British-Pakistani Muslim views on mental health has found that cultural stigma, fear of public opinion, and uncertainty around religious explanations can delay people seeking help.

These dynamics are reflected in the silence running through Shah’s world. Mental health struggles are hinted at but never openly discussed, and Shah instinctively hides his distress behind humour and performance. This also reflects how many communities describe mental health in moral or spiritual terms, rather than psychological ones.

I recently explored these issues in a podcast conversation with Zenab Sabahat, a PhD researcher at the University of Bradford. Her research looks at access to, experiences of and outcomes for South Asian Muslim families receiving family interventions for psychosis. This work explores how cultural identity stress, stigma and mismatches between different models of care shape pathways into support.

Sabahat’s work reinforces what Bait illustrates narratively: that psychological distress among British-Pakistanis is closely linked to experiences of migration, racism, cultural belonging and intergenerational tension.

This reality also underpins the work of Our Minds Matter, the UK charity I co-founded to deliver culturally grounded mental health education and support in under-served communities. The organisation’s mission emphasises the need to address mental health through the lenses of culture, faith and community — approaches that mainstream services often overlook.

Early education, reducing stigma and building culturally sensitive support are essential for addressing the inequalities faced by communities like Shah’s.

Five years ago, our team produced a community-led documentary exploring psychosis. It highlighted the experiences of South Asian families and the urgent need for culturally coherent support structures. The challenges articulated in the documentary continue to be reflected in both academic research and people’s lived experiences today.

What Bait achieves is not simply representation but illumination. It exposes how psychological vulnerability can be fuelled by cultural dislocation, racialised exclusion, and the impossible expectation to excel while carrying generations of unspoken pressure.

Shah’s experiences — humorous, painful and increasingly fractured — mirror the mental health inequalities faced by British-Pakistani communities, particularly men navigating contradictory identities and structural disadvantage. The series invites viewers to see psychosis not as an isolated biomedical event, but as a response to accumulated pressures: family honour, societal scrutiny, cultural misrecognition and stigma that constrains emotional expression.

These pressures interact across biological, psychological and social frameworks, creating conditions in which psychosis risk becomes elevated. The show’s understated portrayal of this trajectory offers a culturally specific, psychologically accurate narrative rarely seen in British television.

In a media landscape where the mental health of British South Asian Muslims is often sensationalised or overlooked, Bait offers an important counter-narrative. It shows that the intersections of identity, discrimination and cultural expectation are not abstract ideas but lived experiences that shape psychological well-being.

The show’s quiet strength lies in revealing these dynamics without being preachy — inviting audiences and practitioners to better understand how culture, racism and mental health intertwine.

The writer is Senior Lecturer, Health Psychology at the University of Westminster in the UK
Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 19th, 2026

Mirza Ki Heer | ARY Digital, Wed-Thurs 8.00pm

Writer Zeeshan Junaid presents an exciting sto­ry that was­tes no time, beginning with an act­ion-packed rescue that pushes us into picking a side, and immediately rooting for the leads. Having won that point, director Aehsun Talish is left to fill in the context with lots of flashbacks and timeline hopping.

Heer (Hina Afridi) is forced to marry Dilnawaz (Zahid Ahmed) because her father owed Dilnawaz a huge sum of money. Stubbornly independent, Heer is caught in a debt trap, with the ruthless Dilnawaz obsessively hounding her in the name of “love”, without her consent. The man Heer really loves is her cousin, Mirza (Ali Raza), a budding athlete, and he is the one risking his life to spring her from Dilnawaz’s fortified haveli.

Nothing deep or original in the plot but, as mass entertainment, the first few episodes hit the target. Ali Raza has a strong screen presence, and he infuses his role with energy and conviction. Dipping his whole hand into a plate of nihari marks Dilnawaz as a clumsy, vulgar villain, but it becomes a contradiction when Zahid Ahmed cannot let go of his own elegant persona.

Muamma | Hum TV, Wed-Thurs 8.00pm

Very few mysteries retain the audience’s interest but writer Imran Nazir throws in one twist after another, without losing the dark red thread of the main plot.

Jehan Ara (Saba Qamar) is on the brink of her final revenge and release from the man who ruined her life — her abusive husband Sarmad (Syed Jibran) — when she loses everything. She claims to love Shah Jehan (Shehzad Shaikh), who is the one man who did not betray his wife. When Sarmad’s powerful uncle kidnaps Shah Jehan, she surrenders everything to save him. Such a hard defeat snatched from the jaws of victory should end her, but is there more to come, because nothing is absolute in this show?

Saba Qamar gives us a masterclass in acting, touching every nuance in her character’s emotions. Shehzad Shaikh is not the most emotive of actors and lacks expression in every scene. However painful her past, Jehan Ara has long crossed over from victim to perpetrator, and it remains to be seen how she is judged, and if Sarmad escapes. Syed Jibran is an amazingly versatile actor, playing the cunning villain without becoming a caricature.

Winter Love | Hum TV, Fri-Sat 8.00pm

After the hit Ramazan serial Fairytale, writer Sarah Majeed brings us another urban love story free from the usual drags of honour culture and class clashes.

Switching up the usual personality clash, Majeed casts the male lead, Hayat (Khushhal Khan), as the sunshine, happy-go-lucky romantic who reads Urdu literature and runs an event company. Hayat is headed to the US when he bumps into the organised, practical Mushk (Mawra Hocane), who has just lost both her parents, and is desperately looking for a way to keep her old home. Mushk’s mother ran a matchmaking service and now Mushk is in charge of it.

As usual, there is an array of quirky characters and a loving family. The standouts are Hayat’s parents, the elderly journalist Gulzar (Asif Raza Mir) and his constantly superstitious wife Gulnar (Asma Abbas), who is convinced that her husband has not forgotten his past love. So far, it’s a slow, gentle ride, and there is no deep connection for the audience to hook on to, except for the veteran couple.

What To Watch Out For (Or Not)

Shaidai | Geo TV, Coming soon

Feroze Khan plays an angry, rich man with a gun, opposite the bubbly Sahar Khan as his love interest, and Nawal Saeed in a negative role.

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 19th, 2026

Four years earlier, on a Sunday at the same hospital, Lata Mangeshkar too had passed away at the age of 92. Now it was the turn of Asha Bhosle, her younger sister. Both left countless admirers mourning the loss.

Born in 1933 in Bombay, Asha’s journey to the top was a rocky one. For a girl who started singing at the age of 10 and was born into the Mangeshkar family, with the towering presence of Lata, life was far from smooth sailing. Asha ran away with her neighbour and personal secretary, Ganpatrao Bhosle, at 16 and became a mother by 17. Her singing career was going nowhere and her decision to marry someone deemed unfit led to strained familial relationships.

Her early years were marked by immense struggles, both personal and professional, and Asha carved her own path with quiet determination. While many of the era’s most sought-after songs went to someone else, she built a career out of every opportunity that came her way. Afraid of merely imitating her didi [sister], she sought her own identity. Few remember that she once sang in the chorus of the iconic ‘Pyar kiya tau darna kya’ in Mughal-i-Azam (1960) — a fleeting moment in a song that became timeless.

But difficult beginnings often lead to defining journeys. As Lata became the first choice for leading composers such as Naushad, Salil Chowdhury, Roshan, C. Ramachandra and Shankar-Jaikishan, Asha had to work even harder to find her own space.

Asha Bhosle, who passed away on April 12 in Mumbai, wasn’t just the singer of an era. With a career spanning over eight decades, and moving seamlessly between film music, pop, sultry cabaret numbers, ghazals, bhajans, folk and qawwali, she was not just a singer of an era. She became a voice across generations

Music composers O.P. Nayyar and S.D. Burman recognised her unique voice and gave her the platform to shine — helping her create a place in music that was entirely hers.

O.P. Nayyar never used Lata’s vocals for his films and instead relied on Asha. From ‘Maang ke saath tumhara’ (Naya Daur, 1957) to ‘Aaiye meherbaan’ (Howrah Bridge, 1958), ‘Isharon isharon mein’ (Kashmir Ki Kali, 1964) to ‘Yeh reshmi zulfoon ka andhera’ (Mere Sanam, 1965), Asha became indispensable to Nayyar’s films until 1974.

With Lata being extremely busy with many composers to cater to, S.D. Burman stopped working with her in 1957, after she reportedly refused to re-record a song. S.D. believed that composers, not singers, shaped careers — and Asha stepped in as his leading female voice. This marked a turning point in her career, with songs such as ‘Chhor do aanchal’ (Paying Guest, 1957), ‘Haal kaisa hai janab ka’ (Chalti Ka Naam Gaari, 1958), ‘Achha ji main haari’ and ‘Nazar laagi raja’ (Kala Pani, 1958) and ‘Sambhalo apna dil’ (Kala Bazaar, 1960). Asha went on to dominate much of the decade — until a new force reshaped the soundscape: R.D. Burman.

It was the era of dance numbers, cabaret and early pop, with Shammi Kapoor’s flamboyance redefining screen energy and even pushing stalwarts such as Raj Kapoor and Dilip Kumar to the sidelines. The music scene was ready for something fresh — and it came from the son of her mentor S.D. Burman.

Pancham, as R.D. Burman was fondly known, burst on to the scene with Teesri Manzil (1966). Its soundtrack didn’t just succeed — it transformed Hindi film music, capturing the restless, youthful spirit of a generation eager to embrace the possibilities of a newly independent nation. Asha married R.D. Burman in 1980, 20 years after her divorce. He was six years younger than her and the songs they created together are truly immortal.

These include ‘O haseena zulfon wali’ and ‘O mere sona re’ (Teesri Manzil, 1966), ‘Piya tu ab tau aaja’ (Caravan, 1971), ‘Jaan-i-jaan dhoondta phir raha’ (Jawani Deewani, 1972), ‘Keh doon tumhain’ (Deewar, 1975), and ‘Do lafzon ki hai’ (The Great Gambler, 1979). They went on to deliver evergreen classics such as ‘Mera kuchh saaman’ (Ijaazat, 1987), ‘Tum se mil ke’ (Parinda, 1989), ‘Baadal jo barsay’ (Gardish, 1993) and ‘Chhor ke na jana’ (Gang, 2000).

What distinguished Asha was not merely her range, but an instinctive versatility and a willingness to experiment. She moved seamlessly from film music to pop, from sultry cabaret numbers to deeply expressive ghazals, from bhajans [religious hymns]and classical compositions to folk and qawwali— inhabiting each style with equal ease.

Singing in over 20 languages, she transformed her voice into something far greater than merely popular — it became unmistakably universal. Whether it was for Bollywood sirens such as Waheeda Rehman or Helen, Sadhana or Poonam, Asha Parekh or Aruna Irani, Sharmila Tagore or Farah, she possessed a rare ability to express each persona through her voice.

While Lata largely stayed rooted in her established style, Asha chose to lend her voice to every new face that emerged, helping shape entire careers. From Dream Girl Hema Malini — with songs such as ‘Zindagi aik safar hai’ (Andaz, 1971) and ‘O saathi chal’ (Seeta Aur Geeta, 1972) — to the mesmerising Zeenat Aman — through ‘Dumm maaro dumm’ (Hare Rama Hare Krishna, 1971) and ‘Chura liya hai tum ne jo dil ko’ (Yaadon Ki Barat, 1973) — Asha’s voice became inseparable from their screen presence.

From the glamorous Parveen Babi — with ‘Pyaar karnay walay’ (Shaan, 1980) and ‘Jawani janeman’ (Namak Halal, 1982) — to the effervescent Sridevi — in ‘Taki o taki’ (Himmatwala, 1983) and ‘Guru guru aa jao guru’ (Waqt Ki Awaaz, 1988) — she was not merely singing songs but defining cinematic identities.

Even Rekha and Dimple Kapadia owed much of their second innings to Asha. For Rekha, it was the spirited tracks from Khoobsurat (1980)— ‘Sunn sunn sunn didi’ and ‘Inquilab zindabad’ — as well as the haunting ghazals of Umrao Jaan (1981), such as ‘Inn aankhon ki masti’ and ‘Dil cheez kya hai’, that revitalised Rekha’s career after her ‘split’ from superstar Amitabh Bachchan.

Similarly, Dimple Kapadia’s reinvention, following her separation from her superstar husband Rajesh Khanna, carried deeper emotional resonance through Asha’s songs in films such as Manzil Manzil (1984), Aitebaar,Saagar and Lava (1985).

Eight decades is not just a career, it’s a legacy. And Asha built hers note by note. She sang for films, albums and stages across languages, collecting along the way an enviable list of honours: two National Film Awards, multiple BFJA (Bengal Film Journalists Awards) and Maharashtra State Film Awards, and nine Filmfare trophies — including a Lifetime Achievement Award and a record seven wins as Best Female Playback Singer. Her voice even reached global platforms, earning two Grammy nominations.

With the rise of singers such as Alka Yagnik and Kavita Krishnamurthy in the mid-1980s, Lata became more selective, no longer signing everything that came her way. Asha seized the moment, giving singers half her age a serious run for their money. Between 1995 and 2004, she remained unstoppable, delivering hits in iconic films that defined the generation, such as Rangeela, Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (1995), Aar Ya Paar (1997), Taal (1999), Kaho Naa…Pyaar Hai (2000), Lagaan, Pyaar Tu Ne Kya Kiya (2001), Company, Mere Yaar Ki Shaadi Hai (2002) and Bewafaa (2005).

She even ventured into acting with the feature film Mai (2013), marking her on-screen debut alongside a comeback performance by her real-life niece, actress Padmini Kolhapure.

As for the media-created rivalry between the siblings, Asha often took it upon herself to dispel any such notions and set the record straight. They may never have been equal — Lata Mangeshkar remained the towering benchmark, while Asha spent years in her shadow — yet, Asha carved a space entirely her own, through remarkable versatility, moving effortlessly across genres, moods and styles in a way few could match.

And in the end, there was a quiet, poetic symmetry — death treated them alike, as both passed away at the same place, on the same day of the week and at the same age, as if destiny chose to blur the distinctions that life had drawn.

The writer is a vintage cinema enthusiast. He can be reached at suhaybalavi@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 19th, 2026

Here are some of mine.

‘Aaiye meherbaan’

Take ‘Aaiye meherbaan’, from Howrah Bridge (1958), composed by O.P. Nayyar and picturised on Madhubala opposite Ashok Kumar. The film was a crime thriller directed by Shakti Samanta, but the song gave it a second life altogether. Madhubala, playing the cabaret dancer Edna, does not merely appear in the sequence; she glides through it with the kind of teasing poise that Hindi cinema rarely matched. Asha’s voice makes the invitation sound both playful and dangerous. Nayyar’s composition gave her the right vehicle: urbane, lilting, lightly jazzy and free of classical solemnity. It was one of the songs that helped define her as the voice of sophisticated seduction without vulgarity.

While many singers can deliver melody, only a precious few could render memory audible. Film critic Naazir Mahmood picks his favourite Asha Bhosle tracks…

‘Nazar laagi raja tore banglay par’

S.D. Burman also drew from her an earthier idiom. ‘Nazar laagi raja tore banglay par’, from Kala Pani (1958), was a mujra-style number in a crime thriller directed by Raj Khosla and starring Dev Anand, Madhubala and Nalini Jaywant. The song was picturised on Nalini Jaywant with Dev Anand. Burman’s score, set to a more traditional contour, allowed Asha to colour her voice with folk-classical inflections while retaining a conversational sparkle. It is a reminder that, long before later generations celebrated her daring modernity, she was already adept at stylised, semi-classical performance.

‘Raat akeli hai, bujh gaye diye’

By the 1960s, she could also dominate the modern nightclub idiom. ‘Raat akeli hai, bujh gaye diye’, from Jewel Thief (1967), composed by S.D. Burman with lyrics written mainly by Majrooh Sultanpuri, was picturised on Tanuja in the Dev Anand-starrer and directed by his elder brother Vijay Anand and produced by Navketan Films. The song is all hush, smoke and entrapment. Asha sings as if the night itself were leaning over the listener’s shoulder. In Jewel Thief, where style was part of the plot, she became the perfect accomplice.

‘Jaiye aap kahaan jayenge’

Then came Mere Sanam (1965), a film so rich in melody that it yielded two of the finest Asha songs in Hindi cinema. ‘Jaiye aap kahaan jayenge’, composed by O.P. Nayyar with lyrics by Majrooh Sultanpuri, was picturised on Asha Parekh opposite Biswajeet. The film, directed by Amar Kumar, starred Biswajeet, Asha Parekh, Mumtaz and Pran, but this song belongs to Parekh’s smiling insistence and to Asha’s art of affectionate persuasion. It is coquettish, but not brittle; teasing, but never shrill.

‘Yeh hai reshmi zulfon ka andhera’

In the same film, ‘Yeh hai reshmi zulfon ka andhera’ shifted the mood from flirtation to intoxication. That number was picturised on Mumtaz, with the same Nayyar-Majrooh team behind it. If ‘Jaiye aap kahaan jayenge’ is the art of beckoning, ‘Yeh hai reshmi zulfon ka andhera’ is the art of atmosphere. Asha turns a line about silken tresses into an entire nocturnal world.

‘O mere sona re sona re’

If one wants to locate the moment when Asha and R.D. Burman together changed the voltage of Hindi film music, ‘O mere sona re sona re’ from Teesri Manzil (1966) is a good place to begin. The film, directed by Vijay Anand and starring Shammi Kapoor and Asha Parekh, announced Burman as a composer of modern rhythmic force. The duet with Mohammed Rafi is buoyant, flirtatious and kinetic, exactly suited to Shammi Kapoor’s elastic screen energy and Asha Parekh’s bright charm. Reuters and other recent tributes to Asha rightly note how central her later partnership with R.D. Burman was to her legend. This song shows the beginnings of that transformation.

‘Chori chori solah singhaar karungi’

That partnership later matured into something stranger and more adventurous. ‘Chori chori solah singhaar karungi’, from Manoranjan (1974), was composed by R.D. Burman for Shammi Kapoor’s film starring Sanjeev Kumar and Zeenat Aman. It earned Asha a Filmfare nomination. The song is playful but also knowingly adult, entirely in keeping with a film that treated desire with unusual openness for mainstream Hindi cinema of its time. Zeenat Aman’s screen persona, modern and unembarrassed, found in Asha the ideal singing self.

‘Inn aankhon ki masti ke’

Yet, it would be wrong to remember Asha only as the voice of flirtation and glamour. Her later triumphs were songs of poise, sorrow and recollection. ‘Inn aankhon ki masti ke’, from Muzaffar Ali’s Umrao Jaan (1981), was composed by Khayyam and written by Shahryar. Picturised on Rekha in one of her greatest performances, it helped turn a literary courtesan into a living cultural memory. The film itself was in Urdu, and Asha rose to its delicacy with astonishing control. She does not over-sing. She hovers. The result is not merely beautiful; it is mannered in the best sense, steeped in tehzeeb [culture]and sadness.

‘Mera kuchh samaan’

And then there was ‘Mera kuchh samaan’, from Gulzar’s Ijaazat (1987), with music by R.D. Burman and the song picturised on Rekha, Naseeruddin Shah and Anuradha Patel. By then, Asha no longer needed to prove that she could sing every kind

of song. Instead, she demonstrated that she could inhabit modern poetry. Gulzar’s lyrics are fragmentary, full of emotional residue rather than declaration. Asha Bhosle sings it not as a performance piece but as an act of remembering. Many singers can deliver melody. Few can render memory audible.

The writer is a columnist, educator and film critic. He can be reached at mnazir1964@yahoo.co.uk.

X: @NaazirMahmood

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 19th, 2026

It was a warm and breezy autumn evening in Karachi and my daughters were running around the garden at their great-grandmother’s house. The garden has a variety of flowering plants, ornamental vines, aromatic herbs and trees with ripened fruit. From a distance, I could see them chasing butterflies and running over the lush, green grass.

Suddenly, both of them stopped and seemed to be picking up something from the ground. Initially, I thought it could be a champa [frangipani] flower growing on the side wall or an attractive stone. Both of them were curiously debating the identification of the object in question.

My elder daughter thought it was an acorn, like the one the sabre-toothed squirrel Scrat famously chases in the Ice Age films. I pointed out to them that what they had found was not an acorn but an underdeveloped coconut, which had fallen from the decades-old coconut tree above their heads. Within minutes, the girls had collected over two dozen of these baby coconuts spread around the tree, with plans to use them for any potential school project.

It was good that they did so because around half of the fallen baby coconuts decay within three to six months of their appearance. Others get consumed by wildlife or die due to unfavourable conditions.

From water stress to weak pollination, a number of factors can cause coconut trees to drop underdeveloped nuts — here’s what growers can do about it

The small percentage of baby coconuts that grow into trees take from three to eight years to start producing flowers and pollination to begin, depending on the variety. While pollination occurs within a single day, fruit development is a longer process. Young coconuts are harvested for water after six to eight months. Coconuts that have greater flesh (kernel) content take from one year to 14 months to mature.

Only a small fraction of potential fruits survives to harvest. The tree sheds underdeveloped fruits and immature flower embryos throughout the flowering and fruiting stages. This phenomenon is known as ‘button shedding’ and refers to the premature dropping of young nuts, known as buttons. These buttons do not have any coconut meat within and contain minimal coconut water, if at all.

In certain cases, this shedding can reach abnormal proportions. Gardeners, however, can minimise the impact of causative elements and improve fruiting. One of the most common reasons of button shedding is water stress. Compared to others, coconut trees require consistent watering in large quantity. Irregular, reduced watering and drought-like conditions can result in button shedding in coconut trees.

Similarly, excessive watering or rain can, sometimes, also provoke the coconut tree into shedding off underdeveloped, immature and small coconuts. This usually occurs due to inadequate water drainage around the roots and tree.

Any changes in the soil pH can also be a contributor. Soil that is too acidic or alkaline can promote button shedding in the fruiting tree. Usually, water stress and other environmental factors are the root cause of changing pH of the soil. Lime is applied for the soil’s pH correction.

A tree struggling with nutrient deficiency can also be an easy target for button shedding. Other than major nutrients such as potassium and nitrogen, the lack of boron in the soil can also induce nut dropping. In such cases, a careful application of borax powder in the recommended quantity is effective — it changes with the age of the coconut tree. It is important to stick to recommended quantities. Excessive use of borax powder can negatively impact other factors of tree growth and may even render the soil inhospitable to other plants.

Infestation by certain pests and fungal infections can also trigger abnormal button shedding in coconut trees. Finally, weak pollination, especially during the rainy season or windy weather, unavailability of pollen and lack of pollinators can also lead to button shedding.

While natural button shedding is unavoidable, following the aforementioned guidelines can significantly reduce abnormal button shedding. One should also remember that all the flowers can never grow into mature fruits due to space, weight and resource constraints of the tree to manage all the fruits simultaneously.

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, April 19th, 2026

Dear Auntie,

I am writing this letter with a confused mind and a dejected heart. I’m a 26-year-old young man with big dreams and currently standing at a critical and complicated juncture. I am a Central Superior Services (CSS) aspirant. I took the exam last year but failed in a couple of subjects. I was devastated by the result. My family started doubting my efforts. My loved one started avoiding me. Only my friends, with whom I lived during my preparation, know how much effort I put into the attempt.

Now, I am very confused. My father passed away in December 2025. I’m currently teaching to meet my expenses. It’s a drain on my energies. I have to achieve my parents’ dream of clearing CSS and becoming an officer.

I need your suggestions on what I should do in such a chaotic situation. I am unable to find a clear path in my life at the moment.

At the Crossroads

‘Everyone Doubts Me After My CSS Exam Failure’

Dear At the Crossroads,

Look around you at the number of people who don’t make it through the CSS exam after one attempt. It is not failure. What will count as failure though is losing yourself in the process.

Right now, you are carrying a bigger burden than most people your age are expected to handle. You are undergoing grief, academic pressure, financial responsibility and the weight of filial expectations. In fact, your father’s passing alone is a life-altering event. So, when you add a failed CSS attempt, shifting relationship and uncertainty about the future, it is completely natural to feel lost and overwhelmed. Anyone in your position would feel the same way.

You need to put a pause on the panic because you do not need to solve your entire life right now. Start by giving yourself permission to slow down and regain your balance. Next, you should focus on creating a routine that feels manageable to you rather than feeling overwhelming. You can take small steps everyday consistently, because this will help you more than pushing yourself to the point of exhaustion.

It is a good idea to continue with your private teaching because it is a source of income and, in addition, it gives your days structure, while also giving you a sense of purpose. This is good for your sense of self-respect and it is helping you stay grounded during a difficult time. At the same time, take an honest look at your last CSS attempt. What went wrong? Could you have taken a different approach to the preparation leading up to the exam? Do this for your own understanding of yourself and your approach.

In case you decide to attempt the CSS again, do it with a clear plan and strategy. One more attempt after a reasonable level of preparation is a good idea, but please don’t tie your entire identity to the outcome. The CSS is a professional pathway, but it is not the only path.

And when it comes to honouring your parents’ dream, remember that your well-being is of the utmost importance. No parent wants their child to break under the weight of expectations.

As for the people who have started doubting you or pulling away, Auntie would recommend that you let them. Difficult times and life phases that are challenging have a way of revealing who truly stands by you. Remember, if someone truly supports you, they don’t disappear after a single setback.

For now, just keep things simple. Work on stabilising your routine and protecting your peace, as you get back on track. This is simply about navigating a difficult chapter in your life. And difficult chapters, no matter how heavy they feel, are not the end of the story.

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, April 19th, 2026