First, everyone thinks their movie will make box-office history — especially when they lock an Eidul Azha date. Second, they (and for a time, I, too) believed that the only genre that really worked at Eid was family movies — quite literally, because families were out and about.

On the surface, the beliefs seem sound. However, despite the excess of showtimes from pre-noon to past-dawn, Eid is just another day at the movies.

Films bomb when people have no interest, irrespective of whether they have a big TV media partner behind them or not. Also, the lack of variety in genres — especially in Pakistani movies — limits the audience to families, most of whom have to be forcefully coerced from their homes, rather than the regular Joes who frequent cinemas for international movies.

The regular Joes (and by proxy, families, since it’s Eid) is the audience Zombeid was made for — Nabeel Qureshi and Fizza Ali Meerza’s self-distributed, international-quality zombie actioner that carried a smart twist in its title.

From Pakistan, this Eidul Azha brought audiences a zombie thriller set in a gym, an adult romance melodrama dressed up as a family entertainer and a sprawling psychological thriller that required even more suspension of disbelief. Icon concludes that, between Zombeid, Luv Di Saun and Psycho, there was only one clear winner

The other different choice one was looking out for was Psycho — Shaan Shahid’s purportedly big, expectedly all-over-the-place psychological thriller and legal drama, released by Eveready Pictures.

The third film was the safest bet: Luv Di Saun, a Farhan Saeed family drama backed by the go-to juggernaut distributor of family dramas that nearly always wins big — ARY Films.

If Karachi’s Nueplex Askari (where I saw the films on the first day of Eid) were an outdoor cinema, one would have heard crickets in the aisles. Psycho had, maybe, fewer than 15 people (I didn’t count). Luv Di Saun had 17 (I counted twice).

At the end of the latter’s show, two aunties — one middle-aged, one a little elderly — walked over to the exit, summing up their experience after the climactic debacle: “Now I understand why the hall is empty,” one of them uttered.

Thankfully, the next show — Zombeid — was filled to the brim. And the crowd cheered.

DIE HARD, YOU ZOMBIES!

I’ve often wondered why our filmmakers don’t use pull-quotes from reviews to hype their films, especially when the reviews are good. Is it because reviews arrive late, or because critics don’t give them quotable lines? Let’s rectify that right now.

In Zombeid, the undead have rarely felt this alive! Too corny?

Equal parts chaos, charm, and carnage. A tentpole of the highest order. Too clichéd?

Proof that the zombie apocalypse still has surprises left. A tad much? I agree.

How about: A genre defibrillator! Zombeid shocks the undead narrative back to life. Or: Delightfully vicious — a story of the rotting dead with a racing pulse.

In case you’re wondering, this reviewer means every word.

Filmmaking duo Nabeel Qureshi and Fizza Ali Meerza have been on a solid run lately. Both Na Baligh Afraad and their segment Jinn Mahal in Teri Meri Kahaniyaan showcased growing maturity. With Zombeid, they’ve largely overcome their old fallibilities.

The film is a solid entertainer — a horror-less action-fest (think Die Hard in a zombie-infested gym) — built on a simple plot, brisk pacing, familiar tropes and adequate character depth.

Fahad Mustafa — riding high after Aag Lagay Basti Mein — plays Wali, a former bodybuilder who won Mr Pakistan, only to lose everything hours later when a car accident critically injured his spine and claimed the life of his mentor and father figure (Javed Sheikh, in a small role).

Two years later, Wali, fully recovered, interviews at a posh multi-storey gym. Cocky, yet sincere, he quickly woos Zara, the Zumba instructor (Mehwish Hayat, as perfect an actress as any). However, his determination doesn’t sit well with the gym’s owner (Wajahat Rauf) or head trainer Marwan (Dodi Khan), an excessively beefed-up villain peddling contraband muscle-growth injections.

Marwan’s clients include Mohsin Abbas Haider (playing himself) and a scrawny young man desperate for a muscle spurt. He also carries a grudge against Wali. The two once trained together for Mr Pakistan, but Marwan was disqualified for doping. Their eventual clash feels inevitable.

Before the night is out, one of Marwan’s injections — purportedly smuggled from India — begins mutating people into flesh-eating zombies. Unlike most zombie films, people here know exactly what the undead are, thanks to movies and video games (Train to Busan even gets an early nod). The knowledge doesn’t help much.

The rest is predictable territory, given the genre. A handful of trapped characters — a diabetic elderly woman, a snivelling coward (Mani), a mother and son, among others — try to survive the night, one casualty at a time. The authorities, surprisingly, respond quickly. Police, led by Babar Ali, cordon off the building while news media circle outside, confused but hungry for an exclusive.

Nabeel and Fizza have deliberately designed a very modern film that embraces classic tropes and local humour without bias.

There are minor slip-ups, of course. For instance, the origin of the zombie-making vials is never explained, and the zombies themselves are designed to be fairly dim; they swarm around anything that grabs their attention — phone or speaker — without destroying it. The group’s escape-and-regroup cycle also grows repetitive, and a side mission to find food for the diabetic aunty briefly slows the pace.

Then again, I’ve seen far dumber, cheaper-looking zombie films from Hollywood and East Asia. In comparison, Zombeid, despite being confined largely to gym sets, looks like a million bucks.

The credit for the visual design goes to Filmwala’s production design team and Rana Kamran’s sleek cinematography. The film’s neon-pastel lighting often resembles a South Korean music video, while the colour grading wisely avoids the teal-orange sameness that plagues most contemporary films.

Production design, make-up, and visual effects are top-notch, save for one glaring exception: the unconvincing head-pasting job on Fahad Mustafa’s younger, beefed-up self.

Films bomb when people have no interest, irrespective of whether they have a big TV media partner behind them or not. Also, the lack of variety in genres — especially in Pakistani movies — limits the audience to families, most of whom have to be forcefully coerced from their homes, rather than the regular Joes who frequent cinemas for international movies.

Speaking of the actor, he is clearly ensuring his recent roles don’t overlap. Wali speaks with a slight gravelly texture, is easily irritated and moves like a man desperate to reclaim his worth. By the end of the night, he does.

By the end of the film, so do Nabeel and Fizza, by delivering a film that really matters to the audience. Perhaps one can say: Filmwala Pictures raises the dead. And the bar. Now that’s a printable pull quote if there ever were one!

FOR THE ‘LUV’ OF…

Cinephiles may never forgive me for drawing this parallel, but humour me for a second.

In 1966, Raj Kapoor starred in a gem called Teesri Kasam, playing a simple, innocent man whose bullock cart carries a nautanki [stage]dancer (Waheeda Rehman) to a village fair. Growing close to her and realising she is perceived as a prostitute, he insists she quit. When she doesn’t, he takes a vow — ie the film’s title — to never carry a nautanki dancer again.

Film critics cannot take such a vow, even if films such as Luv Di Saun (LDS) make you wish you could. Breaking ARY Films’ hit streak, LDS shares a parallel with Teesri Kasam — if, that is, you squint and tilt your head to an impossible angle.

Zarshaan (Farhan Saeed) is an educated young man whose worldly experience stands in stark contrast to his naivety. After losing his parents (Usman Peerzada and Saba Hameed) in a badly AI-generated highway accident, he moves from Thailand to his ancestral home in old Lahore, where he chooses to wallow in melancholy and idleness.

Despite his aspirational outlook, film-hero looks and a Harley-like bike, one quickly realises the man is not wired for either grunt or office work. Rather than hunt for a job, he chooses to rent out a room in his dusty apartment. One would think a place infested with white mice and littered with broken pianos, typewriters and chairs would be a hard sell.

Well, think again. The room is quickly taken by Billo (Mamya Shajaffar), a chirpy, unblinking young woman and her Hindu friend Sureet (Mehrunnisa Iqbal). Zarshaan has no qualms about renting to two beautiful young women without an elder — damn the neighbourhood! Not that the neighbourhood seems to care, though they should.

One look at them and you know these girls are trouble. They strut home late at night in glitzy outfits that don’t gel with old Lahore’s conservative cultural outlook, and almost scamper under the bed when police sirens blare.

Zarshaan remains oblivious until people inform him that Billo is one of Lahore’s most sought-after tawaaifs (the correct word here is prostitute, given the inference from the dialogues).

Billo, Sureet and others in her line of work are the property of an unhinged gangster-pimp (Tabrez Khan, exceedingly over the top) — a barely written villain brute-forced into the story. By the same logic, we get Happy Singh (Rana Ejaz), a comedic sidekick with no humour and abundant lechery, who cheats on his wife. She, by the way, happily reciprocates by having an affair of her own. What a film!

Prostitutes, lecherous two-timers, underwritten characters who either mope or don’t know what they want — LDS is a bizarre family romance drama. Then again, I’d strike all three words.

While one waits for anything to click, writer Wajid Zuberi and director Imran Malik (who also takes producer and story credits) throw a spanner into their own works.

Enter Babar Ali, bodyguard to a billionaire (Rashid Khwaja), searching for his employer’s long-lost heir. That heir is — you guessed it — Billo. But don’t slap your forehead just yet.

As if one spanner weren’t enough, the final 10 minutes throw another. Humayun Saeed, a supercop with killer fists and a tasbeeh (prayer beads), smashes his way into the movie, liberating women from sex-trafficking rings and then stealing the entire film from Farhan Saeed.

If you ask me, that’s sheer injustice to a leading man who carries the bulk of this half-thought-out movie.

Since throwing a spanner into the narrative weren’t enough, Malik throws one at the audience as well with a “To be continued” card, effectively threatening people with a Part 2. You may now slap your head.

Despite its two-hour-22-minute runtime, LDS remains barely half a film. Will the next instalment deliver the missing one-and-a-half movie, the producers claim? Almost certainly not.

Malik repeats most of the problems from Azaadi, investing in everything but lucidity, logic, appealing characters and production design (much of the runtime unfolds inside Zarshaan’s two-room apartment). Unlike Azaadi, LDS has a better lead in Farhan Saeed, the film’s lone saving grace. The cinematography by Syed Faisal Bukhari is also serviceable, as are the two half-decent songs. That’s not enough on a good day… and the day you watch LDS would definitely not be counted as ‘good’.

LDS could have been a vow to champion Pakistani cinema (Saun being Punjabi for ‘oath’). Instead, it drives the viewer to take a vow against the medium altogether. The film could’ve been my ‘teesri kasam’ (a vow to forsake films)… if it weren’t for Psycho.

IN THE MIND OF MADNESS

Amid flickering red lights and close-ups of Meera’s face, Psycho’s teaser promised a disturbing tale of a shattered mind, driven to villainous extremes.

“The real enemy lives in the mind,” the words on-screen testified. But what if the enemy is the mind? Or what if what lives in the mind never makes it to the screen?

The latter is precisely what happens in Shaan Shahid’s new written-and-directed venture. The mind (pardon the frequent use), along with logic, spatial continuity and coherence between what you hear and what you see, is exactly what you forfeit while watching this nearly two-and-a-half-hour film. A film that has little to do with psychology, mental illness, suspense or lucidity.

But if anything, Shaan has a penchant for giving you more than one film for the price of a ticket. We get roughly three good ones trapped inside Psycho.

The first is a romance-drama about rival legal eagles. Representing justice is Sarah (Sonya Hussyn, quite good), who claims she wanted to bring down corrupt people “ever since [she] wanted to grow up.”

The line feels off because it targets Salman Raza (Shaan) — the sharpest, most successful, corrupt lawyer in Pakistan. A man who deploys every unethical tactic in the book, while flashing the smirk of a bona fide douche. Sarah’s lifelong determination to bring him down raises questions about Salman’s age, especially given their romantic involvement.

Despite their love, she refuses to wear his ring until he abandons his bad ways. However, irrespective of the bonds of holy matrimony, the two are modern enough to have a live-in relationship in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan (gasp!).

Unsurprisingly, both are protégés of the now-retired Raza Ahsan (Javed Sheikh), who claims to have left his practice to them. That dialogue immediately lands the film in a legal predicament called ‘imputed disqualification’. Lawyers from the same firm cannot represent opposing sides, which they do in the film’s first case. Even if they weren’t from the same firm — which the film neither accepts nor denies — there remains the problem of conflict of interest.

A later case puts Salman into compromised advocacy when he suddenly sprouts a conscience, prosecutes his former clients and then kills them with a katana (Shabbir Jan plays an underworld don in a badly written subplot).

Don’t scoff. This is Shaan. Of course he plays a lawyer who kills like a ninja assassin. Chalk it up to suspension of disbelief. And yes, that’s a whole lotta suspension.

The second film hidden inside Psycho is a sordid murder mystery, featuring Ahsan and his wife, Zara (Meera). She runs an NGO and is secretly sleeping with a married man (Adnan Butt). Ahsan discovers the affair through an accidental video call that somehow captures the encounter from six different camera angles!

Impregnated by her lover, Zara snaps into full “psycho” mode without build-up, repeatedly declaring, “I am so happy!” — her defining phrase.

Ahsan, of course, doesn’t survive her unhinged wrath. Zara lands on death row, only to be saved by a last-minute pregnancy discovery via stethoscope at the gallows.

Suspension of disbelief still there? Good, because you’ll need it now as we segue into the third film: the story of bumbling, lascivious inspector Jamshed (Nayyer Ejaz) — a genius detective whose own wife is having an affair. (First LDS, now Psycho — is infidelity the new in-thing for filmmakers?)

Sarah (the anti-corruption lawyer) hires Inspector Jamshed to find Salman (the corrupt lawyer), who has vanished into the northern areas after taking on a transvestite’s case. Roughly six days later, Jamshed identifies a cigarette butt our hero flicked into the street, and somehow tracks him down.

By now, the suspension of disbelief of even the most resolute of cinephiles may be dangling by a thread.

Psycho’s climax could pass as a standalone feature by itself. Then again, this is a recurring problem with Shaan’s recent films, be it Bullah (technically not directed by him), Zarrar or Arth — The Destination (’Fanaa’, a song from Arth, even makes an appearance here). Every individual section of his film overflows with excellent, if half-thought-out, ideas. Most work in isolation yet fail to connect to the bigger picture.

Like Arth and Bullah, the worst technical problems lie in the edit. Shot progressions, transitions, inserts, continuity — the entire film needs to return to the editing room for a complete overhaul. And don’t get me started on the music cues and comedic sound effects. My ears still hate me from the experience.

One cannot deny that Shaan’s ideas about story and character progression spring from strong narrative instincts that come naturally to a skilled filmmaker. Surprisingly, when filmed and edited, they come across as stubbornly superficial.

One also cannot deny that Shaan remains a formidable actor, with an eye for great framing (the cinematographer here is Saleem Daad), or that his cast — especially Meera, in her few good scenes, and Sonya Hussyn — do their characters justice whenever the film allows. Unfortunately, the film rarely does that.

And that’s Psycho’s exact shortcoming. It is a sprawling vision of a great, big movie that still resides in Shaan’s mind, imprisoned by the real enemy: too many half-thought-out decisions, a great many relying solely on the viewer’s willingness to suspend disbelief.

Ultimately, Psycho compels you to utterly suspend disbelief (and also close your eyes and ears when it comes to technical blunders) for the best experience, while Luv Di Saun makes you ask “why?” a thousand times out of boredom and almost give up on cinema.

But it is Zombeid that simply asks you to have a good time this Eidul Azha.

Zombeid and Luv Di Saun are rated U (suitable for all audiences).

Psycho is rated PG (Parental Guidance required)

The writer is Icon’s primary film reviewer

Published in Dawn, ICON, June 7th, 2026

“If a man complains after a break-up about how much money he spent on a woman, it raises the question of whether it was a relationship or an investment. No woman is anyone’s property and cannot be considered indebted based on financial expenses.”

— Iffat Omar, actor

“If I could, I would remove Quaid-i-Azam’s image from all currency notes. It is disheartening to see his portrait on money used for corruption, bribery and fraud. He is silently witnessing these actions.”

— Shahzad Nawaz, actor

“For God’s sake don’t cut your hair just because a few actresses are. Cutting your hair so short is a form of self-harm.”

— Alizeh Shah, actor

“Married men who trick younger, unmarried girls with false promises of marriage should be exposed. Especially these fake ‘Pindi boys Scheme 3’ types who cry, manipulate and act innocent just to trap girls.”

— Waqar Zaka, TV host and content creator

Published in Dawn, ICON, June 7th, 2026

With its giant trumpet-shaped blooms and striking colours, the amaryllis is among the most dramatic flowering plants grown in home gardens.

Although most varieties are unscented and the plant is toxic if ingested, its spectacular blooms make it a favourite among gardeners. The flower has an exotic appeal and is known for its radiance and beauty. The amaryllis is also considered a symbol of hope, resilience and strength.

Thanks to its varied climatic zones and long gardening tradition, Pakistan offers favourable conditions for growing many flowering plants. Some popular species include hibiscus, rose, jasmine, marigold, zinnia, petunia, vinca, sunflowers and lilies. Despite requiring patience, the amaryllis is popular among gardeners in Pakistan because of its spectacular blooms, low maintenance requirements and ability to thrive in diverse climatic conditions.

Unlike many ornamental plants that are propagated through seeds, cuttings or grafting, the amaryllis is most commonly grown from bulbs. Amaryllis bulbs are usually imported from the Netherlands, South Africa and certain South American countries, including Brazil and Peru. For beginners, the easiest way to grow amaryllis at home is to purchase an already sprouted bulb from a nursery. Experienced gardeners often prefer to start with dormant bulbs. Such dormant or ungerminated bulbs are available at major nurseries and seed stores across Pakistan. They are also available online.

A mature amaryllis bulb can produce multiple stems and spectacular blooms, but success begins with choosing the right bulb

The most commonly available bulb in Pakistan is the local or desi variety, which ranges between Rs250 and Rs500 per bulb. Exotic or rare varieties can be purchased between Rs1000 and Rs4000, depending upon their size and cultivar. The local variety is not only more affordable but is also better adapted to Pakistani growing conditions, whereas imported bulbs often require greater care and attention.

A gardener cannot determine the variety of the amaryllis plant and the likely flower colour by looking at the ungerminated bulb. Therefore, it is important to purchase the bulb from a trusted source or directly from the grower.

When purchasing the amaryllis bulbs, gardeners should keep several factors in mind. Most mature amaryllis bulbs are onion-shaped, while small offsets may resemble garlic cloves. These offsets are generally less expensive than mature bulbs.

The typical height of the bulb is between two to four inches, although it is usually measured based on its circumference — the distance around its widest part. As a rule of thumb, the greater the bulb’s circumference, the greater the number of stems and flowers it is likely to produce.

For instance, an onion-shaped amaryllis bulb having a circumference of 10 inches is likely to produce a plant with one to two stems and around two to three flowers. A bulb having a circumference of 12-to-14 inches can produce a plant with three to four stems, bearing four to six flowers in the same environment.

Large, mature bulbs may flower within three to four months, whereas small offsets can take two to three years to reach flowering size.

Gardeners should remember that no part of the amaryllis plant is edible. The plant contains a toxic alkaloid called lycorine, particularly in its bulbs. It is important to keep children and pets away from the plant.

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, June 7th, 2026

Dear Auntie,

I’m a 19-year-old university student. I have a one-year age difference with my sister, which is why she is with me at every institute — school, academy, college and, now, university. My parents always compare her with me as I’m more intelligent than her, which is why she resents me. She also wants my parents to hate me and, as she is older, my parents listen to her.

It has left me feeling insecure because they always listen to her and not me. Every time she gets a chance, she speaks ill of me, taunts me and criticises me, including over my make-up, my looks, my dress sense, my hair, my acne and everything else.

‘My Sister Hates Me And Runs Me Down’

What I really want is for it to not affect me at all, or I want to leave my house and be alone for the rest of my life. However, that is not possible as long as I’m not independent. I will be grateful if you could give me some advice.

Thank you,

Dazzle

Dear Dazzle,

One thing in your letter that stood out was you saying your sister hates you because your parents compare her to you. If that’s true, then the real problem might not actually be you.

Being constantly compared to a sibling can make anyone insecure and competitive. I’m not excusing her behaviour, but it helps explain some of it. Imagine spending years being measured against someone else and always feeling that you don’t measure up. That can make people lash out.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you should accept being criticised about your appearance, hair or acne. Those comments are hurtful and, in most cases, unnecessary. I think the real issue here is that you have started believing what your sister says. Please know that your sister’s comments are not facts. They are the opinions of someone who obviously has her own unresolved frustrations. And honestly, if your make-up, hair, acne and dressing sense were really the problem here, she wouldn’t be mentioning them every day.

While you cannot stop your sister from making these comments, what you can do is stop treating her as someone who has a valid opinion about you. Also, please be careful about assuming that your parents ‘hate you’ or always take her side. Sometimes, when we are hurt, we start seeing everything through that lens. Your parents may be listening to her more than you would like, but that doesn’t mean that they love you any less.

As for you wanting to leave your home and being alone forever, that is coming from your own frustration with the situation. Most people who feel hurt by their families don’t actually want to be alone. Usually, all they want is peace. So, instead of planning how you will distance yourself from them, you should focus on becoming independent. Study hard and work on building your career. This should not be an escape. Instead, it should be the foundation for your future.

In the meantime, try to work on looking at your sister’s comments objectively. Whenever she criticises you or the way you look, remind yourself that that is her opinion and not necessarily the truth.

For now, just focus on your university, which is a place where people first start becoming independent and their own person. This is the place where you will start to be known for who you are and not just as someone’s sister.

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, June 7th, 2026

A few months after my mother’s passing, my maternal grandmother came to stay with us and help manage the household. While familiarising herself with the kitchen, she wandered into the pantry and found herself in direct confrontation with jars of various kinds of daal [lentils and legumes]. A long sigh, which sounded like a muffled scream to me, escaped her.

“Beta, you’ll be called a ‘daal khor’ [literally ‘eater of daal’, implying vegetarian],” she aired her disapproval before emptying most of the jars on to an old newspaper and carrying their contents to the roof to offer to the birds. Among Afghans, daal khor is a pejorative for people from the Subcontinent. I was so taken aback that I did not notice that she had left one kind of lentil alone, while disposing of the rest.

All my young life, my elders — at least those on my paternal side, who are Punjabi — had told me about the benefits of eating daal. “Daal barra maal [Lentils are a treasure],” they would say. And here I was being judged for having daal in the pantry by my maternal side, who are Pakhtun.

I was told that the orange and dark brown or kaali daal — dhuli masoor and saabut masoor respectively — had a warm taseer — in traditional belief, a heating effect on the body — and would give me pimples. The rest was just “silly food”, except that one jar of daal which had been left alone.

For a grandmother who regarded most lentils as ‘silly food’, chanay ki daal was the lone exception

The daal my grandmother had not attacked like the others was chanay ki daal [split chickpea]. When I asked my grandmother about it, she chuckled: “Beta, the only daal that we Pakhtuns have no issues with is daal chana, because it is the only one that may be cooked with meat.”

Looking back, I realise my grandmother was not objecting to daal itself, but to the idea of eating it on its own. Chanay ki daal, when cooked with meat, passed her test and remains one of my favourite comfort foods.

DAAL GOSHT [LENTILS WITH MEAT]

The meat may be half a kilogramme (kg) of chicken, mutton or beef. But the daal must be chanay ki daal. Soak 0.5 kg of chanay ki daal in water for a couple of hours. Before you start cooking, drain the daal and boil it in a large saucepan, in enough water to cover it by around two inches. Cook over medium heat until the water evaporates.

Then take half to one cup of cooking oil to prepare a curry base with two medium-sized onions, diced. When the onion becomes translucent, add a tablespoon of crushed ginger-garlic paste, followed by one teaspoon of red chilli powder, one teaspoon of turmeric powder, one teaspoon of dried coriander powder, one teaspoon of white cumin seeds and a quarter teaspoon of garam masala powder.

Sauté for 30 seconds before adding the meat and one teaspoon of salt (or to taste). Sauté for one to two minutes till you see the meat changing colour. Add in two cups of water and cover the saucepan. Cook over low heat for about 30 minutes. The quantity of water may change with the kind of meat you are cooking the lentils with. For instance, chicken cooks quickly and requires two cups of water. Mutton takes longer and needs between four to five cups, while beef takes the longest and requires the most water.

Cook the meat till the water has completely evaporated and only oil is left. Now add another three cups of water and bring it to a boil before transferring your already boiled daal to the cooking pot. Let it simmer on low heat for an hour while checking on it often. You may or may not add a tarrka [tempering], but serve after sprinkling with freshly chopped coriander leaves.

THE TARRKA [TEMPERING]

While cooking lentils and legumes, the tarrka — with its many variations — plays a key role. I will share my favourite, which uses desi ghee, onions, three to five garlic cloves, white cumin seeds and curry leaves. Heat around three tablespoons of ghee in a frying pan and add half a teaspoon of white cumin seeds to it. After 10 to 20 seconds you will hear crackling, which is your cue to add one medium-sized onion, diced. Sauté for 10 to 15 seconds before adding in chopped garlic and curry leaves. Sauté for another 10 or 15 seconds before pouring it all over the already cooked lentils, which you quickly cover to allow the oil to steam and help blend in the flavours.

CHANA DAAL MAKHNI (VEGETARIAN)

Soak and boil half kg of chanay ki daal and keep aside. Prepare the base by heating one cup of oil and adding to it one teaspoon of white cumin seeds and two solid black cardamoms. After 10 seconds, add two medium-sized onions, chopped, and fry them till they turn golden. Add a tablespoon of ginger-garlic paste, two medium-sized chopped tomatoes and one teaspoon of salt, one teaspoon of turmeric powder, one teaspoon of black pepper powder, a quarter teaspoon of garam masala powder, one teaspoon of coriander powder, one teaspoon of red chilli powder and half a teaspoon of chilli flakes.

Cover and leave to cook on low heat till the tomatoes are tender. Add half a cup of cream and let it simmer for five minutes before transferring the boiled daal along with one cup of its cooking liquid. Cook until everything blends in. Serve sprinkled with freshly chopped coriander, green chillies and garnished with extra cream.

The writer is a member of staff.

X: @HasanShazia

Published in Dawn, EOS, June 7th, 2026

American President Donald Trump is often described by many as an ‘irrational’ man. Yet, there are those who claim he is instead an over-the-top practitioner of the ‘Madman Theory.’

This theory encapsulates a political concept suggesting that a leader can gain a significant advantage in international negotiations or crises by convincing opponents that he or she is irrational, unstable, or downright ‘crazy’.

Former US President Richard Nixon coined the term during his tenure, even though the underlying strategy had been present in modern politics long before Nixon gave it a formal name. Looking to force the communist forces in North Vietnam to sign a peace treaty that would guarantee an honourable exit of American troops from South Vietnam, Nixon told his Chief of Staff, H.R. Haldeman, that he had shaped a Madman Theory for this precise purpose.

He explained that he wanted the North Vietnamese to believe he had reached the point where he might do absolutely anything to stop the war, wanting his ministers to intentionally drop hints that he constantly had his hand on the nuclear button.

Indeed, it is quite common for hubris to emerge within a regime or in the person leading it. But, according to the noted political scientists John J. Mearsheimer and Sebastian Rosato, hubris is not really about irrationality. They argue that states are fundamentally rational actors that rigorously hypothesise scenarios through sound theories and information, from which they develop their policies and strategies. Nixon’s strategy was entirely rational.

States and leaders rarely act without reason, and it’s usually flawed assumptions, rather than irrationality, that drive policy failures and political crises

However, Mearsheimer and Rosato place heavy emphasis on the fact that state rationality does not automatically guarantee successful outcomes. Their analysis suggests that policies are typically forged by leaders who act as “homo theoreticus”, relying on structured, evidence-based theories to navigate the immense complexities of international relations. These may work or fail, but their formation is a rational process.

In their 2023 book How States Think, Mearsheimer and Rosato focus primarily on the mechanics of foreign policy. But I posit that the heightened interconnectivity characterising the modern digital age necessitates an acknowledgement that internal policies are no longer insulated from global consequences.

In this context, domestic choices can alter the course of a nation’s foreign affairs as well. During the conflict between Iran and the US, in which Pakistan is an active mediator, Pakistan found itself accused by India and Israel of being a ‘fanatical’ Islamist state that was siding with Iran. The Pakistani government and state recognised the threat these narratives posed to its international standing.

To mitigate this, the Pakistani state accelerated the abandonment of its post-1970s ideological narrative, choosing instead to actively promote a new national identity. This new narrative frames Pakistan as a moderate, pragmatic Muslim-majority civilisational state. Here we see how internal policies can impact or be impacted by geopolitics.

On the foreign policy front, the Indian and Israeli states hypothesised that, if they could successfully proliferate the perception of a ‘fanatical’ Pakistan, they would create enough doubt in the White House about the wisdom of having Pakistan act as a go-between for the US and a ‘fanatical’ Iran.

On the other hand, the Pakistani state hypothesised that, given Israel’s growing reputation as an aggressive state and India’s declining reputation as a secular democracy due to its shift towards a radical Hindutva state, the Pakistani side can now convincingly bolster its new contrasting narrative of being a moderate, dependable nation. The Indian, Israeli and Pakistani policies in this case were all entirely rational.

Mearsheimer and Rosato are firmly of the view that scholars who accuse leaders of irrationality often conflate the concept of irrationality with that of failure. Failed policies are routinely blamed on flawed decision-making processes. To Mearsheimer and Rosato, though, this is a mistake, because even failed policies are meticulously shaped through empirical information and theories.

A state is considered rational if its actions follow logically from a coherent theory, even if that theory is proven to be incorrect. The theories are constructed through a deliberative process, requiring the careful gathering of information, the assessment of alternatives and the debate of potential outcomes, rather than being a product of mere impulse or emotional reaction.

So, does that mean there have never been states/ governments/ leaders that were truly irrational? Mearsheimer and Rosato use the word “non-rational” in this regard, meaning governments, states and leaders who fail to employ a credible strategic theory, relying on wishful thinking instead.

Most Western media outlets describe Russian President Vladimir Putin and North Korea’s “Supreme Leader” Kim Jong Un as irrational leaders. To Mearsheimer and Rosato, this is a flawed understanding. Putin’s and Kim’s policies are rooted in rational processes, as are those of Chinese leader Xi Jinping. In Mearsheimer’s recent commentaries, he does not see Trump’s decision to plunge into a war with Iran as an irrational move but one based on an ill-informed hypothesis.

According to the Lebanese-American academic Fawaz A. Gerges, the decision to attack Iran was built on an illusion heavily fed by Israeli security components, which insisted that Iran’s internal architecture would crumble immediately under direct kinetic pressure. Nothing of the sort happened. Trump’s decision was rational but based on a flawed hypothesis and inaccurate information on the reality of Iran and of contemporary geopolitics. Therefore, one can suggest that Trump isn’t ‘mad’ as such, but simply not very well-informed.

What about Imran Khan? Khan was not irrational, nor was he a crank. His decisions, especially to antagonise the military establishment after he was ousted in 2022, were based on a theory that he believed in. The theory suggests that a large-scale political movement scares the military establishment who then immediately submits to its demands. This theory was formed after Khan saw how troops had refused to confront violent protests by the Barelvi Islamist outfit, the Tehreek-i-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP) in 2016.

This theory mutated in 2023, largely under the influence of the then pro-Khan former head of the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), Lt Gen Faiz Hameed. Allegedly, Hameed believed that since there were pro-Khan officers in the armed forces, targeted riots would trigger a mutiny to force out the then military chief, Gen Asim Munir.

This was not a delusion. It was a theory based on information Khan and Hameed found sound, meaning the rational thing to do was to trigger the riot. However, despite the riots, the military’s chain of command remained intact. The mutiny theory failed because it completely ignored the fact that, historically, mutinies have been almost non-existent within the armed forces of Pakistan. The attempt was what Mearsheimer would call a “rational failure.”

From then onwards, though, Khan’s strategies became increasingly non-rational, based on an ever-weakening understanding of Pakistani and international politics.

The state’s strategy was rational as well: to keep him behind bars and gradually isolate him, leaving his subsequent moves increasingly detached from reality and thus triggering non-rational and even irrational thinking processes in him.

Published in Dawn, EOS, June 7th, 2026

Wars, greenhouse gas emissions, climate change, melting glaciers, floods, deforestation, rising global temperatures and the ongoing bloodshed of innocent people caused by human cruelty are all forces that place existence itself at risk, disrupting the delicate balance of the ecosystem.

In an age in which human hands have altered the very rhythm of the planet, the paintings on display at the exhibition ‘Imaginary Ecosystems’ at the La Galerie Alliance Francaise de Lahore echo this transformation, capturing the tension between nature and human presence. The overall body of work by the artist Kausar Iqbal is deeply rooted in Surrealism.

It is not intended to be decorative or immediately pleasing; instead, it deliberately unsettles, confronting the viewer through distortion and unease. The imagery carries layered meanings, exploring psychological tension, intrusion and the complexities of human thought. Through unexpected juxtapositions and disquieting visual narratives, the work resists passive viewing. At this exhibition, curated by Anne Sophie Francais, all the works on display are untitled.

Surreal imagery and symbolic distortion took centre stage at an exhibition in Lahore

In one of the paintings, a man’s portrait is drawn with a cunning, tense smile, his gaze cast sideways as if withholding a secret. The pale yet bold yellow background sharpens the viewer’s focus on the figure, isolating him within a space that feels both flat and psychologically charged. Behind him, a delicate white floral pattern unfolds and appears strangely detached from the subject, as though belonging to another reality altogether.

What unsettles the composition most are the intrusions of bird beaks: one at the mouth, another at the nose and a third emerging from the head. They appear to compete with one another, interrupting and fragmenting the figure’s identity. These elements disrupt the human form, suggesting invasion, mutation or an internal conflict made visible. The face no longer belongs solely to the man; it becomes a site of tension, where multiple forces collide, blurring the boundary between the natural and the human, the external and the psychological.

In another piece, hybrid figures — part human, part animal — introduce a distinctly surreal quality, making the composition subtly disturbing to behold. The viewer is not meant to passively observe. Instead, they are drawn into the miniature’s intricate world to uncover layered meanings embedded within its details. A central figure, with the upper body of a horse and human legs, appears entangled with a snake, evoking a sense of inner conflict and psychological struggle. The merging of forms suggests a body at odds with itself, caught between instinct and reason.

Nearby, an ape-like figure with human legs stands with its head bowed, a posture that conveys submission, introspection, or perhaps shame — hinting at the primal aspects of human nature that persist beneath the surface. In the background, scattered black birds flow across the composition, their movement creating a sense of unrest and chaos, highlighting the emotional tension within the scene. Together, these elements construct a visual language that is both symbolic and unsettling, urging the viewer to confront the complexities of identity, instinct, and the fragile boundary between the human and the animal.

On another canvas, a patterned elephant dominates the stark yellow background, combined with hummingbird-like figures. The circular form behind them acts almost like a halo or sun, giving the scene a dreamlike, symbolic quality. The way the birds hover around the animal creates movement and tension, while the animal itself feels grounded and still.

The elongated beaks of the birds are not anatomical but an intentional rendering, suggesting intrusion, tension, probing or communication. The fusion of a floral-patterned large animal with birds suggests a blending of life forms or ecosystems.

‘Imaginary Ecosystems’ was on display at the La Galerie
Alliance Francaise de Lahore
from May 5-9, 2026

The writer is an art critic, fine artist and educationist based in Lahore. She can be reached at ayeshamajeed2015@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, June 7th, 2026

“To attain knowledge, add things every day. To attain wisdom, remove things every day.” — Lao Tzu, Chinese philosopher

Knowledge is information acquired from external sources. Knowing, on the other hand, emerges from within and determines how facts are comprehended. Knowledge has no value without knowing, while knowing can exist without knowledge.

A child knows how to recognise parents, communicate and play without any formal instructions. Village wisdom knows the right time to sow plants, or cure with herbs without knowledge of botany or biology, relying on collective memory and connection to nature. Most of us know how to change a lightbulb or operate a computer without knowledge of how electricity is produced or how binary technology works.

In Europe, knowledge gained priority over knowing around the scientific revolution of the 17th century, believing rational knowledge was superior to subjective experience. Other civilisations, such as that of India or the Muslim world, continued to see both knowledge and knowing as deeply connected.

The very first Quranic verse revealed was about the centrality of knowledge to human existence: Allah taught by the pen, taught man that which he knew not. Yet the Truth of the message was to be understood by intuition, knowing, what the Sufis called ma’arif.

While modernity has mastered the accumulation of information, true wisdom may lie in rediscovering forms of understanding that cannot be measured, catalogued or stored

Socrates believed true knowledge is not passively absorbed from the outside world but is a recollection or anamnesis. The immortal soul possesses all universal truths, but forgets them upon birth. Learning is the recognition of what was already known. Ibne Arabi formalised this with his concept of stages of knowledge by four qalams or pens. He also says ilm al-yaqin, knowing something through the proof of logic, is the first stage of knowledge. The final stage is haqq al-yaqin, knowing through experience.

The Greeks distinguished between episteme or knowledge, and gnosis or intuitive knowing. In medicine, the terms diagnosis and prognosis, based on educated intuition, carry the suffix -gnosis.

Over the years, knowledge gained prominence as the foundation of rationality, science and technology — needs of the modern industrial era. Knowing as intuition was relegated to the margins, the subject of religion and spirituality, the arts or village wisdom. Knowledge has become commodified, structured and prescribed — an essential element of intellectual superiority, educational systems and public policy.

Until the arrival of internet search engines in the 1990s, there were only human search engines called librarians or book shop owners. Knowledge was accessed by scholars, academics or the educated. It was a slow, considered process. Today, knowledge is itemised. A Google search retrieves and ranks the best results, sometimes numbering in the hundreds of thousands, in less than a second. In the last two years, AI-generated articles have surpassed human-authored writing, suggesting knowledge is simply accessing what has already been written.

Europe, historically, managed knowledge to project political and economic power, establishing regulatory institutions in every imaginable field, as benchmarks for global standards. Post-colonial Europe gradually lost its role as the central global trading hub. Its 21st century strategy is “Europe of Knowledge” — investing in higher education, data management and research.

Knowledge, which was once a universal human endeavour shared across civilisations, took on a political dimension. The term “Knowledge Power Europe” was coined by the scholars Mitchell Young and Pauline Ravinet to underline the importance of knowledge to the European Union’s foreign policy and global relevance. It was to become a cultural filter, establish intellectual leadership and act as a coercive tool to persuade others to follow its regulatory regimes.

The Lisbon Strategy (2000) set a goal of making Europe the “most competitive and dynamic knowledge-based economy in the world”, an integral part of geopolitical objectives. It is seen as Epistemic colonialism — the systematic imposition of Eurocentric knowledge systems, values and worldviews to overwrite indigenous or local ways of knowing.

The world is bracing for a seismic political transformation. It would be incomplete without an intellectual transformation. T.S. Eliot, in his poem Little Gidding, written in 1942 in the midst of WWII, longs for the flames of destruction to fold back: “For last year’s words belong to last year’s language/ And next year’s words await another voice.” He vows:

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”

Durriya Kazi is a Karachi-based artist.
She may be reached at
durriyakazi1918@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, June 7th, 2026

Some periods in history do not survive as dates alone. They remain as memory, pride and atmosphere.

The age of Jam Nizamuddin Samo, affectionately remembered in Sindh as Jam Nindo, is one such period. It belongs to the late 15th century, when the Samma dynasty ruled from Thatta and Sindh occupied a strategic space between the Indus and the Arabian Sea.

Jam Nizamuddin II ruled from around 1461 to the opening years of the 16th century. His reign is widely remembered as the finest moment of Samma rule. The Sammas were a local Sindhi dynasty that rose after the decline of the Soomras. Their rulers used the title Jam, a word rooted in Sindhi political culture.

By the time Jam Nizamuddin came to power, Thatta was more than a royal capital. It had become a fortified city, a centre of religion and learning, and a thriving market town.

At its height under Jam Nizamuddin II, or Jam Nindo, the Samma kingdom stretched from Sibi to the Arabian Sea, connected India to the western ocean, and left behind the storied necropolis at Makli…

THE RIVER-SEA KINGDOM

The strength of his kingdom came from geography as much as governance. Sindh was not only an inland agricultural land; it was also a river-sea civilisation. The Indus carried grain, cotton, people and ideas towards the delta, while the ports of lower Sindh connected the region with Gujarat, Hormuz, Arabia, Persia and the western Indian Ocean.

Lahari Bandar — also called Lahori Bandar, Lari Bandar or Diul Sind — served as Thatta’s maritime outlet. Through this port, Sindh entered the commercial life of the wider world.

Thatta and Lahari Bandar functioned as a single system of power and exchange. Thatta was the capital, workshop and political centre; Lahari Bandar was the sea door. Merchants, sailors, saints, craftsmen and stories moved through this network. Sindh was part of the Indian Ocean’s living commerce.

The prosperity of Jam Nizamuddin’s time rested on agriculture, craft and trade together. Lower Sindh saw cultivation, settlement and production expand. Thatta became known for textile activity, using cotton from the upper Indus region and turning it into goods for inland and overseas markets. Cotton moved from fields to weavers, bazaars to boats, and the Indus to the wider sea.

THE FRONTIER AND THE COMING STORM

Jam Nizamuddin’s authority extended beyond lower Sindh. The Samma kingdom under him is generally remembered as including Sindh and exercising influence over parts of Punjab and Balochistan. The frontier towards Sibi was especially important because it connected Sindh with Balochistan and Kandahar. It was also the direction from which danger would later come.

In the later part of Jam Nizamuddin’s rule, Shah Beg Arghun began pressing Sindh from the northwest. The Samma state resisted him, and that resistance is closely associated with Darya Khan, the celebrated commander and statesman. In Sindhi memory, Darya Khan is not remembered simply as a general. He is remembered as a defender of Sindh. If Jam Nizamuddin gave the state dignity, Darya Khan gave it courage.

Later Sindhi historiography presents Jam Nizamuddin’s court as a place of justice, order and refinement. Such memories should be read with caution, because chronicles and folklore often eulogise rulers, especially when decline follows. Yet Jam Nizamuddin’s reputation has remained unusually steady. His reign is remembered as peaceful, prosperous and disciplined. The fall of the Sammas after him only made his rule shine more brightly in memory.

AN ARCHIVE IN STONE

The cultural richness of his period can still be felt at Makli, the great necropolis near Thatta. Makli is not just a graveyard. It is one of Sindh’s grandest archives in stone. Kings, saints, scholars, commanders and noble families lie there in the same sacred landscape.

The tomb of Jam Nizamuddin is among its finest monuments. Its carved stonework shows Sindhi, Islamic and Gujarati influences mingling with ease. Floral designs, carved bands, arched panels and ornamental patterns reveal a society of taste, skill and confidence.

Makli also shows that Sindh was not merely receiving culture from outside. It was absorbing influences and making them its own. The Samma period was connected to Gujarat, Persia and the Islamic world, but it remained deeply Sindhi. That is the mark of a culture sure of itself: it borrows without losing itself.

The spiritual world of the period was equally important. Sufis, saints, jurists, scholars, poets and noble families shaped the moral climate of Thatta and Makli. Power in Jam Nizamuddin’s Sindh was not only military or commercial. It also needed spiritual legitimacy. A ruler had to be seen as just, pious and protective. Courtly authority and sacred prestige met in the same landscape.

NEW COMMUNITIES, OLD ROOTS

The same conditions that made Thatta prosperous were also remaking its people, including trading communities linked with Sindh and Gujarat. Among them, the Memons hold a special place in community memory.

A widely repeated Memon tradition says that a group of Lohana families in the Thatta region converted to Islam in the 15th century under the influence of a saint usually associated with the Qadri order. These converts, according to the tradition, came to be known as Momins, a word that later morphed into Memon.

What can safely be said is that the Memons emerged from the larger Sindh-Gujarat mercantile world. Their background was shaped by Lohana trading roots, Islamic conversion, Sufi influence and later movement towards Kutch, Kathiawar, Gujarat, Bombay, East Africa and beyond.

In that sense, Jam Nizamuddin’s Sindh offered the right conditions for trading families to grow: a stable kingdom, a rich capital, textile production, river transport, access to the sea, Sufi networks and strong community organisation.

Whether every detail of the Memon origin story is provable or not, it points towards a real historical process. Fifteenth-century lower Sindh was a place where older Hindu, Islamic, Sindhi, Gujarati and mercantile identities were being reshaped into new communities.

Folklore remembers Jam Nindo as a just king. Sindhi memory often values rulers less for conquest than for justice, generosity, restraint and protection of the people. The name Jam Nindo itself carries warmth. He is not remembered only as Sultan Nizamuddin, a distant ruler in a chronicle, but as Jam Nindo, almost a familiar figure. That intimacy matters. It means he belongs not only to the palace, but also to the people.

THE END OF THE SAMMA AGE

After his death, decline began. His son Jam Feroz inherited a kingdom under pressure. Court rivalries, internal weakness and outside threats eventually opened the way for the Arghuns. As often happens, the golden age became clearer only after it had disappeared.

The Samma order under Jam Nindo came to represent a Sindh strong enough to defend itself, rich enough to trade widely, refined enough to build Makli, and open enough to produce saints, merchants, scholars and artisans.

The age of Jam Nizamuddin Samo, therefore, should be seen as one of Sindh’s great civilisational moments. It was not the mud-fort isolation that colonial accounts often imagined for Sindh. It was a deltaic kingdom with a capital at Thatta, a port at Lahari Bandar, cotton routes from the upper Indus, sea routes to Hormuz, artistic links with Gujarat and spiritual legitimacy anchored in Makli.

Its memory survives because it held together things that later fell apart: river and sea, trade and sovereignty, shrine and court, sword and textile, local pride and international contact. To write about Jam Nindo is to relive a Sindh that was never small. It looked towards Central Asia through Sibi, towards the Indian Ocean through Lahari Bandar, towards Gujarat through art and commerce, and towards eternity through Makli.

At the centre of that world stood Jam Nizamuddin Samo, the king whose reign became, for Sindh, a memory of what had once been possible.

The writer is a researcher with
a focus on history and anthropology.
He is also the founder of the Clifton
Urban Forest, Karachi. X: @masoodlohar

Published in Dawn, EOS, June 7th, 2026

I was 13 years old when I started watching football. Not because someone introduced me to it, not because it was the popular thing to do in school, but because I stumbled on to a match one night and saw a team in red and white that played with such grace it almost felt unfair.

That team was Arsenal. The year was 2002. And just like that, without any warning, I had handed over a piece of myself to 11 men in North London who would spend the next two decades making me question every life decision I had ever made.

Let me tell you something about being an Arsenal fan in Karachi in those early years.

People had heard of Arsenal, yes, but it was a distant kind of awareness, the sort you have about something that exists without really mattering to anyone around you. Manchester United filled schoolyards. Real Madrid and Barcelona had supporters everywhere you looked. Arsenal had a reputation, a history, but almost no one in your circle actually followed them.

Arsenal won the English Premier League this year after 22 years. One Gooner from Karachi recounts why he supported the club for better or worse for so many years and explains what this victory means to him…

And on top of that, the English Premier League has never had a proper broadcast in Pakistan. Not back then, and not today. There is no channel you can turn to, no simple way to just switch on the television and find your team. There was a dark room, a television set, a very unreliable internet connection, and the quiet determination to follow this club regardless.

I spent years pestering relatives visiting from London to bring back Arsenal jerseys in their suitcases. Shirts, scarves, whatever they could find. The club was thousands of miles away but it lived in this house, on these shelves, in this wardrobe.

Weekends were manageable, evening kick-offs that landed at a reasonable hour in Karachi. But the Champions League was a different kind of devotion. Midweek matches starting at midnight or one in the morning, work or school in a few hours, and you sitting there in the dark, willing 11 men across the world to hold on.

There were the beautiful years first. Thierry Henry and Dennis Bergkamp and Patrick Vieira. The Invincibles season, 2003 to 2004, when Arsenal went the entire Premier League campaign without losing a single game. I thought this was just how Arsenal was. I had no idea I had witnessed the peak, and that from there the road would get long and winding and occasionally humiliating.

Manager Arsene Wenger stayed for years after that, loyal to a fault, working on a fraction of what the big clubs were spending. The move from Highbury to the Emirates carried real ambition but the finances never quite matched the vision.

Good players came and went. Cesc Fabregas left. Robin van Persie left. Every summer there was hope and every February there was quiet resignation. The FA Cup came twice and we celebrated like it was the league title because in those years, honestly, it was all we had. Then came Unai Emery. I will not dwell on this. I think all of us who lived through it would prefer not to.

And then came Mikel Arteta. There was something fitting about it that many fans felt immediately. He had been here before, not just as a manager but as a player, as club captain under Wenger, the armband on his sleeve. He knew what Arsenal was supposed to feel like.

Those first two seasons were still difficult. Arsenal finished eighth two years running and the calls for his removal were loud and persistent. People outside the fanbase wrote him off. Some inside did too. But the players believed in him. Slowly you could see something forming, a clear identity, a way of playing with purpose that had been missing for years.

Young players were arriving and being developed with real care. One of them was Bukayo Saka, a kid from London who grew into something special and is now unquestionably our most important player, the one opponents plan around, the one we build from.

The next three seasons nearly broke us. Three consecutive runner-up finishes. Three times finishing second, once by two points. Manchester City always in the way, always just enough. Pep Guardiola, arguably the finest football mind of his generation, running one of the most expensively assembled squads in the history of the sport, backed by ownership with resources that simply could not be matched through conventional means.

Arsenal were not losing to an ordinary rival. They were losing to a machine built to make losing impossible. And still, rival fans called us bottlers. Arsenal are a nearly club, they said. Why do you even bother, they asked. I had only one answer. I believed. I loved this club. Not rationally, not sensibly, but completely.

Then this season arrived. The team looked different, not just in quality but in character. For the first time, in what felt like forever, there was real depth, a proper bench, the sense that one injury would not unravel everything. Arsenal won 25 league games. David Raya kept 19 clean sheets and won the Golden Glove for the third consecutive year. They led the league for two hundred days.

And then, on a Tuesday night in Karachi, just before midnight, Manchester City dropped points at Bournemouth and it was done. Arsenal were Premier League champions for the first time in 22 years. After the near misses, after the mockery, after every season that ended with your head in your hands, it was simply done.

I sat alone with it for a while, though not entirely alone. My wife was there, the person who has watched me live and suffer through this for years, every bad result, every near miss. She did not say anything. She just sat quietly and let me have the moment, which is its own kind of love. The stillness of the room and the weight of what had just happened settling over me.

Twenty two years of this club in my chest, the shirts in the wardrobe, the relatives from London carrying jerseys across continents, the midnight kick-offs, all of it arriving at this single point. I thanked God. I sat there and I thanked God and I let myself feel it properly.

Yes, we lost the Champions League final in Budapest on penalties. Kai Havertz put us ahead early, Paris Saint-Germain’s Ousmane Dembele levelled from the spot, and Arsenal were denied what looked like a clear penalty at the other end shortly after. Gabriel Magalhaes missed the last kick of the shoot-out and PSG retained their title. It hurts. But we went through the entire campaign without losing a single match in 90 minutes, scored first in the final, and were so close. That is a team that belongs at the highest level. The European Cup will come.

To anyone outside this world it might all sound excessive, the level of feeling attached to an English football club by someone sitting in Karachi who the club’s players will never meet and whose city they likely could not place on a map. But that is what football does. It crosses everything. Time zones, languages, circumstance, geography. It finds you and it keeps you.

Arsenal found me in 2002 and it has kept me through every bad result and every mocking comment and every season that ended in quiet disappointment.

Twenty two years. Champions of England. It was worth every single one of them.

The writer is a marketing and communications
professional. X: @adaffan

Published in Dawn, EOS, June 7th, 2026

Not in the way many Pakistanis have done — as a place of departure and arrival — but as a building that existed, quite literally, in the background of my childhood. Architectural drawings of the unbuilt airport project lay open at home; conversations about structure, materials and deadlines peppered dinner conversations.

As the daughter of the project’s chief architect, Mukhtar Husain, I first encountered the airport as an idea. Long before I understood what architecture was, I understood the importance of this building as it took shape in front of my eyes. Entrenched within the narrative of my childhood, it eventually became familiar to millions.

GROWING UP WITH A TERMINAL

Airports are among the few civic spaces where private emotions play out in full public view. Departures fracture families across continents; arrivals collapse distance and separation into moments of joy. In a country shaped profoundly by migration and diaspora, these rituals carry particular weight. For millions of Pakistanis, these moments have taken place against the backdrop of the Jinnah International Airport terminal in Karachi.

Since its inauguration in the early 1990s, the terminal has served as Pakistan’s principal gateway to the world. Generations of travellers passed through its concourses — students leaving to study abroad, workers heading to the Gulf, families welcoming relatives home. The building marks the threshold between Pakistan and the world, while being steadily adapted and modified to fit changing policies, technologies and institutional priorities.

For the architect daughter of the Jinnah Terminal’s chief architect, the Karachi airport is not just a place of arrivals and departures but a living archive of memory, design and family history

For me, it has always existed simultaneously as a piece of national infrastructure and as a deeply personal landscape. I have returned to it year after year since first leaving Karachi as a student nearly 30 years ago. I became an architect myself, living and working abroad and, eventually, a mother travelling with my son; design is now as much a part of his childhood as it was mine. We move through the same halls that once existed only as hand-drawn blueprints on our dining table, hearing echoes of the nearly-forgotten conversations that shaped them.

My son, who only knows Pakistan from his brief, annual visits to Karachi, has come to know this building through stories — his grandfather’s recollections of its making — and through the tactile reality of the spaces themselves.

When he told his grandfather how much he loved the marble fountain on the way to the satellite, my father explained to him how he had wanted to create a peaceful respite after every traveller’s stress going through the immigration line. The carved wooden screens, the carpets lining the check-in hall, the scale of the geometric chandeliers matching that of the halls themselves: ideas initially abstract, made concrete into spaces we encounter, materials we question, and experiences we have lived through and recognise.

The terminal continues to operate not only as a gateway between countries, but as a bridge between generations.

FROM BLUEPRINT TO BUILDING

The Jinnah Terminal project began in the mid-1980s, at a moment when Karachi was still Pakistan’s most international city and its principal aviation hub. Long-haul flights between Europe and Asia often required intermediate stops and Karachi’s geographic position made it a strategic transit point.

The Civil Aviation Authority (CAA) commissioned the project, with technical support from Air Consult, the design arm of the Frankfurt Airport Authority, who brought their expertise in analysing complex data and translating it into architectural form. The Pakistani public engineering consultancy National Engineering Services Pakistan (Nespak) coordinated the project, assembling a team of nearly a hundred professionals. Among them was my father, Mukhtar Husain, who was appointed chief architect of the airport project.

ARCHITECTURE AFTER DATA

Airport design begins not with aesthetics but with statistical analysis. Economic forecasts, air traffic projections and patterns of passenger movement determine the building’s scale and organisation. Two parallel traffic systems — air and car — form the basis of these calculations, while the building itself facilitates the movement of passengers from one system to the other.

“An airport,” my father explains, “is essentially a processing machine for passengers moving from land to air and back again. But once these technical parameters define the building’s primary massing, architecture enters the picture.”

For the Pakistani design team, the central question became how this gateway to the country should be experienced — and what it should represent.

International airports are inherently global spaces — their infrastructure held to universal standards, their systems largely interchangeable. Yet they are also places of representation. The design team recognised this as an unparallelled opportunity; for many travellers, the airport would form their first and last impression of the country. They wanted to convey — in architecture — a sense of Pakistan: modern, confident and rooted in its own design language.

“The airport should give passengers a first and lasting impression of Pakistan’s rich cultural and architectural heritage,” my father recalls.

The building’s overall geometry — its large halls, wide spans and satellite concourses — was primarily dictated by functional requirements under the guidance of Air Consult. But once these volumes were established, the design team at Nespak turned to questions of identity. The exterior form emerged as a contemporary composition that subtly referenced traditional architectural geometries, establishing a framework that extended into the interior design.

The construction contract was awarded to the French firm Sogea, whose exacting standards pushed local manufacturing and construction capabilities to new limits. The building’s precast concrete façade panels, for instance, required nearly a year of experimentation at a purpose-built facility, to achieve the desired colour and texture. Decades later, that same cladding has endured with minimal deterioration — a testament to the rigour of its execution.

Between international expertise and local craftsmanship, the result was a hybrid architecture: technologically modern, yet embedded in local material culture. Nowhere was this more evident than in the interior.

WHERE CULTURE BECOMES STRUCTURE

The scale of the building created expansive volumes — spaces that were both an opportunity and a challenge.

My father had initially envisioned integrating large-scale artworks by leading Pakistani artists into these interiors: murals, reliefs and suspended sculptures that could be experienced from multiple vantage points, radiating colour against the subtle neutrals of the building interior. These works, he imagined, would be a counterpoint to the architecture — showcasing masterpieces to be admired and enjoyed by all who passed through.

When budget constraints made this impossible, the design team pivoted to a quietly radical approach, which seems to have withstood the tests of time. Instead of treating cultural expression as an applied decorative layer, the design team embedded it directly into the building’s fabric. Craft was not applied as ornament; it was built into the fabric of the structure.

The wooden lattice screens visible from the check-in hall conceal office windows on the upper levels. Designed specifically for the project and executed by local artisans, they draw upon a long tradition of the jaali — a lattice screen carved in wood and transforming a functional requirement into an architectural feature. The geometric motifs extend from these lattice screens to the baffle ceiling, the terrazzo floor and the wall panelling.

Based on the modular grid of the building, the patterns repeat at varying scales, adapting to different surfaces while maintaining a visual coherence. These were not decorative gestures. Each element was part of the building’s logic, embedding Pakistani craft traditions into its operational fabric.

In the vast check-in hall, acoustic considerations led to further integration of local material culture. Inspired by bedcovers and cushions from our own home, local hand-loom fabrics were adapted, treated, and installed at scale, drawing on the expertise of Pakistan’s extensive textile industry.

Alongside these, hand-knotted carpets produced in Karachi and Hyderabad were incorporated into the panelling. Woven in silk and executed in multiple colour variations, they form a continuous band across the departure hall walls. Their production was distributed among individual weavers, many working from their homes, yet brought together into a unified composition. They are both functional and expressive — absorbing sound while asserting a distinctly local craft tradition.

The “harder” finishes of the interior followed a similarly considered approach. A palette of warm browns and beiges established continuity between the exterior and interior, with marble accents — like the occasional fountains — introducing variation. Terrazzo flooring, manufactured locally through a dedicated facility, provided a durable surface capable of withstanding heavy use with minimal maintenance.

Lighting, too, was conceived architecturally. In the check-in hall, large geometric chandeliers descend into the space at regular intervals, their scale responding to the volume of the hall. Their form echoes the geometry of the building itself, transforming lighting into a sculptural element.

These elements were designed as long-term components, intended to endure. And remarkably, most of them still do.

CHANGE AND CONTINUITY

Each time I encounter these spaces, I experience both familiarity and recognition. Details that existed in fragments, that were deliberated over and experimented with, have not just become material, but have been witness to my own arrivals and departures for decades. The building reveals itself not as a single gesture, but as a series of decisions, each carrying intention and care.

An added layer is travelling through it with my son, which draws endless questions from him about why things look the way they do, and so decidedly different from the myriad other airports he has experienced.

In answering him, I find myself retracing the logic of the building — explaining how design decisions were made, how local crafts were incorporated, how a space can be both functional and expressive. How these decisions perfectly sum up his grandfather, the very essence of the person — and the architect — that he is. The terminal continues to do what it was always intended to do: to represent something of Pakistan, not only to those arriving for the first time, but to those returning, yet again.

Over the years, we have all seen the building change — from drastic operational adjustments that immediately followed its opening, to requirements evolved with security concerns, to incremental modifications that altered usage. Some of these changes were undeniable and essential. Others were perhaps less considered.

The building continues to function but its original clarity, at times, seems obscured — ripe for change. Airports designed nearly 40 years ago must respond to new demands: evolving technologies, changing passenger expectations, the sheer wear of time. Yet, in a country where architectural heritage is often treated lightly, this urgent need for change may easily become a moment of erasure.

Buildings must evolve. Materials age. Technologies advance. New requirements emerge. But any upcoming renovation will not simply be an opportunity to update materials or modernise systems. It will be a moment that will determine how the building is carried forward for the next generations — whether the existing, underlying ideas are understood and reinterpreted, or whether they are completely replaced.

Such decisions require a particular kind of attention — one that recognises architecture not simply as surface and space, but as a system of relationships between structure, material, meaning and experience.

The Jinnah Terminal, with its perpetual smell of rose petals strewn across the floor, is precisely that — a space of collective experience, shaped by decades of departures and arrivals. It is also a record of a particular moment in Pakistan’s architectural history — when local architects, working alongside international collaborators, sought to create modern buildings that were culturally grounded, shaping the skyline of our fast-growing cities.

For those of us who pass through it — whether once a year or once in a lifetime — it becomes part of a larger narrative: of movement, of belonging and of connection to a place.

If a renovation is undertaken, the question will not be whether the building should change. It is whether, in changing, it will still carry forward the ideas that shaped it — so that future generations, moving through its spaces, may recognise a glimpse of where they come from.

The writer is an architect and interior designer based in Paris, France. She can be reached
at asma@ateliervarenne.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, June 7th, 2026

THE PARACHAS’ CASE

I met Uzair Paracha for the first time in Karachi, in June 2024, four years after his release from American prisons. I was there in part to see his father, who had been released from Guantanamo a year-and-a-half earlier. It had been my good fortune to meet with Saifullah Paracha several times in Guantanamo, where I worked as a defence lawyer in the military commissions, and visited a number of detainees.

Although I had not met Uzair, I was familiar with his case, as were all the lawyers and legal team members of the relatively small defender bar that pushed back against the cruel excesses of the US response to 9/11.

The outline of Uzair’s story was stark: arrested in March 2003 when he was in his early 20s, convicted of terrorism-related offences and sentenced to 30 years. After many years in some of America’s worst prisons, a federal judge reversed his conviction as a “manifest injustice” and eventually Uzair was repatriated to Pakistan. His case remains the only one where evidence from Guantanamo helped free a wrongfully convicted US prisoner.

His father was the oldest prisoner in Guantanamo and a remarkable man. He was beloved by the other prisoners for his kind nature and his fatherly care for them. He patiently gave English lessons to the other detainees and counselled them to rely on Allah when the frustrations of endless detention grew too hard to bear. Like so many of the 780 men and boys held over the years in Guantanamo, he was never charged, never tried, and finally released without an apology or compensation.

In 2003, 23-year-old Uzair S. Paracha, a Pakistani and an IBA graduate living in New York, was arrested by the US government and was accused of providing “material support” to Al-Qaeda. What followed were years spent in solitary confinement and, after being convicted for 30 years, imprisonments at some of America’s most notorious maximum security prisons. He never accepted he had done anything he was accused of or any of the various plea bargains put before him. He eventually won his freedom in 2020, after spending 17 years behind bars. Eos presents, with permission, excerpts from the book The Man Who Refused to Plead Guilty: How a Muslim Convicted of Terrorism Won His Freedom by Uzair S. Paracha and published by Pluto Press…

Uzair was raised in New York and Pakistan and, at the age of 23, was a recent graduate of Pakistan’s most prestigious business school. He hoped to continue to assist his father in the family’s successful international [export] business, and had every reason to be confident that his permanent residence status in the US would allow him frequent trips to New York, like the one in March 2003.

Instead, based on lies extracted under torture in Guantanamo and other Black Sites, Uzair, and then his father, were charged with helping Al-Qaeda. There never was any real evidence, and the false statements of the tortured informants themselves, as well as their subsequent vehement retractions, were hidden or ignored.

Even the publication of the [US] Senate Torture Report in late 2012, clearly finding that any number of statements obtained under torture were provably false, did not result in an immediate review of either Paracha’s case, or other prisoners in similar situations. Uzair’s triumph in federal court came more than nine years after its publication.

Uzair never came to Guantanamo, although he was persistently threatened with being sent there when he was seized. That, in fact, was and remains part of the power of the illegitimate forever prison of Guantanamo: the power of a fear that you can be sent someplace where even US law can’t help you. Uzair acknowledges that he met with the FBI [Federal Bureau of Investigation] in part because they told him if he did not cooperate, they would send him to a legal black hole — Guantanamo.

That name, and the lawless cruelty it stands for, is still being used to intimidate today, as uncharged migrants are sent there. Further, the idea of Guantanamo persists in the erection of other detention facilities, like “Alligator Alcatraz”, repeating the Guantanamo formula: remote location, indifference to the law, and confinement based on the flimsiest of accusations, without proof or due process.

Instead of Guantanamo, Uzair did time in some of the worst prisons in the United States, starting with the notoriously grim Special Housing Unit (“SHU”) at the MCC [Metropolitan Correctional Centre] in New York. Civil rights organisations sued the prison and high-ranking government officials for the deliberate abuse of Muslim prisoners during the time Uzair was there, held in solitary confinement for three years.

I was trying to follow the path of least resistance in order not to end up in the legal black hole they kept threatening me with. When I asked about a lawyer, they explained that I did have that right but that, in this post-9/11 world and the nature of their interest in me, they needed to speak to me without any restrictions. If a lawyer became involved and used legal ways to stop them, then they would probably need to put me in a different system, where such restrictions didn’t exist.

After his shocking conviction and sentence of 30 years, Uzair was sent to the infamous H unit in ADX [United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility]: the worst placement in arguably the worst prison. He spent a total of six years under SAMs, the diabolical “Special” measures designed to completely isolate prisoners and destroy their dignity and any hope of rehabilitation. Many more years at ADX followed, then a transfer to Terre Haute, and finally back to MCC, before Uzair won his freedom in 2020.

— Excerpted from the Foreword
by Denise LeBoeuf ```

WHEN THE FBI CAME KNOCKING

It was getting late in the evening, and I was supposed to leave for the gym, when I noticed that Charles [my father Saifullah Paracha’s business partner] came into the office late Friday evening when he was supposed to be home for the Sabbath.

I also noticed he had some other people with him while I was trying to wind things up. They kept walking in and out of his room for a few minutes until two people came over to my cubicle and flashed their badges. I noticed their guns under their jackets.

They introduced themselves as an NYPD [New York Police Department] detective and a special agent for the FBI. They said they wanted to ask me a couple of questions and, when we sat down in the conference room, the man asked me to turn my phone off.

Was this about the songs I had downloaded from Napster a few days ago? I kept wondering what this could possibly be about. We sat in the conference room and they started asking me some mundane questions about the purpose of my visit, details about the business I was running, where I was staying and basic stuff about my family.

Then they asked me if I knew someone named Majid Khan. I could feel myself turning red right away, but I denied it. You tell yourself that it is a little immigration matter for a deserving person, what’s the worst that can happen? But when you are sitting in a room halfway around the world from the system you’ve grown up in, even an unreturned library book feels like a capital offence in front of people with badges and guns.

I‘m sure they saw it on my face because, after a few more mundane questions, the detective asked me if we could continue with some questions in their offices. I asked what would happen if I said no or if I needed a lawyer; he said that I could refuse, but they would wonder why and they would find other ways to make sure that I did cooperate with them.

I remembered about my father’s belief in his partner and felt that I should seek his advice as to whether I should go or not or if I should get a lawyer. I walked over to Charles’ office and asked, “Can I speak to you for a minute?” With a disturbed look on his face, he said, “Don’t talk to me right now.” I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t know if I had any choice, except to go the easy way or the hard way.

I grabbed my coat and tried to say goodnight to the woman who used to work in the cubicle next to mine, but she didn’t even turn around. She once wanted to set me up with her daughter until I politely told her I wasn’t available. At that time, she was disappointed and wanted to know how serious it was. She was probably having second thoughts that evening though.

When we went down the elevator and out into the street, it was already dark outside, and I noticed that there were multiple cars and more people than I realised. We drove to the FBI building in downtown Manhattan and they put me in a small room with three chairs and a small table bolted to the wall and floor.

I was seated in the chair behind the table away from the door with a large window behind me. The door was open, but it wouldn’t have made a difference, since there were people with guns everywhere and, even if I decided to run to the elevator, how would I pass through security in the lobby? And even if I did leave the building, where would I go? These guys didn’t bring all these cars to get me just so I could leave whenever I wanted.

Speaking of the many cars, why did they have so many cars? I never bothered to know the difference between the FBI and the NYPD, but didn’t they have something better to do than investigate some guy’s immigration issue? After being seated, the interrogators left me with someone who stood at the door while they had to go make some calls for 20 to 30 minutes.

Their designated babysitter wanted to strike up a conversation and was full of advice on how cooperative I needed to be — “You need to be smart and tell these people everything they need to know”, “The sooner you start cooperating, the sooner you can get out of here”, and other nuggets of wisdom to make the interrogators’ job as easy as possible.

When the interrogators came back, they repeated many of their mundane questions for a little while, but then they circled back to Majid Khan. Specifically, they asked me about his driver’s license. After my initial attempt to resist and deny things, I tried to find a roundabout way of admitting that I did indeed know the guy by mentioning him by his nickname. I mentioned his immigration problem and how I was supposed to make some inquiries on his behalf (without mentioning that I was supposed to pretend to be him).

I expected there was going to be a problem. After all, this was more than an unreturned library book. I expected the worst and thought they might fine me or cause me other problems. I had just put in my application for citizenship but was still just a green card holder. Then the investigators told me that this man was part of Al-Qaeda.

They also tried to use this time to tell me what I was facing. One of them started citing some laws using legalese that flew over my head and explained to me that I might be looking at eight years in prison. The ground disappeared from beneath my feet. I felt as if I were pulled deep underwater, unable to swim.

A LAMB FOR SLAUGHTER

I tried to explain that he [Majid Khan] was from Baltimore, had a driver’s license and work IDs from a job here, and that he was more a part of America than even I was and he was just trying to get back home after carelessly overstaying in Pakistan. But I failed to realise that their job was to think suspiciously.

After 9/11 this suspicion had turned into paranoia, and they didn’t want to hear that I was clueless and didn’t know what was going on. They were in the mood to uncover a grand conspiracy. They asked me for my phone to see my call logs and I never got it back. They told me that if I continued to lie, they would have me moved to a military base. I pushed back that they couldn’t just do something like that, but they told me that they could, and they had.

They told me about someone named Jose Padilla who was uncooperative until he was recently moved to military custody to make him start talking. They added that I wasn’t even a US citizen like him, and it would be easier to move me than it was to move him. In fact, I could even be sent to a base outside the United States, such as Guantanamo Bay.

According to them, that system was a legal black hole, and once I was in it I could remain there for the rest of my life. There would be no courts or legal proceedings and I might be eating out of a bag for the rest of my life without any contact with anyone, including family and friends.

I insisted that there was nothing, but then they told me that my father had been captured in Pakistan by the FBI with the help of the Pakistani security forces and was being flown to a friendly country like Jordan. I was worried about my mother and my siblings back home and my fear for my father started reaching depths I had never known before.

The specificity with which they gave me immediate responses made me believe that this was very real, and my resistance to their accusations started to break down, hoping that I would not trigger a quick transfer that they were threatening me with. My best hope was that they would confirm their accusations and discover that there was no fire at the source of this smoke.

I also noticed they weren’t doing a lot of note-taking. I didn’t see any visible cameras, but they must have been recording this entire conversation, and the questions and my baseless answers in the face of their threats would be enough for a more senior figure to see the entire circus for what it was.

When they came back and forth from their breaks, I noticed that they weren’t willing to accept just any answer, good or bad. They were pushing for some type of corroboration, until I felt like I was in a pinball machine, being led away from certain types of answers and encouraged towards others.

If this interrogation was really about Al-Qaeda, were they just going to trust it to their memories? There had to be concealed recording devices. With that hope in mind I tried to toe a fine line between confrontational denial, which would risk a military base transfer, and admitting to a crime that not only did I not commit but that might not exist in the first place.

I was trying to follow the path of least resistance in order not to end up in the legal black hole they kept threatening me with. When I asked about a lawyer, they explained that I did have that right but that, in this post-9/11 world and the nature of their interest in me, they needed to speak to me without any restrictions. If a lawyer became involved and used legal ways to stop them, then they would probably need to put me in a different system, where such restrictions didn’t exist.

Their questions lasted until I could see daylight outside the window, when they sent me with some of their agents to a hotel. The agents came inside the room with me and told me to get some sleep while they were sitting in the same room. They had taken my luggage from my place during the night to retrieve Majid Khan’s documents, but I didn’t realise they had taken all my belongings, not just the documents. When I needed my toothbrush, clothes and other things they wouldn’t let me near my suitcase. I was supposed to tell them what I wanted, and they would hand it to me.

As soon as I lay down to bed a question popped into my head, and I asked one of the agents if I was free to go home. He said that I should have asked the agents assigned to my case. He added that I was the one who wanted the hotel room. I explained that I made the obvious choice when I thought it was either a hotel room or a jail cell for the night. But I was never told if I could go home. He asked me to speak to the case agents.

I then asked him if I was under arrest. He was getting frustrated and, after dodging the question a few times, he told me that I was being detained. I replied that that meant I wasn’t under arrest, but he shut me up and told me to go to sleep. There was no more arguing, but I did plan on bringing it up with the agents the next day.

BREAKING HOPE

It was late Saturday afternoon when we arrived, but the interrogators weren’t there yet. As I waited for them, I stared out of the window high above the street and my misery became overwhelming. My eyes fell on a small box with a button, and it occurred to me that if I could somehow open the window and have the courage to jump out, this unbearable experience would all be over. At the very least, I was feeling claustrophobic and wanted to see if I could get some fresh air.

As soon as I pressed it, the whole building started echoing with an alarm of some type. It was a distress button. Since it was a weekend, there was no one to turn it off and it took a while to find a way to get rid of the noise. The alarm was deafeningly loud, and I wish I could have stepped outside the building for some peace and quiet until they turned it off. Everyone was extremely annoyed by what I had done and the babysitter at the door wouldn’t let me out of the interrogation room.

When they asked me why I pressed the button, I mentioned that I wanted some fresh air because I was feeling claustrophobic. God knows how they would have reacted if I had told them I was thinking of jumping out of the window.

The first thing that the interrogators did was read me my rights. When I asked if I was under arrest, they told me that their superiors hadn’t decided if they were going to put me in a regular prison or a military base, but if I stopped giving them such a hard time, they could put in a good word for me. What could this good word achieve?

The possibility of going home wasn’t mentioned on that list but this was a terrorism investigation, and they would obviously get to the bottom of it. Until then, I needed to avoid their black hole. So much for my plan from last night to ask on what basis they were holding me.

They also had my hands swabbed for any type of residue from explosive devices or the like. In their custody I felt completely helpless, as they told me to open up my hands while they did a swab with some sterile liquid that smelled like rubbing alcohol. Then they did some type of scan.

This otherworldly experience was mind-numbing. No matter how much someone might say that you have nothing to fear if you’ve done nothing wrong, everyone in such an environment has plenty of scary thoughts, such as what if it shows up positive because of human or computer error? Or what if I’ve been in contact with something without knowing about it? It was all so overwhelming.

That night they put me in a different hotel and told me I had to be strip searched. I was not a very religious person. I was always skipping my weekly prayers. But in the country and culture that I grew up in, I never took my clothes off in front of anyone else. It was humiliating enough when I thought I would have to strip down to my undergarments. But I had no idea how thoroughly invasive an actual strip search was. I wasn’t married yet. I had never even needed to do anything of this sort for a doctor. Long before this demand, I had lost any sense of control over myself and my things, and the only resistance I put up was to ask that two of the three men in the room turn around while I had to undress further in silent surrender.

GOOD COP, BAD COP

On Sunday, back at the FBI office, I started by making a short plea that they were only making conjectures and it wasn’t right. They didn’t interrupt me. In fact, there was silence after I was done. Then the detective started breathing heavily and said, “I’m getting angry. I feel like breaking something.”

I started to panic. With a smile that made me even more anxious, the agent looked at the detective and said, “Now you’ve made him angry.” They told me that maybe they should let their superiors know that I wasn’t being cooperative and have me moved. They offered to take a break and pretend that this conversation never happened. Otherwise, they would tell their supervisors and then it was out of their hands.

Sometime later, the detective came back after he recovered from his lost temper and asked me if I wanted to continue, and I agreed. He asked me if I was hungry, but I had lost my appetite since Friday evening. He also said that this was just business and not something personal. That I seemed like a nice guy and, under different circumstances, I seemed like the type of person he would have liked to have a drink with.

I understood his gesture, but it was worthless. He was trying to be friendly to a lamb he was leading to the slaughter.

That day was no better than the other days and that night was just as disturbing as the previous nights. The agents were busy with their banter as I was trying to get some rest. In their post-9/11, hyper-paranoid frenzy, I felt my efforts to stop them from sending me to Guantanamo Bay or some other military base could fail, and I wanted to say goodbye to everyone who was a part of my life so that they would have some sense of closure.

But I also feared that if I did get in touch with anyone, they would become a target of suspicion. I expected that my family and friends would be worried about me by now. I wasn’t the type of person who would just disappear and be unreachable like this, even for a few hours. Besides, I was supposed to take some relatives out for ice cream. It was going to be my treat.g

Excerpted with permission from The Man Who Refused to Plead Guilty: How a Muslim Convicted of Terrorism Won His Freedom by Uzair S. Paracha and published by Pluto Press

Denise LeBoeuf is a retired capital defence attorney based in New Orleans, Louisiana. She was the Director of the American Civil Liberties Union’s John Adams Project, assisting the capitally charged detainees on Guantanamo in the military commissions, and was formerly the Director of the ACLU’s Capital Punishment Project and the Director of the Louisiana Capital Post-Conviction Project of Louisiana

Uzair S. Paracha is an Institute of Business Administration-graduate and a Pakistani citizen who was arrested in 2003 in New York for providing “material support” to Al-Qaeda. He was convicted by a court in 2005 and received a 30-year prison sentence, which was later voided. In March 2020, he was released and repatriated after being imprisoned for 17 years

Published in Dawn, EOS, June 7th, 2026

The Last Days of Marilyn Monroe
By James Patterson and Imogen
Edwards-Jones
Century
ISBN: 9781529928488
416pp.

This year, on June 1, fans of Hollywood starlet and diva Marilyn Monroe celebrated her 100th birth anniversary. Yet, even after more than 60 years, her death remains a mystery. Over the decades, numerous conspiracy theories have been proposed and dismissed, but the circumstances surrounding the 36-year-old’s sudden death continue to defy a definitive explanation.

Famed novelist James Patterson and journalist Imogen Edwards-Jones revisit this enduring enigma in The Last Days of Marilyn Monroe, attempting to piece together what might have happened. While the book does not claim to offer a conclusive resolution, it presents a compelling narrative that allows readers to consider who might have been responsible — and why.

The prologue opens in the early hours of August 5, 1962, focusing on the aftermath of Monroe’s death. She is found lying dead on her bed without her clothes on, holding a telephone, surrounded by pills, in a locked room. Yet, intriguingly, there is no glass of water — full, half-full, or empty — to support the suicide theory, making the circumstances even more puzzling.

The narrative then travels back to 1939, when a 13-year-old Norma Jeane first came into focus. The authors explore how the shy young girl transformed into Marilyn Monroe, who influenced her rise, and how her troubled childhood — spent moving between foster homes — shaped her persona and public image.

Part biography, part investigation, a fast-paced account retraces Marilyn Monroe’s journey from troubled orphan to global superstar and the mysteries surrounding her final hours

Despite receiving support from guardians throughout her career, Monroe’s personal life remained fraught with unhappiness. Her own biological father didn’t accept her, which made her search for love in elderly men throughout her life, referring to them as daddy. Her marriages — from a convenient union at 16 to James Dougherty to later relationships with baseball legend Joe DiMaggio and playwright Arthur Miller — are examined in detail. The book also delves into her alleged affairs, including those with the Kennedy brothers and co-star Yves Montand.

The book also sheds light on several defining moments of Monroe’s career. It revisits the circumstances behind her iconic flying dress scene, her frequent quarrels with studio executives, her miscarriages and the story behind her nude calendar photo shoot — a decision that, rather than damaging her reputation, ultimately contributed to her rise in Hollywood.

Her interactions with contemporaries such as Frank Sinatra, Laurence Olivier, Lauren Bacall, Clark Gable, Tony Curtis and even Elizabeth Taylor are also explored, highlighting the starkly different reactions she elicited — admired by some for her authenticity, yet difficult for others to work with.

And if you think that the ‘Happy Birthday Mr President’ incident was the only time she mingled with heads of state, you will be thrilled to know that the US President Dwight D. Eisenhower wanted her to be at a meeting with the Russian premier Nikita Khrushchev when the latter toured the United States with his wife. Why? Because in Russia, America meant two things — Coca-Cola and Marilyn Monroe!

If you take a look at this book from a non-film buff’s point of view, you can say that, in many ways, this is the kind of success story that captivates readers: an orphaned girl rising to become a global icon and the darling of a nation. Yet, the glamour is consistently undercut by the emotional turmoil that defined her life.

Written in Patterson’s trademark style, the book blends fact with a fictionalised narrative approach. While Patterson is best known for his fiction, this storytelling method allows him and Edwards-Jones to cover both Monroe’s professional achievements and personal struggles in an engaging manner. The short chapters, simple narration and brisk pacing make the book an unputdownable read — even though the ending has been known to the world since 1962.

As for the circumstances surrounding her death, the list of potential players is long. It includes the then US president and attorney general — both surnamed Kennedy — as well as FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, each of whom, the book suggests, had much to gain or lose depending on Monroe’s fate.

Based on extensive research, the book represents a collaboration between a fiction writer and a journalist, both seeking answers to questions that have lingered since Monroe’s untimely demise. It is as much an investigation as it is a narrative reconstruction.

The book not only captivated me but also distracted me from everything else I had planned to do during the 12 hours I spent reading it. Some readers who view Monroe solely as a troubled soul may dismiss it as a sensational or quick cash grab, but it is neither. While certain details may appear embellished, much of the content — including anecdotes such as Monroe’s reported meeting with gangster Bugsy Siegel — feels plausible within the context presented.

The dialogues, too, are supported by a bibliography that references numerous books, interviews and accounts from Monroe and those connected to her, including several influential figures.

Was Robert F. Kennedy present at Monroe’s home on the day of her death? Did a “little red book” play a role? Or did her alleged connections to the mafia contribute to her demise? The authors explore these theories in detail, though they stop short of offering definitive answers.

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

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, June 7th, 2026

Rogue Planet
By Mina Malik
The Peepul Press
ISBN: 978-96923860-2-9
20pp.

Chapbooks are often viewed as calling cards, whereby authors showcase their literary talents in the earnest hope that they will be noticed by publishers. However, this perception tends to reduce the chapbook to an opportunistic medium rather than a literary form in its own right.

Readers believe brevity is the defining attribute of chapbooks and many of them fail to recognise how these short, compact booklets can feature compelling work that takes risks. Wrapped in a purple book jacket without any back-cover text, Mina Malik’s Rogue Planet epitomises this spirit of creative boldness.

The Lahore-based, Oxford-trained poet’s debut collection offers moving meditations on the intricate role of identity and individuality, especially when it is in danger of being stymied within a romantic partnership.

Since chapbooks are usually driven by some degree of structural cohesion, Malik’s 14 poems are arranged in a manner that mirrors the psychological trajectory of someone trapped in a hopeless relationship. As a result, the poems take readers through an array of conflicting emotions, from disillusionment to doubt and, ultimately, to spiritual awakening.

A debut collection of poems offers moving meditations on the intricate role of identity and individuality in the journey of a crumbling romantic relationship

The title of the collection alludes to a starless, free-floating planet that is adrift in the cold vacuum of space. The use of the term ‘rogue planet’ signals a rebellious streak, which may evoke either the ache of loneliness or the thrill of independence, depending on how it is perceived. Malik mines the tension between rebellion and conformity to striking effect in this collection. Readers are, nonetheless, advised to conform to the prescribed order of the collection to fully appreciate its emotional arc.

The title and the first stanza of ‘The Andromeda Paradox’ suggest that the poem is a nod to a thought experiment proposed by physicist and philosopher Roger Penrose. According to this hypothesis, two people can have contrasting perceptions of the same events. However, Malik seamlessly blends science with Greek mythology by invoking the tale of Andromeda, a princess who is chained to a cliff to appease a sea monster and rescued by the heroic Perseus.

Malik constructs a moment filled with the stereotypical trappings of love at first sight, only to undermine it with a shadow of doubt. By stripping this moment of its romantic overtones, the poet reveals Andromeda’s rescue as a metaphor for the ultimate deception, where emotional signals are misinterpreted.

Subsequent poems in the chapbook depict the dramatic fallout of these misperceptions. ‘After Juliet’ captures the sheer monotony and emotional drudgery that besiege romantic partnerships once the initial stirrings of love have subsided. The disconnect between unrealistic expectations and crippling realities experienced by the poet’s modern-day Andromeda is conveyed through the following lines:

“It said ‘companionship’ on the brochure
it said laughs and films and happy little babies
then why am i defrosting a deep-freezer, why
are the children fighting
why are you wiping chocolate on my thousand
thread count sheets”

Amid the exasperation of waiting for circumstances to change, the narrator is driven by an overpowering desire for order. Fuelled by a heady mix of sarcasm and self-deprecation, ‘Storage’ examines her persistent efforts to contain her disappointment in a man and a relationship that have failed her. She blackens her fingertips while rummaging through a cupboard in an effort to arrange her partner’s belongings, performing her role as a glorified custodian of all things — useful yet expendable.

The poem explores her isolation and her utter despair over being short-changed by fate, albeit with wit, grace and flair. Faced with such discomfort, people often take stock of their choices, analysing them from various angles, to assess where they stand. This rationale provides a plausible explanation for why the next poem, titled ‘Inventory’ appears inverted on the page.

Using this visual technique to great advantage, the poet allows readers to experience the labour undertaken by Malik’s contemporary Andromeda to locate herself within the confines of her lacklustre relationship. This poem offers tell-tale signs of the chasm within their bond as well as a reminder of the narrator’s position as a perceptive observer of these frictions.

In ‘The End of Love’, the poet anthropomorphises the titular emotion, commenting on its surreptitious arrival and unhurried ability to weaken the narrator’s relationship with her partner. Malik writes:

“The End of love comes one lost touch
at a time. One evasion at a time, one
flinch at a time.”

The beating heart of Rogue Planet is undoubtedly a poem titled ‘Sabr, shukar’ [Patience, gratitude], where the narrator examines how patience is often presented as a universal remedy, unconstrained by language, culture or nuance. The poet juxtaposes this notion with clichéd notions of gratitude, which are habitually invoked to gaslight or diminish the experiences of those in distress.

In ‘Smoke/mirrors’, Malik’s Andromeda reflects on the haunting image of a phantom-like figure who resembles her partner but whose aura is both threatening and alien. Steered by curiosity about this overwhelming shift in her partner’s spiritual energy, the narrator draws attention to the couple’s mutual loss of selfhood. Ultimately, she has lost faith in the relationship, leaving her paralysed by doubt. Malik writes:

“There was a time i would have taken an axe to it to rescue you from the abyss — now
the ghost is me, drifting through the walls.”

The despondency that takes root as prospects for reconciliation begin to dwindle is skilfully conveyed in ‘These are the days’, where the emotional wastelands of the heart resemble silent landmines. This is followed by ‘Circe’, an accomplished piece that effectively employs the second-person perspective to offer some degree of distance and perspective to the narrator.

The next four poems are driven by a deeper sense of self-interrogation, as the narrator navigates the untamed corners of the heart and learns to capitulate to impulses that she has tried to suppress. In ‘Galileo’, she likens her plight to that of the eponymous Galileo Galilei, whose discoveries helped defy the Aristotelian view that the heavens are the embodiment of perfection. Through the following lines, Malik’s Andromeda makes peace with her own circumstances:

“Once you’ve seen the sun you can’t look away”

The final poem is an ode to how even meticulous plans and emotional calculations fall short when the heart decides that it must choose liberation over societal constraints.

Rogue Planet stands out owing to Malik’s refreshing simplicity of expression. She eschews any obscure phrasing, instead appealing directly to the reader’s emotion through terse language. However, this choice to remain fluid and accessible shouldn’t be mistaken for a lack of complexity. Malik’s simplicity is of a deceptive kind, concealing entire worlds and complex ideas within it.

She also uses the blank page with competence and measured precision, preferring not to treat it as a dumping ground for the narrator’s emotional confusion. What emerges from this restraint is a rich, intriguing collection that leaves readers eager for more from this exciting new poetic voice.

The reviewer is the author of the critically acclaimed novels Typically Tanya and No Funeral for Nazia. X: @TahaKehar

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, June 7th, 2026

The Challenge of Enlightenment, Conflict Transformation and Peace in Pakistan
By Moonis Ahmar
Routledge
ISBN: 978-1-03-239405-3
143pp.

Pakistan is enjoying its moment on the world stage. The moment in the sun has been brought on by its role as a negotiator between two of the three warring parties in Iran. However, a variety of tensions continue to simmer domestically, and on its borders with Afghanistan and India.

In this book, Professor Moonis Ahmar suggests that Pakistan follow the path that Europe took to emerge out of the Dark Ages, a process known as ‘Enlightenment’. It liberated people’s minds from the biases and prejudices that had held them back and allowed scientific progress to occur. That led to the industrial revolution and to peace and prosperity.

The book argues that if Pakistan follows the European Enlightenment paradigm and embraces secularism and pluralism, it will achieve social cohesion, a prerequisite to economic progress. Enlightenment certainly lessened internecine violence in Europe and promoted social welfare. However, despite being ‘enlightened’, Europeans proceeded to colonise other nations and, in a few cases — such as Australia, Canada, New Zealand, South Africa and the US — the colonisers settled there and pushed the natives into the background.

Enlightenment also failed to prevent violence between nations. Not one but two world wars broke out, the second far worse than the first. Even today, a large-scale war is being waged between Russia and Ukraine. Today, the world is witnessing the resurgence of a nefarious seed that was planted millennia ago. Right-wing racism is on the rise in European culture, and it is manifesting itself in the emergence of anti-immigration sentiment.

A book argues Pakistan can overcome its challenges by embracing the values of the European Enlightenment, but offers oft-repeated theoretical prescriptions rather than insight about why they have never worked in practice

Turning to Pakistan, it’s worth noting that even Bangladesh, formerly East Pakistan, which lagged behind West Pakistan, has moved ahead of Pakistan on a variety of metrics. How did Pakistan get into this mess?

After a long struggle that began in March 1940, Pakistan gained independence from imperial Britain in August 1947. But, given the divisions within society, it took Pakistan nine years to develop a constitution, and even that declared it to be an Islamic Republic, the opposite of M. A. Jinnah’s secular vision. In December 1971, the relatively secular eastern province, in which a significant portion of the population was Hindu, seceded, after a long and bloody civil war that eventually escalated into a full-scale war with India.

Ahmar says that “[T]he eastern part of Pakistan (now Bangladesh)… was neither feudal in nature nor religiously ultra-conservative like its western counterpart.” It goes on to say that the loss of the eastern wing weakened enlightened forces in Pakistan because “the people of East Pakistan were religiously more tolerant and democratic in nature than their western counterparts.”

Indeed, the secession triggered a lot of soul searching in Pakistan. Unfortunately, instead of focusing on the root causes of the secession, which was the economic and cultural exploitation of the east wing by the west wing, religious fervour swept through what remained of Pakistan, so much so that even during the tenure of the secular prime minister, Z.A. Bhutto, the Constitution was amended in 1974 to declare that anyone who did not believe in the finality of prophethood was not a Muslim. From that point on, “lingual, ethnic, sectarian and resource-based conflicts” broke out in Pakistan.

In addition to suggesting that Pakistan follow the process of the European Enlightenment, the book suggests that Pakistan revert to the norms of the Indus Valley Civilisation that prevailed here nearly five millennia ago, since it was “a symbol of peace and tolerance.” However, little is known about the inner workings of that civilisation, since its script has yet to be deciphered.

It’s much too abstract and speculative to suggest that it serve as a role model for today’s Pakistan. What happened during the past millennia is much more relevant to Pakistan’s conundrum. The rulers were invaders from Afghanistan, Central Asia and Imperial Britain. They were dynastic rulers who instilled fear and authoritarianism in the public’s mind, not enlightenment.

The book mentions Prime Minister Imran Khan’s attempt to bring about “change” in Pakistan. It acknowledges he failed. What else could have been expected from a political demagogue, albeit a cricket legend and philanthropist, who had no experience in governance?

The book also cites Gen Musharraf’s concept of “enlightened moderation” to achieve enlightenment. It acknowledges he failed. But what else could have been expected from a general who had seized power illegally? He was a dictator, not an enlightened ruler.

Towards the end, the book suggests that Pakistan considers a three-step process to achieve enlightenment. Firstly, political parties should develop a “tolerant, professional, visionary and clear mindset.” They should focus on why economic, social, cultural and societal degeneration has set in the country. Instead, as the book acknowledges, politicians focus on self-aggrandisement. Thus, “one cannot expect any meaningful breakthrough as far as positively transforming the political culture of Pakistan is concerned.”

Secondly, it argues that the rule of law should be allowed to prevail in the country, along with good governance. Otherwise, society will be destabilised, and the nation will be prone to outbreaks of violent conflicts. Thirdly, laws should be established through a fair and transparent process. Once approved, they should be executed fairly, allowing justice to be “delivered by those who are able, ethical, neutral, independent and within the reach of ordinary people.”

There is no doubt that Pakistan needs structural reform, such as that which is envisaged in this three-step process. The process is worthy of consideration, but it’s not entirely new. It has been suggested multiple times by academics, columnists, journalists, scholars and politicians. It has also been suggested by each of the four military dictators that between them governed the country for more than three decades.

Why do these lofty ideals not make it to practice? What is the hidden trap that swallows them? Is it elite capture, militarism or something else? That is the enigma that Pakistan’s intellectuals need to analyse and dissect. This topic is fertile ground for new scholarly work. It will require field work, ie empirical rather than theoretical research.

The reviewer is the author of Rethinking the National Security of Pakistan: The Price of Strategic Myopia. X: @ahmadfaruqui

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, June 7th, 2026

Three very different thinkers urge us to think more carefully about it: an 18th century Scottish economist, a 20th century American theologian and a contemporary psychologist.

Adam Smith is remembered today almost exclusively as the father of free-market economics. Yet, before writing The Wealth of Nations (1776), he produced a profound work of moral philosophy in The Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759), a text that deserves far more attention than it receives.

Smith called his central moral concept “sympathy”, but he used the term to describe something close to what we now call empathy: our capacity to imaginatively step into another person’s situation and feel something of what they feel. For Smith, this imaginative process is the foundation of moral judgment. We come to judge right from wrong by asking whether a fair-minded observer could approve of what a person in that situation felt and did.

Adam Smith, Reinhold Niebuhr and Paul Bloom all value empathy. Yet each argue that feeling another’s pain is only the starting point of moral judgement

There is something quietly radical about this idea. Smith suggests that morality is not handed down from philosophy or religion. It is practised daily in small acts of imagination, through which we try to understand each other. But Smith does not simply celebrate feeling. He argues that this feeling must be refined into something more disciplined: what he calls the “impartial spectator”, a kind of internal moral referee that each of us develops through experience. This is not a cold reasoning machine. It is an empathetic imagination that has been steadied over time into something closer to genuine judgement.

Yet, even such refined empathising operates unevenly. We can most easily imagine the situations of those who are near to us, familiar to us, similar to us. The suffering of strangers, especially strangers from different cultures or distant countries, is harder to feel. This suggests that empathy, for all its moral power, is parochial by nature.

If empathy struggles at the edges of individual moral life, it very nearly collapses when we move from the personal to the collective. Writing in 1932, at a moment when democracy was fracturing across Europe and industrial capitalism was grinding workers into poverty, Reinhold Niebuhr made a blunt and uncomfortable argument in Moral Man and Immoral Society. His conclusion was stark: individuals can be moral. Groups almost never are.

Think of it this way. A factory owner might genuinely care about her workers as human beings. She might worry about their families, feel moved by their hardships and even donate to local charities on their behalf. And yet the same individual will defend, tooth and nail, a wage structure that keeps her workers in poverty because, when she acts as an owner, as a member of a class, different forces take over. Power, competition, the logic of collective self-interest. Empathy does not stand a chance against those forces.

Niebuhr was not a cynic. He did not think human beings were simply selfish. He thought they were capable of genuine moral feeling, but this feeling was simply no match for the structural realities of collective life. Justice, he argued, is never given. It is won through organised resistance, through institutional reform, and through the exercise of countervailing power. The idea that societies can be made more just by making individuals more empathetic would have struck him as dangerously naive.

Niebuhr’s scepticism about empathy finds an unexpected ally in contemporary psychology. Paul Bloom, a psychologist at the University of Toronto, marshals decades of experimental evidence in Against Empathy (2016) to make a case that ought to give empathy’s admirers pause. The problem, Bloom argues, is not that we have too little empathy. It is that empathy is structurally incapable of guiding us well.

Research in psychology consistently shows that people will give more money to save one identifiable child than to save a thousand nameless victims. They will feel more distress about a neighbour’s lost pet than about a famine on another continent. Empathy, it turns out, is not a moral compass. It is a spotlight: powerful, but narrow. It illuminates what is vivid and nearby, and leaves everything else in the dark.

Worse still, empathy is easily hijacked. Consider a demagogue politician who wants you to fear immigrants and a humanitarian who wants you to help refugees. At the level of emotional technique, both rely on vivid stories and emotionally compelling images to make you feel before you can think. Empathy without judgement is not a virtue. It is a vulnerability.

Bloom’s alternative is what he calls “rational compassion” — caring about people’s well-being, and doing so with your head as much as your heart. The question shifts from how something makes us feel to what the evidence says will actually help. It is a less glamorous proposition than empathy. It may not make for good campaign posters. But it is, he argues, a far more reliable guide to doing good.

These three thinkers are separated by centuries, by discipline, by temperament. What is striking is how much they agree. None of them says that empathy is worthless. Smith builds his entire moral philosophy on it. Niebuhr acknowledges it softens the edges of conflict. Bloom concedes it motivates us to act at all. But all three insist, in their different ways, that empathy is a beginning, not an end.

The distinction they draw, and it matters enormously, is between different scales of moral life. In our personal relationships, in our communities, in the small acts of daily decency, empathy is irreplaceable. It is how we recognise each other as humans. It is the basis of kindness. Smith’s framework, with its emphasis on imaginative moral refinement, is still a powerful guide here.

But as we move from the personal to the political, from individual conscience to collective action, from kindness to justice, empathy becomes not just insufficient but potentially misleading. The problems that most urgently demand our attention in the 21st century are not ones we can feel our way through. They require the kind of impartial, evidence-driven reasoning that Bloom advocates, combined with the political realism that Niebuhr demands.

There is a lesson here for how we talk about moral and political life. We reach too quickly for the language of feeling. We ask leaders to show empathy, we praise policies that come from the heart, we distrust arguments that seem too cold or too rational. But perhaps what we need, in an age of manufactured outrage and algorithmically amplified feeling, is a little more of Smith’s “impartial spectator” and a little less of the raw nerve.

Empathy is not the enemy. But it is not enough either. The moral life begins in feeling and must be completed in thought.

The writer is a Rhodes Scholar and an academic based in the UK. He can be reached at naumanlawyer@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, June 7th, 2026

Taylor Swift has filed a trademark application covering her voice and stage image. It includes a photo of her performing in her distinctive bejewelled Eras Tour bodysuit and two voice recordings: “Hey, it’s Taylor” and “Hey, it’s Taylor Swift.”

It’s the latest example of the singer using her status and power to challenge industry norms and assert the rights of artists.

In 2014, Swift removed her entire catalogue from Spotify in protest at the low level of artist remuneration generated by the platform (later relenting in 2017). In 2019, she began rerecording her previous albums in protest at the acquisition of her back catalogue by alleged industry foe Scooter Braun’s Ithaca Holdings, giving her back control over masters of her songs. The new “Taylor’s Versions” outperformed the original versions on streaming services.

Although the actor Matthew McConaughey beat Swift to the punch by successfully trademarking some of his famous spoken lines of movie dialogue earlier this year, she appears to be the first music artist of note to take the step. The move raises some interesting issues in terms of copyright law and the rights of music artists.

Taylor Swift’s latest legal move raises big questions for AI and copyright

‘Passing off’ and deepfaking

In music, both sound recordings and the songs which they embody are protected by copyright law. Much of the income generated by the music industry is based on the commercial exclusivity to exploit these forms of intellectual property (IP), which that law ensures.

All of Swift’s vocals are protected from copying in terms of being sampled without permission. But the question of whether or not a vocal being performed (or manufactured in the case of AI) to sound like Swift is a copyright infringement is less clear.

In 1988, Bette Midler successfully sued Ford Motor Company for using an impersonator to perform her songs in TV adverts. This case suggests that deliberately copying a singer’s voice, style and tone can amount to passing off. In UK law, passing off is a common law tort involving misrepresentation that causes reputational or financial damage. In the US, similar protection is provided under the Lanham Act, which also guards against misleading imitation.

Swift has also experienced the darker side of deepfakes, including fake pornographic images and AI-generated photos showing her wearing a “Swifties for Trump” T-shirt ahead of the last US presidential election.

The US Take It Down Act, covering explicit deepfake content, was passed into law in 2025. Similar protection is possible in the UK via the Data (Use and Access) Act 2025.

While further legislation is being developed in the US to address AI-generated impersonation more broadly, Swift’s move to trademark both her voice and visual likeness suggests a desire to retain stronger legal control over her identity. This may give her a basis for pursuing civil action under common law or intellectual property rights when objectionable AI-generated content appears. Given her significant wealth and influence, such legal routes may also allow for faster enforcement than relying solely on the criminal justice system.

The trademarks registered both by McConaughey and Swift arguably only offer protection for exactly what has been registered on the basis of the scope of a trademark being “what you see is what you get.”

However, the fact that many platforms require proof of IP registration before taking down potentially infringing content suggests that having these trademarks in place will act as a powerful deterrent against future fakes at the very least.

Training data

A more complex issue for Swift and artists in general is the use of their existing works as data by AIs to create new works. For example, I could prompt an AI to write a song for me in the style of ‘Fearless’-era Swift but performed by a voice that is a cross between Norah Jones and Diana Krall. It would be very hard to prove that any particular piece of IP had been infringed, as the AI would be synthesising dozens of songs and performances to achieve its creation.

However, new content would have been created via the mining of existing IP; a songwriter’s moral right of integrity protects against adaptation of their works without permission, and musicians and songwriters have become increasingly concerned that they are not being recompensed sufficiently, or indeed even consulted about AI using their work.

In the UK, the Musicians Union has launched an initiative demanding consent and remuneration for AI training and AI-generated music. The UK government has pulled back from its previous line of allowing an exemption for AI training on copyrighted works in favour of more creator control after strong opposition to this stance from the creative industries.

The UK Performing Rights Society, which collects royalties from around the globe for its songwriter and composer members (and their publishing companies) when their work is performed live, broadcast or streamed, has declared that it will not register AI-generated works. However, it will register works which it classes as AI-assisted. This leads to the question of how much human input needs to be evidenced for a piece of music to be copyright-able.

In UK copyright law, the Copyright, Design and Patents Act allows for recordings “generated by computer” but a song or composition needs to display originality to acquire the law’s protection — a product of skill, judgement and labour which should arguably involve significant human involvement, but how much?

There have been some positive developments for artists’ earnings, with certain AI companies recently reaching settlements with major music rights holders over the use of training data in music generation. However, artists such as Swift may still need stronger protection to prevent the unauthorised use, imitation and commercial exploitation of their distinctive vocal styles.

The current regulatory grey areas around AI’s use of IP have been likened to the wild west. With her trademarking initiative, Swift has donned her Stetson, pinned on her five-point star badge and declared herself the new sheriff in town.

The writer is Senior Lecturer in Music Production at Leeds Beckett University in the UK

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, June 7th, 2026

Composed by the legendary duo Shankar-Jaikishan, written by Hasrat Jaipuri and sung with Mohammed Rafi, it was picturised principally on Shammi Kapoor and Mumtaz in one of Hindi cinema’s most exuberant romantic sequences.

The song emerged from an interesting accident of history. The tune, reportedly discarded elsewhere, was rescued by Shammi Kapoor and incorporated into the film, becoming one of the decade’s defining songs. Even today, many listeners mistakenly assume the female voice belongs to Lata Mangeshkar — a tribute not to confusion but to the extraordinary technical perfection of Suman’s singing.

Suman, who died aged 89 on May 30, 2026, belonged to that melancholy fraternity of artists whose greatest distinction became inseparable from the collective musical memory of the Subcontinent. Her vocal resemblance to Lata was extraordinary: the same delicately balanced high notes, the same emotional restraint, the same ability to sound youthful and wistful at once.

The singer, who passed away on May 30, belonged to that melancholy fraternity of vocal artists whose greatest distinction became inseparable from the collective musical memory of the Subcontinent

Yet, Suman was never merely a substitute for a more famous singer. She was among the most refined playback artists of Hindi cinema’s Golden Age, a singer whose voice quietly accompanied millions of ordinary lives across South Asia.

However, for my generation, her music was not encountered through film magazines or record collections but through the radio. In the 1970s, my mother would prepare breakfast in our Karachi home while programmes such as Taameel-i-Irshad gave way to Binaca Geetmala and other music broadcasts. She had a particular fondness for Suman’s voice. Whenever one of her songs came on the radio, my mother would pause momentarily from her work in the kitchen, listening with a concentration usually reserved for prayers or family news.

My father, born in Bombay in 1932, would respond with stories of the city he had left behind. He remembered tea shops in the 1940s and 1950s, where gramophones played the latest film songs while students, workers and political activists argued over tea. For him, these songs were not mere entertainment; they were fragments of a lost homeland.

Born in Dhaka in 1937, then part of British India, Suman eventually moved to Bombay, the city that had become the centre of South Asian cinema. Bombay, in the 1950s, was one of the world’s great cultural laboratories. Urdu poets from Lucknow worked alongside Punjabi composers; Bengali musicians collaborated with Gujarati financiers; Muslim lyricists wrote bhajans while Hindu composers arranged qawwalis. Playback music emerged from this atmosphere as perhaps the most democratic art form in the newly independent Subcontinent.

Among Suman’s most beautiful recordings was ‘Dil aik mandir hai’, the title song from Dil Aik Mandir [The Heart is a Temple, 1963]. Composed by Shankar-Jaikishan and sung with Rafi, it accompanied the emotional climax of the film starring Rajendra Kumar, Meena Kumari and Raaj Kumar. The song is heard as the story reaches its tragic conclusion, transforming a conventional film melody into a meditation on sacrifice and love. Few singers could combine devotion and heartbreak with such restraint.

Equally memorable was ‘Na na kartay pyaar tumhien se kar baithay’ from Jab Jab Phool Khilay [Whenever the Flowers Bloomed, 1965], composed by Kalyanji-Anandji and picturised on Shashi Kapoor and Nanda. The song captured the innocence of romance before Bollywood discovered irony. Generations of listeners associated it with first love, youthful hesitation and the optimism of the 1960s. It remains one of the finest examples of Suman’s ability to sound playful without losing elegance.

Then there was ‘Tum ne pukara aur hum chalay aaye’ from Rajkumar [Prince, 1964], composed by Shankar-Jaikishan, and picturised on Shammi Kapoor and Sadhana. Few romantic duets better demonstrate the chemistry between Rafi and Suman. The song floats rather than marches, allowing the voices to carry the emotional weight. It became one of the most beloved radio favourites of its era.

Another gem was ‘Na tum humain jaano’ from Baat Aik Raat Ki [A Tale of One Night, 1962], composed by S.D. Burman and picturised on Dev Anand and Waheeda Rehman. Though overshadowed by bigger commercial hits, it remains among the most atmospheric songs of the period. Suman’s voice seems almost to emerge from mist, perfectly matching the mystery and romance that defined the film.

Listeners with a taste for lyricism often point to ‘Parbaton ke paeron par shaam kabasera hai’ from Shagoon [Omen, 1964], composed by Khayyam and picturised on Waheeda Rehman and Kamaljit. The song possesses the unhurried beauty of an Urdu nazm [poem] set to music. In it, one hears Suman at her most delicate, navigating Khayyam’s sophisticated composition with effortless grace.

Part of Suman’s rise owed to circumstance. During the 1960s, disputes over royalty payments created a temporary distance between Lata and Rafi. Music directors suddenly required another female singer capable of pairing effectively with Rafi. Suman became the natural choice. Cynics later reduced her success to this industrial incident, as though she had flourished merely because of a quarrel between giants. Yet, the industry is full of temporary replacements who vanish quickly.

Suman endured because listeners genuinely loved her voice. By the time I reached college in Karachi during the 1980s, the soundtrack of urban life had shifted from radio to cassette tapes. Long journeys in overcrowded mini-buses became bearable because drivers invariably played compilations of old Hindi songs.

The speakers crackled, the buses rattled and the traffic crawled. Yet, songs by Suman somehow survived the distortion. ‘Aaj kal tere merepyaar ke charchay’ or ‘Na na kartay pyaar’ would suddenly emerge from the noise, transporting passengers into their own memories.

Many travellers probably did not know the singer’s name. Yet they knew every word of the songs. This was the paradox of Suman’s career. She may never have enjoyed the overwhelming fame of Lata or the flamboyant versatility of Asha Bhosle, but she possessed something equally valuable: durability. Her songs became part of ordinary life across South Asia. They crossed borders more easily than people. They survived wars, censorship, nationalism and technological change.

Today, my children are grown up. They live in a world of streaming platforms, playlists and infinite musical choices. Yet, I sometimes wonder whether abundance has come at the cost of attachment. We waited for songs. We heard them unexpectedly on radios and on bus journeys. We associated them with places, people and moments.

Suman Kalyanpur’s voice still carries me back to my mother’s kitchen in the 1970s, my father’s memories of Bombay, and Karachi’s crowded roads in the 1980s. History will remember Suman Kalyanpur as one of the finest playback singers of Hindi cinema’s Golden Age. I shall remember her for something simpler: the soundtrack of family memories.

Her songs continue to play long after the gramophones have fallen silent, the radio programmes have disappeared and the cassette tapes have worn out. I only wish younger generations could experience them with the same sense of wonder that we once did.

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

Published in Dawn, ICON, June 7th, 2026

Humrahi | Geo TV, Fri-Sat 8.00pm

When cruelty and vio­lence are rewarded with success, the perpetrators get drunk on hubris and think they can change the hand of fate.

Ruthless crime boss Ghazi Yusuf (Shahzad Nawaz) knows his son Sayhaan (Danish Taimoor) will die if he does not get a heart transplant soon. When he finds out his son’s bride, Elif (Hiba Bukhari), matches the rare blood type match for Sayhaan, he takes the ultimate step of murder to save his son. As Sayhaan recovers, his suspicions grow until they are confirmed by Elif’s old friend, Dr Aurangzeb (Azfar Rehman).

No one can fault Shahzad Nawaz’s acting as the chillingly evil father trying to justify his actions to the son he loves. In between the obligatory macho man scenes required to prove Sayhaan is “the hero”, Danish Taimoor shows us a softer and very believable side to his character, as he tries to make sense of this dilemma. The story moves fast, throwing in another twist as Sayhaan runs away from his controlling father. And then Elif’s twin sister, Elhaam (Hiba Bukhari), shows up, asking questions about her sister’s death.

Zanjeerain | Hum TV, Wed-Thurs 8.00pm

Writer Farhat Ishtiaq writes a story of generational trauma and the abuse of women in the name of honour.

After one humiliating and very public slap, Torsam (Usman Javed) takes revenge by murdering his half-brother, Sher Dil (Ahsan Khan) and his wife. Torsam is a hot-headed fool, nursing the pain of never belonging, but the real mastermind manipulating him is Zaffran Khan (Adnan Siddiqui). The parallels in Zaffran’s origin story of fratricide, cultivated grudges and using women to pay the price of men’s crimes run like a dark thread in this story.

Director Shahzad Kashmiri knows how to frame a scene, but by constant, clumsy foreshadowing and repetitive dialogue, he deflates any suspense. Meanwhile, Rabiya (Sajal Aly) and Mudassir (Ameer Gilani) are living a convenient life of near-soporific bliss outside the turbulent world of tribal forces. Mudassir’s younger brother, Sar Buland (Danyal Zafar), promises to take revenge, but his lack of gravitas and neutral expressions are unconvincing. Adnan Siddiqui, Sajal Aly, Raza Ali Abid and Usman Javed have given strong performances, while Danyal Zafar and Ameer Gilani seem purely decorative. Mehermaan Khan as Gul Mehar, another victim of Zaffran Khan’s manipulations, makes a promising debut in a quiet role.

Dr Bahu | ARY Digital, Fri-Sat 8.00pm

Far from focusing on the problems and issues faced by female physicians in traditional Pakistani households, this script centres on the dynamics of an elite family.

Dr Saniya (Kubra Khan) is strong-willed and outspoken but lacks humility and empathy. The writer has framed her as a feminist icon and social justice warrior, intent on uncovering every weakness and secret in her in-laws and exposing them to public scrutiny. Her father-in-law (Shahzad Nawaz) is a manipulative, controlling man who, like most narcissists, rules his family’s lives. Dr Saniya has a similar unyielding personality and is so obsessed with bringing down her father-in-law for corruption that she sneaks out of her older sister’s wedding to gather evidence.

Many physicians have taken to social media to highlight the inaccuracies in professional scenes and career structures that the story has taken liberties with. Good performances from Shuja Asad, Adeel Hussain, Saba Hamid and Shahzad Nawaz are keeping audiences captivated.

What To Watch Out For (Or Not)

Tapish | Geo TV, Mon-Tues 8.00pm

Muneeb Butt takes up the mantle of an obsessed lover that made Danish Taimoor and Feroze Khan stars. Two young lovers, played by Saad Qureshi and Laiba Khan, are torn apart by the wealthy, manipulative Sultan (Muneeb Butt).

Published in Dawn, ICON, June 7th, 2026

Now 20, the filmmaker known online as Kane Pixels has gone from posting lo-fi horror videos on YouTube as a teenager to directing a film with the popular studio A24.

Backrooms opened in cinemas on May 29. Its producer credits include filmmaker Shawn Levy and horror maven James Wan, and stars Oscar nominees Chiwetel Ejiofor and Renate Reinsve.

Far from a lucky break, Parsons’ trajectory demonstrates a significant shift in where the screen industry is looking for its future big ideas — particularly in the realm of horror.

How a teenager’s creepy YouTube series became Backrooms — the year’s most anticipated horror movie

From creepypasta to creepy cinema

The story of Backrooms began on a 4Chan message board. In May 2019, an anonymous user on the site’s paranormal board posted a photograph of a yellow-walled hallway, in response to a thread inviting people to share images that felt disquieting.

Another anonymous user replied with a short piece of lore: “If you’re not careful and you noclip out of reality in the wrong areas, you’ll end up in the Backrooms, where it’s nothing but the stink of old moist carpet, the madness of mono-yellow, the endless background noise of fluorescent lights at maximum hum-buzz, and approximately six hundred million square miles of randomly segmented empty rooms to be trapped in. God save you if you hear something wandering around nearby, because it sure as hell has heard you.”

“Noclipping”, a term borrowed from video games, refers to when players pass through normally impe­n­etrable objects such as walls, ceilings and floors. In the Backrooms’ context, noclipping leads to being trapped inside a seemingly infinite pale-yellow maze of empty rooms.

This anonymous reply became the seed of a broader mythology. It is a classic example of what internet culture calls a “creepypasta”: a piece of short horror fiction or folklore, usually anonymous, that spreads across online platforms and invites others to expand on it.

What made the Backrooms unusually potent was the origin image. It became one of the most well-known examples of the “liminal spaces” internet aesthetic. This trend is built on photographs of transitional or in-between places that evoke a strange, unsettling sense of both familiarity and unease.

Parsons’ overnight YouTube hit

Kane Parsons grew up in Petaluma, Northern California. He was 14 when he first encountered the original Backrooms image. He recalled the experience in a recent interview with Esquire: “I started seeing it constantly for a couple of weeks. I think it carried, and still does carry, this archetype of doom.”

Parsons was already making films by then; he started uploading YouTube videos from age 10, and entering his work into local festivals. His love for video led him to learning how to animate and create visual effects using free online tools.

With the Backrooms lore and imagery driving his creative impulse, Parsons used the Blender and Adobe After Effects software to create his first Backrooms video. It took a month to complete.

Parsons uploaded the video in January 2022, intending it as a standalone work and not expecting much reaction. But the nine-minute video went from one million to seven million views within 48 hours. The wider web series has accumulated almost 200 million views across its episodes.

A never-ending nightmare

What separated Parsons’ version from other approaches to the mythology was a rigorous internal logic. He describes Backrooms as preying on our instinctive desire to map and understand spaces. Part of the horror lies in the way it foregrounds the disorientation and dread produced by an environment that seemingly never ends.

After his first video went viral, studios came calling. The film was officially greenlit by A24 in 2025 – making Parsons the youngest director in the studio’s history.

His film is faithful to the established logic of his existing web series, while building a traditional narrative around it. Set in 1990, Backrooms stars Ejiofor as Clark, a furniture store owner who discovers an otherworldly portal in his basement and recruits employees to explore it with him. When Clark disappears during one of these visits, his therapist (Reinsve) goes in to rescue him.

The internet-to-Hollywood pipeline

Backrooms is not the first internet-native content to reach a cinema screen.

However, it may be the clearest example yet of a direct pipeline, wherein the creator of the property is retained and the concept remains intact. The established mythology is treated as the asset, rather than merely a marketing hook, which maintains the elements that attracted the original audience.

The horror genre has become one of the most significant areas of overlap between internet creator culture and Hollywood, in part because YouTube is a space where horror filmmakers can develop their technical skills, voice and audience.

The Phillipou brothers, who had tremendous success with Talk To Me (2022) and Bring Her Back (2025), built their audience on YouTube. Comedian and filmmaker Curry Barker, whose film Obsession (2026) was recently released to strong critical reviews and box office, followed a similar trajectory.

We don’t yet know if or how this growing trend will influence the traditional filmmaker pathway. But it appears that, at least for the horror genre, YouTube can be seen as an open-access development slate that studios monitor to find new voices.

Parsons, for his part, appears to have discovered his own version of “noclipping”. He has slipped past the traditional gatekeepers who may have baulked at the notion of a 20-year-old director helming a Hollywood film.

The success of Backrooms at the box office will be a fascinating test of this pipeline.

The writer is Lecturer in Creative Production and Performance at Western Sydney University in Australia

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, June 7th, 2026

On May 27, the country celebrated Eidul Azha with religious fervour. Showbiz celebs were no different. However, actor Arsalan Naseer wasn’t happy with some sections of society. Taking to Instagram, he wrote, “It’s unfortunate to see this Eid becoming a display of wealth and status. Many will sacrifice an animal, but only a few will sacrifice their pride.” We’re sure he meant well but this is nothing new. Same issues have been spoken about every Eidul Azha. You know what really needs to be sacrificed? The need to comment on everything on social media.

Caged Identity

Hollywood A-lister Nicolas Cage is now formally/officially… Nicolas Cage. We shall explain. When he was born, he was given the name Nicolas Kim Coppola (director Francis Ford Coppola is his uncle). But he came into films with the adopted surname Cage to avoid accusations of nepotism. So why did he change it now after 62 years? The actor has revealed the following in an interview: “I am Nic Cage. I changed my name legally last year. I’m Nic Cage in life, and I’m Nic Cage on camera. ’Tis better to be the patriarch of my own little family than the clown cousin on the margins of someone else’s. So I decided I’m going to bring it on and be ‘Cage’.” He added that the inspiration for the name came from the Marvel character Luke Cage and the composer John Cage. Gosh… so many cages for a single man…

Trouble in MobLand

Oscar-winner Helen Mirren and actor Tom Hardy were allegedly having problems on the sets of the Paramount+ series MobLand. Rumour had it that the former complained against the latter’s attitude towards his colleagues, as a result of which he was allegedly shown the door. There was a big hue and cry because for many Tom H is what made the show. Later, insiders confirmed that he had not been fired but “things are being worked through creatively.” In addition, Helen M is now being outed as a staunch Zionist and it is claimed that Tom H’s support for Palestinian causes is the real reason for their friction. Tom H may recover but Helen M’s reputation probably will not.

Ageless Rudd

Paul Rudd is 57, but still looks like he’s in his early 40s. This has given rise to the suspicion that he gets Botox treatments. Recently, the actor cleared the air on a podcast when he was asked straight up whether he does. Pat came the reply: “No”. He even showed the host the wrinkles on his face and reiterated that he does age. “I do. You’re kind for saying that [he doesn’t age], but I really do.” Well, to be honest, even without Botox, Paul R is not usually accused of being extremely emotive on screen, if you know what we mean.

Mediation Impossible?

Ranveer Singh and Farhan Akhtar have developed ‘creative differences’ over Don 3. Farhan A is directing the movie, and Ranveer S is, or was, playing the character of Don. Then, the actor reportedly walked out of the project. In came Salman Khan as the mediator. Apparently, he had a conversation with Farhan A and a detailed discussion with Ranveer S, trying to understand their standpoints. Salman K has urged both to do the movie without hurting their other projects. Till the last reports came in, it was not known whether the warring men had paid heed to Salman bhaijaan’s request. It is unlikely they will.

The Great Instagram Mystery

Is actress Kinza Hashmi trying to say something to actor Ali Raza? The speculation was triggered by a Kinza H Instagram post, in which she wrote, “You’ll look for me and I’ll be gone.” Meanwhile, Ali R archived a couple of the posts of the two together that were captioned “With my star.” Fans who had assumed they were an item (without any official acknowledgement) are now suggesting that the pair is publicly announcing their break-up. We think this really doesn’t concern the fans but also it somehow encapsulates celebrity culture. A lot of heat around something that may not even have existed.

Published in Dawn, ICON, June 7th, 2026

Published in Dawn, Young World, June 6th, 2026

And during this time, you sleep as much and as long as you want. I mean, there are no hard and fast rules for getting up and sleeping early in most households, because mums know that they have been yelling all year to make you get up and sleep early. And this is the only time when they can also relax, so everyone just turns off their alarm and just chills.

This is also the time when you or your mum makes you realise that you now need to clean the clutter from your room, table or cupboard. And yes, this is what I am going to talk about today. Declutter your stuff this month.

Whether it’s your cupboard, table or your room, it’s still messy and has no structure, because right after the exams, we all just got too busy with Eid-related activities. I am not asking you to make a whole plan, as you did for studies during exams; while a list or plan is always helpful, sometimes we need to just relax without checking the checklist.

After a long year of exams and strict schedules, summer vacation is finally here. If you want to make the most of your holidays, a quick summer reset is exactly what you need to clear the clutter and truly relax

Sorting the exam aftermath

The academic year leaves behind a load of papers, copies, notes and assignment files. Parents stay quiet all year and let you survive your study load, but once the vacation comes, they want you to finally deal with your clutter.

Turn to your study table or wherever your academic stuff is piled. Since the “dust” has settled, you can sort out what is no longer needed. Keep notes or books that you will actually reread or use for reference.

Give away the books and copies you no longer need. Someone coming into your previous grade will find them useful. Bin the rest: notebooks with 20 pages used, stationery that doesn’t work. This takes maybe half a day, but it’s worth it.

Taming your wardrobe monsters

I have noticed that youngsters often prefer a shirt they love and always reach for it, come rain or shine, and there are trousers/pyjamas they just want to spend their whole life wearing; therefore, a lot of clothing remains untouched.

Be strict with yourself here. If you have not worn something in the past year, you are not going to. It is simply not your thing anymore.

Here again, make three piles: keep, give away and discard. Put it in the give-away pile or take advice from your mum to decide. There is always a voice in your head, “but I might wear this someday.” The answer is, “You won’t.”

Pick the right physical activity

Cricket, football and cycling in the evenings- all of these are rare now. And we all know why. Screens crept in and took over those hours. I am not going to lecture on limiting your screen time, etc. All I want to say is that you must take out some time for any physical activity each day, because your body needs movement the same way it needs food and sleep.

Choose something you actually enjoy. That is the only way you can stick to it. If you don’t like football, don’t pressure yourself because of your friend. You can opt for cycling instead. Keep it simple, but consistent and let it become part of your day the same way scrolling already is.

Put your green thumb to work

These days, many social spaces are giving kids and youngsters a chance to discover how fun and relaxing growing plants can actually be.

If you have a balcony, a windowsill or even just a corner where sunlight easily reaches, you can grow vegetables like tomatoes, mint, chillies, cucumbers, garlic and green onions, as they are quick to grow. All you have to do is take the seeds out of tomatoes, chillies and cucumbers, and sow them at least one inch under the soil. For garlic and onions, just push the head down about an inch, and they will start sprouting soon. Make sure they get sunlight and water them just enough every day.

For those with no room for sunlight, cacti and succulents are the best options. All this activity sounds boring until you see the results. Nurturing nature is one of the most satisfying things one can do.

Summer activities don’t have to be always planned. The pressure to have a packed, memorable summer is real, but mostly pointless. Some of the best days are just slightly different versions of normal days. You have spent one whole year cramming academically; give yourself some space now.

Friends will be there and hanging out will continue like it always did, but use this free time with your siblings too. Watch a film and eat together, and have chaotic fun without your phone for a bit.

These are the days you will actually remember. Not the ones you planned, but the ones happening without planning.

Published in Dawn, Young World, June 6th, 2026

The Pout-Pout Fish is a colourful, heart-warming animated film that teaches young viewers important lessons about friendship, confidence and happiness.

Based on the beloved children’s book by Deborah Diesen, this charming underwater adventure is a joint production between the United States and Australia.

The 92-minute film is directed by Ricard Cussó, known for Scarygirl (2023), Daisy Quokka: World’s Scariest Animal (2020) and Combat Wombat (2020). Nick Offerman voices Mr Fish and Nina Oyama plays his friend Pip, supported by Miranda Otto, Remy Hii, Jordin Sparks, Amy Sedaris, Nazeem Hussain and Mark Coles Smith. Together, they bring warmth and personality to the characters.

The story follows Mr Fish, a blue fish who believes he is meant to be gloomy.

Wherever he goes, he wears a big frown and thinks of himself as a “pout-pout fish” — someone who is always pouting and feeling sad.

As he swims through the ocean, friendly sea creatures encourage him to see the brighter side of life, but Mr Fish struggles to change. It is only when he meets Pip, a young sea dragon, that he begins to realise he does not have to let his frown or negative feelings define who he is.

His journey teaches children the value of optimism, self-belief and friendship. With short flashbacks, the film shows a glimpse into Mr Fish’s mind, helping us understand the thoughts and emotions that shape his outlook.

One of the movie’s biggest strengths is its vibrant animation. The underwater world is filled with bright coral reefs, fascinating sea creatures and beautiful ocean landscapes. Every scene is rich in colour and detail, creating a magical world that will capture young imaginations. The animation is smooth, and the cheerful music and catchy songs keep the atmosphere fun and uplifting.

Beyond the adventure, The Pout-Pout Fish delivers a great message about emotional growth. It reminds us that everyone feels sad sometimes, but kindness, friendship and self-confidence can help us overcome those feelings.

Overall, The Pout-Pout Fish is a delightful, family-friendly film. With its colourful visuals, lovable characters and meaningful lessons, it shows how even the biggest frown can be turned into a smile.

Published in Dawn, Young World, June 6th, 2026

The second day of Eidul Azha always brought happiness and excitement in Alyana’s household. It wasn’t that the first day was not exciting. It just wasn’t ‘that’ exciting. Most of it was usually spent making meat packets for family, friends and the needy, and cleaning the said meat.

The second day was the best part of the holidays — the family barbecue. Alyana and her cousins had earlier in the day set up the backyard with small lights and tried to make it as aesthetic as possible within their budget. It was a blessing that a little breeze was blowing, or else the hot weather would have ruined the mood.

The backyard smelt like smoke and spices long before the food was ready, making everyone feel famished. In the kitchen, Alyana, her few cousins and aunts were working fast. They chatted along as they did their work. Trays were piled high with fresh beef that had been marinated in spices. All of them stood side by side, their hands slightly yellow from the turmeric. Alyana could now, in fact, feel a little burning on her hands due to the chillies, but the excitement of eating the BBQ was more.

They carefully pushed the juicy meat pieces onto long skewers, making sure not to crowd them. Right next to them, they rolled minced meat into long seekh kebabs, squeezing them tightly onto flat skewers so they wouldn’t drop off into the fire.

Out on the grass, the men were standing around a long iron grill. Uncle Tariq was in charge of the fire; nobody knew who appointed him, but he took his job very seriously. He waved a big piece of cardboard back and forth, blowing on the black chunks of coal until a shower of bright orange sparks flew up into the sky. The other uncles stood around him with cold drinks in their hands, laughing and arguing about whether the fire was hot enough for the kebabs yet. Now and then, the meat on the skewers made a loud sound as the fat dripped onto the coals.

And the rest of the cousins were everywhere. Some were delivering the skewers back and forth from the kitchen to the grill. And some of the younger ones sat playing cards a little away from the fire. Every now and then, laughter echoed from their side as somebody won, lost or cheated.

“Arrange the tables, it’s almost time!” Uncle Tariq shouted, his face shiny from the heat of the red-hot coals.

Suddenly everyone started moving at once; some went to arrange the tables, some went to bring the naans. Alyana and her aunts came out of the kitchen carrying big metal tongs and bowls of green chutney that they had made earlier in the day.

For the rest of the night, plates were passed around, fingers got messy and then everyone kept eating until they could eat no more. It was when the night was almost over, one of the uncles asked, “Where is the tea?”

Published in Dawn, Young World, June 6th, 2026

The Massachusetts Port Authority plans to build the world’s largest soccer ball in celebration of the FIFA World Cup. The giant ball will measure 45 feet across, beating the current Guinness World Record set in Qatar in 2013, which was just under 40 feet wide.

The giant ball will sit at Piers Park II from June 12 to 18, with a fun community event planned for June 13. The project celebrates the upcoming World Cup matches that will be played at Boston Stadium in Foxborough during June and July. Massport CEO Rich Davey said the display will help welcome visitors and bring people together during the tournament.

‘V’ sign selfies may expose fingerprints

Security experts are warning that making the popular “V” hand sign in high-quality selfies could expose your fingerprints to theft. Chinese security expert Li Chang demonstrated how fingerprints can easily be copied from close-up photos taken within 1.5 metres, using AI and photo software to sharpen blurry images.

While modern high-definition cameras make this possible, experts say stealing fingerprints is still quite difficult. The process depends heavily on good lighting, sharp focus and clear image quality. Thieves would also likely need multiple photos to get an accurate copy. To stay safe, blur or edit your fingertips before posting selfies online.

The world’s largest car carrier

The new Glovis Leader has become the world’s largest car and truck carrier, capable of transporting up to 10,800 vehicles across 14 decks. Built by Guangzhou Shipyard International for South Korean automaker Hyundai, the 230-metre-long ship can carry electric vehicles, hydrogen-powered vehicles and heavy trucks.

The ship beats the previous record-holder, Hoegh Aurora, which could transport 9,100 vehicles. The Glovis Leader uses a special dual-fuel system powered by liquefied natural gas and regular fuel. It also uses energy-saving technology designed to reduce pollution and save fuel. The vessel sets a new standard in global shipping and highlights China’s growing strength in building advanced ships.

A bookless bookstore, really?

Audiobook company Audible has opened what it calls the first “bookless bookstore” in New York. The month-long pop-up shop is called “Audible Story House.” Instead of regular books, it features “story tiles” that let visitors listen to clips through headphones and unlock full stories on the Audible app.

The store also includes a speaker room for listening without headphones and a “Listening Bar”, where staff help visitors find great audiobooks. It was created to bring audio storytelling to life and offer a fun offline experience.

According to the Audio Publishers Association, US audiobook sales reached $2.22 billion in 2024, nearly double what they were five years ago.

Published in Dawn, Young World, June 6th, 2026

Toy Story 5 director Andrew Stanton has confirmed the sequel includes a direct homage to the Disney classic Bambi.

In one scene, dozens of Buzz Lightyear toys wander through a forest where a doe and rabbit appear, referencing Bambi and Thumper. The sequence even uses music from Bambi and copies its lighting and visual style.

The sequel will focus on toys dealing with children’s growing dependence on technology, with Woody, Buzz and Jessie facing a new tech toy called Lilypad.

Returning stars include Tom Hanks, Tim Allen and Joan Cusack, while Greta Lee voices Lilypad.

Toy Story 5 arrives in cinemas on June 19.

BTS’ Jung Kook launches clothing line

Jung Kook has teamed up with Calvin Klein to create his first fashion capsule collection, featuring graphic tees, sweatshirts, denim, jackets and baggy jeans.

The collection, branded with the “CKJK” logo, features Jung Kook’s personal design touches, including custom denim washes and hidden embroidery. The line is reportedly inspired by his love of motorcycles and 1990s fashion. BTS members are currently touring after releasing their album ARIRANG, which spent three weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard 200.

The clothing collection became available online on May 19, with selected stores receiving the items the following day.

A Minecraft 2 adds Kirsten Dunst as Alex

A Minecraft Movie 2 has shared a first-look image welcoming Kirsten Dunst to the cast as Alex, one of the game’s iconic default characters. The set photo showed director chairs labelled “Steve” and “Alex.”

The sequel brings back director Jared Hess along with returning stars Jack Black, Jason Momoa, Jennifer Coolidge, Danielle Brooks and Matt Berry.

The first film followed siblings Natalie and Henry as they were pulled into Minecraft’s Overworld alongside Steve and other allies. It became a huge box office hit, earning over $961 million worldwide from a $150 million budget.

A Minecraft Movie 2 is set to release on July 23, 2027.

Published in Dawn, Young World, June 6th, 2026

For the first time ever, the FIFA World Cup will feature 48 teams divided into 12 groups of four. In this new format, the top two teams from each group and the eight best third-place finishers will advance to the knockout stage, promising more drama and surprises than ever before.

From traditional giants like Brazil, France and Argentina to ambitious contenders like the Netherlands, Spain and England, every nation hopes to make history.

Here is a closer look at all 12 groups and their rankings ahead of the mega event.

GROUP A Teams: Mexico (15), South Korea (25), Czechia (41), South Africa (60)

Co-hosts Mexico look strongest on paper, but a recent wave of player injuries could open the door for South Korea or Czechia to cause problems. The safety net of the third-place rule will make this group highly competitive.

GROUP B Teams: Switzerland (19), Canada (30), Qatar (55), Bosnia & Herzegovina (65)

Switzerland enters as one of recent years’ most consistent sides. They face tough competition from co-hosts Canada and a resilient Bosnia and Herzegovina side that knocked out Italy in the qualifiers. Qatar face an uphill battle to keep pace.

GROUP C Teams: Brazil (6), Morocco (8), Scotland (43), Haiti (83)

Featuring two top-ten heavyweights, this group belongs to Brazil and Morocco. Scotland and Haiti will need a footballing miracle to upset these dominant opponents and advance.

GROUP D Teams: United States (16), Türkiye (22), Australia (27), Paraguay (40)

Co-hosts United States hold a major advantage with passionate home crowds and familiar stadiums. However, tournament comeback kings Türkiye remain a tricky opponent, while Australia and Paraguay will hunt for surprises.

GROUP E Teams: Germany (10), Ecuador (23), Ivory Coast (34), Curaçao (82)

Four-time champions Germany headline this group alongside Ecuador, who possess one of South America’s toughest defences. Ivory Coast and debutants Curaçao must significantly raise their game to stand a chance.

GROUP F: Speed and Tactics

Teams: Netherlands (7), Japan (18), Sweden (38), Tunisia (44)

The tactically sharp Netherlands and fast-paced Japan are clear favourites to advance. Sweden and Tunisia must capitalise on any slip-ups from the top two to keep their tournament alive.

GROUP G Teams: Belgium (9), Iran (21), Egypt (29), New Zealand (85)

Belgium are heavily tipped to advance comfortably. This leaves Mohamed Salah’s Egypt and a disciplined Iran side to battle for second place, while lowest-ranked New Zealand rely on teamwork to surprise.

GROUP H Teams: Spain (2), Uruguay (17), Saudi Arabia (61), Cape Verde (69)

Former winners Spain enter as tournament favourites, with two-time champions Uruguay expected to follow them into the next round. Cape Verde and Saudi Arabia will aim for spirited displays but face a massive task.

GROUP I Teams: France (1), Senegal (14), Norway (31), Iraq (57)

Top-ranked France are well-prepared to dominate this group. The real battle is for second place; Senegal are favourites, but Norway—led by Erling Haaland and Martin Ødegaard—and a fearless Iraq side will fight hard. GROUP J: Teams: Argentina (3), Austria (24), Algeria (28), Jordan (63)

Defending champions Argentina should comfortably top this group, even with Lionel Messi expected to play a reduced role. Austria and Algeria will fight for the second automatic spot, leaving Jordan with a steep learning curve. GROUP K: Teams: Portugal (5), Colombia (13), Congo DR (46), Uzbekistan (50)

This group offers a blockbuster clash between Cristiano Ronaldo’s Portugal and Luis Díaz’s Colombia. While Portugal navigate their veteran star’s farewell, a balanced Colombia could snatch top spot. Congo DR and Uzbekistan will eye third-place qualification. GROUP L: Teams: England (4), Croatia (11), Panama (33), Ghana (74)

The final group is incredibly tough to call, headlined by Harry Kane’s England and Luka Modric’s Croatia. Both possess deep tournament experience, though Panama and Ghana are entirely capable of pulling off an upset.

Published in Dawn, Young World, June 6th, 2026

It was a bright summer day, actually one day before my 12th birthday. We had our English and science quiz that day.

After the assembly, we went to our class and after a few minutes, we were called to the STEM Lab for our English quiz. We had the quiz with other fifth grade sections, along with my section, 5-S. The quiz was divided into house teams like Red House, Blue House, Yellow House and Green House. I was in the Blue House team.

The first four questions were asked from Red House and they did well. But then it was our team’s turn, the Blue House.

I was very nervous. The very first question asked was, “If you are writing a letter to your friend who is shifting to a new city, then which type of letter will you write?”

Without thinking, and quite stupidly in an attempt to win the round quickly, I shouted, “Formal letter!”

Everybody in the class started laughing, including my best friend and the students from the other sections. It was embarassing.

The next question was, “Which sentence is punctuated correctly?”

The teacher read out the options:

“A. Lets eat grandma.”

“B. Let’s eat, Grandma.”

I was more nervous by now and quickly shouted, “A!”

The entire class burst into laughter again because I had completely changed the meaning of the sentence. The teacher smiled and explained that without the comma, it sounded like we were about to eat grandma herself.

I wanted to disappear under the desk. We had lost another point!

Then came the next question: “What do you call a word that sounds the same as another word, but has a different meaning and spelling?”

My mind went blank and in panic, I answered, “Synonym!”

“No,” the teacher replied. “The correct answer is homophone.”

My teammates looked so disappointed that I could not even meet their eyes. They knew the answer, but I had spoken up quickly, without waiting to discuss it with them. Now our team had lost three points because of me.

The final question was also tricky: “Which sentence is written in passive voice?”

Before we could understand the question properly, the buzzer rang and none of us answered in time. The chance went to Green House, and they answered it correctly immediately.

That was it. We lost the round badly and I felt horribly embarrassed sitting there while the other teams celebrated.

In the end, the Red House team won, and I felt as though it was all because of me. Thankfully, my best friend cheered me up a little.

After school, even in the evening, I could still feel the embarrassment from the quiz. I kept thinking about how the whole class had laughed at me until my mother came to comfort me.

“Think before you answer, and never get so overexcited that you end up giving the wrong answer,” mum explained as she comforted me.

Published in Dawn, Young World, June 6th, 2026

Ever wondered how Barbie Roberts and her friends manage to look so fabulous and get their tasks done without breaking a sweat? There is a story behind their seemingly effortless lives, and in Barbie Gone to the Dogs, we revisit one such day when they tried everything to chase their dreams.

This fully illustrated book lets you be part of a day in the lives of best friends Barbie ‘Brooklyn’ Roberts and Barbie ‘Malibu’ Roberts, who dream of recording a demo of their upcoming song. However, one thing leads to another, and they end up without a recording studio for various reasons.

Barbie’s parents, instead of helping them, decided to use the opportunity to teach them the value of money by asking them to earn the studio fee.

Determined to make their dreams come true, they hatch a hilarious plan: dog-walking, which starts well but, as you can expect, ends in disaster.

However, during this errand, they learn a lot, including how to multitask, stay alert on the job and handle pressure.

Did they earn the money for their demo, or did they cancel their recording? That’s a story for another day. Right now, their dog walking is the story!

What began as a one-dog-per-person job soon became a three-dog-per-person job, since the two Barbies thought that the increasing number of dogs would increase their income.

They were wrong, because that’s exactly why things went awry. Add a cat fashion show to the mix and you can imagine what I am talking about.

The illustrations from the Barbie animated series complement the text, which tells us that one should always understand one’s capacity for work and be sincere in whatever task one is assigned.

These tasks can range from walking a dog to looking after a baby and trying to maximise profits from such gigs can never end well.

On the whole, this paw-sitively charming tale is one of the many adventures Barbie and her friends go on, so you can learn from their mistakes.

Published in Dawn, Young World, June 6th, 2026