This is the first scene of Bombay Tailors (BT), which has just started to air on Hum TV, and it works well in building expectations and setting the scene. At a time when sprawling mansions and rich, suited heroes flanked by bodyguards often dominate the local drama-scape, BT opts for nostalgia and old-world charm — crowded lanes, stall owners calling out to passers-by as they try to sell them their wares and rustic chai dhaabas [roadside tea stalls].

The titular tailoring shop is nestled in one of these streets. It is a longstanding relic with a board outside that proudly proclaims that it has been in business since 1942. The shop’s name has been written in the Hindi script, further emphasising its pre-Partition origins. The shop’s floor has a black-and-white parquet-style pattern, the walls are lined with weathered shelves crammed with fabric, and the doorway is pillared and aged.

These details in the initial episodes of the drama — and there are many more, such as the beautiful, old-world homes in which our primary characters live — form a compelling backdrop to the story, which is only just beginning to unfold.

A crumbling tailoring shop in old Karachi. A young man wanting to break free of family expectations. A young woman making content for social media. Director Mazhar Moin’s new prime time serial stitches family drama with social controversies around social media, generational conflict and changing Gen-Z aspirations

It is often said that all stories around the world are stitched from the same fabric, only rendered unique by the way in which they are narrated. BT, like many other serials, is, in essence, a family drama that is packed with the usual emotional ingredients as well as some unusual elements.

We will, most probably, encounter patriarchal mindsets, cultural restrictions and the highs and lows of a joint family system. There will be tears, emotional blackmail and heated arguments that will result in someone storming out. Icon has learnt, though, that there is more to the story than meets the eye.

Cut From The Same Cloth?

Upon meeting the drama’s lead actors, Ali Ansari and Anika Zulfikar, they tell me that they are hooked to the script.

“We had so much fun reading the script,” says Anika.

Have they read the whole script? Or, as is the case quite often in the local drama industry, are the later episodes being written while they are shooting?

“We received about 65 percent of the script and now, with every new episode that we get to read, we get really excited about what will happen next,” says Ali.

Anika adds, “We are reading it for the sake of reading. It’s not just because we are acting in the drama, it’s because we really want to know the rest of the story!”

BT follows dramas in which both actors have received critical or commercial acclaim. Ali was previously seen in Muamma, in which his performance was widely appreciated. Anika delivered a commercial hit in which she had a double role — Ishq Mein Tere Sadqay (IMTS). Was there pressure to ensure that this latest project would be as successful?

“My character in Muamma was very different,” muses Ali. “Saifi [the name of his character in BT] is a man who is struggling to be accepted for who he is and is in search of validation. His family has a traditional mindset and wants him to join the family’s tailoring business. They discourage him from following his dreams, and the way he struggles is visible even in his body language. He is an interesting character. Furthermore, the story, the pace and the overall characterisations are very good.”

A STITCH IN TIME

The drama is being aired during the coveted 8:00pm prime time slot, I point out. Ali has, of course, acted in top-rated soaps that have aired at 9:00pm, making it to what is often referred to as the ‘billion views club’ in industry circles. However, he has lately been very vocal about wanting to aim for projects solely reserved for the 8:00pm slot.

“Given the norms in our industry,” he asserts, “the time slot really matters.”

Anika’s IMTS was a big commercial hit, airing at 9:00pm. Does she have similar concerns regarding drama time slots?

“I think it does matter, although you never know what the audience will like,” says Anika. “Until the time that it started airing, we had assumed that [IMTS] would be slotted at 8pm. I was a bit dejected at first when it started airing daily at 9pm during Ramazan, but then it worked out because the audience became invested in the story. It really worked for the channel, too, because Geo Entertainment had not come up with a typical Ramazan drama, and was airing this one daily instead.”

She goes on: “For me, as a new actor, the challenge was that, even though it was a hit, it aired just for a month. I didn’t get the time to fully experience how working in the drama had helped me grow as an actor.

“Also, I would go through this weird existential crisis while shooting certain scenes. I felt that I could not justify investing so much of my life, working 12 hours a day, into a story that I often did not agree with. Of course, as a new actor, I cannot be too picky, but I do want to focus more on stories that I care about.”

There are contemporary, Gen-Z elements in this drama that I feel are important and will connect with the audience. There are always certain topics that become a ‘trend’ in dramas, with multiple productions investing in stories revolving around them. From that perspective, this drama could prove to be a game-changer,” says Ali Ansari

Tailoring Digital Dreams

And is BT one such story?

“It’s not your typical run-of-the-mill drama at all,” says Ali. “The tailoring business is part of Saifi’s family legacy, but why does his family consider it compulsory that he, too, becomes a tailor? He feels stuck and social media provides him with a new avenue that he can explore.

“There are contemporary, Gen-Z elements in this drama that I feel are important and will connect with the audience. There are always certain topics that become a ‘trend’ in dramas, with multiple productions investing in stories revolving around them. From that perspective, this drama could prove to be a game-changer.”

And what particular topic does BT tackle?

“Social media,” replies Anika. “The character that I play, Mahrukh, has her own YouTube channel, in which she doesn’t show her face, but puts out content that is growing in popularity. Her channel has even been monetised. Her problem is that while her father loves her, he is very strict and believes that social media is the root of all evil.

“It’s interesting how the writer, Amtul Shahida, has sympathised with various opinions that people have, neither demonising people who pursue careers in social media and nor those who think that it is wrong.”

Ali elaborates, “The story also addresses generational gaps. Our parents and grandparents may have a completely different mindset towards work, while today’s generation is open to exploring opportunities in digital avenues. Once Mahrukh and Saifi get together and break through the barriers placed upon them by their families, the drama gets really interesting.”

Can we expect romantic chemistry? “It’s more like a partnership,” reflects Anika.

“Like two friends, making content together,” chimes in Ali. “Saifi and Mahrukh never wanted to be in each other’s lives. They are an unlikely match but, once life throws them together, they build a relationship based on trust, understanding and respect. It’s not your typical romance.”

In fact, a cursory glance at BT’s ensemble cast implies that romance simply is only a single piece of the overall pattern. With seasoned performers such as Sania Saeed, Ali Tahir, Tanveer Ahmed, Ali Safina and Dania Enwer on board as well, one expects the family members of Saifi and Mahrukh to explore their journeys during the course of the serial.

Draped In A New Look

The drama’s director, Mazhar Moin, elaborates about the cast: “It is relatively large and what is great is that everyone is intent on delivering their 100 percent. I didn’t encounter any time-related issues or tantrums. Everyone just wanted to do their best.

“All the characters are essential to the story, which is largely based on generational gaps and mindsets. Sania Saeed, for instance, is not the kind of artist who would sign on for just any role. As the story evolves, the audience will see her evolve from a quiet, submissive woman to a confident one, with a strong voice of her own.”

He continues: “Both Ali and Anika were great choices as leads. Anika is relatively new and she is very passionate about building her career. Ali, too, is inclined towards trying out roles that are different.”

BT has been produced by Moomal Shunaid Productions and MD Productions for Hum TV. “For this project, we wanted to introduce a fresh, young and talented cast that would bring authenticity to the screen,” the drama’s producer, Moomal Shunaid tells me. “We also wanted to launch a new on-screen pair that audiences could connect with and enjoy watching. The cast was also chosen because each actor was the right fit for their respective character, and could naturally portray the emotions required in the story.”

I tell the director that the drama’s ambience — Mahrukh’s beautiful home with its old furniture and stained-glass windows, and the nooks and crannies of Empress Market — are characters in themselves and contribute to the story. He agrees.

“The ambience adds to the audience’s understanding of the characters,” he says. “Where do they live? What are their interests?” He adds another revelation: “The furniture that you see in Mahrukh’s home is all my own. I collect Burma teak furniture pieces. I feel that they really add character to the set.”

The first few ‘stitches’ — episodes — of BT have been paced well. The measuring tapes, scissors and sewing machines have been established as the backdrop to a new-age narrative on social media.

And with the cast eagerly vouching for the narrative and the director intent on exploring new locations — they recently shot in the marshlands near Karachi’s shoreline and the crowded Sea View road on Saturday night! — one has high hopes that this will be a well-tailored story.

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

Published in Dawn, ICON, July 26th, 2026

“Nadia Khan desperately needs to see a psychiatrist. Her terrible acting ruined one of the dramas I had written, and now she has the gall to judge others’ acting skills, ridiculing them rather than offering constructive criticism. Think of it like a monkey with a matchstick.”

— Saima Akram Chaudhry, screenwriter

“Saima Akram Chaudhry told me to see a psychiatrist so I did! Diagnosed with a severe case of ‘truth syndrome’ — aka practising free speech and calling out bad writing. There’s no cure for my honesty, but there is a prevention for you: write better scripts and fix your production errors.”

— Nadia Khan, TV host, actor and drama critic

“Indians don’t want our content to be available on Netflix.”

— Faysal Quraishi, actor

“Netflix approached ARY to give them content, but we refused.”

— Salman Iqbal, President and CEO of the ARY Digital Network

Published in Dawn, ICON, July 26th, 2026

A few months ago, a documentary titled The Colour of My Heart [Rang Hai Dil Ka Mere], based on the life and work of the late Zia Mohyeddin, the legendary artist and the founder of the National Academy of Performing Arts (Napa), received rave reviews from Pakistani critics and cine-goers alike. The project, which was produced by Umar Riaz, has now been selected to be screened at the Asian American International Film Festival (July 30 to August 9) in New York. We know it took Umar R 15 years to complete the film and the result shows that hard work pays off. Congratulations to him and his team!

Streaming Dreams

To provide Pakistani dramas and films a global platform, the government of Pakistan has started to talk to streaming giants such as Netflix to see what possibilities can be explored. This was stated on X by the Federal Minister for Planning, Ahsan Iqbal. He wrote: “Pakistani dramas and films are second to none, commanding immense demand and heartfelt appreciation across the globe. Under our Uraan Pakistan export endeavours, the creative and cultural industry stands as a vital cornerstone for our national export strategy. While major OTT platforms like Netflix and Amazon Prime are critical gateways to the global audience, they have unfortunately been weaponised by regional politics for too long, denying Pakistani content its rightful due space.” Let’s see if action follows talk.

Young Talent

Indian film legend Amitabh Bachchan has followed the recently held Fifa World Cup zealously. He is super-impressed by young, talented soccer players — so much so that he even wrote a blog on the topic! He wrote: “The evolution of fresh talent and guile emerges in each World Cup — at the ages of 17 and 18, we learn, are youngsters representing an entire nation. What were you doing when you were that age is what we ask each other and lament the fact that we were never like them.” That’s true, sir. After all, your first successful film was Zanjeer, which came out when you were 31!

Proud Parent

Adnan Siddiqui’s daughter Maryam has recently graduated from university and he is a super-proud dad. As he should be. Gushing with emotion, the actor wrote a detailed post for her on Instagram, saying the person that Maryam has become is his greatest reward. He had advice for parents as well: “Don’t just invest in your children’s education, invest in their character. Degrees open doors, but humility, compassion and integrity will determine how far they go.” Wise words indeed.

Chips Ahoy!

Christopher Nolan’s eagerly awaited film The Odyssey is out. Charlize Theron essays the role of Calypso in it, a character who traps Odysseus (played by Matt Damon) in a trance. When asked by an interviewer what would happen if she were trapped in a trance, the actress replied: “Oh, potato chips, I’m in. Bring me some. But I want flavoured potato chips. Americans with just the salt and the oil? No. I want chutney and ketchup and beef stew and all of that.” We’re not quite sure what happened there with that question but if only Odysseus had known about Calypso’s real obsessions.

Katie and The Artist

Who is Katie Holmes seeing these days? Well, the question would have been difficult to answer until two weeks ago, but not anymore. The Dawson’s Creek star and former wife of Tom Cruise went to the premiere of The Invite, directed by actress Olivia Wilde, in New York holding hands with Jason Bard Yarmosky, an artist of considerable merit from the Big Apple. He is nine years younger than Katie H, which doesn’t matter — as long as he paints her a rosy picture of the world.

Published in Dawn, ICON, July 26th, 2026

The question does not apply equally to adaptations and remakes.

Adaptations can be from a myriad of sources: books, articles, short stories, real-life events — each domain carrying its own particularities that clash with the medium of film and its own constraints. Remakes are new versions of older films, and if Disney has taught us anything, they’re more or less a copy-paste job.

The list is maddening: 101 Dalmatians (1996), Alice in Wonderland (2010), Maleficent (2014), Cinderella (2015), The Jungle Book (2016), Beauty and the Beast (2017), Aladdin (2019), Dumbo (2019), The Lion King (2019), Lady and the Tramp (2019), Mulan (2020), Cruella (2021), Pinocchio (2022), The Little Mermaid (2023), Snow White (2025), Lilo & Stitch (2025), and now Moana.

Disney’s live-action Moana faithfully recreates the 2016 animated hit, but offers little reason for its own existence

Some I’ve seen, most I’ve ignored, a few I’d forgotten even existed, but most (with the exception of Alice in Wonderland and Maleficent) should not have been made at all.

I mean, what’s there to appreciate when the exact story beats, the exact frames and the exact acting cues — yet somehow, with a slightly slower pace and a little longer runtime (animated films are designed to move faster and snappier) — are revisited?

So, what’s the appeal here? Especially when the original — in the case of Moana — came out exactly 10 years ago? That’s not really a long time. Especially when you have the main co-lead returning.

In case there’s any mystery (and there isn’t), the returner is Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson, the original voice of the animated, full-of-himself demigod Maui, who is stranded on a tiny island. Where Maui was animated, The Rock mostly plays a rock. The stiffness, an added layer of seriousness, though not a bad thing in the right context, does not help the character or the performance.

Moana (Catherine Laga’aia, not as good as her animated counterpart), the young daughter of her tribe’s chief (John Tui), rescues Maui after leaving her island. She, like everyone there, was forbidden to leave their perfect island life. But the call of the sea, and the water’s enchanted beckoning (a magical wave of the sea calls and guides her), is too much to ignore.

Her quest is twofold: find a way to calm Te Fiti’s violent anger — Te Fiti is a living island that brought life to the ocean — by returning her heart, and to end every island tribe’s fear of oceanic exploration.

It’s a noble cause that we’ve seen before, with the same cast (Jemaine Clement returns as the voice of Tamatoa, the giant crab), the songs (by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Opetaia Foa’i, returning), the same screenplay (screenwriter Jared Bush returns with Moana 2’s co-director Dana Ledoux Miller, now co-writing) and much the same direction (Thomas Kail, the director of stage musical Hamilton, in his live-action debut).

Direction, mind you, that feels as if one is playing and pausing scenes from the original before shouting: ‘Lights. Camera. Action!’

Released by HKC and Disney, Moana is rated PG. Parents have no need for caution: the few minutes of scares by Te Fiti aren’t even as scary as those in the animated film

The writer is Icon’s primary film reviewer

Published in Dawn, ICON, July 26th, 2026

The horror series Evil Dead, first brought to the screen in 1981 by director Sam Raimi, is in its healthiest state for decades.

The 2023 film Evil Dead Rise was a financial success and 2026 will prove to be a huge year for the franchise with the release of the new film Evil Dead Burn. The next film, Evil Dead Wrath, is already in post-production and due for release in 2028.

Yet, like any successful franchise, Evil Dead has always been bigger than just films. It has appeared in a variety of media forms including video games, comic books, television series and board games.

This is not uncommon for a franchise and is often part of what researcher Henry Jenkins termed a transmedia storytelling strategy. The fundamental idea of this strategy is that one singular story is told over multiple different media forms. These integrated narratives can be seen in contemporary franchises such as the Matrix or the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

With Evil Dead Burn now in cinemas, the long-running horror franchise is finally stitching its tangled timelines into a shared universe

However, while Evil Dead has certainly appeared across different media forms, it has lacked a sense of a singular narrative. As a result, there are several narrative inconsistencies seen throughout the series, with scenes from previous movies reshot, recontextualised or erased from the narrative entirely in later entries.

This lack of a unified story ultimately comes down to the creative and financial realities of the Evil Dead’s series origins. The first film, The Evil Dead, was a low-budget horror, made by a group of friends with no aspirations of building a huge media franchise. It took six years for a sequel to be made. That sequel was produced by a different company entirely, meaning that even if the filmmakers had wanted to reference the first film, they legally could not.

For decades, the crucial unifying component of the Evil Dead series has been Bruce Campbell’s portrayal of Ash Williams, the protagonist across the original film trilogy. The cult fandom of Campbell in this role has powered the series for most of its existence — Campbell became synonymous with the Evil Dead franchise.

Campbell has reprised his role across multiple different media platforms. Though these contain the character of Ash, they are entirely incoherent as a singular narrative, often contradicting or erasing different entries to tell their specific story. While Ash seems to act as a signifier for an ‘authentic’ Evil Dead entry, his appearances do not seem to delineate which entries in the series can be seen as part of a coherent transmedia fictional universe.

This decision to foreground an actor and character as the foundation of a franchise could now be problematic, as Campbell announced his retirement from playing Ash in live action after the cancellation of the television series Ash vs The Evil Dead in 2018.

This left the franchise in flux. How do you move forward with Evil Dead when the main character is removed?

UNIFYING A FRACTURED FRANCHISE

The promotional material around the release of Evil Dead Rise suggested a new franchise strategy that looked to the original trilogy for inspiration.

In the third Evil Dead film, Army of Darkness (1993), Ash is sent on a quest to retrieve the Necronomicon, a cursed book that has unleashed evil across the previous films. As Ash approaches the book, he sees that there are three on the podium. The two other books ultimately act as decoys, resulting in a slapstick sequence where Ash is repeatedly attacked by the decoy books.

Although this scene is short and played for laughs, for the promotion of Evil Dead Rise, Campbell (a producer as well as the series’ former star) highlights it as centrally important to the franchise’s future. In an interview with Collider in 2023, Campbell suggested a new key focus — the Necronomicon. Campbell noted that “the only thing that connects everything now is the book. There are three of these books out there… So, this story is really ‘where is the book now?’”

This discourse surrounding the importance of the three books was also echoed by the director of Evil Dead Rise, Lee Cronin, who made it a central part of his pitch to producers, as a way of opening up “multiple avenues for where Evil Dead can go.”

His pitch, that Sam Raimi’s original trilogy featured one book, the 2013 remake featured another and his film would feature the third book, retroactively unified the Evil Dead narrative on-screen, putting it more in line with contemporary franchises that engage with transmedia storytelling.

Specifically, the 2013 Evil Dead — developed and produced as a remake at the time of its release — was folded into continuity and, as a result, became part of the fictional world of the original films. By merging these supposedly disparate parts of the series into one continuity, Evil Dead Rise (or specifically the promotional discourse around it) brought the franchise closer to Jenkins’ idea of a transmedia storytelling strategy.

While Campbell will continue to be an active part of Evil Dead as a producer (and even has a voice cameo in Evil Dead Rise), this new emphasis on the fictional world of the series presents new avenues of continuity and expansion. It will be fascinating to see how Evil Dead Burn, a new chapter in the 45-year-old franchise, responds to this new strategy.

The writer is Assistant Professor of Film and Screen Studies at the University of Nottingham in the UK

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, July 26th, 2026

Aap Ki Izzat | Hum TV, Fri-Sat 8.00pm

Another day, another mazlo­om aurat [oppre­ssed woman] story from the pen of Umera Ahmed. After Kafeel, the writer is back to remind us that happiness is fleeting and men are generally terrible.

Beena (Urwa Hocane) has been slowly sliding into irrelevance: her educated children find her to be conservative and restrictive, while her ageing mother-in-law uses her but still resents her. The most painful aspect is the dismissive, degrading treatment she receives from Tabish (Ahsan Khan), the man who once begged her to marry him.

Urwa Hocane is a good actress and very relatable as a simple woman who is unimpressed by the wealth that has changed her husband’s kind nature. However, her character, Beena, is underwritten as a generic housewife figure who blinks and smiles while suffering every micro-repression and humiliation. Ahsan Khan transitions between a lovestruck young man and a manipulative, would-be politician having an affair with polished ease. Another strong performance comes from Sania Saeed, as the mother-in-law who still cannot find empathy for her obedient daughter-in-law. From the teasers we see that Beena is friendly with a young fruit seller, Behram (Saif Ali Khan), and it seems that her journey to self-actualisation may begin with him.

Dr Bahu | ARY Digital, Fri-Sat 8.00pm

After the death of his wife Dr Farheen (Saba Hameed), the powerful and manipulative Dr Shahnawaz (Shahzad Nawaz) is left isolated, facing the consequences of his actions. The actor gives a memorable performance as the arrogant patriarch who dominates everyone’s lives. As the story reels in the different tracks, it illustrates the difficulties faced by women who want to practise medicine.

Dr Mina (Hajra Yamin) mourns her infertility, but she has the career that a pregnant Dr Saniya (Kubra Khan) yearns for. In a curious twist, the biggest winner is Dr Amber (Mira Sethi), who had an adulterous affair with Faizan (Adeel Hussain) despite having an established career and marries him. Dr Saniya (Kubra Khan) faces the dilemma of sacrificing or at least delaying the progression of her career as a surgeon because of her risky pregnancy and her husband Salman’s (Shuja Asad) fears.

A talented doctor and potential surgeon is shown literally begging her husband to allow her to complete her course after her baby is born. Shuja Asad provides us with another good performance as a man who has become exactly what he hated about his father.

Bombay Tailors | Hum TV, Mon-Tues 8.00pm

Saifi (Ali Ansari) doesn’t want to be a tailor like his father and grandfather, and Mahrukh (Anika Zulfikar) wants to be a social media star. This rebellious attitude makes them the bane of their parents’ existence but, instead of understanding their feelings, their parents think a forced marriage is the answer. Exhausted by their parents’ criticism and policing, both accept the arrangement to buy some time and, possibly, some freedom. If this sounds like a Ramazan rom-com, it is not. Instead, it is a light take on some serious contemporary issues and the generation gap.

Writer Amtul Shahida’s script is a safe and traditional take on a partnership borne of circumstance and family pressure. There is some hope for innovation if we see writer Adeel Afzal’s name added to the project, who seems to have collaborated on this project.

A versatile actor, Ali Ansari switches easily into the role of an urban hustler and frustrated younger son. After the success of her Ramazan serial, Ishq Mein Tere Sadqay, Anika Zulfikar has established herself as a good actress, and proves it again in this show. Boosting the show’s credentials are other great performers, such as Ali Safina and Dania Enver.

What To Watch Out For (Or Not)

Dar-i-Nijaat | ARY Digital, Coming soon

Sheheryar Munawar, Nameer Khan and Durefishan Saleem star in an intense story that questions a woman’s past relationships.

Published in Dawn, ICON, July 26th, 2026

An outing to the cinema isn’t just about seeing a movie, it is a full sensory experience, with a big screen and big snacks.

An epic film demands the panoramic widescreen, thunderous surround sound, embarrassingly large boxes of lollies and giant buckets of popcorn that never taste the same at home.

Throughout the history of cinema, however, popcorn has been both scorned as a messy lowbrow distraction and hailed as a profit-making saviour for a floundering film industry.

Popcorn as an ancient snack food

Popcorn is one of the oldest foods we still consume as a snack, with archaeological evidence from Peru, circa 6,700 years ago.

Bernabé Cobo, a Jesuit missionary in Peru in the early 17th century, observed popcorn being made by the local people, toasted until it burst — eaten as a confection called Pisancalla.

From ancient Peru to modern multiplexes, popcorn has had a surprising and remarkable history. Here’s a look at some of the snacks that have now become inseparable from the cinema experience…

French explorers in the Great Lakes region of North America in 1612 saw the Iroquois people heating corn kernels in a clay pot filled with hot sand until they popped — and added them to soup.

Colonists adopted the practice in the Americas, either using an enclosed wire mesh basket over open flame, or a horizontally mounted thin metal cylinder, turned with a hand crank in front of a fireplace.

First bites at the fairground

In 1885, a new steam-powered automatic popcorn machine was invented in Chicago by Charles Cretors, cooking kernels in a combination of vegetable oil and animal fat.

He exhibited his invention at the World’s Fair in Chicago in 1893 and, by 1900, he had switched to electricity and machines shifted from street carts to shops.

Popcorn and peanuts were already popular at fairgrounds when moving pictures joined the line-up of entertainments on offer, and the snacks followed the audience into the theatre.

The cinema developed from fairground attraction to a destination in its own right in 1896. Nickelodeons (a nickel for admission, and ‘odeon’ means theatre in Greek), or ‘penny gaffs’ in Britain, offered inexpensive viewing venues. By the 1920s, owners tried to establish film theatres as more refined spaces, ‘movie palaces’ with carpets and furnishings normally associated with highbrow entertainment.

Patrons munching on popcorn or peanuts did not match the sophisticated ambience of the new architecturally designed spaces. The noisy crunch of snacks also interfered with watching a silent film.

An affordable luxury

In 1927, the first motion picture with sound, The Jazz Singer, opened in New York. ‘Talkies’ revived the movie business, and popcorn was less of a noisy distraction with a film’s soundtrack.

The Great Depression in the 1930s meant many luxuries were beyond the reach of most people, but a movie ticket was still affordable and a five-cent bag of popcorn drew audiences into the theatres, boosting sales. Initially, cinema owners leased space in the lobby or outside to vendors, until they realised that the profit margin for popcorn was over 70 percent.

During the Second World War, rationing of sugar meant that many types of candy were not available, or became expensive. Popcorn was a cheap substitute and consumption went up 300 percent.

Popcorn’s sidekicks

Popcorn in the cinema is popular around the world, with a sweet and savoury divide, often drawing on local flavours.

Spicy masala blends are popular in India; Japanese popcorn may include bits of umami-rich seaweed; caramel popcorn dominates the Chinese market. And while popcorn is clearly a main character, ice cream is a trusty sidekick in the movie snack combo.

In Australian cinemas in the 1930s, ‘ice cream matinees’ gave a free ice cream ‘bucket’ to each child attending. In addition to these cups of ice cream, ‘Eskimo pies’ — chocolate-coated blocks of ice cream — were a popular treat served from trays by usherettes strolling through the aisles of the theatre at the interval. Ice cream cones dipped in a hard chocolate coating debuted in Australia in the 1940s, but did not appear in movie theatres until the early 1980s.

The choc top remains an essential item for moviegoers in Australia and Aotearoa New Zealand, but it is unknown beyond Australasia. Some local offerings, however, are not just variations on familiar favourites.

Salty Dutch liquorice is a sweet-meets-savoury taste that not everyone acquires, but roasted ants in Colombia are a next-level delicacy at the movies.

Hormigas culonas (translated literally as big-bottomed ant) are a species of leaf-cutter ant, Atta laevigata. In Colombia’s Santander region, the ants are a luxury item, the caviar of Colombia. The legs and wings of the queen ants are removed, and the bodies are roasted to create a crunchy, high-protein food offering as much adventure in your snack as on the screen.

But whether it be popcorn or ants, the food we eat in the dark while we watch a movie is an essential element of attending the cinema for many people. The aroma of the butter topping and the crunch of the choc top are sensory experiences that, like the big screen, just aren’t the same at home.

The writer is Lecturer in History at the University of Waikato in New Zealand
Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, July 26th, 2026

If anything, he just might “wanna do somethin’ ’bout it.” Fed up with entertaining hordes of rowdy, drunk, well-fed suitors, Telemachus whispers to his mother, Penelope (Anne Hathaway), the queen of Ithaca, that at the very least he “wanna” remind them whose wine they’re drinking.

Telemachus’ father, King Odysseus, aka Ulysses — the Latin name of Odysseus (Matt Damon) — has been away for a decade, fighting — and winning — the Trojan War. Angering the Greek gods, he is cursed to be lost at sea. The people of the kingdom, and those partying in his house, do not know this. By law, Penelope is duty-bound to remarry, ergo the drinking and the suitors.

Antinous (an excellent Robert Pattinson), despicability oozing out of his every motion, tells Telemachus, “You’re pining for a daddy you didn’t even know,” effectively rolling together modern-day language and absentee-father traumas into one powerful gut punch… for the audience. Suffice to say that the visuals of 1200 BCE do not sit well with the 21st-century common era language, or the old school filmmaking.

In writer-producer-director Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey, the talent, the effort and the scale are very much on-screen, as are the usual directorial preferences that make and break the film

For a film that seemingly looks like it was made in old-school ways, one would be a fool to think that writer, producer and director Christopher Nolan is an old-school filmmaker. One could argue that he clings to conventions such as wearing suits to sets like old Hollywood directors did. Or that, like the greats, he hauls impossibly bulky equipment to locations (though the greats didn’t have the luxury of today’s advanced miniaturised technology). Or that he is adamant about sticking to difficult technology, such as shooting on 70mm film (beautifully shot by Hoyte van Hoytema), just so it can be flaunted during publicity that something miraculous and pristine has been done with — and for — the medium of film and cinema.

But Nolan is, without a doubt, a filmmaker of today — celebrated and heralded as a once-in-a-lifetime genius. However, with that declaration come caveats. Things go to your head.

His Odyssey isn’t ground-breaking, and while it’s not at all as bad as people make it out to be, it has the usual Nolan hitches. The mix of Foley sound effects drowns out the dialogue. The very Nolan-esque past-and-present intercuts — he still prefers to make things ‘interesting’ by shoving linearity out the window — is not a good call every time. Shooting everything with beautiful open vistas (even his indoor sets are shot with grand depth and dimension) coupled with the seriousness of the performances — everyone is mighty serious all the time — guts every ounce of emotion one should be feeling for the characters.

Then there’s the casting, which triggered a lot of hullabaloo. At times, that’s not as big of an issue. ‘At times’ meaning: there’s still doubt. Himesh Patel does not fit Eurylochus, the challenger of Odysseus’ plans. Although John Leguizamo performs well as Eumaeus (then again, everyone performs well), this casting choice feels as odd as Lupita Nyong’o’s dual role as Helen of Troy and her sister Clytemnestra.

Still, Nyong’o feels like a better casting choice than Charlize Theron as the nymph Calypso and Zendaya as Athena, the goddess of wisdom, warfare and handicrafts, who protects Odysseus. For the latter, though, Nolan adds some logical groundwork that works in the film’s favour.

Elliot Page as Sinon — borrowed from Virgil’s Aeneid, and not a part of Homer’s poem — fits excellently into the story. Like most characters, Page is a minor entry, as are Samantha Morton, Jon Bernthal and Benny Safdie.

Holland, Hathaway, Pattinson and Leguizamo are very good choices, but the best, in my opinion, is Damon as Odysseus. Now, some might fault him for being vanilla, but I disagree. The character, despite headlining and carrying the weight of the film, is written with a sense of detachment. It is a writing choice that impacts and reflects what one sees on the screen.

The bigger deterrent, in my opinion, is how they speak. The decision to forgo neutral English or British accents — a universal staple that works best for one’s ears — and choose modern-day American intonations and lingo (the ‘wanna’, ‘pining’ and ‘daddy’ lines) creates an unsettling audio-visual disparity.

But then again, leaning into jarring personal preferences is a very Nolan thing to do. That is perhaps why The Odyssey doesn’t look like a Homeric epic. Very deliberately forgotten are its elements — the fantastical and the magical. In fact, the first words we see on the screen when the film opens are: “In the time of apparent magic.” Emphasis on ‘apparent’.

Most of The Odyssey sticks to Homer’s base story that other adapted versions have already delivered. Kirk Douglas starred in and as Ulysses. It was a 1954 Italian, French and US co-production. Another was the 1997 Francis Ford Coppola-produced, Armand Assante-starring The Odyssey — a three-hour-long feature split into two parts for the Hallmark channel. It was fairly popular because Hallmark — and I think HBO (but don’t quote my fading memory on the latter) — used to run it quite frequently.

Two years ago, Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Binoche starred as Odysseus and Penelope in the low-budget, bloody, minimally designed film, The Return. In 1989, director Franco Piavoli made the critically acclaimed, near-silent, picturesque Nostos: The Return (which you can find on YouTube). There was also a 1968 Italian series.

Because film is a creative field, several deviations also exist, such as Odysseus and the Isle of the Mists (2008), starring The Mummy’s Arnold Vosloo and Italian sword-and-sandal ‘fun epics’— I use those words in the kindest way possible — Hercules, Samson and Ulysses (1963) and Ulysses Against the Son of Hercules (1962), that have nothing to do with Homer. There’s also the 2004 Brad Pitt-starrer Troy, in which Sean Bean plays Odysseus — a film, to paraphrase my own review, designed to make sure you flunked history, mythology, literature and philosophy simultaneously.

However, my favourite divergence is Ulysses 31 (1981) — a French-Japanese anime series about Ulysses and his spaceship, The Odyssey, getting lost in unknown galaxies, after invoking Zeus and Poseidon’s wrath for killing the one-eyed machine-monster Cyclops. In the series, Telemachus, Ulysses’ young son, is with him on their journey. It is an epic in the true sense of the word.

Nolan’s preference, however, is to make an ‘anti-epic’ that trades glory and heroism in favour of telling a gruelling study of guilt and PTSD. Odysseus’ journey is framed as a triumphless victory, with heavy, unremitting emphasis on the psychological and moral costs of survival. The paralysing guilt of war, the cycle of vengeance and the illusion of closure that is just out of reach, will likely take a heavy toll on the audience’s patience. This is not a fast movie.

That’s not to say that The Odyssey is a bad, lumbering snooze-fest. The underlying source material has too much going for it. The talent, the effort and the scale are very much on-screen, as are the usual Nolan directorial preferences that make, and simultaneously break, the film.

Released by HKC, The Odyssey is rated PG. Parents are strongly cautioned: your child will grumble and be fidgety through the show. With the loud sound design, there is no chance for them — or for you — to doze off

The writer is Icon’s primary film reviewer

Published in Dawn, ICON, July 26th, 2026

What Remains After a Fire
By Kanza Javed
Ilqa Publications
ISBN: 978-969-640-361-6
222pp.

Kanza Javed is a relatively new name in the firmament of fiction writers, but she has already made her presence felt. Originally from Lahore, she holds an MFA from West Virginia University, is the winner of the Reynolds Price Prize for Fiction, and her debut novel, Ashes, Wine and Dust was shortlisted for the New American Fiction Prize for 2022.

Her short stories have been featured in American Literary Review, The Punch Magazine and Salamander, as well as in In the New Century: An Anthology of Pakistani Literature. The last one was edited by Muneeza Shamsi and published by Oxford University Press, Pakistan.

What Remains After a Fire is a collection of eight of Javed’s stories. The book gives the reader a taste of the author’s prowess. Javed writes with clarity. She knows what she wants to convey and she weaves the tale to project exactly that. Her stories have an agenda, but that does not mean they are dull or sermonise.

The running thread found across the eight offerings in What Remains After a Fire concerns subjects familiar to Pakistani readers. They encompass patriarchy, the low position of women in society and the fact that it is generally accepted, hypocrisy — especially in overtly religious settings — and marital problems. Javed contends that these issues plague every stratum of society. The rich are not exempted.

The stories are not peopled with happy characters. They have angst, discontentment and a yearning for a better or, at least, a different life. Javed deals with such human emotions with a light touch and deep understanding. She makes her characters’ feelings seem relevant and justified.

A collection of eight compelling short stories examines the quiet devastations of women’s lives, family relationships and social prejudice with empathy and remarkable narrative control

Two stories, ‘Rani’ and ‘The Last Days of Bilqees Begum’, have a great affinity. They are both about women who are facing imminent death. They are cared for by women as well, females who are in that position not by choice but by circumstance. Even though the dying women are not fully lucid, an act of betrayal from their past keeps impinging on their memories, because the perpetrator is someone they loved and trusted. When the wound to the psyche is sufficiently dire, it can never be forgotten.

There are many similarities in the tales titled ‘Stray Things Do Not Carry a Soul’ and ‘Ruby’. They are both about families who are abjectly poor. The narrator in each story is an adolescent who is also a helpless victim. ‘Ruby’ addresses the treatment of minorities in Pakistan as well as the stark contrast between the rich and the poor. On the one hand, there is over-abundance and plenty of waste and, on the other, penury and hopelessness. Yet, the women in both situations are equally dissatisfied.

‘Stray Things Do Not Carry a Soul’ depicts a father who cannot control his demons and is thus unable to set a good example for his son. The young lad hero-worships his father but finally spots his feet of clay. The narrative ends with a whisper of hope, unlike ‘Ruby’.

Three stories which are set in the USA target disparate topics. ‘It Will Follow You Home’, one of the shorter offerings in the book, touches upon mental health issues. It points out that if a therapist and patient are from dissimilar cultures, treatment may not be effective. The heroine struggles with loneliness and death and concludes that the challenges confronting her are fundamentally different from those that immigrant men face.

Like the previous story, ‘My Bones Hold a Stillness’ is also set in an American university. The wanton killing of a young Pakistani student brings out the hidden mental traumas of two friends, one a Pakistani and the other an American. The tale shows that no place is safe and that bad things can happen to anyone at any time. The guilt, the grief and the final release from fear are beautifully limned. This story also deals with paedophilia and the cycle of denial it often sets off in Pakistani homes.

Personality is truly destiny in ‘Worry Doll’, the third story set in the USA. Two women are in analogous situations, yet their responses differ. Are their reactions so diverse only because one is more rooted in tradition? And could the other one be happy elsewhere, or is her restlessness a part of her make-up? These are dilemmas that Javed chooses to probe in this tale.

‘Carry it All’, a very short story, portrays the lot of women in Pakistani society as perceived by the author. Happiness is considered an elusive goal for women. Marriages are fraught with misery and women are blamed for things beyond their control — even among the educated. The ending of this story is ambiguous and borders on the supernatural.

Death, suicide and the sad lot of women are recurring tropes. Even obedient and self-sacrificing wives suffer and females who are divorced or childless are especially punished. Men, on the other hand, are characterised as excessively macho, two-faced, unfeeling and even evil. The reader may not agree with all that the author has to say. However, her writing style cannot be faulted.

Javed is at ease with words. Language soars like a symphony in her hands. She uses ordinary vocabulary to extraordinary effect. In one place, a recently widowed woman “…emerged like an Amaltas tree in full bloom.”  Relationships are described as “…paper thin, easily ripped and discarded.”

What Remains After a Fire is easy to read yet impactful. Each story is constructed so that its layers peel away like an onion to get to its heart. The reader gets totally engrossed in the coils of Javed’s imagination. It is Pakistan’s good fortune that another talented young voice has been raised to cement its position on the global literary stage.

We will rely on Kanza Javed to relay our stories to the world. She has done so remarkably well already and her art can only improve in the years to come.

The reviewer is a freelance writer, author of the novel The Tea Trolley and the translator of Toofan Se Pehlay: Safar-i-Europe Ki Diary

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, July 26th, 2026

To Rule all Under Heaven: A History of Classical China from Confucius to the First Emperor By Andrew Seth Meyer
Oxford University Press
ISBN: 978-0-19-766748-4
555 + XXVpp.

Andrew Seth Meyer’s To Rule All Under Heaven: A History of Classical China from Confucius to the First Emperor brilliantly tells the story of the four revolutions that transformed the chaotic aristocratic polity of the Zhou Dynasty (1045 BCE–256 BCE) into the centralised, bureaucratic, dirigiste regime that became synonymous with how we think about China.

These revolutions were political, intellectual, social and administrative, and operated concurrently during the long decline and fall of the Zhou Dynasty, which reached its climax during the Warring States period (475 BCE–221 BCE). Amidst these upheavals, a civilisation was reforged.

The political revolution is the easiest to grasp. At the founding of the Zhou Dynasty, the ruling house appointed its relatives to rule different regions. This imperial nepotism was grounded in the belief that regional overlords, being related to the ruling house, would create a natural concordance. Instead, the opposite happened, as the ruling family lost most of its authority and became a figurehead, used by powerful satraps in their machinations.

It was clear to many of the ducal houses within the Zhou confederation that they, not the king, called the shots. As the tenuous bonds of ritual, devotion and familial loyalty came under increasing pressure and regional lords jockeyed for position, a centuries-long conflict was ignited that would ultimately end with the state of Qin conquering everyone else and creating a unified state.

The real transformation of China began more than two millennia ago. Now a remarkable, deeply researched work of extraordinary insight brings this early history to life and offers powerful lessons that the world today ought to heed

The intellectual revolution was, arguably, more important than the political. The Zhou domain could have permanently fragmented into petty states and remained mired in withering anarchy and warlordism. That this didn’t happen, Meyer explains, was because of the role of ideas and the way in which different great humanistic thinkers — such as Confucius (551 BCE–479 BCE), Mo Di (470 BCE–391 BCE), Hui Shi (380 BCE–310 BCE), Mencius (372 BCE–289 BCE) and hundreds of lesser-known figures — reimagined how the state and society ought to reconstitute themselves.

In this transformation, three key practices emerged that shaped intellectual and cultural life. A substantial proportion of the aristocratic class and wealthy commoners embraced the new learning, which often emphasised loyalty to the state and legitimacy gained through competence.

This brings us to the social revolution that unfolded during this time. As competition between regional states became more prolonged and attritional, aristocratic norms of warfare were abandoned in favour of armies recruited on a massive scale from the peasantry. Richly adorned aristocrats, with their displays of individual brilliance, gave way to a peasant-soldier class, officered and provisioned along professional lines.

The violence and dislocation wrought by endless warfare led to many elite clans falling into relative poverty and becoming warriors for hire (knights) willing to serve anyone who would employ them. States steadily seized the lands and ancestral holdings of lesser aristocrats to make room for more farms and peasants to produce more soldiers and larger retinues for their ruling families. Many scions of decaying aristocratic clans turned towards seeking prestige through learning and becoming serious disciples of notable thinkers.

The birth of an intelligentsia organised into competitive schools of thought, where rigorous scholarship was prized, set the stage for the fourth, and arguably the greatest, revolution. This was the birth of meritocracy and the emergence of good bureaucracy as a civilisational ideal.

As military and political competition intensified, intellectual ferment pervaded the realm and social upheaval rewrote the rules of engagement amongst classes. Several leaders hit upon the same idea within a few decades of each other. This idea was that government should be entrusted to those most capable and that merit was a function of academic learning and scholarship, not birth or wealth.

These officials, or civil servants, would be more loyal to the ruler than entitled aristocrats or even the ruler’s own relatives and, being highly educated, would be able to solve problems of governance.

Meyer takes us through how this process played out in different Warring States, but the remarkable conclusion that many of them embraced was that the quality of the state was primarily the function of the quality of its bureaucracy. A good bureaucracy was the foundation of a great state. A wise ruler was one who exercised general superintendence and cultivated a good bureaucracy that could govern the state efficiently and justly, with minimal intrusion by courtiers and the dynasty.

Meyer shows that, during this struggle, many states had embraced the meritocratic revolution and reformed themselves. Consequently, when the Qin Dynasty unified the realm, their systematisation of language, administration, measurements and laws was built upon a rich heritage of reform. And, while the Qin Dynasty proved short-lived, being overthrown by the Han Dynasty (202 BCE – 220 CE), the changes made gave the Chinese civilisation its defining characteristics.

Meyer’s work is extraordinarily rich in its narrative detail and serves as an effective introduction to a host of Chinese thinkers and leaders who aren’t familiar to non-specialists. This is a great service because it helps excavate the diversity of perspectives that went into China’s transformation.

To Rule All Under Heaven also offers powerful lessons that the world today ought to heed. One of these is that learning and expertise matter and that a wise ruler is one who seeks out those who are knowledgeable. Meyer uses Confucius’ life as an example of this. Confucius wandered from one place to another with his small group of disciples, offering to educate courtiers and rulers in his philosophy of humaneness, reason, compassion and respect for learning. Everywhere he went, he was laughed out of the room.

On one occasion, Confucius became seriously ill, fell unconscious and had to be carried in a litter by his disciples. One of his disciples, Zilu (540 BCE–480 BCE), organised the others into a retinue, and they collectively pretended to be carrying a great aristocrat. When Confucius recovered and regained consciousness, he remarked, “It has been a while that Zilu has been shamming, has it not? In acting as if I have retainers when I have none, whom have we fooled?”

But Confucius had set out to change how people think about the world and, today, an entire civilisation bears his stamp. In the short run, power trumps wisdom. In the long run, wisdom trumps power. A wise ruling class understands this and cultivates learning; a foolish one does not.

Another lesson is that societies that can draw upon a heritage characterised by idealisation of public service, respect for learning and meritocracy are more likely to build successful states. The divergent trajectories of modern India and China are a case in point. China has deep traditions of meritocracy and strong state-centric public service ethos and thus, while being autocratic, has far more responsive governance than India.

In India, meritocracy is a colonial intervention and Indian social norms and expectations seek to subvert merit at nearly every turn. Consequently, the democratically elected leaders of India do less good for their own people than China’s one-party state does for its people. To build a good democracy or a good autocracy, you need administrative meritocracy and a public service ethos. Otherwise, you just end up with bad government.

Meyer’s To Rule All Under Heaven is a remarkable work that brings the centuries before China’s unification to life. It is deeply researched and written with extraordinary insight and a profound empathy for its subject. It is also accessible to a general readership, while the maps, timeline and notes offer solid additional guidance to anyone looking to understand the mainspring of Chinese civilisation.

The reviewer is Professor of History at Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad and, most recently, the author of New World Empires: Cultures of Power and Governance in the Americas. X: @IlhanNiaz

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, July 26th, 2026

Akram Khatoon: Guhar Honay Tak
By Humaira Athar
RB Publishers
127pp.

May God make you the president.”

This is how Akram Khatoon’s father used to bless her. And whenever she told him that it was not to be, he would say, “Nothing is impossible before God Almighty.” Then, one day, Akram Khatoon really became president. In fact, not only did she become the president of First Women Bank Limited, she was also the first woman in Pakistan to hold this position in the banking sector.

Akram Khatoon: Guhar Honay Tak [Until It Becomes A Pearl], penned by Humaira Athar, is the biography of this pioneering woman and also includes her memoirs. It traces her remarkable journey from modest roots to becoming a banker and the founding president of First Women Bank.

Being the eldest of three sisters and not having a brother, Akram Khatoon wanted, from a young age, to be like a son to her parents, to support them. Her parents may not have been highly educated, but they were aware of the importance of education, which they emphasised to their daughters.

After completing her master’s degree, Akram Khatoon began working as a lecturer at a college in Sukkur but, in a few months, lured by the pay and perks, she decided to take up banking. She joined the profession as a trainee officer for the State Bank of Pakistan’s officer training scheme. She was the only woman among the 50 successful candidates out of a total of 1,600 who had applied.

After a year’s training, she was posted to then-state-owned Muslim Commercial Bank, and there was no looking back after that. At the beginning of her career, she was discouraged by others and people told her to her face that she should not have joined the field as it was a man’s domain, but she remained steadfast.

From modest beginnings to the presidency of First Women Bank, Akram Khatoon’s inspiring journey is the subject of a new Urdu biography

The world knows Akram Khatoon as the first president of First Women Bank, but the fact is that she is also the pioneer of women’s banking in Pakistan. When, a year or so into her career, her bank’s deputy president asked her if she would be able to handle it if the bank decided to open a women’s branch, she very confidently replied, “Why not?”. And so, when a year later the ladies’ branch was opened, she was appointed its manager, becoming the first female manager in the country.

She has had the privilege of initiating women’s banking on a global scale by heading the Muslim Commercial Bank’s first all-women branch in the earlier days of her career. She served Muslim Commercial Bank in various senior management positions for 28 years and, in 1989, when the Benazir Bhutto government established the First Women Bank, she was selected as its president. It is worth noting that the concept of women’s banking was introduced to the world by Pakistan. Before that, a couple of units had been functioning in the USA, but they had closed down.

As for the need for a women’s bank, Akram Khatoon says that women were facing problems getting loans from regular banks. Educated women wanted to do business, but it didn’t seem possible because of this constraint. In Pakistan, women often have to work harder to be recognised. Since it was her responsibility to set the bank’s credit policy, she ensured that women from lower classes could also benefit from it.

She further says that, when the bank was founded, she was told not to worry about profits — she just had to provide loans to poor women. However, she was of the opinion that when the government changed, the new one could question the purpose of a bank that was going into a loss and may close it down. So, she organised it on the model of commercial banks, not just as a development bank, and they gave loans on easy terms and showed profits from the first year.

That she had the interests of poor women at heart is evident from her suggestion to the prime minister to also arrange yellow cabs for those women, who may not know how to drive but whose jobless husbands and sons did. That way they could earn a decent living for their household. Earlier, the scheme carried the condition that applicants should drive the cabs themselves, but her suggestion was accepted.

She also mentions an incident in which a branch worker had taken out a loan, and her husband, who was affiliated with the Pakistan Peoples Party, got an order signed by Benazir Bhutto to write off her loan. Akram Khatoon refused to accept it, saying that she could not let her bank suffer a loss. People warned her that she could face the consequences for her refusal, but she was resolute. She had her bank’s interest at heart and her integrity did not allow her to go against the rules.

Apart from her professional life, the book also provides a peek into Akram Khatoon’s personal life. It is interesting to read about her family background, her wanting to be the son her parents never had and how she took care of her parents, especially her mother, after her father’s passing. She talks of how she wanted to be back in Karachi when she was asked to wait in Islamabad for her appointment letter — her worry for her mother being alone at night was greater than her happiness at being selected as the first president of the First Women Bank.

She advises the younger generation to work hard and with honesty, no matter what profession they choose for themselves. Hard work always pays off, she asserts. She also tells them to expand their knowledge and experience, as it will benefit not just the organisation they work for but also them.

Akram Khatoon served First Women Bank until 2001. Though she was to retire much earlier, she was given an extension despite her wish to leave. She believes that one of the major reasons for so much unemployment in our country is older people sticking to their positions and not giving a chance to the younger ones.

In addition to being the president of First Women Bank, she has held many honorary positions, such as being a council member for the Institute of Bankers in Pakistan, a member of the board of governors for the National Institute of Public Administration, Karachi, a member of the executive committee of Pakistan Banks Association, as well as office bearer and trustee of various NGOs and trusts. Akram Khatoon is also the recipient of many awards and honours, including Wonder Woman Pakistan 2017, the Benazir Bhutto Excellence Award, the Banking Excellence Award and more than 80 other awards in recognition of her extraordinary services in the field of banking.

The author Humaira Athar, a senior journalist and columnist, has also penned two other books and is the recipient of several awards, including an All Pakistan Newspapers Society (APNS) Award. She deserves all the credit for convincing Akram Khatoon to document her memoirs.

Earlier, many friends used to ask Akram Khatoon to pen her memoirs, to which her usual reply would be “What’s the point… who reads books?” Finally, one day, when Humaira asked her again, she relented and told her that she couldn’t do it herself but, if Humaira wanted, she could write it. Humaira then took on the task and arranged meetings with her to look into her life.

The book is written with a reader-friendly and simple narrative, with Akram Khatoon telling her story to Humaira and, through her, to readers. It brings out not just her achievements and the problems that society threw her way, but her personality and the strength of her character, along with her resolve to do what she set her mind to do.

Her life and work are an example for others to follow.

The reviewer is a freelance journalist

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, July 26th, 2026

In our ancient region of Sapt Sindhu (the land of seven rivers), later extended to the northern and eastern parts of today’s India, the festival of lights has always been a major celebration.

For many of the followers of Hinduism and those with Vedic roots, it marks the return of Lord Ram and his companions to Ayodhya after defeating Ravan. Some other reasons relating to other deities are also cited. For followers of other related faiths, the reasons or emphases may have differed over the years but the Deepavali, commonly referred to as Diwali, is marked each year with much pomp and festivity.

In Sanskrit, Deepavali means ‘the row of lights’, when earthen lamps are lit in an array symbolising the triumph of light over darkness. I remember one of the Diwali nights in Tharparkar many years ago, when a friend took me to the large sandy hill overlooking the city of Mithi. The lights emanating from the lamps in Mithi made it look as if it was a reflection of the starry night. In quiet deserts like Tharparkar, one can see constellations and stars glowing in a clear sky, as if the universe is closer. It felt like we had a shining sky above and a shining sky below in Mithi.

A few days ago, I had the same feeling of being encircled by earthen lamps radiating poetic light, while sitting and reading a new compendium of seven poets on a rather dark and damp night in Lahore. Spread over 295 pages and titled As One Lamp Lights Another — A Collection of Pakistani Poems in English, it is essentially a volume of original poems but some English translations of Urdu, Sindhi (via Urdu), Persian and Punjabi poetry by one of the contributors, besides other major poets, are also included. It is compiled and edited by the well-known lawyer, poet and litterateur Basharat Qadir. The collection is published by Emel Publications, Islamabad.

In quiet deserts like Tharparkar, one can see constellations and stars glowing in a clear sky, as if the universe is closer. It felt like we had a shining sky above and a shining sky below in Mithi. A few days ago, I had the same feeling of being encircled by earthen lamps radiating poetic light while sitting and reading a new compendium of seven poets…

The poets in the collection include Mekyl Ali Qadir, Ghazal Qadir, Raabia Qadir Zia, Junaiyd Qadir, Khurram Qadir, Asghar Qadir and Basharat Qadir, the editor himself. These seven are the grand, great grand and great-great grandchildren of Lady Abdul Qadir (Anwar Begum), one of the earliest proponents of female education in Punjab, and Sir Sheikh Abdul Qadir (1874-1950), the founding editor of the pioneering Urdu literary journal Makhzan from Lahore.

Sheikh Abdul Qadir also held other notable positions and served as a leader of the Muslim community, particularly through the Anjuman-i-Himayat-i-Islam, before Independence. The generations coming after have not only continued the family’s penchant for literature, poetry, academic excellence and scholarship in various disciplines over generations, but produced enjoyable and meaningful works of poetry.

Reading the two young women (Ghazal and Raabia) in the collection, along with the five men of multiple age groups, brings forth how they have, in their own ways, embraced a compassionate and a plural discourse when it comes to dealing with the intellectual and social concerns of our times. On the one hand, there is the angst that comes from within, due to the material and spiritual desires that delude us. On the other hand, there is this global human condition that envelops the poet’s being without her/him knowing.

The youngest contributor Mekyl Qadir’s poem ‘The Tragedy of Notre Dame’ is haunting, in which the poet not only meets the devil but also holds a brief conversation with the devil’s son. Ghazal Qadir has fewer entries but the directness in her work is driven by her rejection of social oppression and the hostilities she witnesses. Raabia Qadir’s ‘The Wind Trapped in a Cage’ has seven stanzas but I quote three lines: “I am a flame — on your palm;/ I am the wind — within a cage;/ I am a cloud — upon a page…”

To me, Junaiyd Qadir is a powerful poet who uses despair and sorrow to oil his lamp of hope. From Palestine to personal loss, the meaninglessness of humdrum existence and the ruthlessness demonstrated by the powers that be, he captures varied themes and emotions. “…Embrace the Darkness all around you,/ Embrace the Silence and the Storm.” Khurram Qadir has a few poems in the collection which celebrate the inner self and asserts its importance in the universe. He charts a somewhat different course from the other contributors, who recognise strife and torment but do not take it in stride as he does. His poems reminded me of themes in Bulleh Shah’s work.

Asghar Qadir is the most erudite among all the poets here. Erudition without aesthetics does not make poetry. Asghar has the ability to knead the two together in his creative responses to life, love and separation. He has also rendered accessible and meaningful translations of works from Urdu into English.

The last poet and translator in the collection is the editor Basharat Qadir himself. His translations have a wide range. Beginning from Mir, Ghalib, Urfi, Bulleh Shah, Mian Muhammad Bakhsh and Allama Iqbal, one finds many major and important poets coming after them. Basharat Qadir is a natural poet, whose work is laced with intertextual strength. He writes provocative poems of any length with equal facility. Basharat writes: “… And oh for that ecstatic bliss/ Of long and laboured breath:/ Though death itself is sweet, yet this/ Is far sweeter than death.”

The columnist is a poet and essayist. His latest collections of verse are Hairaa’n Sar-i-Bazaar and No Fortunes to Tell

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, July 26th, 2026

Some animals slip away without much notice. Others leave a hole so wide it starts to feel like a page torn from the country’s story.

The rhinoceros belongs to the second group. Standing in Pakistan today, it is hard to picture a rhino shouldering through reed forests along the Indus, feeding near Mohenjo Daro or fleeing before a Mughal emperor on the Peshawar frontier. And yet the old records keep insisting: it was here.

The painting of Zaheeruddin Muhammad Babur hunting a rhinoceros is usually read as royal theatre, but it opens on to a landscape we have forgotten. History remembers him as the founder of the Mughal Empire — a warrior-poet out of Fergana, a man of gardens, grief and appetite — and less often as one of the finest observers of the country in early modern South Asia. In his memoirs Baburnama, he catalogues rivers, passes, fruits, birds and animals with a naturalist’s attention, and his rhinoceros is no traveller’s rumour. He met it, in territory that is now Pakistan.

In February 1519, Babur crossed into the ground between the Indus and the Punjab plains and recorded a hunt on the “Sawati” side, at a place the locals called Karg-khana, the house of the rhinoceros.

Seals, manuscripts, one Mughal miniature and a handful of travellers’ notes are all that remain of a species that once ranged the Indus…

The cover was thick. A female came out with her calf, arrows flew and the calf was killed. A hard passage to sit with now, but a valuable one: the rhino had a range, a local name and a presence large enough for a place to be named after it.

Days later he turned to the Salt Range, the old Koh-i-Jud, moving through Bhera, Khushab, Chiniot and the River Jhelum to Kallar Kahar, with its lake and spring. This green country, perhaps the Soon (also rendered Soan) Valley in Khushab, is where historians have long placed the famous miniature painting. Wherever the painter stood, the rhino belonged to the memory of the northwest’s rivers and grasslands.

Babur met the rhinoceros again near Peshawar in December 1526, when the animal was flushed from a thicket. Babur’s son and successor Humayun and the younger men, who had never seen one, were delighted and the chase ran for miles before the animal fell. At one point, Babur wonders how a rhino and an elephant might fare against each other — the idle curiosity of an empire still learning to read its new ground.

IBN BATTUTA ON THE INDUS

Babur was not the first to write about the animal. Almost two centuries earlier, the famous traveller Ibn Battuta had seen it beside the Indus. Born in Tangier in 1304, Battuta left home young for the Hajj and travelled for nearly 30 years, from North Africa to China, and his Rihla remains one of the great travel books of the mediaeval world.

When Ibn Battuta reached Sindh in 1333, the Indus was nothing like the harnessed river of today. It was restless and many-branched, forever making and unmaking wetlands, reed forests and grazing land.

Near Janani, placed by local tradition in the old Larkana-Warah-Badah country within reach of Mohenjo Daro, he came upon a rhinoceros on the riverbank. Ibn Battuta’s sketch is sharp: black and heavy-bodied, with an outsized head — smaller than an elephant, yet more frightening when it charged. He passes along the old saying that the beast was “head and no torso.”

A party pushed into a reed forest after fording the river; a rhino appeared without warning, goring a horseman’s mount, throwing the rider and vanishing into the cover, wrote Ibn Battuta. Later, he watched another grazing and, elsewhere, while riding with the Sultan of Delhi, he saw rhinos driven from a reed jungle and killed. The killing mattered less than the setting: reeds, thickets, wet ground — an Indus lush enough to carry one of Asia’s largest land animals.

THE EVIDENCE IN STONE

Here, the old seals of the Indus Valley begin to talk. Mohenjo Daro and Harappa left us the famous “unicorn”, along with zebu bulls, elephants, buffaloes, tigers and rhinoceroses. On some, the rhino stands complete with its armoured folds and single horn. The carving is no flight of fancy; it is a memory pressed into steatite, evidence that the Bronze-Age Indus held tall grass, floodplains, marsh and forest.

When the seals are set in a row, a timeline emerges: the rhino was not only present in the imagination but, probably, also the surroundings of the Bronze-Age Indus. It was there in the reed forests of Sindh in the 14th century, and was still clinging on in the 16th century around Peshawar, Swabi and the approaches to the Khyber, as later travellers would confirm.

THE LAST SIGHTING

The last clear sighting on paper comes from Seydi Ali Reis, an Ottoman admiral born around 1498 who served Suleiman the Magnificent. Swept into the sea war with the Portuguese, his fleet was driven on to the Subcontinent’s western coast, and he came home overland through Gujarat, Sindh, Delhi, Lahore and Peshawar.

In 1556, having crossed the Khyber Pass, Reis reported two rhinoceroses. While the Khyber of today is known for bare stone and dust, and as a corridor for armies, Reis’ note points to something greener: riverine patches and scrub and wooded pockets able to feed animals that now survive only far to the east, in India and Nepal.

These three make a thin archive: no numbers, no census, no date for the final animal, only something heavier — the rhino held on in these lands until at least the middle of the 16th century and, after Reis, disappeared from the written world.

An animal does not die the day the last traveller stops writing about it, and a few may have lingered unseen in far reed beds for generations. But by the close of the century, the rhino was plainly in its last shadows, worn down by hunting, the plough, the draining of wetlands, the shifting river, growing towns, and the endless movement of men and horses.

The loss runs deeper than the animal. What went with it was the sort of country that could hold one: grasslands and wallows, mud and reeds, seasonal floods, a measure of safety. The rhino’s exit is the receipt for a whole landscape taken apart.

A GHOST IN THE REEDS

The greater one-horned rhinoceros is thriving again in parts of India and Nepal. In Pakistan, it is a ghost — surviving in seals, manuscripts, place-names, one painting and a handful of traveller’s notes.

Even that should change how we see the Indus, which was never only a canal grid or a barrage on a map. It was a living corridor, once wide enough for elephants, buffaloes, tigers, swamp deer and rhinoceroses.

Recovering that memory is a form of literacy: a country that forgets its lost animals loses the measure of its own damage. The old miniature, then, is more than a Mughal-era artwork. Behind the emperor and the wounded beast stands another Pakistan — wetter, wilder, deeper in grass.

The rhino is gone, but the gap it left still has weight, standing in the reeds like a dark, armoured question: if a creature that size could vanish from the land and nearly from memory, what else are we mislaying now without noticing?

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, July 26th, 2026

Watched on by Fifa president Gianni Infantino, who was present at his scarcely believable 47th match of the tournament, and the inaugural winner of the Fifa Peace Prize, Donald Trump, Spain and Argentina faced off amidst a storyline written in Hollywood itself. The greatest to ever kick a ball, Lionel Messi, still going strong at 39, against the kid he baptised in a Unicef calendar shoot 20 years ago, Lamine Yamal.

The proceedings commenced fairly ordinarily, a closing ceremony followed by the trophy paraded around the pitch. But while normally you would have the teams come out next, the 2026 World Cup went down a new path. And why wouldn’t it? It was only fitting that the World Cup riddled with controversies ended with one too.

For some reason, the organisers thought it would be a good idea to have the US national anthem sung before a match the US was not playing in. And somehow the organisers also thought it would be completely fine to omit the national anthems of the other two host nations, Canada and Mexico. American obnoxiousness at its peak.

The Fifa World Cup final, expected to be a chaotic, thrilling contest between a spirited Argentina and technically matchless Spain turned out to be a dour game with no fluency

Anyway, the teams march out. Spain’s national anthem is played out by a band; Argentina’s by a mix of a singer and their raucous fan base. And finally, seven minutes past the official kick-off time, the biggest game in the world of sports gets underway. Late kick-offs were another highly contentious point of discourse, especially during the first week of the tournament.

Immediately, there’s a new record: Messi becomes the first person to start in three World Cup finals. Coincidentally, he’s captained Argentina in all three. He also becomes the oldest ever outfield player in a World Cup final. And what a tournament the 39-year-old had had, scoring eight while breaking Miroslav Klose’s all-time record of most goals and assisting another four, to move miles ahead in the all-time playmakers’ list.

Partnered upfront by Julian Alvarez, who had scored the definitive best goal in the quarter-finals, and driven by the strongest of characters that had helped him wriggle Argentina out of the most precarious of situations, you would think the stage was set for an exciting, chaotic match.

Wrong! In a World Cup that had seen 307 goals over 103 matches at an average of almost three goals per game — the highest since 1958 — the team with the most goals up till the semi-finals decided to just sit back.

They were strong defensively: holding their shape, nullifying the threat carried by Spain’s extremely fluid possession-based attacks, the impregnable Emiliano Martinez snuffing out anything that managed to breach their defence, and deploying the dark arts when required.

Hydration break — let me have a quick drink.

The dark arts. One of the most talked about topics in Argentina’s run to the final. A conspiracy theory did rounds throughout the tournament that the Albiceleste were favoured by the officials. Late challenges by Argentina seemed to go unpunished, having committed the highest number of fouls but having received one of the lowest number of bookings.

Then came Egypt’s disallowed goal in the Round of 16, one of the most divisive decisions in football history. The deeper the tournament ran, Argentina’s approach turned more cynical — little fouls as attempts to slow down the pace, led by spoilers-in-chief Enzo Fernandez and Leandro Paredes.

Spain, on the other hand, were technically and tactically peerless. Their dismantling of France in the semi-finals, unlocked by the irrepressible Rodri finding his pre-ACL brilliance, was a sight to behold.

Their full backs, Marc Cucurella and Pedro Porro, were the standout pairing of the tournament. Their defence and goalkeeper Unai Simon had already set the record for the longest time at a World Cup without conceding — 650 minutes — and had only conceded once all tournament to Belgium’s Charles de Ketelaere.

Mikel Oyarzabal had stood up when Lamine Yamal hadn’t been at his sparkling best, tying David Villa for the most goals at a World Cup edition by a Spaniard, with five. Dani Olmo and Fabian Ruiz had been everywhere on the field, switching positions and bamboozling entire systems. And when they struggled, they could rely on the super-sub Mikel Merino to bail them out of it.

And in the final, the combination of the two led to a contest which could be called uneventful at best, especially after the fireworks of the 2022 final. The game had no fluency, partly due to the slow pitch and majorly due to Argentina trying to kill the spectacle.

The result was a dour game littered with interruptions, including the razzmatazz of the first-ever half-time show in a World Cup, featuring Shakira and BTS. The Americanisation of football completed.

All the one-way traffic led to two things: Argentina becoming the second-ever team not to register a single shot over 90 minutes in World Cup history and Spain forcing 11 saves out of Martinez, the most in a World Cup final.

Spain showed the utmost calm, racking up more than double the passes attempted by Argentina, as they recycled possession in the face of continuous roadblocks. Argentina weren’t helped by the fact they had to replace both their first-choice centre-backs, but the turning point came late in regulation time — Fernandez collecting two quick needless yellow cards, exhibiting brattishness, the first for dissent and the second for a challenge so spectacularly late and brutal it sent Pau Cubarsi somersaulting.

Argentina down to 10 men, but still somehow forced the match to extra time.

Spain, on their part, had been quite wasteful in their finishing. Multiple chances went begging, including a glorious headed opportunity for Merino. When they did score through Nico Williams, the goal was ruled out for a foul in the build-up.

But Spain kept coming, and they knew they only needed to find one moment of magic, which duly arrived when Ferran Torres controlled a Williams cutback header and smashed it in from close range, emulating Andres Iniesta in their 2010 victory by scoring the winner in the second half of extra time.

Argentina finally mustered a shot in the 117th minute, but Spain were comfortable. Control prevailed over chaos, Spain winning the World Cup for the second time after a thoroughly dominant display in which they outshot their opponents 20 to 2.

The full-time whistle brought about some ugly scenes, wherein Paredes squared up to Gavi and Pedri and was duly sent off for his machoism. Nahuel Molina attempted to throw a punch at Rodri, all while the great man stood alone with tears flowing down his cheeks.

Messi had been the nucleus of this Argentina side. His final appearance in the World Cup — surely, he won’t be playing at 43 — he merited a better send-off than the belligerence his teammates brought at the end.

Cubarsi was named the Best Young Player and Simon won the Golden Glove, both contributing to Spain’s seven clean sheets in the tournament. Their captain Rodri picked up the Golden Ball for being the tournament’s outstanding player ahead of Messi, while France’s Kylian Mbappe won the Golden Boot for being the highest goal scorer.

Trump awarded the trophy, then proceeded to remain on the stage during Spain’s celebrations despite the best efforts of Infantino to bring him off.

The writer is a sports enthusiast with a background in supply chain management. X: @tahagoheer

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 26th, 2026

In Swat, 15-year-old Hania has spent the last 10 months learning about nutrition, balanced diets and almost everything she needs to know about anaemia.

She can tell you which foods inhibit iron absorption — tea, coffee and milk. She knows that Vitamin C helps. She has made fruit plates in class, designed posters and role-played conversations with imaginary mothers, fathers and brothers. She takes her weekly iron-folic acid (WIFA) tablet every Tuesday in school, in front of her teacher, with a cup of water ready for her.

What happens on Wednesday is another story.

At home, her father says he hasn’t given permission. Her brothers have heard a rumour on social media that the supplements are a conspiracy. Her grandmother warns that having them could affect her fertility.

But there is so much more Hania has learnt from her teacher about seasonal fruits that are locally available and rich in iron. Faced with opposition, Hania chooses silence. The problem is not Hania’s knowledge. It is that nutrition programmes assume she has the power to act on it.

A pilot nutrition programme in schools found that adolescent girls quickly learned about healthy diets and iron supplements. What it also revealed was that family and household routines — not classrooms — often determine whether those lessons sustain

THE PROBLEMS OF NUTRITIONAL DEFICIENCY

Adolescent nutrition interventions in Pakistan are designed as if the girl is a change agent. She isn’t. The household, not the school, is the actual unit of behaviour change. Until programmes are redesigned around that reality, results will keep evaporating at the front door.

The scale of what’s at stake is not in dispute.

According to the 2019 Global Nutrition Report, 41 percent of women of reproductive age in Pakistan suffer from anaemia — among the highest rates in the world for the 14-18 age group. The 2025 State of Food Security and Nutrition in the World report puts the affordability problem in starker terms: more than 60 percent of Pakistanis — that is over 150 million people — cannot afford a healthy diet.

The consequences accumulate quietly: stunted growth, poor academic performance, elevated risks during pregnancy and a maternal mortality rate of 186 deaths per 100,000 live births. For adolescent girls in public schools, the condition is both pervasive and largely invisible.

FROM CLASSROOM TO HOUSEHOLD

A social protection programme for adolescent girls’ nutrition, called SOPRAN, piloted interventions across seven districts — Islamabad, Faisalabad, Swat, Skardu, Quetta, Kotli and Shaheed Benazirabad — involving over 100,000 girls. It was led by the Benazir Income Support Programme (BISP) and implemented by GIZ Pakistan, Ottawa-headquartered Nutrition International and the World Food Programme among others.

According to the programme’s findings, anaemia awareness among adolescent girls rose 48 percentage points over the 10 months of its implementation. Awareness of WIFA supplements increased from 12 percent to 81 percent. There was a 27 percent drop in cases of anaemia symptoms among girls. The findings showed that three-quarters of girls in the targeted area were now meeting the minimum dietary diversity threshold, consuming at least five of the nine food groups.

But the data also reveals something uncomfortable: when the school gate closes, the programme’s influence shrinks to whatever an adolescent girl can negotiate against household economics, gendered authority, social rumours and deeply ingrained food routines.

An adolescent girl in a public school in Pakistan is not an individual recipient of an intervention, but is embedded in overlapping circles of influence. Typically, a father decides what can be bought and the mother decides what is cooked. Grandparents encourage what they recognise and reject what they don’t. Teachers — when they’re well-trained — notice hesitation and help reassure girls in the face of unfamiliar information.

According to the data, teachers were the linchpin, bridging the initial trust gap through reassurance and instructional consistency. Structured protocols ensured nutrition education sessions were delivered regularly and WIFA supplements were distributed on schedule. Make-up doses were tracked. Girls also reinforced each other’s progress through peer observation. Over 90 percent of girls could recall key nutrition messages. Around 86 percent shared what they had learned with their mothers.

CARRYING IT HOME ALONE

But the household was largely left to the girls themselves. And they tried.

Anum from Quetta watched a classmate transform from being visibly pale to visibly stronger. She used that observation as evidence when seeking her own father’s permission. Tahira in Skardu persuaded peers through her own account of improved energy. Maliha in Swat quietly began influencing what was cooked at home, one conversation at a time.

These acts are significant, but also fragile. Girls attempted change through suggestion, through patience, through incremental advocacy in kitchens and at dinner tables. Whether those efforts translated into lasting practice remains, by the program’s own admission, uncertain.

What is not uncertain is where the resistance is concentrated. Fathers were the least engaged decision-makers, yet often held the final say over WIFA supplementation. Only 44 percent of girls shared nutrition learnings with their fathers.

In Quetta and Skardu, more than half of fathers and mothers did not actively support and encourage their daughters’ supplementation. Misinformation about fertility, side-effects and the suspiciousness of anything free remained very much present at the dinner table.

THE LIMITS OF INFORMATION

Adolescent girls’ nutrition practices are shaped by constraints that sit outside their control.

Household income determines what can be purchased. Food choices follow habit, taste, affordability and convenience. Some girls skip meals when they wake up late, when household routines make breakfast difficult or when money for their favourite canteen snack is not available.

Others know exactly what healthier options exist and have no power to put them on the table. Knowledge, while necessary, is nowhere near sufficient.

Schools remain the most scalable platform for reaching adolescent girls in Pakistan, and SOPRAN’s results within that platform are a genuine proof of concept. But scaling up cannot mean simply running the same school programme in more districts. It means redesigning the programme with the household as the unit of change. This starts with structured, gendered engagement with household decision-makers, particularly fathers and male family members, before launching the programme and not as an afterthought.

It also requires upstream misinformation management: myth-busting content integrated into community-level outreach, grievance mechanisms that allow families to raise concerns and receive credible responses and the activation of trusted local authorities, including doctors and religious leaders.

On the programme design itself, the evaluation points towards institutionalising recurring nutrition modules, strengthening teacher advocacy skills and producing peer testimonial materials that families can see and trust.

The girls themselves are not the limiting factor.

Kiran in Faisalabad imagines herself moving through her community door-to-door, talking to families about nutrition. Bakhtawar in Quetta frames it as an obligation. “It is the duty of a person to inform other people,” she says. She believes in persuasion through personal action. The intention is there, and the confidence too, in many cases.

What is missing is the infrastructure behind them. If girls are expected to carry change into their households, then credibility, protection and an enabling environment must travel with them. Until the household is treated as the intervention, girls like Hania will keep knowing what they must, but without the authority to act on it.

The writers are part of the Analytics team at the Centre for Economic Research in Pakistan (CERP), which conducted the evaluation of the SOPRAN pilot project

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 26th, 2026

“F*** Fascists,” it said, loud and proud. The one thing that can be said without disguise, though, is this: what the right-wing is most scared of, and rightfully so, is the left. In India, after the left lost power in Kerala, we have no ostensible left party in power. But when power is usurped by a state that is ready to ignore anything but the person at the helm, when the police is an instrument of repression and courts incarcerate protestors with no bail in sight for years on end, then the only place for such a regime to fear is that of the ideologically committed.

Therefore, on the streets of Jantar Mantar, what I saw, beyond [innovator and activist] Sonam Wangchuk and [Cockroach Janta Party founder] Abhijeet Dipke, was the steely and effective presence of the ideological left.

The only reason a student could brandish a ‘F*** Fascists’ banner is because those from the Students’ Federation of India, the All India Students’ Federation and the All India Students’ Association were on hunger strike for over 20 days. Their tents in a quiet corner were fronted by banners of Bhagat Singh and Che Guevara, and pamphlets and circulars on the New Education Policy, on revolutionary ideals and on ideas that have stood the test of time.

What started as a students’ protest over mis-administration of medical college entrance tests and the education system has morphed into one of the biggest challenges facing Indian premier Narendra Modi’s government. One journalist who visited Jantar Mantar, the site of the nearly month-long protest in Delhi, narrates what she saw on June 19, a day before protesters were brutally baton-charged by the police…

Their corner was visited by celebrities from the progressive movements — [actor and director] Prakash Raj and [actor] Shabana Azmi, committed left leaders like Brinda Karat and Nivedita Menon, the committed writer Arundhati Roy and Ambedkarite leader Chandra Shekhar Azad.

The police and paramilitary did their draconian duty — beating some students till their heads spilled with blood. They tried everything — put up barricades eight feet high and welded them together. The crowds managed to break them down. The police beat people up.

A man with a fountain of blood gushing from his head was filmed talking back to the police: “Hum tau shaheed hain, har yug mein janam lain ge [We are martyrs, we will be born in every generation].”

“Har yug mein janam lain ge, tumhari auqaat bata dein ge [We will be born in every era, we will put you in your place].”

“Aap samajhtay ho aap ne maar diya, hum har yug me janam lain ge, ghulam nahin, maalik hain, aur har janam me aap ko aap ki auqaat bata dein ge [You think you can kill us but we will be reborn in every era, we are not slaves and will always be your masters].”

Meanwhile, more tepid leaders, who I shall not name, used the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) podium to trot out lectures on peace. Some amongst the media also went down this well-worn rabbit hole — “the peaceful protestors.”

I was at the protest [on July 19, 2026], one day before D-day. There were over 100,000 people and it was the most beautiful and civilised sight ever, managed by well-heeled left cadres — and by well-heeled, I refer to ideological commitment. They had paper and plastic fans. They spotted grey-haired people and started fanning us — passing bottles of water, chana [chickpeas] to eat, forming queues, making way for one another, writing slogans, being considerate, waiting for others to pass.

But then peace in draconian times is an ideal only the ideologically scared, unsure or wavering will put down as a first principle. When your skull is cracked and you are still staring down the police officer, this is not the definition of peace. It is a war of the state against the people. Peace cannot be held as the only ideal. It is the badge of status quoists too fearful of barricades, commitment and laying down of life.

And this is where students have shown that they are thirsting for commitment, ideological grounding. They’re coming to Jantar Mantar with copies of the constitution and posters of Dr B.R. Ambedkar. This is a commitment to an ideology first and at any cost. It’s not about tepidly made promises to show the other cheek. There are memes and photos that speak of students tired of having nothing to hold on to and nowhere to go.

I asked a policeman yesterday [July 19] if in his heart he wasn’t committed to the students. He looked away, then ahead at his boss standing some distance from us and said quietly, “I’ll answer that question when I’ve taken off my uniform, madam.”

For now, some from the CJP have been called to the negotiating table. There are all kinds of speculation in a country full of conspiracy theorists — “this is a front for the Aam Aadmi Party”, “the protests will die down and the government will then come down harder”, and “the government is too strong and the opposition in tatters, so nothing much will change there.”

But the thing about protests like this is that they puncture time, they flip the fear directed at them and turn it back on the government. And they allow people to believe, briefly, that anything is possible. That moment is what the right fears above all. The loss of absolute control and the rupturing of the veneer that they are invincible or even popular.

Whatever the present holds — compromise or the end of a month-long stake-out at Jantar Mantar — what the country cannot unsee is the willingness of a growing and critical mass of the young and restless to the ideals of the Indian constitution, and especially of the right to question and to be defiant. This bedrock is most certainly left-oriented, organised and unstoppable. It does not have to accrue power immediately or by the usual route of party, election and then power.

Power does not reside in a pliant police and institutions where there has been a hostile takeover. Power lies in the ability of a bleeding student to stand in front of a nonplussed police and say, “**** fascists, I will show you your place.”

Taking my cue from the students at Jantar Mantar, I will add that the draconian-in-charge may not have a taste for T.S. Eliot and the prophecy his poem ‘East Coker’ holds out. But, maybe, he should lean into what the barricades are saying loudly, and what Eliot evoked a century and more ago:

“And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.”

How terrible for the haves, for those who think they have ‘arrived’ and have ‘got there.’ How terrible the frightening proposition of having to look at the barricades, and at a future where they cannot stay where they now are.

The writer is a journalist and activist from Uttar
Pradesh, India. She is also the author of the
non-fiction The Anatomy of Hate

By arrangement with The Wire

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 26th, 2026

In Karachi, the proposed modernisation of Pakistan Railways’ Main Line-1 (ML-1) and the revival of the Karachi Circular Railway (KCR) illustrate this contradiction.

Both projects promise substantial improvements to the country’s transport network, but both also require extensive clearance of settlements that have existed for decades along the railway corridors. The discussion surrounding these demolitions has largely focused on removing what are considered ‘encroachments’ and reclaiming public land. Far less attention has been paid to the rehabilitation of the displaced population, despite the fact that it is rehabilitation, not demolition, that ultimately determines the fabric of urban life.

The much-needed ‘modernisation’ of Karachi's railway infrastructure may transform the city's and region’s future, but also involves displacing thousands of residents and informal communities currently living along its corridors. Too often, large projects are planned solely around efficiency and not keeping in mind the lives of those most affected. The question is not whether such infrastructure should be built, but how projects are envisioned and those facing dislocation and disrupted lives are rehabilitated…

A CITY OF INFORMAL SETTLEMENTS

The scale of ML-1 displacement is expected to be significant. The railway corridor passes through some of Karachi’s most densely populated low-income settlements, including Ghareebabad-PIDC, Kashmir Colony, Kala Pul, Moria Khan Goth and several adjoining neighbourhoods. The defunct Karachi Circular Railway corridor, left unused for decades, gradually became home to thousands of households who settled there because formal housing remained inaccessible.

Current estimates suggest that Karachi formally contains approximately 582 katchi abadis [informal settlements]. However, unofficially, the number is much larger. In total, they contain nearly 62 percent of the city’s population. Most of these settlements have developed informally and exist because successive governments have failed to provide affordable housing despite rapid urban growth. Informality, therefore, is not an isolated legal issue but a structural outcome of the city’s housing system.

The official justification for demolition is straightforward: these settlements occupy railway land and, therefore, constitute illegal encroachments. Legally, this argument appears simple. In practice, however, it ignores the institutional failures that produced these settlements in the first place. It is also selective in its application.

Across Karachi, land reserved for public purposes has frequently been occupied by commercial enterprises, influential institutions, and politically protected developments, without attracting comparable enforcement. The removal of low-income settlements, while other forms of encroachment persist, raises important questions about consistency, equity and the public interest.

Urban planning cannot be reduced to determining whether an occupation is technically legal or illegal. It must also examine why certain forms of informality emerge, why they persist for decades, and why enforcement is often directed at those with the least capacity to negotiate with the state — as has been obvious in the recent demolitions in Orangi, Mehmoodabad and Gujjar Nullah in Karachi, and in Islamabad as well.

Perhaps the greatest misconception among planners and academia surrounding informal settlements is that demolition resolves the problem of urban informality. In reality, demolition addresses only its physical manifestation. The conditions that produce informal settlements — rapid urbanisation, inadequate public housing, inaccessible land markets, limited household incomes and weak planning institutions — remain unchanged.

THE POLITICS OF INFORMALITY AND DISPLACEMENT

The Constitution of Pakistan places responsibility on the state to facilitate housing for its citizens. Yet, every public housing policy (whenever there has been one) has consistently failed to meet housing demand.

As formal housing became increasingly unaffordable, low-income households relied on informal land markets and incremental construction to secure shelter. The settlements now facing demolition are therefore not temporary camps established in anticipation of compensation. Many have evolved over several decades into functioning neighbourhoods, with an extensive social network. They represent long-term processes of urbanisation rather than isolated cases of illegal occupation.

This distinction is important because infrastructure projects typically evaluate land as an engineering requirement, while residents experience it as a social and economic resource. A railway alignment may identify buildings as physical obstacles. Families experience those same buildings as homes connected to employment, education, healthcare, neighbourhood support systems and everyday mobility.

When rehabilitation planning focuses exclusively on structures, it overlooks the relationships that allow communities to function. The loss created by demolition, therefore, extends beyond the physical destruction of houses. It disrupts livelihoods, weakens social networks, increases transport costs and often pushes already vulnerable households deeper into poverty.

For this reason, rehabilitation surveys should also be of people rather than just buildings. Conventional surveys frequently measure the number of structures affected by a project, classify ownership and estimate compensation according to physical assets. While these exercises are administratively convenient, they fail to capture the complexity of displacement.

Effective rehabilitation requires understanding household size, income sources, employment locations, school attendance, disability, tenancy arrangements and dependence on neighbourhood-based services. Such surveys are not difficult to do and have been carried out for projects in many countries of the world.

For example, a family renting a single room may lose as much as a property owner when demolition occurs, yet tenants often receive limited recognition in conventional compensation frameworks. Similarly, informal businesses operating from homes may disappear entirely (as they almost always do) if relocation deprives them of their access to customers. Counting buildings without understanding the lives they contain inevitably produces incomplete and inequitable rehabilitation policies, promoting a new cycle of homelessness.

TRANSPARENCY AND TIMELY COMPENSATION

Transparency is equally essential. Rehabilitation surveys are frequently treated as administrative documents with almost no public access. This weakens accountability and creates uncertainty among affected communities.

Survey reports should be publicly available before demolition begins, allowing residents, civil society organisations and independent experts to review findings, identify omissions and challenge inaccuracies. Public access also reduces opportunities for manipulation, political interference, and unequal distribution of rehabilitation benefits. In large-scale displacement projects, transparency is not simply an administrative preference but a prerequisite for public trust.

Compensation presents another structural weakness in current rehabilitation practices. Too often, compensation is determined after demolition has already begun, leaving affected households uncertain about both the amount they will receive and the timeline for payment. This reverses the logical sequence of rehabilitation.

Compensation should be assessed, publicly communicated, and fully disbursed before displacement occurs. Families cannot make informed decisions regarding relocation, employment or education if they do not know what resources will be available after eviction. Delayed compensation transforms demolition into an immediate humanitarian problem, while rehabilitation becomes an uncertain future promise.

For example, the Supreme Court of Pakistan ordered in October 2018 that the rehabilitation process should be undertaken for the evictees of the circular railway demolitions. To this day, the order has not been implemented, and the residents of the demolished homes are still living on the ruins of their homes. Land for their rehabilitation has already been identified, but the development of infrastructure required for the rehabilitation process has yet to be initiated.

REHABILITATION BEFORE DEMOLITION

Alternative housing should exist before settlements are cleared, not after displacement has already occurred. Once demolition takes place without prepared rehabilitation sites, homelessness and informal resettlement become almost inevitable.

Families seek shelter wherever opportunities exist, often creating new informal settlements elsewhere in the city. Demolition without prior rehabilitation, therefore, fails to eliminate informality — it merely relocates it. Rather than solving the housing problem, it reproduces it in a different location.

This pattern reflects a broader weakness within urban governance. Planning institutions frequently treat rehabilitation as a secondary administrative exercise (demolitions being the primary one) attached to infrastructure projects, instead of recognising it as a central component of project design, such as the ML-1. Engineering plans, financial arrangements and construction schedules are often finalised long before rehabilitation strategies receive serious attention.

As a result, social impacts become problems to manage after implementation rather than factors shaping the project from its inception. This institutional imbalance explains why ambitious infrastructure programmes repeatedly encounter resistance, litigation and prolonged disputes over compensation, despite substantial investment in physical construction.

The experience of previous rehabilitation programmes demonstrates that relocation is not simply a matter of providing another house. It is a process of reconstructing an entire urban life.

A PROBLEM OF GOVERNANCE

Much of the discussion surrounding displacement in Karachi assumes that, once an affected family is offered accommodation in a peripheral settlement such as Surjani Town, the state’s responsibility has been fulfilled. In reality, relocation often shifts the burden of adjustment entirely on to displaced households. While the physical structure may be replaced, access to employment, education, healthcare, transport and community support is frequently lost. Consequently, many relocation schemes reduce housing insecurity only by creating new forms of economic and social insecurity.

Residents affected by railway-related demolitions have consistently expressed concern about an increase in their social and financial poverty due to relocation. While many acknowledge that infrastructure projects require land acquisition and are prepared to consider relocation, they also insist that compensation should reflect the market value of their homes, and that rehabilitation should not force them into distant settlements disconnected from the city’s economic core.

The preference for financial compensation over compulsory relocation is not simply a matter of property ownership. It reflects a desire to retain agency over where and how families rebuild their lives.

A household that receives adequate compensation can choose housing that corresponds to its workplace, children’s schools, extended family, and social networks. Relocation decided exclusively by the state removes that choice. The state also provides land for relocation in one big chunk. However, land can be provided easily in smaller chunks of land in different locations, giving the community the choice of location.

Distance itself has significant economic consequences. Many households living near the railway corridor depend on employment in Karachi’s industrial areas, commercial centres and informal markets. Moving them to peripheral settlements increases commuting time, transport costs, and uncertainty of employment.

For daily wage labourers, domestic workers, street vendors and informal service providers, even modest increases in travel costs can substantially reduce household income. Children may also be forced to leave schools because daily travel becomes unaffordable or impractical. Access to healthcare, similarly, becomes more difficult when families are relocated far from existing hospitals and clinics. These costs rarely appear in official compensation calculations, despite having long-term effects on household welfare.

The disruption extends beyond economics. Informal settlements often possess dense social networks built over several decades. Families share childcare responsibilities, borrow money from neighbours, exchange information about employment opportunities, and rely on community organisations during emergencies. These forms of social capital cannot be measured through property valuations, yet they constitute an important part of household resilience.

Demolition fragments these networks almost immediately. Neighbours who once supported one another may be relocated to different parts of the city or receive entirely different rehabilitation arrangements. The resulting isolation increases vulnerability, particularly for elderly residents, women-headed households and families dependent on informal community support.

BEYOND RELOCATION

The proposed construction of boundary walls along sections of the railway corridor has generated additional concerns among residents. Beyond serving operational and security purposes, continuous walls have the potential to alter everyday movement within neighbourhoods.

Communities fear that walls may block established pedestrian routes connecting homes with schools, mosques, markets and workplaces. They also raise concerns regarding access to existing gas and water infrastructure that currently passes across or beneath the railway corridor.

Such issues illustrate an important limitation within infrastructure planning. Physical barriers designed to improve transport efficiency can simultaneously reduce accessibility for surrounding communities if local patterns of movement are ignored during project design. Urban infrastructure cannot be evaluated solely according to the speed of trains or the efficiency of transport corridors. It must also be assessed according to how it affects the daily functioning of adjacent neighbourhoods.

Underlying all these issues is a more fundamental question of land.

The shortage that shapes Karachi’s housing crisis is not primarily a shortage of construction capacity but a shortage of accessible land available to low-income households. Karachi still contains substantial tracts of vacant land under various public agencies and institutions. Some of this land requires servicing and infrastructure investment before habitation, but its existence demonstrates that physical space is not the city’s principal constraint. The challenge lies in governance, allocation and political control over urban land.

FACILITATING THE PEOPLE THEMSELVES

The debate surrounding demolitions often assumes that the state must build houses for displaced communities. Karachi’s own development history suggests otherwise. An estimated two million houses across the city have been constructed incrementally by residents themselves, with little or no direct assistance from government agencies or non-governmental organisations. This represents one of the largest examples of self-built housing in the region.

Families acquire land, begin with modest structures, and gradually expand or improve their homes as incomes permit. Construction often occurs over many years, reflecting household savings rather than formal mortgage finance. The process is neither perfect nor uniform, but it has provided housing at a scale that formal public programmes have never achieved.

This reality has important implications for rehabilitation policy. The central requirement is not necessarily the direct construction of complete housing units but the provision of secure access to land, combined with affordable credit and basic infrastructure, so as to initially build a one-room house, toilet and kitchen, which can then be expanded over time as finances permit. Once tenure is reasonably secure, households have repeatedly demonstrated the ability to organise construction independently.

The state’s role should, therefore, focus on enabling rather than replacing the community capacity. Providing serviced plots, ensuring legal security and facilitating incremental development may produce more sustainable outcomes than expensive relocation schemes based entirely on publicly constructed housing.

Self-built housing also generates significant economic activity. Every stage of incremental construction creates employment for masons, carpenters, electricians, plumbers, transport operators, hardware suppliers, building material manufacturers, and countless small contractors. Money invested in housing circulates through local economies, supporting livelihoods far beyond the household undertaking construction.

Unlike large-scale housing developments, managed by a limited number of formal sector contractors and developers, incremental building distributes economic opportunities across thousands of small enterprises. Rehabilitation policies that recognise and support this process, therefore, contribute not only to housing provision but also to employment generation.

Ignoring these realities often results in rehabilitation programmes that are financially expensive yet socially ineffective. Large housing schemes constructed without reference to residents’ livelihoods, transport needs or economic practices frequently experience low occupancy, informal resale, or gradual abandonment. Families either return to informal settlements closer to employment opportunities or modify the new settlements to reproduce the economic activities that previously sustained them.

Such outcomes demonstrate that housing cannot be treated as an isolated physical commodity. It functions as part of a broader urban system, linking land, employment, transport and community life.

HOUSING, LAND AND THE FUTURE OF REHABILITATION

Another persistent weakness concerns the administration of rehabilitation funds.

Budgets are commonly allocated for compensation and resettlement, yet disputes frequently emerge over eligibility, valuation and distribution. Political influence, bureaucratic delays and inconsistent documentation often determine who receives assistance and when. In settlements where property ownership has evolved informally over decades, establishing legal entitlement can become particularly complex.

Residents without formal documentation may face exclusion, despite having occupied the same location for many years. Others may receive compensation that bears little relationship to the replacement cost of housing in the formal market. These administrative failures deepen mistrust between communities and public authorities, while prolonging uncertainty long after demolition has occurred.

For this reason, compensation mechanisms require clear and publicly available criteria, established before implementation begins. Valuation methods should be transparent, appeals procedures should be accessible, and payments should precede displacement. Rehabilitation cannot depend upon discretionary administrative decisions made after homes have already been demolished. Once displacement has occurred, affected households possess significantly weaker bargaining power, making delays and disputes far more damaging.

As a result, over the years, standard documents related to sale, rent control, land transfer and goodwill ‘pagrri’ money transfer for property have emerged. Communities have had these prepared by lawyers and, in Karachi, they are almost universally used and accepted by the communities. Thus, the informal legal system is accepted by the communities and respected in property transactions.

DISPELLING MISCONCEPTIONS

Perhaps the greatest misconception among planners and academia surrounding informal settlements is that demolition resolves the problem of urban informality. In reality, demolition addresses only its physical manifestation. The conditions that produce informal settlements — rapid urbanisation, inadequate public housing, inaccessible land markets, limited household incomes and weak planning institutions — remain unchanged.

Unless these structural causes are addressed, displaced households inevitably seek alternative informal solutions elsewhere. New settlements emerge, or old settlements densify heavily, because the underlying demand for affordable urban land continues to exist. Urban policy, therefore, cannot succeed by removing informal settlements while leaving intact the forces that continually recreate them.

The debate surrounding the ML-1 and the Karachi Circular Railway ultimately illustrates a broader challenge confronting Karachi. Infrastructure projects are necessary and railway modernisation has the potential to improve mobility across the country. Yet, transport infrastructure cannot be considered successful if its implementation deepens housing insecurity, fragments communities and reproduces cycles of displacement.

The quality of an infrastructure project should be judged not only by the speed of trains or the value of investment but also by its ability to integrate social rehabilitation into the planning process from the very beginning.

Only then can development avoid becoming a process in which the benefits enjoyed by the city are achieved through disproportionate costs borne by its most vulnerable residents.

Arif Hasan is an architect and urban planner. He can be reached at arifhasan37@gmail.com and through the website www.arifhasan.org

Hamna Syed is a researcher whose work centres on cultural critique and social realities. She can be contacted at hamnasyed66@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 26th, 2026

Q. My kangi palm plant is drying up. What should I do?

A. Please always mention your city in your query for a more specific response. From the photograph, the centre of the kangi palm appears browner than normal. The browning of the central part, also referred to as the crown of the plant, suggests something is wrong with the plant. In certain cases, it can even be fatal.

This often happens when water repeatedly collects in the crown, especially if drainage is poor. Prolonged moisture in the crown can lead to a fungal disease, known as crown rot, in kangi palms.

Also check if the crown feels firm or soft. A soft crown usually indicates advanced rot and recovery is less likely. If the crown is still firm and brown, then there may be a few remedies that you can try. Ensure the pot drains freely and avoid spraying water directly into the crown. Water only when the top layer of soil feels dry. In case of a fungal attack, apply a copper-based fungicide to both the crown and the soil.

Q. I have ten pots of the amaryllis plant, which I brought to Karachi from my mother’s garden in Rawalpindi some 20 years ago. They have been in the same pots since. Initially, they flowered but there have been no blooms for many years now. The only care I have taken is to move them away from direct sunlight in the summer and apply some manure to the soil. I realise I should have repotted them and taken better care of the plants. What would you advise me to do now?

All your gardening queries answered here…

A. The plants should be moved to an area with indirect light. Provide enough water to the plant for the surface soil to become moist but make sure water doesn’t accumulate. Apply a potassium-rich fertiliser to the plant after every three to four weeks, as it will help strengthen the bulbs and encourage flowering.

I must add that 20 years is a long time for amaryllis to remain in the same pots. It is probably why the plant is not flowering anymore. After 20 years in the same pots, the bulbs are almost certainly overcrowded and competing for nutrients and space. Once the weather turns slightly cool, during mid-October to November, you should separate the bulbs and repot them in a bigger space with a fresh potting mix. When sowing a bulb, keep one-third of it over the soil surface. This should improve flowering.

Q. What is the best time to segregate the young amaryllis bulbs from the main potted plant and should they be grown in pots or in the ground?

A. As with many other plants, the amaryllis goes through a period of dormancy after flowering, particularly during autumn and spring, when the leaves gradually turn yellow, dry out and fall away.

This is the ideal time to dig up the bulbs or the offsets of amaryllis and shift them to an individual container. The plant usually grows larger and produces more flowers when planted in the ground. However, it can be grown in pots too, as pots generally provide better control over drainage than garden soil. Only plant the amaryllis in the ground if you can manage water drainage.

Q. Your information about the subject ‘pollination of lauki [round bottle gourd] flowers’ happens to be erroneous. Nature has taken good care in this case and there are pollinators for night-blooming plants. These creatures are mostly moths and other insects that become active after sunset. In many cases, bats also perform this function.

A. You are correct that many night-blooming plants are naturally pollinated by moths, beetles and, in some regions, bats. The information that I shared specifically mentioned that there is an absence of natural pollinators in densely built urban areas, especially metropolitans, where night-time pollinator activity is often much lower than in rural or semi-natural environments. Many pollinator species have declined in heavily built areas because of habitat loss, artificial lighting and reduced plant diversity. Similarly, kitchen gardeners in cities, growing their plants in cramped spaces and small containers, have little hope of pollinators visiting their vines. In such cases, hand-pollination is handy. Sadly, the birds and butterflies that were once common in Karachi’s greener neighbourhoods have become noticeably less frequent over the past few decades.

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, July 26th, 2026

You tau know that I’m not a sportsman from anywhere, but Janoo and Kulchoo have suffered from such bad World Cup fever for the whole of this last month kay even I have become infested with it.

I watched that Egypt worses Argentina match, in which the Egyptians played football and the Argentines played kabaddi. Empire had hundred percent khaaoed rishwat because majaal hai that he should notice for one minute even what the Argentines were up to? And despite of the Argentines’ rondi, when the Egyptians did goal, he went and cancelled it. What cheeks, no?

And if he hadn’t taken rishwat, then that empire was an Islamoprobe. Like Trump and Elon Must and Nigel Faraar. Or maybe he was an Israeli agent. Mulloo says he wanted to make Argentina win because the Argentine president is besties with Satanyahoo (I thought Satanyahoo was besties with Modi. Maybe he’s a two-timer. Typical, waisay!) And Satanyahoo sent a message supporting Argentina and saying kay we are fully behind you. While everyone knows kay all of Spain and their sweet sa, handsome sa president is pukka pukka with Palestinians.

Although nothing happened for the longest time, the game was very tense. All of the time I was worrying and praying kay please Allah Mian, don’t let Isra… sorry, I mean, Argentina score.

Butterfly doesn’t have to understand football to catch the fever, especially when every match comes with family arguments, celebrity spotting, geopolitical conspiracies and one very stubborn American president

So, when half time came, frankly, I tau was reliefed. But as soon as all of that gaana bajaana and dhol dhamaka began, both Janoo and Kulchoo grumbled kay what is this nonsense? We want to see football, not Robby Williams poured into a sequelled suit and Tom Crooz, looking as bloated as if he’d drowned or something. Janoo tau has always been a killed joy and a zinda laash, but he’s also turned my poor darling Kulch into a teenage buddhi rooh.

So I told them in my best Mother Andrews voice, kay bus, chill karo, okay? I want to now relax and do some celeb spotting araam se in the break.

So I saw the Beckhams and Beyond Say and Mic Jagger and Matt Diamond and that Dune movie wala actor with Kylie Janitor — but even I had to admit kay the half time show they put on was so cheap and trashy kay if, God forbid, we’d had it at Kulchoo’s wedding, I would have pretended I was the susraal.

And uff! Have you seen what’s happened to Madonna? She is now Mummy’s age lug bhug. If Mummy was to wear mini-skirts and phussa hua tops and thigh-high boots, I’d tell everyone I was adopted. I really feel for poor Lords. Oho baba, her daughter, who else? And that Justin Beeba in that clown vaali knicker. Waisay, what’s happened to America?

So, when the show ended and football started, I also did shukar. And then, thanks God, Spain scored and Argentina and Satanyahoo and Israel got two tight slaps in their faces. As they deserved. And sub se best, Trump had to present the cup to Spain. Another tight slap. Why? Haw, don’t you know kay he’s very anti-Spain, because they didn’t take his side in the war with Iran and they wouldn’t let him land his fighter planes over there? At least that’s what Janoo says and Janoo, being an Oxen and a kitaab ka keerra, is very knowing, naa.

Haan, so where was I? Oh yes! With Trump on the stage. Okay, so you’ve presented the medals and the cup vaghera, now go home with Melonia, baba. But no. Being the besharam retention seeker that he is, he tau wouldn’t leave the stage once he’d got on.

Like an elderly drunk uncle barging a shaadi ka dance number, and insisting on doing thumkaas with all the young girls in their ghagras and cholis, he kept hanging around on stage, once or twice even trying to dance, while the players totally ignored him. Finally, that football ka president, who Janoo and Kulchoo have named Sycofantino, he rushed on to the stage in his black suit and white PT shoes and led Trump away, like you would a runaway cow.

I’m still upset about Egypt but I’m so glad America didn’t win, even after cheater-cock Trump’s dhandli. And now it’s all over and I can’t believe it, but I’ve got withdrawal systems. Because thanks to Janoo and Kulchoo’s obsession, even I’ve become a pukka sportsman. Who would have guessed? Haan?

Many years ago, @monimohsinofficial, novelist and journalist, outed herself as The Social Butterfly

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 26th, 2026

Dear Auntie,

My 24-year-old nephew has completed his undergraduate degree in cyber-security. Instead of pursuing a job in that field, he is currently helping at his father’s shop. His father, who is getting old, believes that a family member, specifically the son, should be present at the shop. Although there are employees who manage the daily work, the father feels that the owner’s presence is important to supervise the business, maintain customer relationships and ensure that the shop opens on time each morning.

However, the son usually wakes up late, so his father continues to open the shop himself. When the son is at the shop, he completes customer requests when approached, but he rarely takes initiative. He does not actively greet customers, ask what they need or try to increase sales. During quiet periods, he spends much of his time on his cell phone.

The father’s view is that a salaried job may not provide the financial security needed for his son’s future. He believes that expanding and improving the family business offers greater opportunities. The son’s friends are mostly unemployed. He spends time with them outside the shop, and the family is unsure whether they influence his thinking or discourage him from pursuing a career.

At home, the son keeps to himself. After returning from the shop, he goes directly to his room and spends most of his time on his cell phone. He rarely talks to family members, particularly his mother. His mother continues to take care of all his personal needs and he has very few personal responsibilities at home.

‘My Nephew Seems To Lack Direction’

The family does not know what the son actually wants. They are uncertain whether he wishes to pursue a career in cyber-security, continue with the family business, get married or has some other plans. He is allowed to take money from the shop for his personal expenses. Occasionally, he goes out with friends for meals.

Should we take him for counselling?

Concerned Uncle

Dear Concerned Uncle,

Instead of asking “How do we motivate him?”, perhaps the better question to ask is, “What does the boy actually want?”

Let’s see things from another perspective. Your nephew has a degree in cyber-security but is working in the family business. Many family businesses offer a better future than jobs, but this boy never really chose this path. So it is not surprising that he doesn’t seem interested. At the same time, you shouldn’t assume that he wants a career in cyber-security either.

His father should have a conversation with him to understand what he is thinking. It is important not to lecture him during this conversation. Listen to what he has to say and ask him what he wants for himself. If he doesn’t know the answer yet, this conversation may be the push he needs to start thinking about it.

The concerning thing is that there seems to be very little real responsibility regarding the business. His father continues to open the shop, and he is allowed to take money for personal expenses. Please remember that too much comfort can also stunt his growth. If he continues to work at the family business, he needs to be more serious about it. If he chooses cyber-security, encourage him to get a job. Skills learnt in a professional environment can benefit the family business later, should he decide to join it at some stage.

Counselling may help if he seems unhappy in general. But before seeking professional help, it is a good idea for your nephew to have a conversation with his father.

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, July 26th, 2026

To a majority of people who do not support Imran Khan’s Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaf (PTI), its supporters and leaders appear largely irrational. This perception is driven by a narrative that posits that the words and actions of PTI supporters and party members frequently work against the long-term interests of their own leader and party.

Whereas this assessment is rational, one can also contend that what the supporters of PTI say and do is not entirely devoid of rationality. Instead, they are actually demonstrating a flippant version of rationality. This is referred to as “rational irrationality.” Let me explain.

According to the American economist Bryan Caplan, adhering to an inflexible and seemingly counterproductive stance yields high psychological rewards and solidifies a collective identity. By prioritising the disruption of the political status quo, PTI supporters and voters make a calculated trade-off. Their behaviour may seem irrational, but it remains entirely rational to the individuals themselves, because they gain social cohesion, a feeling of moral superiority and a sense of purpose, regardless of how irrational they may appear through the lens of conventional wisdom.

The concept of “rational irrationality” was shaped by Caplan in 2007. In his book Myth of the Rational Voter, Caplan wrote that it makes sense to believe something silly or factually wrong if it costs a person nothing and makes them feel good. Normally, people try to be logical because being wrong can be costly. For example, if one irrationally believes that they can drive with their eyes closed, they will crash. The cost of being wrong is too high, so they are compelled to be rational. To Caplan, it’s the size of the cost that determines a person’s decision to be rational or not.

From protest rallies to polling booths, supporters continuously calculate the risks and rewards of political participation. When the cost of irrationality rises, behaviours may change, but beliefs often remain intact

In politics, a single opinion or vote does not change the world. If a person chooses to believe a comforting lie or a wild conspiracy theory, their daily life does not change. There is no personal cost. Instead, they are rewarded. The reward is a feeling of pride and moral superiority, and a way to fit in with a peer group. Therefore, when being wrong is free and makes one happy, the brain calculates that it is completely logical to choose a comforting lie over a painful truth. This is rational irrationality.

But things change when the cost of adopting irrational rationality increases. The reason why PTI has struggled to attract more than a handful of people to their protest rallies after the violent events of May 2023 is that the price of being reckless has dramatically changed for the average supporter.

Before the state’s crackdown against the PTI, attending an anti-government rally carried a low personal cost. A supporter could freely indulge in the irrationality of turning up to a rally to apparently create a rift within state institutions, feeling the thrill of rebellion, and gaining psychological rewards and social validation without fearing severe consequences.

Under those conditions, it seemed that the personal cost of adopting irrational beliefs was largely low. However, the subsequent state crackdown completely flipped this calculus. Suddenly, the price of rational irrationality skyrocketed. Attending a rally no longer offered psychological fulfilment. Instead, it now carried the tangible threat of arrest, physical harm and long-term legal harassment.

When the real-world cost of holding a belief becomes dangerously high, Caplan’s theory dictates that humans will actively suppress their emotional biases and force themselves to act with conventional rationality, to protect their own safety.

After the May 2023 event, the state successfully raised the price of expressing high-sounding praise for Khan to a level that the average citizen can no longer afford to pay. However, supporters still felt safe enough to indulge in rational irrationality at the polls during the 2024 general election. While attending street protests had become dangerous, voting provided an anonymous space, where the personal cost of insolence dropped dramatically.

Therefore, despite the fact that Khan’s government had committed multiple blunders in economic and foreign policy matters between 2018 and 2022, PTI supporters came out in large numbers to vote for the party. If seen through Caplan’s perspective, since a single ballot carries no immediate penalty of arrest or harm, voters could ignore the past governance failures of the party to reclaim the psychological value and sense of ‘moral victory’ that came with backing Khan.

When the cost of a flawed decision is low, adopting rational irrationality becomes a logical choice for individuals seeking emotional satisfaction and peer approval. The moment the cost rises, people are compelled to apply actual rationalism. Rational irrationality is a psychological state. It may seem like a personal choice that consciously ignores or suppresses logic to gratify an emotional need, but what happens when it transforms into a widespread norm?

Whereas an individual pays almost no personal cost for holding an irrational belief, the aggregate impact on society can be tricky. According to the American author Dan Ariely, rational irrationality is not random but systematic. He warns about the dangers of people making decisions that feel emotionally validating in the short-term but that often lead to disastrous long-term economic and personal consequences.

The economist Ryan Murphy, in his book Markets Against Modernity, explores how political institutions routinely exploit these irrational biases, leading to “ecological irrationality”, where voters consistently cheer for destructive economic policies because it signals group alignment to their peers.

Poor white voters in America’s ‘Bible Belt’ voting for Church and God as opposed to for economic welfare policies is an example.

When millions of individuals simultaneously make the same choice based on rational irrationality, it creates a paradox. Public policies, democratic elections and societal institutions become shaped by emotional gratification rather than objective truth. Once rational irrationality turns into a social norm, questioning it forces logical individuals to conform or face ostracisation. Widespread rational irrationality degrades the collective well-being of society as a whole.

The phenomenon driving PTI’s voter base is not an anomaly, but a reflection of how political dynamics operate when logic is traded for emotional gratification. So long as the personal cost of holding or expressing an irrational belief remains low, citizens will naturally choose comforting narratives over uncomfortable truths.

So, when a large segment of a political ecosystem operates on rational irrationality, the burden of governance inevitably shifts from the elected individuals to the state, which begins to expand its powers for the task. While rational irrationality serves the immediate psychological needs of the voter and supporter, it leaves broader society paying a cumulative price for democracy-driven politics built on illusion rather than reality.

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 26th, 2026

There is a profound vulnerability in returning to a space you once abandoned. For architect and artist Muneeb Ali Khan, his solo exhibition ‘Heda’a Kaar’ represents exactly that: a return to a sanctuary within the heart. It is a grounding mechanism against the rigid, concrete demands of everyday life.

Hosted at Studio B2 in Islamabad, a venue owned by Fatima Hamid, the exhibition features 29 intricately stippled pieces. Utilising a careful mix of pen, pencil, watercolour, felt-tip marker and a distinct dash of ashwood veneer, Khan has mapped out a cartography of personal history, societal critique and spiritual reflection.

The exhibit’s title sets a hauntingly beautiful tone. The expression heda‘a kaar is a linguistic hybrid that blends an Arabic root with a Persian suffix to honour the oral tradition of Alheda’a, which is used in Saudi Arabia by herders to direct camels through the desert. It invokes the image of a lonely traveller in a vast desert, humming a rhythmic song to his camel companion so that, in the absolute darkness of the night, their heartbeats synchronise against the solitude.

For Khan, these paintings are a representation of that very synchronicity. After having spent years navigating the corporate grids of architectural practice in Islamabad and in the United Kingdom, it was in the process of creating these artworks that Khan found a path to harmonise his inner life with the outside world.

A solo exhibition in Islamabad explored loss, love and the fragile synchronicity between one’s inner and outer worlds

Divided into four distinct chapters, the exhibition functions as a visual memoir, elevated by the sensitive addition of collage work by the exhibition’s curator Muhammad Hamza. The conversation between the artist and the curator appears tangible through Hamza’s shared material narrative, which adds a rich framing to the entire collection.

The anchor of the exhibition lies in Khan’s exploration of loss. Having lost his father at the tender age of 15, the artist spent decades wrestling with the abruptness of death. One painting with tiny, meticulous felt-point lines acts as literal and metaphorical thread that reconnects Khan to memories of his father. Khan notes that, as he painstakingly drew these lines, a sense of consolation washed over him. He realised that his father, though gone too soon, had lived a full and meaningful life.

This ancestral thread beautifully loops into the present in a companion painting that features Khan’s daughter. An ethereal painting set against a vibrant, orange-tinged background, this piece shifts the narrative mood from the shadow of loss to the warmth of continuity.

Khan moves his lens from the personal to the universal in Facing the Wall. Here, a figure is depicted in a seated pose but without a chair. It is a striking metaphor for the modern professional, the worker bee of the nine-to-five corporate grind, who must constantly perform repetitive labour while suspended in mid-air, stripped of any grounding endeavour.

In sharp contrast to this corporate stagnation is Lover Boy. Bursting with coloured lines and a chaotic, vibrant mishmash, the piece perfectly encapsulates the frenzy of an adolescent body, heart and mind. Khan points out that this piece attempts to capture a fleeting moment in time before the harsh realities of adulthood hit the boy.

The exhibition takes a heavy turn with the War Series. Bound by rusted steel frames that mirror the decay of conflict, these four paintings display the crushing burden of war on an individual. Red dominates the canvas, overpowering all else. The work leaves the viewer with an unsettling impression of a soul caught in the crossfire of violence.

Khan reflects and meditates on the physical act of calligraphy through the monochromatic, repetitive writing by hand of the Arabic expression Astaghfirullah [I seek forgiveness from Allah]. The script, stretching languidly across the surface, captures the organic beauty of the creative process. Placed in stark contrast is the same expression generated by a computer. Cold, precise and perfectly uniform, the digital script feels hollow, a mockery of a deeply personal spiritual reflection. The contrast highlights how automation dilutes human devotion.

For the viewer, walking through ‘Heda’a Kaar’ is not a passive experience. As Khan navigates his life, caught up between building structures by day and carving out his soul on canvas by night, he leaves us with subtle, intricate details that demand a close look. Seemingly surreal and abstract, it is an exhibition that offers no easy answers, instead allowing viewers to experience the transcendent power of artistic language.

‘Heda’a Kaar’ was on display at Studio B2 in Islamabad from July 10-26, 2026

The writer is a PhD scholar working on Punjabi poets. She can be contacted at ayesharamzan83@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 26th, 2026

Arz-o-Samawat [The Earth and the Heavens] was Sadequain’s most ambitious mural and possibly his largest. His demise in 1986 left the mural permanently unfinished, and the empty blue space that remains gives the work a strange, mystic appeal, holding in itself the same intrigue that one might feel for the promised idea of heaven. Sadequain is said to have called it his own Sistine Chapel.

I came across the same mural again recently, in miniature, on a postage stamp. On June 30, 2026, Sadequain’s 96th birthday, Pakistan Post unveiled three record-length stamps in the artist’s honour at the Pakistan National Council of the Arts (PNCA), Islamabad. Each stamp measures 280mm by 40mm, and a set of three stamps — billed as the longest in the world — are available on one perforated sheet. The stamp sheet itself features two panels from the Frere hall ceiling, alongside the entire length of another Sadequain mural, Treasures of Time.

Sadequain’s gift for scale and precision showed early. As a boy, he could reproduce entire schoolbooks by hand and taught himself to draw the world map from memory. He would fill the neighbourhood walls with charcoal birds and animals, much to his neighbours’ bewilderment and annoyance. A reflection of that instinct for line and geography can still be traced in the details of the Frere Hall ceiling.

These early creative habits, alongside the history of his 1961 State Bank mural, Treasures of Time, were documented by his cousin Saiyid Ali Naqvi in his book Sadequain: Artist and Poet.

Four decades after his death, Sadequain’s monumental murals have found a new public canvas on Pakistan Post’s record-length stamps

The Treasures of Time mural is 62 feet long and eight feet wide, tracing the history of human thought from the fourth century BC to the 20th century CE across six panels: the Greeks, the mediaeval Italians, the Islamic world, the post-Renaissance Enlightenment, South Asia and, finally, Einstein, painted alone. Forty-six figures appear along its length, among them Socrates, Leonardo da Vinci, Al-Biruni, Rumi and Rabindranath Tagore, each rendered as an impressionistic portrait identified by the tools or symbols of their calling.

Walking its length feels like walking through centuries. Sadequain placed himself in the mural too, a frail, sickly self-portrait, taking his own pulse before the ninth century physician Al-Razi, reflecting his own appreciation and deep interest in the history of ideas he was painting.

Across his career, Sadequain is said to have produced more than 15,000 works. He gave many away freely, to friends, family and strangers alike, and chose to paint many of his murals inside public institutions rather than private galleries. That instinct for accessibility shaped his legacy, even as, after his death, rising collector interest pulled much of his work into private hands and into the reach of forgers.

Sadequain was not just Pakistan’s foremost painter but a pioneer of modern South Asian art, and it is fitting that, even shrunk to a few centimetres on a postage stamp, the scale of his murals still comes through — although it does demand a record-length to hold them. Stamps are made for public dissemination. Issuing one carries forward Sadequain’s belief in accessible art a step further, letting anyone possess a piece of his work that is otherwise locked inside a gallery or private collection.

At a moment when national narratives are so often shaped from above, the choice of what represents a country’s visual identity matters. The recent digitisation of Sadequain’s artworks at the Lahore Museum is another attempt at increasing the broad appeal of his work. In choosing Sadequain, the state has honoured a national icon and set a quiet example for what Pakistani art can still claim as its own.

The writer is a university student with an interest in art, culture and urban history. He can be contacted at pakistaniumer04@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 26th, 2026

Who says heroes only live on land? Sometimes they live in the sea and they can be as big as a whale — yes, a singing whale that uses magical songs to protect the underwater world.

The Last Whale Singer is a magical German animated film that takes viewers on an exciting adventure beneath the waves.

The story follows Vincent, a teenage humpback whale and the orphaned son of Humphrey, the last Whale Singer, whose magical song once protected the oceans. After losing his parents, Vincent struggles to believe in himself. He worries he will never be as brave or as talented as his father. Many of us feel this way at some point in our lives. We compare ourselves to others and forget what makes us special. If you have ever doubted yourself, you will easily relate to Vincent’s journey.

When a giant sea monster escapes from a melting iceberg and threatens all marine life, Vincent has no choice but to confront his fears. With Walter, his loyal suckerfish nanny, he sets out on a dangerous adventure to discover his own magical song and save the ocean.

The voice cast does a wonderful job of bringing the characters to life. Vincent Tong, known for his work on Iron Man: Armoured Adventures, Kid vs Kat, My Little Pony and Voltron Force, lends Vincent a warm, believable voice. Bruce Dinsmore is equally enjoyable as Walter, Vincent’s fussy, yet caring companion.

The film is directed by Reza Memari, who got the idea for the story after watching a documentary about humpback whales. He learned that real humpback whales have “singers” in their groups, which gave him the idea.

The best part of the movie is its beautiful animation. The underwater world is bright, colourful and full of life. Giant whales, glowing plants, funny fish and amazing sea creatures make every scene exciting to watch. Because singing is at the heart of the story, the songs add excitement and emotion to every important moment.

The 91-minute film also teaches valuable lessons about finding your voice and believing in yourself. It shows that hard work, courage and self-belief are just as important as natural talent. The Last Whale Singer is a warm, entertaining family film that reminds us that true strength comes from within and that, sometimes, finding your voice can save the whole world.

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

Do you know what’s common between the current captain of the England football team and their goalkeeper, who helped their side win the bronze medal at the FIFA World Cup? They both believed in themselves when they were young and wanted to represent England, even when no one else did.

In the book Ultimate Football Heroes — England’s Heroes, you get to know their story and how they managed to become star footballers after being mere fans a few years earlier.

Written by Matt and Tom Olofield, the book chronicles the rise of four English heroes — Harry Kane and Jordan Pickford, from the current side, and their former teammates, Harry Maguire and Raheem Sterling, who were instrumental in England’s rise over the last ten years. While the latter two weren’t part of the recently concluded event, Harry Kane and Jordan Pickford were, one as the skipper and the other as the goalkeeper. This book is about how these four helped England reach their second semi-final in eight years.

Written in a fast-paced, action-packed style, this book tells the story of four footballers who were first interested in the game as fans and later became superstar professional players. How did that happen and what did they do to reach this position? This book details all aspects of these players’ incredible journeys in such a way that by the time you are through with it, you are motivated to do anything you want.

It highlights the perseverance and resolve of all four players who forged a bond while playing together and explains how they helped England reach the 2018 World Cup semi-final and later led them to the Euro 2020 final, where Italy won on penalties. Had they not been part of the English side that gave their fans confidence with strong back-to-back results, the current side might not have made it to the podium last week.

This book is a must-read today because the English side has emerged as one of the best in the world; their 6-4 victory over the favourites, France, in the third-place playoff is proof of that. But behind every great victory lies a story few know; this book brings it to light.

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

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

Riyam was staring at her dobok hanging from the wardrobe rail. She walked around her room before letting her eyes rest on a photograph on her study desk. It showed a four-year-old girl in a pink bomber jacket, gently held by her father, who stood beside a fierce-looking brown Apollo horse.

“And though every tomorrow will be absent from you, every tomorrow will still contain you.” — Edward Lee

“Every tomorrow, every achievement, every failure and every milestone, Dad,” Riyam whispered to the photograph. “I made it to the final of the National Taekwondo Championship. I made it. The final is tomorrow and I’m scared. Not because I might lose, but because you won’t be there to celebrate with me if I win or to embrace me if I lose.”

Riyam placed the photograph back on the desk. As she looked at it one last time, a memory she had never forgotten came rushing back.

Her uncle and his family were coming to spend the summer in Pakistan from the United Kingdom. It had been two years since they had last visited. Riyam had never really spent much time with her cousins.

“Your uncle is coming, and this time, be patient with your cousins, Riyam,” Mum said. “I know you like your space, but they are family.”

“Are they coming to spend the whole summer holidays?” Riyam asked.

“They’re staying here only for a fortnight. I don’t know what else they have planned,” Mum replied.

When they arrived, Riyam warmly welcomed them. The house soon filled with laughter, love and lively conversations. The two families exchanged gifts, enjoyed feasts together and shared nostalgic stories.

One evening at the dinner table, her cousin asked Dad about the town’s riding club. He was a polo athlete and wanted to visit.

“That requires membership,” Dad told him.

“Are you a member?” Uncle asked.

“No,” Dad replied. “Riyam is and I go with her.”

Her cousins stared at her in amazement. A 13-year-old girl was too young to be a member!

“Riyam takes after you with her love for horses. No wonder she has the membership,” Uncle said to Dad.

“Absolutely,” Dad replied with a smile.

“Amazing,” said his youngest child. “I want to go. The only time I rode a horse was when I was five years old and I fell. Since then, I haven’t been able to convince Dad to let me ride again. How about it, Uncle? Could you take us there?”

“We’ll take you to the club this weekend,” Dad said.

“Oh, great!”

On the day of the visit to the stables, Dad received a work call. Dad told Riyam that she would have to go with Uncle and his family because he had to leave for work. Right from the start, Riyam knew that wasn’t her day.

Their trip to the stables was perfect — right until the laws of gravity remembered Riyam existed. Riyam slipped from the saddle and landed hard. A sharp pain shot through her ankle as her eyes filled with tears.

But Riyam refused to cry. Falling off the horse was embarrassing enough. Breaking down in front of everyone would have been even worse.

Uncle and his family hurried over, their faces filled with concern. Yet, Riyam’s physical pain was nothing compared to the burning embarrassment she felt. She did not want a bandage; she wanted the earth to split open and swallow her whole. How could she have fallen? The culprit, she thought bitterly, was Jade, her beloved horse, who stood nearby looking completely innocent.

Back home, Riyam was still upset. A quiet cloud followed her throughout the evening and right through dinner. Dad tried his best to comfort her, but nothing seemed to help. Finally, she could not hold it in any longer.

“I fell because you weren’t there with me, Dad,” she whispered, her frustration turning into tears. “I just felt so alone.”

She remembered the words her dad used to comfort her that night.

“Do you know that when a baby horse comes into the world, it follows its mother every second of its life? Wherever she goes, it follows. When she changes direction, it changes direction too. First, it learns to stand, then to walk. Gradually, it begins exploring the world, learning to socialise.

“For the first month of its life, its mother is its whole world. By the time it is three months old, it begins to realise that leaving its mother is not such a bad thing. That is how it starts making friends.

“Humans are quite similar. When babies are born, they need their parents every minute of the day. Parents do not hand their children to strangers. But when children are old enough to go to school, their parents let them go. Their parents are no longer their entire world. Children make friends, meet new people and slowly build lives of their own. They stop depending on their parents for everything.

“You will not find me by your side every minute of every day. I will not be here forever. But my love for you will always remain. You are fully capable of handling this world on your own. When you reach your biggest milestones, celebrate loudly, knowing I am cheering you on from the depths of my soul. When hard times come, trust your own strength to overcome them.

“You can solve your own problems. You can achieve your greatest milestones. Learn to trust your own strength. Learn to celebrate yourself. Learn to live without your Dad,” her father concluded gently.

Riyam smiled as the memory faded. She went to bed no longer thinking about the empty corner that would remain in the crowd the next day. She was ready to step into the ring, knowing her father would still be cheering her on.

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

The Pyramid of Kunshan, an 18-storey residential building in Kunshan, near Shanghai, China, has become a popular tourist attraction thanks to its distinctive pyramid-like design.

Completed in 2013, the building features two vertical walls and two sloping sides, with apartments cascading downwards at a 45-degree angle. Designed by the Masters’ Architectural Office, the structure was inspired by traditional Chinese terraced rice fields, and many apartments include large terraces.

While its striking appearance attracts attention, the building also presents practical challenges, including difficulties with ventilation, natural lighting and fire safety due to its unusual shape.

Japan’s unusual white-yolk eggs

Kometsuya eggs, produced on a poultry farm in Hokkaido, are famous for their unusual white or very pale yellow yolks.

The distinctive colour comes from a special chicken diet low in carotenoids. The birds are mainly fed rice, fish, rice bran and other locally sourced ingredients, resulting in yolks prized for their silky texture and mildly sweet taste.

Popular in traditional Japanese dishes, Kometsuya eggs are considered a premium product. Despite their unusual appearance, producers say they offer nutritional value comparable to that of conventional eggs and are exported to several Asian markets.

66-year-old cooking oil still in use

An award-winning fried chicken restaurant in Shizuoka Prefecture says its secret ingredient is frying oil that has been continuously reused since the restaurant opened in 1960.

Wakatori’s owner, Yoshihiro Tsuchiya, said a small amount of the old oil is kept as a flavour base and mixed with fresh oil each day after being filtered and cleaned. He credits the “aged oil” with giving the restaurant’s fried chicken its distinctive taste and aroma.

The practice has sparked debate online, with critics raising health concerns. While the restaurant insists the oil is carefully maintained, food experts warn that repeatedly heated oil can produce potentially harmful substances over time, even when regularly diluted with fresh oil.

Robot beggars go viral

Humanoid robots carrying signs such as “Please pay my electricity bill” have been spotted begging on the streets of several Chinese cities, including Beijing, Chengdu and Fuzhou.

The robots, positioned like human beggars and displaying QR codes for donations, quickly went viral online.

Their appearance sparked debate, with some people expressing concern about AI’s growing role in everyday life, while others questioned whether the scenes were genuine.

Because advanced humanoid robots are expensive, some observers believe the displays may be publicity stunts or artistic installations aimed at highlighting society’s evolving relationship with AI.

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

Marvel Studios has sparked excitement by teasing the first full trailer for Avengers: Doomsday through a glitchy video posted on The Fantastic Four’s official X account.

The clip suddenly cuts to black as Reed Richards warns, “Not long,” hinting at the arrival of Doctor Doom. Fans believe the trailer will premiere during Marvel’s Hall H presentation at San Diego Comic-Con.

The film, directed by the Russo brothers and releasing on December 18, 2026, will unite the Avengers, Fantastic Four, X-Men, Wakandan warriors and Thunderbolts against Doctor Doom, played by Robert Downey Jr.

Marvel has also confirmed that The Fantastic Four: First Steps directly sets up the events of the upcoming blockbuster, making it a key chapter in the Multiverse Saga.

Shocking twist in Spider-Versity #4

Marvel has introduced a shocking twist in The Amazing Spider-Man: Spider-Versity #4 by merging two of Spider-Man’s most feared enemies.

The deadly symbiote Carnage, known for bonding only with the most ruthless hosts, has chosen Norman Osborn, better known as the Green Goblin. The result is a terrifying villain that combines Carnage’s brutal powers with the Goblin’s intelligence, weapons and madness.

The comic’s story, titled Carnage on Campus, hints at chaos as Spider-Man faces one of his toughest battles yet. The surprise twist has sparked discussion among fans, with many hoping this version of Carnage could one day appear in a future Spider-Man film starring Tom Holland, although Marvel has not announced any such plans.

Grinch sequel with Jim Carrey

A live-action sequel to How the Grinch Stole Christmas is in development, with director Ron Howard and producer Brian Grazer returning. Jim Carrey is reportedly in talks to reprise his role as the Grinch.

Speaking at the UCLA Entertainment Symposium, Howard said the project moved forward after the creative team developed a story idea that excited everyone involved. Plot details remain under wraps.

Carrey famously struggled with the lengthy makeup and prosthetic process during the original film and nearly quit production. However, he completed the role and later received praise from Howard for his commitment.

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

“I got it!” yelled Asad suddenly. It was a dull day. My friends and I had just returned from school. Luckily, we all lived in the same neighbourhood and could meet up whenever we wanted, but that day was different. It was gloomy, and we had nothing to do.

We were so bored that we had started counting the stones on the ground when Asad suddenly jumped up to share an idea with us. We were excited to hear what it was.

The plan was to prank a boy in our neighbourhood, Salim, by pretending to rob him.

To execute this master plan, we needed a few accessories. We all gathered as much of our pocket money as we could and bought whatever we needed. We all knew that Salim had earned a black belt in karate and he was still training.

I did some research and found out that Salim walked home from the karate centre every day, just around sunset. The timing was perfect. Some of the others did their own research and discovered that Salim was afraid of burglars and snatchers. Everything seemed perfect, or so we thought.

The day was fixed. Each one of us had to be at our designated spot a few blocks away from Salim’s house at the agreed time. What we didn’t know was that we would end up putting one of our friends’ lives at risk that night.

The day arrived. We took our positions, disguised ourselves and waited patiently. Soon, we spotted Salim turning the corner, walking straight into our so-called “trap”. From his point of view, he was simply walking home and everything seemed completely normal.

Suddenly, we jumped out and pretended we were about to rob him. Then everything happened so fast and before we even realised what was going on, each one of us was lying on the ground while Salim ran from the scene.

None of us was seriously injured except Ahmed, who was knocked unconscious by one of Salim’s powerful kicks. Ahmed’s parents were out of the country on pilgrimage, so he was staying under the care of his uncle and aunt.

Ahmed was admitted to the hospital. When our parents found out what had happened, mine, along with some of the others, decided to enrol us in a boarding school so that we could learn to be more disciplined. If we had even the slightest idea that our prank would change our future, we would never have gone through with it.

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