Against The Machine: On the Unmaking Of Humanity
By Paul Kingsnorth
Particular Books
ISBN: 978-024178840-0
368pp.

In the current year, the United States and China are set to significantly expand their lunar exploration programmes. While couched in the language of scientific discovery, these initiatives encompass efforts directed at exploring the conditions for human presence beyond Earth.

This interest in extra-terrestrial habitation signals an implicit acknowledgement that the planet’s resources may be insufficient to sustain the prevailing patterns of human life in the long term. These efforts also signify that, instead of reckoning with the restraints on growth, the contemporary lords of mankind are looking for a technological escape from crises generated by expansionary capitalism.

It is precisely this impulse towards expansion, control and ambition that Paul Kingsnorth takes aim at in his collection of essays, an impulse he terms “the culture of the machine.” This culture, which has become the dominant logic of the present age, is marked by the pursuit of limitless growth, a constant drive to master nature and an expanding ambition of technology to pervade everyday life. The machine, as Kingsnorth puts it, is “a tendency within us, made concrete by power and circumstance, which coalesces in a huge agglomeration of power, control and ambition.”

Kingsnorth traces the origins of this cultural logic to the scientific worldview, which took hold in the wake of the Enlightenment. The Enlightenment, he argues, brought about a decisive rupture in how the world was understood. Pre-enlightenment thought conceived of the universe as an ordered organism, in which human beings were embedded rather than distinct from nature. This cosmological order was oriented towards supra-terrestrial or transcendental ends that set moral limits on human actions towards the natural world.

A collection of essays takes aim at the pursuit of limitless growth, the constant drive to master nature and the expanding ambition of technology to pervade everyday life that marks the present age

Early Enlightenment thought sought to make the world understandable through decomposition and analysis, which involved breaking down complex phenomena into their constituent parts and explaining them in terms of causal relations. To this end, humanity was conceptually set apart from nature, and the primary role of nature was recast as an instrument in advancing human purposes.

This epistemic shift, Kingsnorth contends, gave rise to a mechanistic worldview that understood the “Earth as mechanism, life as machine.” The machine metaphor reflects an attempt to comprehend life as an assemblage of parts which can be analysed separately.

Over time, this mechanistic outlook spread beyond the natural world to living beings themselves. What started out as a method for understanding the external world, gradually came to reshape conceptions of life and, ultimately, of human beings. This led to the remaking of human nature itself. As Kingsnorth puts it, “The end point of that worldview is not simply the age of climate change and mass extinction — though it is that — but the abolition of human nature itself.”

Kingsnorth further argues that the machine of global capitalism has torn away family life, older cultures and inherited ways of life, often passed off as liberation from tradition. This process of “unsettling” is illustrated in his discussion of the transformation of the meaning attached to home.

Once, the home was a site of shared life, where family members got together, sat around the fire, exchanged stories and passed down skills to the next generation. Today, the home has turned into “a dormitory, probably owned by a landlord or a bank, in which two or more people of varying ages and degrees of biological relationship sleep when they’re not out being employed by a corporation or educated by the state in preparation for being employed by a corporation. The home’s needs are met through pushing buttons, swiping screens or buying-in everything from food to furniture; for who has time for anything else, or has been taught the skills to do otherwise?”

This dismantling of older traditions and local practices, and supplanting them with mechanistic logic, paves the way for global capitalist expansion, which thrives in a standardised and homogenised environment. As a result, rather than delivering emancipation, the machine has left us more dependent.

Kingsnorth takes his critique further to movements that hold themselves up as alternatives to capitalist expansion. Twentieth-century ideologies of communism and fascism claimed to oppose capitalism, but they reproduced similar logics of domination and control. Kingsnorth is also dismissive of green initiatives, which he sees as providing sustenance to global capitalism. Instead of challenging the drive for limitless growth, most environmentalists aim to make existing economic arrangements more efficient and sustainable. By doing this, they allow the same structures to persist that they purport to challenge.

Capitalism thus carries on expanding with minimal adjustments while its fundamental extractive logic remains intact. As he laments, “The great genius of the machine, and one reason for its flourishing, is that… often those who promote what they imagine is an alternative find themselves doing its work.”

Kingsnorth’s narrative fits within a broader tradition of critiques of modernity and progress that cast a sceptical light on the legacy of the Enlightenment. While the post-Enlightenment era undeniably displaced communal and traditional forms of life, it also produced substantive social and material gains. Such gains range from significant extensions in lifespan and major advances in medicine and public health, to reductions in violence and extreme poverty, as well as the expansion of individual freedoms. Steven Pinker has documented these improvements with extensive statistical evidence in his book Enlightenment Now.

Furthermore, Kingsnorth’s line of argument can also be questioned by challenging the claim that the culture of the machine is an inevitable outcome of the ascendancy of reason. The central problem of limitless growth stems less from reason per se than from the instrumental forms of rationality that dominate once the moral and social guardrails are eroded.

Notwithstanding these disagreements with Kingsnorth’s portrayal of the Enlightenment, his collection rightly brings into focus the contemporary condition of digital capitalism and its corrosive effect on essential aspects of human life. The dawn of the internet age was accompanied by the promise of expanding individual freedom and democratic access to information. Yet, driven by the underlying logic of profit, this promise gave way to the dominance of big technology corporations that control what we read and how we see things through algorithms.

Ultimately, Kingsnorth makes an appeal to recover what it means to be human in the relentless march of progress. Although he himself has retreated to the countryside in Ireland, Kingsnorth does not suggest a hermetic withdrawal from the modern world. He also acknowledges that the past cannot be reborn. Instead, he calls for the cultivation of a culture that stands counter to that of the machine.

He suggests beginning with a change in outlook and training ourselves to look at the world not solely through the brain’s left hemisphere. By resisting “dogmatic insistences” and “easy answers and false divisions” and by distinguishing “intelligence from wisdom”, we can work towards an integrated and humane approach to understanding the world.

Moreover, Kingsnorth urges the need to nourish local, particular and human-scale practices as a way of resistance to the abstraction of the machine.

The reviewer is an academic based in the UK.

Email: naumanlawyer@gmail.com

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

Balithri
By Shehryar Ahmad Khan
Sang-e-Meel Publications
ISBN: 978-969-35-3743-7
194pp.

Shehryar Ahmad Khan is a professor, an oncologist and a researcher of international repute. He is also a student of life and Pakistani society, and this is evident in Balithri, his debut short story collection, which consists of 24 Urdu stories and offers proof of his prowess with the pen.

Khan discloses why he has resorted to writing with his nuqta-i-nazr [point of view] with which he opens his book. According to him, he wants to vent his frustrations, to explain the tragedies of life, to direct attention toward problems in society and, lastly, to find like-minded people.

The stories are all quite short. They are well written and there is a flow to their narratives which makes them very approachable. The angst and exaggeration often found in Urdu afsanay [short stories] are, thankfully, absent. Instead, the author’s skill is evident in perfectly turned-out sentences which touch the reader’s heart and mind. The author also brings sensuousness into his fiction. He describes scenes and emotions with words that are vivid without being salacious.

The book is named after one of the stories in the collection. ‘Balithri’ is the name of the female protagonist in that tale. Many stories are about Hindus, as is this one and they obviously have Hindu names. But rather uncommon names crop up in stories featuring Muslims. Another quirk is the inordinate use of Hindi words in the text.

A debut collection of 24 Urdu short stories by a medical practitioner and academic are thought-provoking and wise observations drawn from life and characters around us

The stories ‘Balithri’, ‘Sandli’, ‘Aik Meel’ [One Mile] and ‘Bagrri’ focus on the poor. ‘Balithri’ is the story of a young, nubile housemaid who becomes the victim of male lust. She is sometimes assaulted, sometimes wooed and sometimes blackmailed into submission. However well-to-do or well-known the man in question is, he still considers Balithri to be fair game. Unfortunately, the circle of exploitation continues even as Balithri’s daughter reaches adolescence.

In ‘Sandli’, the heroine and her husband go to the big city to escape penury. Contrary to expectations, only misery awaits them there and they even lose their self-respect. The hero in ‘Aik Meel’ faces the consequences of not being able to provide for his family adequately. On the other hand, in ‘Bagrri’, the author shows that when the poor love with their whole hearts, many obstacles can be overcome. However, the lack of finances can finally sound the death knell to their devotion, both literally and figuratively.

There are also a number of tales about love, every sort of love. They rarely end in joy. ‘Murti’ [Statue] talks of a man who falls in love with a statue. He then compares all women to it and almost no one comes up to his standards. ‘Barra Bhai’ [Big Brother] is a story of how responsibility weighs heavily on the young shoulders of the eldest son. His behaviour under stress does not always remain within familial norms. In ‘Mohabbat’ [Love], one-sided love is discussed and the story ‘Peepal’ champions the love of a man for a tree. It is a beautifully related tale of a young boy and his tree and their lives together, till death parts them.

A serious story about a young man who fails repeatedly to attain his love is called ‘Zindagi’ [Life]. He then decides to love only animals who love him back unconditionally, but their shorter life spans leave him bereft. He finds solace only when it dawns upon him that adversities cannot be evaded — they have to be faced and overcome.

Khan has also broached the subject of human behaviour and psychology in at least four of his tales. The story ‘Sufi’ is about a character who has difficulty tolerating the hypocrisy and pretensions of this world. Sufi responds automatically and uncontrollably and so comes to a sad end. ‘Anu Bhag’, the title character of another anecdote, is a brilliant scholar of economics who starves himself rather than be guilty of devouring more than his share of the resources of the planet.

In ‘Tooth Fairy’, the main character loses his trust in humans. He is short-changed in his dealings with them again and again and falls apart when he finds that even the tooth fairy is just a figment of the imagination. The story ‘Fifty Fifty’ demonstrates that humans are neither all good nor all bad. Once this lesson is learned, it becomes easier for the hero to understand them.

Social ills are discussed in several stories. Khan writes about the blasphemy law, the bureaucratic mindset, paedophilia, transgender issues, guilt-ridden remorse, jealousy and halala nikah [a method of remarrying a husband who has divorced his wife] with a sure touch and a wealth of knowledge.

The story that stands out for its content matter as well as its execution, however, is ‘Kaun Jeeta, Kaun Hara’ [Who Won, Who Lost]. It opens with a description of the region of Potohar and then introduces a hunter who has spent time and effort in training himself to bag an urial. He considers himself to be a merciful man, since he wants to kill the animal cleanly with a single shot. The hunter’s ‘humanity’ is starkly juxtaposed with the innate sense of duty of the beast. The male urial gives his own life to save his mate, who is in the throes of childbirth. The title of the story is an apt commentary on the hunt.

‘Faisla’ [Decision], the last offering in the book, revolves around a very modern problem, a conundrum that Khan may have had to face often in his medical practice. It is the end-of-life dilemma: when is it correct to pull the plug of a terminally ill patient who is being kept alive on machines?

It is hoped that Balithri is the precursor of many other books by the author. Shehryar Ahmad Khan not only writes well, but he also has an inventive and artistic streak. His stories are thought-provoking, yet easy to read. They are small nuggets of wise observations about everyday events. It would be a pity if such talent is not nurtured and promoted.

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, April 26th, 2026

Dekha Jinhain Palat Ke
By Dr Farooq Adil
Qalam Foundation International
ISBN: 978-9697463305
348pp.

From its title, the book Dekha Jinhain Palat Ke [Those I Looked Back At] may seem like a collection of personal sketches of celebrities the author has met. However, this 348-page book is far broader and deeper.

It includes sketches of political, religious, literary and social figures from different times, and none of them are directly connected. It is not just a list of people the author has met. Rather, it presents thoughtful and detailed portraits drawn from the author’s experiences, research and conversations with those who knew their subjects, as well as insights from other people’s stories, writings and memories. In this way, each sketch becomes more than just a small memoir — it blends personal experience with shared memories and knowledge.

Dr Farooq Adil was my senior colleague at DawnNews, although our work hours rarely matched — I worked the night shift, and he led the day shift. Our contact was usually just a short handover, long before he became the Dr Farooq Adil. Even in those brief moments, his speed and clarity in preparing news were clear.

Later, I realised that the same sharpness would shape his writing. Publishing nearly two books a year, Dr Adil has become a writer many see as standing on the right side of history. Each new book raises expectations — and this one too meets them.

A collection of personal sketches of renowned figures from history and current times in Urdu encourages readers not just to remember the past but also to reflect on the present

Like many of his peers, Dr Adil worked in newspapers and magazines before moving to television. He also served as the media adviser and spokesperson for former president Mamnoon Hussain. He has seen Pakistan’s politics up close, had access to important centres of power and watched how Urdu has changed in modern media. While reading the book, one can sense his worries about sensational news and the slow loss of careful, elegant language. This feeling may explain why the book tries to reconnect journalism with literature — two fields that are drifting apart.

This is Dr Adil’s second book of sketches, following Jo Surat Nazar Aayi [The Face That Appeared]. This one features over 60 personalities and is spread over seven chapters. While most sketches draw from personal observation, the author’s journalistic background adds lesser-known details, giving the book freshness and credibility.

Sketches of journalists such as Shorish Kashmiri and Mujeeb-ur-Rehman Shami highlight how the press often challenged those in power, while portraits of figures like Bal Thackeray and Sheikh Hasina Wajid demonstrate that Dr Adil’s writing reaches beyond national boundaries.

The writing is simple, clear and free of heavy words or complicated ideas. It seems aimed at younger readers, who may find old expressions difficult to understand. But this simplicity does not weaken the writing style — it makes the book easier to read and more enjoyable. The book’s best quality is that it leaves the reader wanting more.

The author begins with Maulana Maudoodi, sharing both well-known and little-known moments, giving a subtle picture of this major figure of the Jamaat-i-Islami, while also showing his human side. The author does not exaggerate — instead, he shows character, context and beliefs naturally, keeping the reader engaged.

The sketches of people from the Pakistan Movement are very interesting. They are often short — sometimes only two or three pages in length — but written so carefully that the reader gets the full picture. In Liaquat Ali Khan’s sketch, Dr Adil showcases his rare honesty — like when Khan sat on a mat at a Muslim League meeting, wearing torn socks, quietly saying he could not afford new ones. As a prime minister, he reprimanded a friend who went out of his way to help his son by securing work for him. Such moments stay with the reader.

One of the most powerful sketches is that of Sardar Abdur Rab Nishtar, titled ‘Qutub Sahib Ki Laath.’ It is carefully researched and emotionally strong, making the reader think about Pakistan’s founders and how the politicians of today are very different from their ideals. Nishtar, even as the governor of Punjab, cycled to work and did not let his children use official telephones.

One of the most powerful sketches is that of Sardar Abdur Rab Nishtar, titled ‘Qutub Sahib Ki Laath.’ It is carefully researched and emotionally strong, making the reader think about Pakistan’s founders and how the politicians of today are very different from their ideals. Nishtar, even as the governor of Punjab, cycled to work and did not let his children use official telephones. Dr Adil also explains how Nishtar was buried near the mausoleum of the Quaid-i-Azam — a decision influenced by public pressure, which even challenged the establishment.

The book also brings back memories of people younger readers may not know — Nawabzada Nasrullah Khan, for example. Pakistan’s first president, Iskander Mirza, thought politicians were useless and believed martial law was the only solution. The Nawabzada predicted that martial law would soon end Mirza’s own government, and this turned out to be true. Within two weeks of his prediction, Gen Ayub Khan removed Mirza from power — showing Nawabzada’s political sagacity.

The book also includes a sketch of Imran Khan, which is expected because he is central to today’s politics. The author does not admire Khan’s political style and mainly uses opinions from Khan’s critics and former associates. This shows the author’s view, but it slightly affects the balance.

Like the author, I also met the legendary broadcaster Azeem Sarwar once. But the way Dr Adil describes this meeting, with a vivid ‘B-roll’ in the background, takes the reader straight back to the golden days of radio, when voices were powerful and memories had a sound of their own.

Alongside sketches of political, social, religious, literary and journalistic figures, there is also a touch of showbiz glamour. Junaid Jamshed is called a rock star, and a heartfelt tribute is paid to a music diva whose gentle presence the author still remembers — known to the world as Nayyara Noor.

One of the last personalities to leave a strong impression upon the author, and still fresh in the reader’s memory, is another ‘doctor’ — Dr Amir Liaqat Hussain. He not only transformed television but also became a favourite of many. The way Dr Adil recounts Amir Liaqat’s journey, from the editor of Parcham to one of the most celebrated public figures, is truly remarkable.

The book ends on a personal note with a sketch of the author’s father, a traditional herbal doctor. Warm, nostalgic and vivid, this chapter will especially touch readers familiar with rural life, reminding us that every son sees his father as a hero.

For anyone interested in personal sketches, political history or the human side of public figures, this book offers both insight and quiet reflection. It informs, sometimes surprises, and often reminds us of what has been lost — and what might still be regained. Above all, however, it provides perspective. By looking at lives shaped by conviction, compromise, courage and consequence, it encourages readers not just to remember the past but also to reflect on the present.

In this way, the book is more than mere personal sketches — it is a conversation between generations, asking us to value honesty, question power and see that history is shaped by those who dare to act.

The reviewer writes on old films and music and loves reading books.
X: @suhaybalavi

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

On an unseasonably cold November night in 2022, a pain, a dull burn, gripped my chest in what felt like a constriction, an uneasy tightness or pressure, a sort of squeeze or clutch around my sternum.

Then it spread like thick fog, intense but not sharp. There was a feeling of heaviness in the centre of my chest. Then it crawled to a spot between my shoulder blades right behind my neck. My jaw began to ache. Every tooth in my right jaw felt loose. Was the pain in my jaw or in my chest? No, there was a path of dull, grinding pain between my jaw and chest. It worsened if I lay down.

I sat through the night massaging my heart not sure what exactly was wrong. A little voice said: could this be a heart attack? But I crushed the voice. In the morning, I felt better, only because the dull squeezing pain was gone. The clutch had loosened its grip. The knot was undone. I felt lightheaded, drained of energy, but determined to carry on with the day’s work. Looking back, I can discern desperation in my actions. I wanted to brush aside the night’s pain like a bad dream.

But my story didn’t end there. Each time I walked briskly, I would experience pain in my chest. Lightheaded and unsteady on my feet, I teetered between belief and disbelief at my condition. I found it hard to believe that I had been diagnosed with “coronary heart disease”, or that I had become, as we referred to such sufferers back home, a “heart patient.”

Once I knew what angina felt like, I seemed to experience it at the most delicate slight, at the smallest hurt. Simply talking about my heart attack produced a tightening in my chest; a constriction that sparked a response in my jaw, that made me aware of my heart and sternum. The constrictions came and went, like a fist that tightly shut, then released.

I was told I needed an angiogram.

Constriction is a multivalent word. It holds within its depths a slew of emotions. Constriction is like a tight knot of feelings inside your chest’s cavity, or a narrowing, squeezing sensation in your arteries that signals a warning — a red flag that you must see — stop or suffer.

Did I believe that the heart, and not the mind, is the centre of emotions? Perhaps not. What makes the heart race, what makes it sink? Desire and dread. In the mystic analogy that M.H. Askari points to in his essays, the heart and the mind can together be a single unit: qalb. I liked to experience desire and dread. My recourse is Ghalib:

Gar yaas sar na kheenchay tangi ajab fiza hai
Wus‘at gah-i-tamanna yak baam-o-sad hawa hai

[If despondency shouldn’t arise, stricture has a wonderful ambience/ The vastness of desire is like a hundred breezes that blow across a single terrace.]

Ghalib has a wonderful play on constriction or tangi in this masterful verse, one that he chose not to publish. In his poetry, Ghalib favours the word ‘tangi’ because of its multivalence. Here, it implies both scarcity and narrowness. The phrase ‘ajab fiza’ that follows it adds a sense of mystery, playing with both meanings of tangi.

In a ghazal, the second line of a sher, or couplet, responds to the first and, here, the poet uses the form to present a sophisticated argument. Desire is boundless, even if the protagonist is confined or restrained in a narrow space or circumstance. The contrastive agreement between yak [one] and sad [hundred] and between tangi [narrowness] and wus‘at [spaciousness] creates a wonderful ambience, ajab fiza.

Yak baam and sad hawa are joined with a vao, but it is not a simple vao-i-‘atf. Vao, a vital letter of the Perso-Urdu alphabet, serves multiple functions. It is most often used as a conjunction — “and” — but it can also be used as a comparative “tashbeehi”. In Ghalib’s verse, it is, in fact, vao-i-tashbeehi. That is, it creates two situations: yak baam [one terrace] is equivalent to a hundred breezes. And yak baam is the same as a hundred breezes. The nuance is delicate, but that is Ghalib for you.

A new idea is broached in this line by the suggestion that disappointment can curb or sour the imaginings of desire. Yaas is a situation when one gives up hoping, certain that the desired objective will never be achieved. Tamanna, on the other hand, has possibilities of realisation. The word hawa becomes most interesting in the context of tamanna. If we read it to mean ‘desire’, then the narrator seems to tell us that a hundred or myriad desires can be generated or made active by just observing from a terrace.

I’ve been carried away by Ghalib’s clever deployment of tangi but, before I move on, I must share another of his verses on constriction:

Tangi-i-dil ka gila kya yeh woh kafir dil hai
Ke agar tang na hota tau pareshaañ hota

[No use complaining of this sinner heart’s narrowness/ If it weren’t [so] constricted, it would be restless]

Ghalib offers a scintillating play on tangi and pareshaani in this couplet. The heart is deemed to be restless. Thankfully, the heart’s constriction sets a limit on its restlessness.

The nurse had asked me to pack an overnight bag. “Bring a book to read,” she said on the phone. Her words struck me as charming, oddly comforting. I pondered over her words, captivated. Did she not believe that a cell phone was enough entertainment to while away time? Or even an iPad, even if I didn’t own one. A book? I live surrounded by books. Which book could be the one book to bring along to a hospital where my wounded heart would, itself, become the subject of investigation?

I shoved my elegant, slender copy of Ghalib’s Urdu Diwan into my shoulder bag and carried it with me to the hospital. We arrived at the hospital. It was twinkling with lights like a beacon dispelling the darkness of winter morning. The lobby sparkled. A steady stream of people flowed through the doors. Nurses and hospital staff reporting for duty. My name was called. We moved along, up the stairs to the second floor and into a cozy cubicle.

I wasn’t alone; I had been allowed two companions, and my husband and a close friend, a doctor, accompanied me. But, with me, I brought a secret third.

The columnist is Professor in the Department of Middle Eastern and South Asian Languages and Cultures at the University of Virginia in the US.

X: @FarooqiMehr

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

“Whenever I read a story, I instinctively make myself the centre of it. I become the hero. I read the script like a novel, and it becomes deeply personal. When that happens, my work comes from the heart. That connection shapes how I approach a project as a director. No matter the plot, I choose stories that move me enough to make them personal,” Musaddiq Malek tells me as we settle into conversation.

For the uninitiated, Musaddiq Malek is the rising star of direction in television serials. He has recently completed the avidly watched Hania Aamir-Bilal Abbas starrer Meri Zindagi Hai Tu (MZHT). But over the course of his director’s portfolio it’s obvious there is a depth to his reading of scripts and characters that is not exactly common. This is what I am interested in probing.

Musaddiq Malek’s path through Pakistan’s media landscape has taken him from working on sprawling film sets as an assistant director to confidently stepping into the dual roles of director and actor on mainstream television.

An alumnus of the National College of Arts (NCA), Malek’s initial experience included working on large-scale cinematic productions, including the Humayun Saeed vehicles Jawani Phir Nahin Aani 2 (JPNA 2) in 2018 and London Nahin Jaoonga (LNJ) in 2022, in which he worked as an assistant director and also played brief roles.

Director and actor Musaddiq Malek has come a long way, from assisting on film sets to shaping prime time television. With the success of serials such as Habs, Noor Jahan and Meri Zindagi Hai Tu, what perhaps sets him apart is his discerning eye — going to the crux of stories and characters to shape them on the screen

These experiences broadened his technical understanding of high-stakes production environments. Malek then transitioned into television acting, when director Haseeb Hassan cast him in a significant role in the 2019 serial Alif. The performance paved the way for subsequent appearances in other primetime TV serials, including Mere Paas Tum Ho (MPTH) in 2019, Habs (2022) and Main Manto Nahin Hoon (MMNH) in 2025.

FROM FILM SETS TO THE DIRECTOR’S CHAIR

Malek also made his directorial debut in full-fledged dramas with Habs, in which he successfully balanced responsibilities both in front of and behind the camera.

His directorial portfolio also includes the telefilms Absolutely Knot (2021) and Achari Mohabbat (2024), as well as the serial Noor Jahan (2024). And, of course, Malek helmed MZHT, which concluded this year, and registered excellent ratings.

After completing a four-year degree in filmmaking from the NCA, Malek interned at Evernew Studios in Lahore before moving to Karachi, where his work life began in earnest. He attributes his success to his education and his hands-on experience and stresses its importance.

“Honestly, with those credentials, if I weren’t a good director, I would have to question my very existence in this field. I am a firm believer in being a dedicated student of the craft before attempting to lead it,” he says.

Crediting director Nadeem Baig as a key influence on his career (Nadeem directed the films JPNA 2 and LNJ and the dramas MPTH and MMNH), Malek says, “Nadeem Baig is a master of clarity — a filmmaker who commands the lens with surgical precision. Unlike those who remain dependent on assistants, he possesses an innate, total authority over his craft, knowing exactly how a scene must unfold and precisely how it must conclude.”

Malek also assisted Saba Hameed on Ghalti (2019), during which she was simultaneously acting and directing, and he also considers her a major influence. He recalls that Hameed appeared in a majority of the scenes — 500 out of 800 — while also directing the drama. “She would set the shot, step into the frame to act, then return to the monitor, like a strict teacher, to scrutinise the playback. It takes immense confidence to trust your team in a dual role.”

The 100-day experience of Ghalti grounded him and later helped him direct Saba Hameed in Noor Jahan.

“I doubt any other director could have convinced Saba apa to sit on a wooden jhoola [swing] and perform as I requested. That was the result of the pure, mutual trust and respect we have for each other.”

As mentioned earlier, Malek’s journey into acting includes roles in writer Khalil-ur-Rehman Qamar’s serials MPTH and MMNH, and he considers the impact of those experiences on his craft to be a rare privilege for which he is profoundly grateful.

“In MMNH, I inhabited the role of Naurez, a character caught in the crossfire of a generational family feud,” he says. “Naurez is the living embodiment of the cycle of violence. His physical disability and emotional scars are the direct collateral damage of his family’s history of hate. While Naurez’s role was sensitive, it was also quite powerful and I poured my heart and soul into bringing his story to life.”

You can tell that Malek knows how to delve into the inner life of a character.

HABS: THE ART OF SILENCE AND SUFFOCATION

However, Habs was where he began to define his directorial voice.

The drama, which is remembered for its slow-burn pace and overwhelming sense of emotional suffocation, remains quite understandably very close to his heart. Malek explains that he approached it not as a conventional romance but as a psychological study of damaged individuals.

“I relied heavily on the power of pausing during scenes and letting the silence between Basit [Feroze Khan] and Ayesha [Ushna Shah] speak louder than the dialogue,” he elaborates. “It was to highlight their deep-seated disconnect and shared internal conflicts. I used visual isolation to transform the protagonist’s home into a gilded prison.”

Both Feroze Khan and Ushna Shah delivered very intense portrayals in Habs. How did you ensure they avoided typical television tropes, I ask Malek.

“We focused entirely on the ‘why’ behind all their interactions. For Feroze, it was about revealing his raw vulnerability hidden beneath his arrogance, so that the audience understood his trauma, rather than judging him as merely a rigid man.

“With Ushna, we avoided the damsel-in-distress cliché and maintained her dignity, even as her world crumbled around her. Their chemistry was collaborative and built after we spent hours dissecting non-verbal cues to ensure their pain felt authentic and grounded to the viewers.”

In addition to directing Habs, Malek also played the character of Fahad in it — a character defined by exceptional loyalty as Basit’s right-hand man and confidant.

“Fahad’s character was far more complex than my previous roles, because the drama relied heavily on what was left unsaid,” he recounts. “Navigating a friendship layered with underlying trauma required significant non-verbal acting. While my role as Monty in Mere Paas Tum Ho was simpler, Fahad required a more technical, nuanced approach.”

He notes that Fahad functioned as an emotional bridge — someone who understood Basit’s silence and could confront him when necessary.

NOOR JAHAN: POWER, CONTROL AND CONSEQUENCE

Noor Jahan, which became a sort of cultural phenomenon, expanded Malek’s canvas into familial territory.

“The drama laid bare uncomfortable truths about power within families,” he explains. “Viewers hadn’t witnessed such a stark contrast between a cutthroat antagonist Noor Jahan [Saba Hameed] and an inspirational protagonist Noor Bano [Kubra Khan]. The themes of maternal control mirror real-life tales that many Pakistanis have either heard of or lived through. The cultural relevance was as precise as surgery.”

And what about the intense finale — why did he choose to end the story with Saba Hameed’s character living in isolation, her children having left alone in a mansion, visiting her only occasionally, as seen in the final scene, while the younger Noor Jahan withholds her newly born son from her? After all, he could have opted for a conventional “happy ending” typical of most dramas?

If I weren’t a good director, I would have to question my very existence in this field. I am a firm believer in being a dedicated student of the craft before attempting to lead it.”

“The ending had to be earned and truthful. I actually changed it. The original script had Saba Hameed’s character being diagnosed with cancer, but I believe the ending is a director’s sovereign domain. We couldn’t grant Noor Jahan such an easy redemption.

“The final scene showcased a woman who prized control above all else, but was left with nothing except her own reflection. It was a quiet, profound tragedy about the cost of power, and encouraged viewers to bid goodbye to generational trauma.”

The grapevine is abuzz regarding the continuation of the Noor Jahan universe. Is a sequel or spin-off in development, I ask.

“Yes, except that it isn’t a sequel but a prequel, titled Noor Bano. It explores the story of Noor Jahan’s daughter-in-law, who shares her name. It’s a fascinating exploration of the roots of her resentment. The younger Noor Jahan seeks retribution from her mother-in-law, who made her early life a real struggle.”

MERI ZINDAGI HAI TU: LOVE, LIES AND LONELINESS

The conversation turns to MZHT, which explored the thin line between genuine love and deception. What was the emotional anchor in the script for Malek?

“It served as a cautionary tale against taking emotional shortcuts,” says Malek. “The central message is that healthy, enduring love can only flourish when you lay all your cards on the table — flaws and all. The directorial journey was about peeling back those layers of deception to reveal the core truth.”

Convincing Bilal Abbas to take on the role of Kamyar proved to be a challenge, Malek recalls. When the script was first narrated to him, Abbas reportedly expressed hesitation, noting that he had never played a character of this nature before. He made it clear that the experiment was uncharted territory for him, adding that if the drama and performance worked, it would be due to the director’s guidance and, if it failed, the responsibility would also rest with him.

“Kamyar [Bilal Abbas’ character] was intricately layered and emotionally guarded — charming yet impulsive,” says Malek. “Battling the weight of past betrayals, he wasn’t inherently malicious. He was simply infatuated and desperately fleeing from his own truth. The character needed to be developed so that the audience recognised the deep-seated loneliness behind his swagger, rather than dismissing him as merely problematic.”

At least this director understands that the character was problematic. How do you respond to those who feel that substance use was shown too frequently in MZHT, I ask.

“Honestly, I feel like I’ve actually been quite conservative with that. There are only four or five instances in the entire drama where the character is actually consuming alcohol. As for the scenes where Kamyar appears intoxicated, that was simply the character’s nature. I was telling the story of a functioning alcoholic, and I don’t see any other way to paint a realistic picture of that struggle without showing him in that state.

“Interestingly, I haven’t seen any critique regarding the performance of his intoxication,” continues Malek. “People seem to have a bone to pick with the presence of alcohol itself. But that was part of the narrative.”

ACTING OR DIRECTION?

At this stage in his career, the question becomes inevitable: where does his true creative allegiance lie — acting or direction? He replies without hesitation that direction is where it’s at for him.

“Acting is a beautiful, intimate experience, but it is ultimately about fulfilling someone else’s vision. Directing, while a selfless job, allows you to create an entire world from scratch. It gives me the power to address uncomfortable truths — such as the generational trauma in Noor Jahan or the suffocation of social pressure in Habs.

“There is a unique thrill in making an audience feel a specific emotion purely through a camera angle or a shared moment of silence. As a director, I’m not just playing a character, I’m steering the entire ship.”

A FEW FOND MEMORIES

In this journey, is there a professional memory that he holds particularly dear, I ask Malek.

“It has to be when the first teaser for Habs went viral,” he responds without hesitation. “Humayun Saeed wrote a very appreciative note about me on his Instagram — that was incredibly heart-warming. Similarly, after the second episode was aired, Nadeem Baig visited me to express his appreciation. He told me he always knew I was talented, but he hadn’t realised I would be that good!”

Another standout memory is from Malek’s time on film sets that perfectly captures the chaos or beauty of the job. It happened while filming JPNA 2 in Turkey. “We couldn’t find an actor for a minor role as a guard, so [the writer and actor] Vasay Chaudhry looked at me and said, ‘You’re doing it!’ And just like that, I found myself playing the part!”

On the growing trend of social media influencers entering the field of acting, I ask Malek if he considers them to be actors in the traditional sense, or if there is a fundamental difference in the craft.

“Honestly, I don’t. An influencer is the master of their drawing room, operating without checks or balances. Conversely, a professional actor undergoes endless auditions and technical scrutiny, with editors analysing every frame. If you want to be an actor, you must come prepared. Have your armour ready, your weapons intact, and learn how to use them in a proper institution like Napa or the NCA.”

THE ACTORS’ COLLECTIVE OF PAKISTAN

Given that Malek remains a vocal advocate for systemic industry reforms, I ask him which steps he believes are necessary to truly empower the artist community, especially with regards to the Actors’ Collective of Pakistan (Act).

In his opinion, to enhance its effectiveness, three major reforms need to be worked upon: first and foremost, ensuring payments are made on time, and secondly, a robust union system. “There should be a formal way for an actor, a director, or even an assistant director to question a production house. Without a union, you are often left without a voice.”

The third element, he believes, is an official government recognition of the profession. “These three things — timely paycheques, a union system, and legal status — should be our top priorities,” he summarises.

He adds: “We should look at the systems that Hollywood, the Turkish or even the Indian industry have in place. They have specific categories for junior actors, assistant directors, choreographers and dancers. These union systems are exactly what help you progress and keep things above board. We see it working in successful industries all over the world — it provides the structure needed to ensure that everyone is treated fairly.”

Regarding Pakistani content on global platforms such as Netflix, Malek says it’s all a numbers game. “Once we have a substantial volume of shares and a strong subscriber base coming from Pakistan, I believe Netflix will start to pivot toward us. It doesn’t just happen out of the blue, but I’m optimistic that the tide will turn soon,” he sounds off on an optimistic note.

As the conversation ends, I ask him what is next for him after the success of Habs, Noor Jahan and MZHT as a director. Malek responds by telling me that he is currently poring over several scripts, including the possibility of another film project, but nothing is set in stone as yet.

For the time being, we will just have to hope that something catches his discerning eye soon that can add substance to his already impressive portfolio — and our screens.

The writer is a freelance contributor with over two decades of experience in entertainment.

He can be reached at asifkhan.media@outlook.com

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 26th, 2026

“People used to be afraid of lying. Now people are afraid of telling the truth because it may cause them harm.”

— Maya Ali, actor

“Irshad Bhatti sahib, this is not journalism, this is pure filth. Learn some grace from Meera — she remained calm and humble. If it were someone else, she would’ve slapped you for asking such disgusting questions.”

— Saad Kaiser, influencer

“People just hate happy women and it’s not making sense anymore.”

— Hania Aamir, actor

“Happy women aren’t the problem, unhappy people are. Many women hate being reminded of what they lack and many men were raised never seeing a truly happy woman at home.”

— Arsalan Naseer, actor and comedian

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 26th, 2026

It’s a positive sign that a project initiated by musician Nadeem Jafri’s company, NJE, in collaboration with DHA, will result in the construction of three more cinema houses in Karachi to “strengthen the city’s cultural and entertainment landscape.” We welcome this because our film buffs, as well as the film business, need it. However, we’d also like to suggest that more ventures such as this one should emerge in the middle- or lower-middle-class neighbourhoods of Karachi (and other cities), such as Nazimabad and Gulistan-i-Jauhar, to better serve a wider range of movie-lovers.

Tribeca Triumph

The Gymnasts of Fisherman Colony (TGFC) is a documentary directed by Pakistan-born Canadian journalist and filmmaker Habiba Nosheen. The documentary focuses on a group of girls from Karachi’s Machhar Colony, one of the largest informal settlements of the country, who, by virtue of their ethnic backgrounds and bureaucracy, find themselves stateless and deprived of basic rights. Nevertheless, with the tutelage and support of a local NGO and their own grit and determination, they come together to form a gymnastics team that goes on to win many accolades. It’s an inspiring tale. The good news is that the film has made it to the reputed Tribeca Film Festival (June 3-14) in New York, and will be screened in the ‘Documentary Competition’ section. Good luck to team TGFC! We hope you raise the bar high for Pakistani documentaries to come.

Host Hoist

TV host Fiza Ali is often in the news for interesting reasons. This time round, though, things have taken a rather weird turn. During her show, Fiza A’s husband, Ejaz Khan, made an appearance. In a moment of who-knows-what frenzy, he lifted his wife over his shoulders like a WWE wrestler before putting her down, thankfully not like a WWE wrestler. The clip of the incident went viral, drawing flak from netizens. A few days later, the Pakistan Electronic Media Regulatory Authority (Pemra) issued the channel — on which that particular programme was aired — a show-cause notice for “inappropriate remarks” and an “unacceptable gesture.” Ejaz sahib, aaraam se!

Gang Busted

In February this year, a group of men opened fire at Indian film director Rohit Shetty’s (the Singham films, Sooryavanshi, the Golmaal films) home in Mumbai. While the incident resulted in damaged property, thankfully, no one was hurt. Investigations revealed that a gang that wanted to intimidate Bollywood stars to extort money from them was behind the shooting. A few weeks ago, the police arrested a man called Golu Pandit, who had recruited the gunmen, and last week they captured Pradeep Kumar, one of the men who was involved in the attack. Well, we think it’s good that the criminals are behind bars. But we would also like to suggest to Rohit S that he stick to rom-coms and stop blowing up cars in his films — sometimes the wrong people get influenced by it.

Marriage Plans?

Everyone knows that reality TV star Kim Kardashian and Formula 1 celeb Lewis Hamilton have been going out for some time. Their recent appearance at the Coachella music and arts festival in California, where they danced their hearts out, is another piece of evidence that they’re going strong. But things seem to be getting even stronger as, on April 14, the pair was spotted buying furniture and decorative accessories in Los Angeles. This has given rise to conjecture that the two will soon tie the nuptial knot. Nobody ever accused Lewis H of going slow. Or Kim K for that matter.

Something Cooking for Martha

Rumour has it that a film based on the life and work of American lifestyle mogul and popular TV personality Martha Stewart is on the anvil. The question is: if it ain’t a rumour, who is going to play her? Answer: two-time Oscar winner Cate Blanchett. Yep, that’s the buzz in showbiz circles. Martha S herself has been quoted to have said, “I think there’s something in the works right now with Cate Blanchett.” The title of the proposed biopic is slated to be Good Thing, taken from the Martha S’ catchphrase “It’s a good thing.” We say, if Cate B is in it, then it’s definitely a good thing.

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 26th, 2026

Reef Googles himself for personal validation and every Instagram, Facebook, blog post and news item says the same thing: he is a swell guy. In fact, he may probably be the nicest person on the planet! But — and there’s always a but — like every man and woman on earth, there is a flip, more human and fallible side to Hawk.

A child actor whose career took off when he sang and tap-danced on Johnny Carson’s late-night show, Reef lived a typical Hollywood story of immense success, drugs and a lack of empathy. Then, five years before the events of this film, an overdose threw that fleeting lifestyle aside. Reef went on a sabbatical, cleansing the bad from his mind and body.

Now poised for a big return, Reef feels things couldn’t be better: he is happy and has the love and support of his two best friends, Kyle and Xander (Cameron Diaz and Matt Bomer, both quite good). Until — and there’s always an ‘until’ — his erratic, semi-bonkers, annoying crisis lawyer, Ira (Hill, nearly unrecognisable), receives an extortion call targeting Reef.

Outcome, which has Keanu Reeves playing a Hollywood star who retraces his past mistakes in a search for redemption, is as profound as it is understandable

In a twist that’s given the matter-of-fact treatment in the screenplay — for this is not an action movie, nor is it a comedy — Reef sets out to apologise to everyone he’s ever wronged.

At first, it may sound like a small enough task to accomplish, because the list seems negligible, since Reef has always been a good guy at heart. The three key people in his circle are: his first manager, Richie ‘Red’ Rodriguez, whom he left when he hit the big time (Martin Scorsese in a good, emotionally driven role); his mum Dinah Hawk (Susan Lucci), now a ‘Real Housewife’ who wants to exploit this moment for her show; and his old girlfriend, Savannah (Welker White).

But, as his assistant Sammy (Ivy Wolk) tells him, there are others: the four dogs he left, the pool guy, the people who worked in the industry — you know, the many little people one conveniently forgets about. These are ancillary characters to whom apologies will matter only if Reef manages to clear the air with his manager, his mum and his former girlfriend — all of whom stand at their own junctures in life.

This is where Hill and co-writer Ezra Woods’ screenplay cuts a little deeper. Reef, from his first scenes, is conscious and apprehensive of the only life he knows. He wants to return to his big Hollywood days but, internally, he is shaking, as if this house of cards will be toppled at any moment by an invisible force.

Reeves, with his limited acting talent and a few really well-acted scenes, cuts through his universally accepted good-guy persona by delivering Reef as a character. Because of him — and Hill’s preference to play the film as a character catharsis — Outcome is as profound as it is understandable.

It is a what-if Hollywood story with star cameos (Drew Barrymore playing herself and David Spade as Reef’s neighbour Buddy), but without showbiz’s glitz and pomposity, where the premise of a superstar’s apology frames a story about coming to terms with the last remnants of one’s tumultuous, fragile former life.

By the climax, right along with Reef, you get it: the apology — not the threat of blackmail and disclosure — is a part of realising who has been there for you. And recognising that is what really matters.

Released by and streaming on Apple TV+, Outcome is a swell, well-acted little film that is rated R for adult language and sexual references

The writer is Icon’s primary film reviewer

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 26th, 2026

Night-time. A dim and dingy car park. Woefully inadequate fluorescent lights flicker and buzz overhead. Two men stand in half-shadow. One is barely visible, his face almost entirely swallowed by darkness.

His voice is low and gravelly: “The list is longer than anyone can imagine. It involves the entire US intelligence community. FBI, CIA, Justice. It’s incredible. The cover-up had little to do with Watergate. It was mainly to protect the covert operations. It leads everywhere. Get out your notebook. There’s more.”

The other man is lost for words. He just stands there, mouth slightly open and eyes wide, trying to make sense of what he’s hearing. The exchange ends with a warning: his life, along with that of his colleague, is in grave and immediate danger.

This is a pivotal moment in Alan J. Pakula’s All The President’s Men, which has just turned 50. The film was based on the 1974 book by journalists Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, who investigated the Watergate scandal for the Washington Post.

Alan J. Pakula’s landmark portrayal of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein’s investigation into the Watergate scandal continues to resonate in an age of disinformation

The man doing the talking in the scene I’ve been describing is Mark Felt (Hal Holbrook), then associate director of the FBI, better known as “Deep Throat.” His interlocutor, temporarily stunned into silence, is Woodward (Robert Redford).

A masterpiece of political cinema, All The President’s Men remains one of the finest films about investigative journalism ever made. Steeped in a fog of paranoia and distrust — an atmosphere shaped in no small part by cinematographer Gordon Willis’ matchless treatment of light and shade — it is as relevant now as it was on first release.

Uncovering the Watergate scandal

“At its simplest,” journalist Garrett M. Graff writes about the scandal, “Watergate is the story of two separate criminal conspiracies: the Nixon world’s ‘dirty tricks’ that led to the burglary on June 17, 1972, and the subsequent wider cover-up.

“The first conspiracy was deliberate, a sloppy and sham­bolic but nonetheless developed plan to subvert the 1972 election; the second was reactive, almost instinctive — it seems to have happened simply because no one said no.”

What started out as an ostensibly ordinary break-in at the Democratic National Com­mittee headquarters in Washington DC during the US presidential election cycle, soon revealed a broader pattern of political espionage, illegal surveillance, campaign sabotage and the systematic misuse of state power. Much of it targeted perceived political enemies.

As the indefatigable Woodward and Bernstein pursued the story, it became clear the burglary was part of a much larger operation — one that reached all the way into the heart of the White House.

Their probing would ultimately lead to the disgrace and resignation of Richard Nixon, who faced near-certain impeachment.

Figuring out the puzzle

Redford was the driving force behind All The President’s Men. He became interested in the Watergate story while working on The Candidate, a 1972 satire about the backstage machinations underpinning an idealistic Senate campaign that, in an instance of uncanny timing, overlapped with the unfolding scandal.

Redford followed Wood­ward and Bernstein’s invest­igation as it panned out in real time. In 1972, he reached out to Woodward directly, hoping to better understand both the facts of the case and the methods of the reporting.

Convinced that the story demanded a restrained, quasi-documentary approach, Redford initially envisioned a black-and-white film shot in a pared-back style, with an emphasis on process rather than star power.

Warner Bros, with whom he had a production deal, thought otherwise. Having already agreed to finance the film, the studio insisted that Redford take a leading role — and marketed the as yet-unmade project as “the most devastating detective story” of the century.

There were early discussions about casting Al Pacino as Bernstein, fresh from the success of The Godfather (1972), but the part ultimately went to Dustin Hoffman. Pakula then signed on to direct, bringing with him a conceptual and tonal sensibility ideally suited to the material.

A quandary remained: how do you build suspense out of a story whose outcome is already common knowledge? Film scholars Robert B. Ray and Christian Keathley suggest the filmmaking team’s response to that challenge is “the key” which unlocks the movie.

At one point, during his first meeting with Deep Throat, Woodward admits: “The story is dry. All we’ve got are pieces. We can’t seem to figure out what the puzzle is supposed to look like.” We share the confusion of the reporters as they struggle to get to the bottom of things. What might, in the wrong hands, have been a disastrous mistake turned out to be a masterstroke.

The result is an endlessly watchable and quotable (“Follow the money”) film that generates narrative and dramatic tension through the sheer difficulty of knowing anything at all.

In an age beset by disinformation, brazen political deceit, strategic obfuscation and collapsing trust in public institutions, that lesson feels less historically distant than it does disturbingly prescient.

The writer is Senior Lecturer, Discipline of English and Writing at the University of Sydney in Australia

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 26th, 2026

Sirf Shabana | Hum TV, Mon-Tues 8.00pm

Shabana (Sohai Ali ­Abro) has lost her mother, but has been loved and comforted by her aunt and uncle. However, a few foolish decisions on her part make all their lives difficult.

Her plan to marry Bilal/Bawla (Duraab Khalil), her simple but sweet neighbour, backfires spectacularly, and she ends up leaving her small hometown Haripur for Karachi. Shabana is brave and confident enough to own up to her mistakes and move forward to seek out the root of her issues — Salaar (Furqan Qureshi), who left Shabana for the big city with a lot of promises but no forwarding address.

After a supporting role in Main Manto Nahin Hoon, Duraab Khalil is building up his portfolio as the single-minded Bawla, combining innocence with pathos to capture the audience’s heart. The big catch of the show is Sohai Ali Abro, who knows how to calibrate the feistiest of characters without making them abrasive. Director Aabis Raza tells the story with an equal mix of sentiment and humour, with strong, grounded performances extracted from every cast member.

Ghulam Bashah Sundri | Green Ent, Mon-Tues 8.00pm

A script that reads like a gothic tale of power and generational abuse has been softened into an Indian-style melodrama with a scoop full of action sequences. This combination has brought in huge YouTube ratings that, surprisingly, have not translated into equal local TRPs.

The story has reached a critical juncture, and the fog of past secrets is now revealing a new rivalry that threatens the protagonists. Wealthy, entitled Bashah (Zaviyar Ijaz) comes to the painful realisation that the universe is no longer working in his favour to fulfil his every wish. His loyal half-brother and constant servant, Ghulam (Imran Ashraf), has chosen his own happiness in the shape of Sundri (Hina Afridi). The time when Ghulam would obediently hand over anything Bashah wanted has gone. Sundri wants to marry Ghulam and, in a surprising twist, his status-conscious father and family are not on Bashah’s side.

Zaviyar Ijaz goes all out for this role and is very believable as the spoiled prince suddenly facing disappointment but refusing to accept his limits. After a few similar roles, Imran Ashraf is an expert at playing the underdog — the better man forced by honour and circumstances of birth to bow before power.

Mahnoor | ARY Digital, Mon-Fri 9.00pm

Two strangers are on a train: one is Mahnoor (Khadija Saleem), a runaway bride and the other is Zain (Humayun Ashraf), a wealthy businessman. Mahnoor is escaping from a forced marriage to a gangster tied to her uncle’s debts. Zain comes from a different, more comfortable world and is soon to be married to Mehvish (Zoya Nasir).

This is a storybook beginning that keeps a reasonable grip on reality but, like most soap-style shows, relies on negative characters to move the plot forward. While Mahnoor’s story is plausible, the cartoonish villainy of the spoiled, disturbed Mehvish reduces what might have been a strong story to pulp fiction.

However, Cinderella stories are always popular, and for those who want uncomplicated, light entertainment and a cute lead pair to root for, this is good viewing. Written by Noon Qalam and Haroon Ahmed, the script has a formulaic feel, which could easily have been avoided with deeper character sketches and a touch of nuance among the villains.

What To Watch Out For (Or Not)

Zanjeerain | Hum TV, Coming soon

This is a new serial from the acclaimed team of producer Momina Duraid, writer Farhat Ishtiaq and director Shehzad Kashmiri, with a powerful star cast, including Ahsan Khan, Sajal Aly, Adnan Siddiqui and Ameer Gilani.

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 26th, 2026

At first glance, the drama serial Kafeel appears to be a story about a disempowered woman, domestic emotional abuse and a struggling mother. But look closer. This isn’t just entertainment — it is a chilling, clinical case study of intergenerational trauma masquerading as a Pakistani drama.

We have been taught to consume such stories as masala — something to cry over and then forget once the next episode airs. But what if I told you that millions of viewers are not just watching the protagonists Jami (Eemad Irfani) and Zeba (Sanam Saeed)? They are watching their own fathers, their own mothers and echoes of their childhood selves. Kafeel is not a drama; it is a mirror of the dysfunctional family system hiding in plain sight across our homes.

At its core lies one narcissistic, self-absorbed, and irresponsible father — Jami. His emotional unavailability isn’t passive; it’s destructive. He doesn’t just make mistakes, he weaponises irresponsibility. His wife Zeba, a victimised mother trapped in learned helplessness, becomes the silent enabler. Together, they create a pressure cooker that warps each of their four children in profoundly different ways. From parentification to phobias, from internalised guilt to behavioural mimicry — let’s take a mental health deep dive into Kafeel.

The Father – Jami (The Malignant Source)

Jami is the epicentre of the family’s pathology. He perfectly fits the archetype of the “covert narcissist” — lazy, entitled, deeply insecure, yet charming in public. His gaslighting is textbook: he blames Zeba for his own failures and makes her feel responsible for his inability to work and provide for his family. He doesn’t need to be physically violent; his emotional and financial abuse is enough to trap and damage the entire family.

But here is the nuance Kafeel bravely offers: Jami himself did not emerge from a vacuum. His own patterns are the result of a dysfunctional family set-up that he was born into. His siblings used him as a caretaker for their ageing parents, while they provided financial support from abroad. He was never pushed to complete his education or pursue a career and this turned him into an entitled, stunted adult. This does not excuse his behaviour – but it explains it, which is the first step away from blind hatred and towards breaking cycles.

Don’t call Kafeel just a family drama. It’s a bravely written and produced psychological case study disguised as entertainment

The Mother – Zeba (The Victim and The Enabler)

Sanam Saeed’s portrayal of Zeba is heartbreaking because she plays her character not as weak but as exhausted. Zeba was conditioned to be ‘sweet, obedient and naive’ and her silence is not passive — it’s a trauma response called learned helplessness. After years of being oppressed, she has given up fighting back. Her decision to stay with Jami “for the children” is the very thing that damages them the most.

Yet Kafeel offers a quiet, powerful arc: her midlife enlightenment. This makes sense, as midlife is often when early-life trauma knocks again, begging to be resolved. Zeba’s slow awakening is a gift to every woman watching Kafeel who still believes it is too late for her.

The Four Wounded Children – A Psychological Breakdown

Each child is a unique case study of how a child adapts to survive a narcissistic, abusive parent. It’s a masterclass in the ripple effects of a dysfunctional family system.

1. The Eldest Son – Subuk (Aashir Wajahat): The Parentified Child

Subuk was forced to grow up overnight and become the emotional and financial support his mother needed and the father figure his sisters lacked. His low self-esteem doesn’t come from failure but from the immense pressure of holding a broken family together. This is called role reversal trauma — and it often follows children into adulthood in the form of chronic anxiety, an inability to relax and a compulsive need to fix everyone around them. No one in the drama ever tells him that he is just a child or that he shouldn’t have to carry such a burden.

2. The Eldest Daughter – Javeria (Nooray Zeeshan): The Blame Sponge

Javeria has learned that the only way to feel safe is to over-control herself and take responsibility for everything. She blames herself for the family’s fights, financial problems and even her father’s moods. This is a classic survival mechanism: if she can fix what’s ‘wrong’, maybe the chaos will stop. She becomes a people-pleaser with zero self-worth — hallmark signs of growing up with a volatile, unpredictable parent. In therapy, we see Javerias everywhere: brilliant, kind women who apologise for existing and believe that love is something they must earn through suffering.

3. The Middle Sister – Zoya (Haya Khan): Confident but Phobic

Zoya shows us how trauma can become somatised — locked into the body’s nervous system. Her fear of sharp objects (aichmophobia) is not irrational; it is a conditioned response to her father, who threatens the family with a knife frequently. Her confidence is a mask. Underneath, her body remembers the terror. This is one of Kafeel’s most brilliant threads: trauma does not always look like sadness. Sometimes it looks like a strong, sharp, seemingly put-together daughter who cannot hold a kitchen knife without her pulse skyrocketing.

4. The Youngest Daughter – Tania (Hania Ahmed) — The Mimic

The youngest child is the most chilling example of how abuse normalises pathology. Tania has learned that, in this family, there are no real consequences for bad behaviour, because her father models it daily. By using “my father does it too” as an excuse, she is not being inherently manipulative; she is mirroring the survival tactic she has observed. If the most powerful person in the house can get away with anything, why can’t she? This behaviour is a learned adaptation to a dysfunctional environment, and it highlights the danger of normalising toxic traits. Without intervention, Tania is at the highest risk of becoming like Jami in her future relationships — not because she is evil, but because she associates power with this way of being.

Intergenerational Trauma

One of the most upsetting moments in the series is when we see Subuk begin to mimic his father’s aggressive behaviour. In that moment, we see the future. The abused becomes the abuser. The drama masterfully shows that, without intervention, children will carry their parents’ patterns into their own relationships, perpetuating the cycle for another generation.

This is why Kafeel is so important. It is not just a story; it is a warning. It is a call for self-awareness, for breaking the cycle and for prioritising mental health over societal pressure. We cannot heal what we refuse to name.

But here is the truth that Kafeel doesn’t show — or hasn’t yet — because dramas rarely do: the cycle can be broken. A narcissistic father does not have to define your future. A victimised mother does not have to be your blueprint. Parentification, guilt, phobias and mimicry are adaptations, not life sentences. With the right support — therapy, self-awareness and healthy boundaries — each of these wounded children can reclaim their mental health.

Intergenerational trauma is powerful, but not necessarily a destiny. Healing begins by naming the wound and choosing to stop passing it down. Kafeel warns us, but your life can prove that your story ends differently.

Why Kafeel is Essential Viewing

Kafeel is not a drama; it’s a psychological case study disguised as entertainment. It shows that abuse is rarely just a slap. It is the slow, silent erosion of a person’s will, and the insidious poisoning of the next generation.

This drama is a mirror for every household where one broken parent created four differently broken children. Kafeel exposes the mental health legacy of a toxic father. It forces us to ask a difficult question: how many of our “family dramas” are actually multi-generational trauma centres?

None of this analysis would be possible without the bravery of writer Umera Ahmed, the brilliance of director Meesam Naqvi, and the courage of ARY Digital for airing this raw and uncomfortable story. Mainstream Pakistani dramas often romanticise toxic relationships or resolve complex trauma with a single emotional scene. Kafeel refuses to take that shortcut. It trusts its audience to sit with the messiness, to recognise the subtle signs of narcissistic abuse and to understand that healing doesn’t happen in one episode.

This is not just good television. This is responsible storytelling. And it deserves recognition.

The writer is an integrative therapist and founder of Khudi Wellness. She can be reached at shah.n.sarwat@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 26th, 2026

Observing how her family wasn’t able to provide the support they hoped they could, Kidman wished there were “people in the world that were there to sit impartially and just provide solace and care.” This is how she came to explore the field of death doulaship.

The concept of a doula is often familiar: you might have heard of a birth doula, who supports a family through pregnancy. A death doula works in a similar capacity, as a community partner offering support to the dying.

There is no singular definition for doulas, but those within the field often describe their work as a “holding space” for their clients. They act as a neutral third-party, working between the family, end-of-life care professionals and funeral professionals.

Actor Nicole Kidman says she is training to be a ‘death doula.’ But what exactly is a death doula?

Though there are training programmes that offer certifications for death doulas, their work varies widely depending on the preferences of the doula and the type of assistance sought by the client.

You may have even acted as a death doula within your own community, aiding the dying or their loved ones without the official title.

A new model for dying

Dying, death and funerals were once a sacred communal process taken care of by a family in the comfort of their home. As death became institutionalised, medicalised and professionalised over the late 19th and early 20th centuries, loved ones were pushed to the wayside, as they did not have the proper training to care for the dead in the eyes of the industry.

By the mid-1900s, the family parlour was no longer the central meeting spot to lament over mortality, and the funeral industry, as we understand it today, was in full swing. This shift slowly gave way to a host of paraprofessionals. Death doulas and death midwives, an ancient practice, re-emerged in the early 2000s.

Stemming from the Greek term ‘δούλα’, meaning ‘female servant’, doulas serve as community helpers in liminal periods, most commonly birth and death. They seek to fill the gaps that medical and funeral personnel are unable to attend.

Not everyone who acts in this role calls themselves a “death doula.” They are also known as soul guides, compassionate companions and vigilers, among other titles.

I volunteered, researched and worked in thanatology — the study of death and dying — for over a decade before completing my death doula training. The hands-on experience I gained working with death before my training programme was crucial in shaping my ability to communicate about mortality.

Most people want to talk about death, but they’re faced with the conversation too late. In their most vulnerable hour, the dying and their loved ones are expected to make impossible decisions with little guidance. That’s where death doulas come in.

Easing the burden

Kidman said, “As my mother was passing, she was lonely, and there was only so much the family could provide.” While many family members are elected as surrogate decision-makers throughout the end-of-life process, it is common that they feel highly uncertain about the choices they’re making.

The assistance and support of third-party advocates, like death doulas, help ease the burden on family members and offer a neutral perspective during a vulnerable period.

I came into this work because I experienced deaths at a young age, and I understood my capacity to deal with death. Similarly to Kidman, many doulas I have interviewed came to the work after a loss of their own, with a newfound desire to share what they learned through their experience to help others in an inevitable time of need.

Death doulas can specialise their work, electing to work with pets, stillbirths, children, cognitive decline and many other types of loss. Some doulas may enter work with a client years before a death, working on more administrative tasks like advanced care planning. Others may join right before a death occurs, focusing on sitting by a bedside. A third doula may specialise their work around funeral planning, coming in to help facilitate an at-home funeral.

No two doula practices are identical, just like no two deaths are identical.

If you are wondering if you should join a death doula training programme, my response would be that increasing your death literacy is always beneficial, but there are many ways to get a death education.

Before diving in, explore what is drawing you to the profession and if you want to do this work for others or if you are seeking the knowledge for yourself. Both are wonderful motivations, but they could lead to different outcomes in the type of programme you choose to attend or the kind of death education you seek.

We’re all going to die, and it’s never too soon to start talking about it.

The writer is a Phd Candidate, School of Engineering, DeathTech Research Team at the University of Melbourne in Australia

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, ICON, April 26th, 2026

Q. Could you please inform me whether the Saraca asoca tree can be grown in Islamabad? I have some space in my garden and I am considering planting this tree.

A. You can grow the Saraca asoca, commonly known as the Ashoka tree, in Islamabad, but keep a few considerations in mind. It is better to buy a mature plant from a nursery rather than growing from the seed. Young saplings may not tolerate Islamabad’s winters. During the early stages of the plant life cycle, expose the plant to sunlight only from morning until noon. Once the tree grows strong, sunlight timing won’t matter. Red or orange flower clusters usually grow on a transplanted plant in a few years. Be extra vigilant in the initial years for best results.

Q. Please help me get rid of the white pests that are ruining my chilli plants. I have attached the photograph for your reference. I tried cleaning the leaves with vinegar and water but it didn’t work.

A. From the photo, this looks like a spider mite attack. Mix one spoonful of neem oil in one litre of water, add a few drops of liquid dishwashing soap, and spray the mixture on the plant — especially on and under the leaves — every two to three days until the pests are gone. After eradication, prepare the same spray but without dishwashing soap and apply every fortnight to prevent new attacks.

All your gardening queries answered here

Q. I am new to gardening. I have a few raised beds, both in the balcony of the first floor and on the rooftop, with complete sunlight access. Recently, I purchased the bok choy plant in a plastic bag from a nearby plant nursery while eyeing a healthy food regimen in the future. Can you please guide me on how to care for the plant?

A. Bok choy needs at least 10 inches of soil depth and four to six hours exposure of direct early morning sunlight. In cities like Karachi, the plant can also thrive in shade. Otherwise, in scorching sunlight, like the one the city experiences from March to June, there is high possibility that the plant may bolt early. It is better to grow bok choy in a spacious area during early winter. For watering, ensure the soil remains moist throughout but not waterlogged — as waterlogging can be detrimental to plant health. When harvesting, pluck the outer leaves while keeping the middle leaves intact — this extends plant life and the harvest period.

Q. I am a young gardening enthusiast and I recently planted some tomato seeds. A few of them have sprouted. How long will it take for them to start producing fruit and how can I support them along the way? I live in Rawalpindi.

A. The current temperature in Rawalpindi is not ideal for growing new tomato plants. As the temperature rises, it becomes difficult for tomato plants to grow leaves and branches. Even if the plant survives, reaching flowering and fruiting stages is nearly impossible. I am not sure if you have planted a heat-tolerant variety. In any case, keep the plant under partial shade using a green net. Keep the soil moist at all times. Tomato plants usually produce fruit within three to four months, depending on the variety and growing conditions.

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

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

Hi Auntie,

I am 15 years old and live with my single mother, grandparents and younger sister (my father was abusive). I have my O-levels exam in a week or two. I have been consistently depressed, especially over the last month. I cry many times in a single day and I feel hopeless and completely alone. I have horrible mood swings and nightmares.

Every bad grade, slight embarrassment in public, bad day, fight with my family, leaves me so upset, I feel unable to move on and I continually replay moments in my head. I am unable to sleep, eat or study. I have thoughts about harming myself and I feel completely alone in the world.

I am extremely insecure about how I will be perceived by others and have lost friends due to my anxious attachment style, where I constantly text people because I am scared that they hate me because of miscommunication. I feel impossibly lonely as, even though it appears like I have many friends, none of them truly value me and I have to act fake to get them to like me.

I don’t feel comfortable talking to people about my feelings in person. I have crippling social anxiety and people get visibly repulsed by me when talking to me due to my complete lack of social skills. I hate myself and I wish I were anyone else. I find it really hard to settle in new environments and am unable to move on from anything or be productive. Please help me as I want to do well in my exams.

‘I Have Crippling Social Anxiety’

Burnt Out and Constantly Anxious

Dear Burnt Out and Constantly Anxious,

It sounds like you are exhausted — not just because of your exams, but also from what has been going on inside you for far too long.

Please understand that the crying, the overthinking, the feeling that every small thing becomes huge, and the thought that people secretly dislike you is your anxiety at work. It is not real. Unfortunately, the anxiety takes normal, everyday situations and makes them unbearable.

Remind yourself that you absolutely don’t have to fix your entire life. Nobody knows what is going to happen in the future, so you need to focus on getting through the next few weeks. And while you think about that, be gentle with yourself.

For your exams, keep your study schedule simple. Don’t aim for perfection. Just aim to do your best. Sit down, pick one small topic, study it for 20–25 minutes, then take a short break. Then repeat with another topic. Whenever you feel like your mind is starting to overthink, bring it back to the page. It won’t always be easy, but it is necessary. Do it anyway — and try not to punish yourself when it feels hard.

As for how you are feeling socially, the fact is that people are not as focused on you as you think they are. The feeling that “they’re repulsed by me” may feel real, but it’s coming from how harshly you are judging yourself right now. Remember that you’re not fake or unlikeable. The more important thing is to focus on how you see yourself and stop trying too hard to not be rejected. Be kind to yourself.

Also, you need to find at least one person who knows that you are struggling. It could be your mother, a teacher, a counsellor. You don’t have to explain everything to them — just start by telling them that you are not okay.

If the thoughts about harming yourself get stronger, please tell someone immediately. That is more important than any exam.

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

Auntie will not reply privately to any query. Please send concise queries to: auntieagni@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

Iran into Hooria Sayeed earlier this month at the Karachi Expo Centre, where she and other student chefs from the College of Tourism and Hotel Management (COTHM) had prepared a variety of Saudi Arabian dishes during the Pakistan Travel Mart 2026 exhibition, an annual travel and hospitality showcase.

Hooria’s spread featured a shawarma platter as the appetiser, chicken kabsa — a rice dish — as the main course and a non-alcoholic champagne as the accompanying beverage. What drew me to it was the orderly, methodical layout — her spread displayed separately from the other students’ set-ups, each dish accompanied by a handwritten recipe card in colourful markers.

“It was a group activity, in which we were assigned to prepare an appetiser, a main course item and a beverage,” Hooria tells Eos. “As I’m new at COTHM and don’t know my coursemates well, I opted to go solo.”

Hooria may be new at COTHM but she is not new to cooking. She loves to cook and has been doing it since she was 12 years old. It began with a sweet tooth — and the desserts she made because of it. “Everyone at home liked them, which encouraged me to go further,” she recalls.

A young trainee chef prepares an Arab feast…

Then came a time when she took over the responsibility of cooking dinner from her mother. Hooria says that her mother, an exceptional cook herself, gave her free rein, though she never left her alone in the kitchen. Soon, Hooria told her family about her plan to train as a professional chef.

“Everyone at home said I did not need to, because I already knew how to cook,” she says. She countered that she wanted to work as a chef at a restaurant or hotel, or even open her own restaurant someday. “For that, I require a degree or diploma, and the kind of hands-on training that I could never get in my home kitchen,” she points out.

It was this dream that led her to COTHM and to the Karachi Expo Centre on that day, where I asked her about her choice of dishes, especially the non-alcoholic champagne.

She says that she wanted it on her menu because it’s a celebratory drink and “sounds kind of grand.” She explains that, being a Muslim, she has never tasted the drink nor served the standard alcoholic version. “Instead, I have tried to make a non-alcoholic variant.”

She was happy to share how each dish came together.

NON-ALCOHOLIC CHAMPAGNE

To make the champagne, Hooria pours one litre of chilled apple juice into a large glass pitcher and squeezes the fresh juice of a lemon over it, before adding about one cup of orange pulp. She allows it to sit in the refrigerator for 15 to 20 minutes for the flavours to infuse.

Having read that champagne is fizzy and somewhat acidic to the throat, Hooria uses chilled sparkling water and a clear lemon/lime soft drink soda in equal quantities (one litre of each) to pour over the apple juice (to sweeten and round out the soda base), lemon juice and orange pulp concoction. She adds a handful of crushed mint leaves and lots of ice to the concoction before serving.

SHAWARMA APPETISER

For the shawarma, Hooria made the pitta bread from scratch. The young chef adds a teaspoon each of yeast and sugar with warm water to activate the yeast before adding in the all-purpose flour and a tablespoon of cooking oil to make a soft dough. She covers the dough and leaves it to double in size before dividing it into small balls, flattening each into a pitta with a rolling pin and roasting on a griddle.

For the filling, Hooria cuts boneless chicken into julienne strips and marinates them for 45 minutes in the juice of one lemon and a quarter teaspoon of paprika, black pepper, white pepper and a pinch of garam masala [mix of ground spices] powder, with salt according to taste.

She cooks the chicken in a frying pan with a tablespoon of oil, then assembles it inside the folded pitta bread with lots of cucumber and tomato slices.

CHICKEN KABSA

Chicken kabsa is a rice dish popular in Saudi Arabia, where cooking tends to favour mild, fragrant spices over hot ones. It resembles the South Asian pulao in appearance but has a method of its own.

Hooria begins by frying onions in oil, then adds the chicken and whole garam masala before pouring in water to make the broth. Once the chicken has cooked through, she removes it from the broth and fries it separately — this is what sets kabsa apart, giving the chicken a golden colour and a slight crispiness rather than the softness it would have if left to sit.

The rice then goes into the broth to cook, absorbing all the flavour the chicken has left behind. As with any rice dish, she ensures the broth is double the quantity of the rice.

Once the rice is done, she places the fried chicken back on top and finishes with a garnish of fried raisins and cashew nuts.

The writer is a member of staff.

X: @HasanShazia

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

In Ireland, a candle placed in the window signalled to travelling priests that the home was a safe haven for Catholics, who were persecuted in Britain from 1534 to the 1800s. The phrase became a symbol for hope, an incentive to keep going.

As people search alternate news sources to make sense of the seismic changes that threaten to affect everyday lives, some sharing guidelines to survive a nuclear attack, others identifying do-it-yourself (DIY) methods to generate electricity, they feel like sitting ducks in the crossfire of petulant, warring oligarchs.

“Karain tau kya karain [If we act, what could we do?]” is on everyone’s minds. Massive street protests, parliamentary debates, impassioned UN Security Council speeches, International Court of Justice rulings — all seem to fall on deaf ears.

And then we see images of Palestinian youths smiling as they are taken to the gallows, after the Israeli parliament voted last month for the death penalty for Palestinian prisoners. Those smiles carry the real power — the power of the undefeated.

Even in times of despair, the flame of hope is kept alive by those who have the conviction to take a stand

Dotted throughout history’s many revolutionary movements are examples of individuals who found the courage to stand up alone for their convictions. A noblewoman Perpetua and her slave Felicity were thrown into the Roman arena with wild animals because they refused to renounce their Christian faith. The Abyssinian, Sumayyah bint Khayyat, considered the first martyr of Islam, was killed by Abu Jahl after refusing to renounce her belief in Allah and the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH).

Some stand to defend others. In the 1980s, an unknown man stood defiantly with two shopping bags, bringing a column of tanks to a halt near Tiananmen Square, Beijing. Aitzaz Hasan, a 15-year-old Pakistani student, gave his life to save hundreds of students by tackling a suicide bomber before he could enter the school. During Partition riots, many Hindus and Sikhs saved Muslims, and Muslims saved Hindus and Sikhs.

Some choose to devote their lives to specific causes. The British politician William Wilberforce led a campaign against the British slave trade for 20 years, until the passage of the Slave Trade Act in 1807. Abdus Sattar Edhi, from the age of 20 until his death in 2016, devoted his life to sheltering the homeless and the abandoned, and established the world’s largest volunteer ambulance network.

Naeem Sadiq takes up the cause of underpaid workers. Journalist Julian Assange, at great personal cost, established Wikileaks to host data from whistleblowers. The smallest act can have an impact, especially when amplified by social media. Japanese activist Furusawa Yusuke has held daily solo demonstrations in Tokyo in solidarity with Palestine for over three years.

While action is an obvious way of registering concerns, refusal can be equally powerful. Congolese customs worker Floribèrt Bwana Chui became a hero after he was assassinated for refusing rancid rice from Rwanda into the country. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi’s Non-Cooperation Movement included the surrender of British titles, resignations from government posts, refusal to pay taxes and boycotts of British goods.

The boycott of products with links to Israel is an opportunity for ordinary people to register their protest. Conscientious objectors and prisoners of conscience faced imprisonment, such as Muhammad Ali, Nelson Mandela and the many political prisoners in Pakistani jails.

Standing by your convictions in public is difficult. Artists and poets find creative ways. The graffiti artist Banksy is known for his guerrilla art, from painting “We’re bored of fish” in London Zoo’s penguin enclosure, to painting ladders on the Palestinian West Bank wall and an image of children digging a hole through the wall. Mursaleen Khan Sherwani, owner of a perfume stall in Karachi which was reportedly burnt down seven times when he refused to pay protection money, responded with “Perfume Chowk” graffiti all over the city.

The poet Habib Jalib recited poetry in public spaces, rejecting martial law. William Shakespeare challenged conventions to change English literature forever. The American clergyman A.J. Muste held a candle and stood outside the White House every night during the Vietnam War. In response to a reporter’s question, Muste said, “Oh I don’t do this to change the country. I do this so the country won’t change me.”

Durriya Kazi is a Karachi-based artist.

She may be reached at durriyakazi1918@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

Compressing Dia al-Azzawi’s expansive oeuvre in a Mayfair gallery is no easy feat, considering his decades-long practice, informed by his training in archaeology and ethnography, with visuals that range from his interest in Pan-Arab identity and his more indigenous Iraqi identity. An acclaimed Iraqi modernist, this is Azzawi’s second exhibition in London, the city he calls home.

Works in this latest exhibition, ‘Dia al- Azzawi: Excursions Across Time’, some produced over more than half-a-century ago and some as recently as 2025, are rife with political statements. Azzawi’s practice has a rawness and urgency to it, one that confronts the viewer with how little has changed in the region he hails from in terms of struggle and how much has changed in terms of control and power.

The display at London’s Richard Saltoun Gallery is curated in three sections. The first presents his interest in Iraqi identity, the second his long-standing appreciation of and inspiration from Arab literature, and the third presents his engagement with Arab identity.

The works included are large and medium in scale — bold abstract paintings, sculptures in the form of a relief and obelisk, and small intimate monochrome drawings, one of which, a piece from 1966 titled Amulets: Ya Shafi Ya Kafi Ya Allah, is reminiscent of Sadequain’s style, albeit much smaller in scale.

Dia al-Azzawi’s works continue to prove why he is regarded as a pioneer of modern Arab art and why his works continue to resonate so deeply today

The room presenting the artist’s interest in Arab literature has an artist diary or daftar entitled Excursions Across Time, from which the exhibition takes its name. This piece, composed of hand-coloured lithographs, including text and drawings in Azzawi’s signature style with bold colours, motifs and marks, is based on a poem by the Lebanese author Talal Haider.

Also included in the exhibition is a silkscreen piece from 1979 titled Tell al-Zaatar, based on a poem by the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish. The poem was written as a response to the Tal al-Zaatar massacre, which resulted in the killing of around 1,500 Palestinian and Lebanese Muslims in 1976.

The achromatic piece depicts a masked and hooded figure taking up most of the left side of the sheet. On the figure are sets of eyes positioned at different places, including the top of the head and just below the face. The latter could possibly belong to another figure, perhaps a child clinging to the main figure or maybe a beast.

On the top right of the image is a pair of hands, tied at the wrists, with contorted fingers. In the middle of the image is what looks like a thin organic rip, cutting through the figure, separating the top of the work from the bottom, reminiscent of borders in cartographic drawings. Similarly, on the bottom right of the piece are straight horizontal lines, some solid, others broken or dotted. Azzawi’s representation seems to be in line with the gist of Darwish’s poem, which focuses on themes of exile, resilience and identity, and alludes to the Palestinian struggle that continues with faceless victims who serve as mere statistics.

Alongside this evocative piece are three drawings inspired by Alf Laylah wa-Laylah, popularly known as One Thousand and One Nights in English. One of the works from this series, One Thousand and One Nights: And the King Said to Him.., depicts three characters, two males with stylised curling beards and a female, all of them with large black eyes. They seem to be standing by an architectural space with an arched passageway and beneath them are tiles with traditional motifs from folklore and Arab textiles. Right at the bottom, under these blocks with diverse designs, is a section of Arabic text, meant to kindle feelings of nostalgia and childhood storytelling, particularly for an Arabic-reading audience.

One of the most interesting and underrated pieces in the exhibition is a medium-sized bronze relief titled Misfired Target: Iraqi Cylinder Seal, styled after a section of an Assyrian relief in the British Museum, known as the The Dying Lioness (which itself is part of The Royal Lion Hunt of Ashurbanipal), that depicts a wounded lioness with arrows puncturing its form. Although attacked and injured, it is thought to be putting up a fight against its hunt and demise. This, to the artist, is emblematic of his country of origin, Iraq.

Displayed alongside the relief is a cylinder seal of the relief. Historically, cylinder seals were small, made of stone and carved with a design in intaglio, so that when they were rolled out on clay, they left a continuous and repeating design. The adoption and display of this historic Mesopotamian technique alongside the relief it would produce symbolises Azzawi’s own heritage and his experience in archaeology and ethnography.

‘Dia al-Azzawi: Excursions Across Time’ is on display at the Richard Saltoun Gallery in London from March 10-May 9, 2026

The reviewer is a freelance writer and has written for various organisations including Dawn, ArtNow and The Karachi Collective

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

There’s a word I keep coming back to: gameness.

It doesn’t sit comfortably in modern parlance, except in a few circles — the pigeon flyers, the dogmen, the horsemen, the old warriors who understand what it means to go past the point of pain and tap into something ancient and immovable.

Gameness isn’t bravery. It’s not aggression. It isn’t strength. It’s a spiritual refusal to quit.

The word itself comes from the gamecock — the fighting rooster that won’t back down even when mortally wounded. I’ve seen the same in birds, in dogs, in horses. I’ve also seen it in people. And it obsesses us because it’s rare — and because it shows us the very best and worast of what we are.

We breed it into birds, dogs and horses. We honour it in soldiers, mountaineers and mothers. This trait has a name and understanding it might tell us something uncomfortable about ourselves

Take the racing pigeon. Not the fat, soft city bird, scrounging chips outside a takeaway. I’m talking about bred, tested, purpose-built flying machines — birds that cross 500 kilometres of burning sky, predator-ridden winds, and sheer exhaustion, just to get home.

Thirteen hours in the air. No food, no water, no rest. Just wings and instinct and that wire inside them that refuses to snap. Why do we race them? Why do we clock them, cheer for them, name them like warriors? Because deep down, we know this is never really about the birds. It’s about us — our craving for that purity of purpose, projected on to creatures that don’t have the language to doubt themselves.

Horses are much the same. Look at the war stallions of history — ridden into battle while spears split the air and cannonballs tore the ground apart. They didn’t hesitate. They charged. Even today, in races like the Grand National or the Mongol Derby, we watch them push their lungs to the limit before they let the spirit follow. How much of it is training, and how much is simply the animal’s heart refusing to yield?

Dogs are the most heartbreaking example. In warzones, on lonely farms, in dark alleys — they have fought and died for us. Guard dogs have thrown themselves between their people and death, taking the bullet without flinching. The fighting breeds, controversial as they are, were bred for one thing: to keep going when everything — logic, biology, mercy — says stop. Say what you will, but there is a terrible beauty in that.

I won’t romanticise cruelty. I’ve seen what men do to animals under the banner of tradition, pride and money. There is a line where gameness ends and exploitation begins. But to deny this quality exists — this refusal to give in — is to deny something true about life itself.

What fascinates me is that humans have spent generations selecting for gameness. We breed it. We test it. We honour it. A pigeon that finds her way home two days late, battered by a storm? We breed her. A dog that held its ground when outmatched? We remember him. A horse that finished a race on three legs? A statue goes up.

Even those of us who would never attend a pit or a ring understand, in our bones, why a soldier throws himself on a grenade. It’s the same wire — and the same awe. Because humans have gameness too.

It’s what makes a firefighter run into a collapsing building when every instinct screams the other way. It’s what drives a soldier to carry a wounded brother on his back for miles, losing blood with every step. It’s what keeps a mother awake for nights beside a dying child.

It’s what made boxer Muhammad Ali get back up, round after round, when anyone else would have stayed down. It’s what keeps a lone mountaineer moving through the bottleneck of K2 when the oxygen runs out and the frost has claimed two fingers. It’s what made rock climber Alex Honnold free solo The Moonlight Buttress rock wall, hundreds of metres above the desert floor, armed with nothing but chalk and nerve.

Gameness isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just quiet defiance. A man who won’t leave his land. A prisoner who sings through the torture. A writer who keeps telling the truth when the world has stopped listening.

We don’t merely recognise gameness — we worship it. We write epics about it. We give medals and state funerals. We name streets after it. From Achilles to Bhagat Singh, from Aziz Bhatti to Lalik Jan, our myths and histories are stitched from the blood and grit of people who wouldn’t quit. We collect these stories because they confirm something we need to believe: that the human spirit is not for sale.

I think about this when I watch my birds come back — sometimes broken, sometimes limping — but always with that same look. The one that says: I didn’t stop. We breed for gameness in animals because, on some level, we are trying to breed it back into ourselves.

Our modern lives are soft. We no longer face tigers at the mouth of a cave. We don’t ride into wars with swords drawn. But the hunger for purpose — for proof that we can still go beyond pain — never left. It just has nowhere obvious to go.

Some call it cruelty. Some call it madness. I call it a mirror.

So, here’s to the animals that fly, fight, run and die — not because they must, but because something in them will not stop. And here’s to the people who still recognise that spark.

In the end, gameness isn’t about winning. It’s about not quitting.

The writer is an essayist concerned with power, politics and culture.

He can be contacted at suhaib.ayaz@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

The 3rd Chief of Army Staff National Inter-Club Hockey Championship 2026, featuring clubs from all parts of Pakistan, concluded a few weeks ago. Though the Pakistan Hockey Federation (PHF) had claimed a much bigger number, around 125 clubs from all parts of the country actually participated in the event, which was conducted in three phases: district, regional and national.

​The Bacha Khan Hockey Club of Bannu emerged as the national club champion. It was the first time that a club from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa won the coveted title. It has been a remarkable journey.

Bannu’s great tradition of hockey started before Partition, as far back as 1935-36, when Bannu’s Waziri Club won the All-India Hockey Tournament in Bhopal. Since Independence, Bannu has been a conveyor belt of top talent for Pakistan.

The achievements of some players from Bannu are a part of the country’s sporting folklore. Bannu’s Abdul Hameed Hamidi was the captain of the Pakistan team that won the country’s first Olympic gold medal (1960) in any sport. His brother Abdul Rasheed Jr was Pakistan’s top scorer among forwards when the national team achieved a grand slam, winning the Olympics (1968), the World Cup (1971) and the Asian Games (1970).

The Bacha Khan Hockey Club of Bannu recently became the first national club champion from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. But Bannu’s contribution of talent to Pakistan’s hockey scene is nothing new

The two legends were followed by other stars from Bannu. Saeed Khan enjoys a unique distinction as the member of two World Cup winning squads, 1978 and 1982, and the coach of another World Cup winning team, 1994, when Rasheed Jr was the team manager.

Bannu’s Farhat Khan was the pivot of the Pakistan team, which finished second at the 1992 World Cup and bagged bronze at the 1992 Olympics (Pakistan’s last Olympic medal in hockey). Qazi Mohib became the third man from Bannu, after Hameedi and Rasheed Jr, to captain Pakistan. He led his country to second place in the 1990 World Cup. Sadly, Qazi Mohib passed away from cancer at the young age of only 33. The hockey stadium in Bannu is named after him.

The latest to emerge from Bannu and the Bacha Khan Hockey Club is the current star Sufyan Khan, the national team’s drag flicker. He created history when he was named the FIH Rising Star of the Year (2024), the first Pakistani to win the FIH award in any category.

Club hockey has always flourished in Bannu. The Bacha Khan Hockey Club is relatively young though. It was founded in 1998 by a few hockey players associated with the Pakhtun Students Federation. In 2006, significant changes were made in the club’s administrative structure. The renowned international hockey player Ihsanullah was appointed as the club’s president, while Kashif Farhan was appointed as its secretary general. Thereafter, the team started performing well in competitions.

>The achievements of some players from Bannu are a part of the country’s sporting folklore. Bannu’s Abdul Hameed Hamidi was the captain of the Pakistan team that won the country’s first Olympic gold medal (1960) in any sport. His brother Abdul Rasheed Jr was Pakistan’s top scorer among forwards when the national team achieved a grand slam, winning the Olympics (1968), the World Cup (1971) and the Asian Games (1970).

The same year, Bacha Khan Hockey Club became the champion of the Bannu region. Later, it finished as the runner-up at the provincial stage, thus progressing to the national stage in Karachi.

This period actually proved to be the starting point of Bacha Khan Hockey Club’s successes in other spheres as well. In 2008, under the leadership of Wazir Zada, the responsibility of running the Bannu Hockey Association also came to the same club, which continues to this day. As it is, the club’s best players were often found donning the green Pakistan shirts. The first one to do so was Ihsanullah in 2003, and the latest is Sufyan.

The Chief of Army Staff National Inter-Club Hockey Championship was started in 2022 under the auspices of the Pakistan Army. Prior to this, the Pakistan Hockey Federation organised the PHF National Club Hockey Championship which, unfortunately, could not be held regularly. Still Bacha Khan almost always reached the provincial round, and mostly the national round as well.

Coming to this year’s edition of the Chief of Army Staff National Inter-Club Hockey Championship, the Bacha Khan Club boys swept all matches before them, to become district champions. Next, they became the provincial champions in Peshawar by winning all the four matches there too.

In the national round at the DHA Hockey Arena, Lahore, the Bannu boys continued their hot streak. In the pool matches, they defeated the champion clubs of Sargodha, Hyderabad, Quetta and Islamabad, and drew with the Rana Mujahid Club of Faisalabad.

In the semi-final, Bacha Khan defeated the fancied Pak Heroes of Lahore 1-0 in an exciting encounter. In the final, played under floodlights before a packed house that included the Lahore Corps Commander and several distinguished hockey stalwarts, they again faced the Rana Mujahid Club.

The match was live-streamed, with reportedly around half of Bannu’s population glued to the screens. In a free-flowing game, after trailing 1-2, Bacha Khan won 5-3, to spark celebrations on the ground as well as far away in Bannu.

The winners took home the two million rupees prize. And there were also individual prizes that went to the winning club. The Player of the Tournament prize of 500,000 rupees went to Yasir Ali, the Best Goalkeeper prize of 100,000 rupees went to Mohammad Wasim Khan and the Final’s Man of the Match of 20,000 rupees was picked up by Mujahid Khan.

The success story of the Bacha Khan Hockey Club contains more details than meet the eye. The team totally relied on players who are genuine members of the club and practise regularly together. The same can’t be said about two of the semi-finalists.

The Rana Mujahid Club exists only on paper. Named after the former PHF secretary, it comprises players from clubs in towns and villages in Faisalabad’s vicinity. The club never figures in any other event. It only comes to life at the Chief of Army Staff Club championships. Likewise, the majority of players in Peshawar’s Civil Quarters Club were outsiders from Abbotabad, Mardan etc, included in the club’s roster only for this tournament.

Lahore’s Pak Heroes, the fourth semi-finalist, is one of the most resourceful clubs. It regularly practises on the synthetic turf of Johar Town Stadium, which it virtually owns. The team includes some current internationals. In contrast, the Bacha Khan Club has to share the turf of the Qazi Mohib Stadium in Bannu with nine other clubs for daily practice.

Dera Ismail Khan and Bannu have been the worst-hit districts in terms of terrorism. The Bannu clubs used to play regularly against the army teams stationed in Bannu Cantonment. But because of terrorism, the cantonment has remained out of bounds for the last two decades. For the same reason, the school and college grounds are off limits for outsiders. The club’s expenses are borne mainly by current and former players and club officials, with little outside assistance.

Given all this, the success of the Bacha Khan Hockey Club at the Chief of Army Staff National Inter-Club Championship is nothing less than a fairy-tale.

The writer is a freelance sports journalist based in Lahore.
X: @IjazChaudhry1
Email: ijaz62@hotmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

Hungary’s most consequential election in decades has just delivered an important victory for democracy and accountability.

For Hungarians, opposition leader Péter Magyar’s emphatic defeat of Prime Minister Viktor Orbán and his ruling Fidesz Party ends 16 years of corruption and quasi-authoritarianism.

The outcome will also be felt widely, from Moscow to Washington and beyond.

In a contest characterised as a referendum on whether Hungary should pivot West or continue its authoritarian drift, Magyar’s victory is a stern rebuke to the dark, transnational forces of nativism, division and the politics of resentment that have become part of mainstream political discourse.

Perhaps the most surprising thing about the election was not the turnout (more than 74 percent, shattering previous records), or even the result (a two-thirds supermajority for Magyar’s Tisza party, winning at least 138 of 199 parliamentary seats).

A populist autocrat, Orbán ruled Hungary for a 16-year stretch as its longest-serving prime minister. He was defeated in a landslide in the April 12 elections. Who else lost with him?

Both had been predicted for some time, and Orbán’s soft authoritarianism had always left the door ajar for a possible opposition victory at the polls.

Rather, the biggest surprise might have been Orbán’s immediate concession. He didn’t try to manufacture a crisis or use his security services to hold onto power. Given the strength of anti-government sentiment in Hungary, such a move could have led to a “colour revolution” — the type of massive street protests seen previously in Ukraine, Georgia and other countries.

This could have turned bloody. Liberal Hungarians, and the European Union more broadly, will be heaving a collective sigh of relief.

Why Orbán was suddenly vulnerable

Having won office, Magyar will need to move quickly but also carefully to bring change, so as not to alienate too many former Fidesz voters.

He has already asked President Tamaś Sulyok to resign, along with other Orbán loyalists. The Tisza supermajority in parliament is important here. It will be required for constitutional amendments to dismantle the architecture of Orbán’s authoritarian state.

Fortunately, this will be easier in Hungary than fully fledged autocratic systems. Indeed, Orbán’s longevity can somewhat be attributed to the fact that his brand of authoritarianism was only partial.

Certainly, it had the structural elements of an autocracy. That included widespread, government-controlled gerrymandering to ensure Fidesz victories, and the cynical diversion of state funds to cities and provinces controlled by Orbán’s political allies.

In addition, the nationalised media ecosystem was heavily supportive of the government, although alternative voices kept debate alive via foreign-owned news organisations.

But Orbán’s success also came from facing weak and easily fragmented or coopted oppositions. Magyar — a former Orbán ally — ran a disciplined campaign that nullified the electoral advantage for Fidesz.

Ultimately, though, when voters have a choice — even a constrained one — they will eventually reject governments that rely on blame and victimhood to mask their inability to offer people a better future.

Under Orbán, Hungary was consistently ranked the most corrupt nation in Europe. In 2025, it ranked last in the EU on relative household wealth. It had also suffered rampant inflation and economic stagnation after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022.

Video footage of country estates built by Hungary’s elites, complete with zebras roaming the grounds, perfectly symbolised the popular outrage with wealth inequality.

A setback for Putin, Trump and right-wing populism

Hungary’s new start also sends a powerful message to other nations. Clearly the biggest loser from the election is Vladimir Putin’s Russia, which had hastily tapped Kremlin powerbroker Sergey Kiriyenko and a team of “political technologists” to assist Orbán.

Under Orbán, Hungary was the strongest pro-Kremlin voice in the EU. It regularly stymied aid packages for Ukraine, tied up decision-making on the war in bureaucratic processes, and held the European Commission to ransom by threatening hold-out votes.

In fact, just days before the election, Bloomberg published a transcript of a phone call between Orbán and Putin from October 2025, in which Orbán compared himself to a mouse helping free the caged Russian lion.

This came on the back of revelations that Orbán’s foreign minister, Péter Szijjártó, and other Hungarian officials had regularly been leaking confidential EU discussions to Moscow.

Another loser from the Hungarian election is the Trump White House.

The pre-election Budapest visit by US Vice President JD Vance to shore up support for Orbán was breathtakingly hypocritical. Vance farcically demanded an end to foreign election meddling, while engaging in precisely that. The White House then doubled down, with Trump promising on Truth Social to aid Orbán with the “full Economic Might of the United States.”

Now, though, Trump is very publicly on the losing side. And like the debacle of his Iran war, he tends to chafe at losing.

The election also shows that US foreign interference campaigns are not invulnerable, though the White House will doubtless continue excoriating Europe. The Trump administration’s view that Europe is heading for “civilisational erasure”, necessitating US efforts to “cultivate resistance” and “help Europe correct its current trajectory” is documented in its 2025 National Security Strategy.

But the broader movements representing what Russian journalist Mikhail Zygar calls the “Putinisation of global politics” have been repudiated by Hungary’s election result.

Under Orbán, Hungary was a hub for ultraconservative voices. Think tanks like the MAGA-boosting US Heritage Foundation and Hungary’s Danube Institute regularly held prominent dialogues bemoaning Europe’s capitulation to wokeism.

The Hungarian iteration of the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC), sponsored by the American Conservative Union, was a key calendar for Western right-wing politicians and commentators, including former Australian Prime Minister Tony Abbott, Reform UK leader Nigel Farage and former Fox News host Tucker Carlson.

China will also be keenly watching Magyar’s new government, especially since it has viewed Hungary as a soft entry point to the EU. The large-scale investment in electric vehicle manufacturing, especially battery production, are part of a growing Chinese business footprint in the country.

For Beijing, the question will be whether Magyar seeks to sacrifice this lucrative investment to burnish his European credentials.

What about the winners?

In addition to Hungarians outside Orbán’s orbit of elites, the EU will welcome the news that it remains an attractive force.

Ukraine, too, may find it easier to secure European assistance. At the very least, smaller Ukraine detractors like Slovakia will have to choose between acquiescing quietly or thrusting themselves uncomfortably into the open.

Yet, although Hungary’s result is promising, the world is still trending towards illiberalism.

And with the US midterm elections fast approaching, far-right American politicians, including Trump himself, will be studying Hungary’s lessons closely.

If they conclude that Orbán’s brand of authoritarianism was too soft, a more hardline path looms as an ominous alternative.

The writer is Associate Professor (Adj) at the Griffith Asia Institute and Fellow of the Strategic and Defence Studies Centre at the Australian National University

Republished from The Conversation

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

Perhaps, he was contemplating the party to celebrate his 54th birthday, still a few days away on January 13. It was going to be an elaborate affair, presided over by Syeda Hima Akhlaque, his mother; Naseem, his wife at the time, and their three children, as well as his four from his first marriage to Kishwar, who had the looks of an Indian film heroine and the ability to carry a tune. Perhaps, he thought the party could be shot by his photography student, Rashida — whom he would later marry.

The above-mentioned birthday party was not to be. The man saw a car drive through the gate, and a few men in plain clothes stepped out; they bundled the man into the car and drove away.

The man so blood-chillingly whisked away was Raza Kazim, a lawyer by profession. Yet, much to the amusement of his lawyer grandson Usman Jamil, Raza claimed with gleeful irreverence that the law was like a beneficent mistress, who provided funds for his ever-expanding household and more maverick pursuits.

Raza Kazim, who passed away at the age of 96 on April 16 in Lahore, was a lawyer, philosopher, musician, educator and photographer, but defied every label attached to him. Nasreen Rehman pens a personal tribute to a man whose restless search for beauty left its mark on everyone who knew him

Dismissive of hierarchy, Raza (as he preferred to be called by everyone, including his offspring) disappeared from the world for months — his whereabouts unknown. His family, friends and lawyers got into action, mounting a campaign for his release. On the international front, people such as his close friend Dr Eqbal Ahmad, Edward Said and Ramsey Clark, the former US attorney general, wrote letters and op-eds.

While Raza had publicly renounced Marxism — considered the ‘big evil’ by Pakistan’s pro-US establishment — in the 1950s, his renunciation did not wash. He was labelled a ‘commie’ and, later, charged with sedition, linked specifically to a ‘foreign’-planned coup to overthrow the government of Gen Ziaul Haq. Raza was ‘disappeared’ with no official organisation claiming knowledge of him.

THE DISAPPEARED

In a compelling conversation with Saroop Ijaz, published in Herald magazine in September 2014, Raza talks about himself, and his disappointments and hopes for Pakistan. He describes his time of incarceration in the dreaded Attock Fort, with its torture chambers reserved for those who dared to dissent and those who were earmarked for the gallows. He thought his head would roll.

With time to think, no books and pen and paper to hand, his imagination turned, with characteristic restlessness, to philosophy. It was here that he developed a school of thought that he called “Mentology”.

The arrest, and the international response it drew, brought Raza to a wider audience. He was tried in the Attock Fort and eventually freed after more than 18 months because of a lack of evidence. By the 1980s, Raza was a well-known and controversial figure — equally loved, admired and disparaged by those who knew and did not know him. The incarceration expanded his international acclaim. In the words of his longstanding and trusted friend Ehsan Mani, “Raza left his mark on all those who met him.”

Raza had a multi-sensory awareness of beauty. His sharp eyes, shaded by distinctive upturned eyebrows, evinced an imagination in flight. He was a photographer of exceptional talent. The keepers of his archives would do well to organise an exhibition of his photographic oeuvre.

A LIFE IN MUSIC

More than half a century ago, I met Raza through my friend Bibli, or Noor Zehra Kazim, his firstborn. Through Bibli — and through Raza and Bibli’s mother, Kishwar Aapa — music became a deeper presence in my life. From 1970 onwards, we spent long hours making music together.

I witnessed Raza working fiendishly on the javaari — the part of a South Asian string instrument that supports and enhances the microtonal quality of the sound. Raza was determined to find and create a sound — and for Bibli to play it.

As Bibli’s self-righteous friend, I witnessed the frustration of her riyaz [practice]; of her agony, when Raza was not satisfied — and the sagar veena was opened up again — the meends (glissandos) not ‘quite right’; the kharaj (the Sa tonic), not as ‘meaningful’ as Raza’s ears wanted it to be.

Today, my friend Bibli is a maestro, and the only person in the world who plays the instrument with the sound of Raza’s imagination: his search for beauty realised in Noor Zehra’s haunting sound on the sagar veena.

Raza’s obsessive belief that music was essential to fully realised human life resonates in his grandsons — Ali Hamza and Ali Noor’s songs, and the sound of Rakae Jamil’s sitar. Raza’s other two daughters, Beena and Baela, are not bad amateur sitarists themselves — and life without music would be unimaginable to both.

Importantly, Raza saw the gaps in the provision of musical education in Pakistan. He founded the Department of Musicology at the National College of Arts, Lahore, in 2002 — and was the departmental head.

THE WORLD HE CARRIED

When I heard that Raza had journeyed from this world, my first instinct was to turn to his daughters — my friends Bibli, Baela and Beena; and to my family and mutual friends. We discussed the passing away of an entire culture, of embedded connected knowledge.

What did we mean? Perhaps, it is important to remember the moment when many Muslims from undivided India’s United Province (UP) responded to the Quaid-i-Azam’s call to come to Pakistan. Most of them were not from princely states or even large taluqadari [leased landholding] estates, but many, like Raza’s family, were from qasbas [townships] and small towns — the ‘khatay peetay loag’ [well-off people], in short the ashraaf, whose transition to the middle class foregrounds a local modernity.

These were people equally at ease in inhabiting Western milieus, some educated abroad. They entered the professions — law, like Raza’s father and grandfather, medicine, engineering and the civil service, like his many uncles and cousins. They were from the service gentry, but grounded in their local tehzeeb [culture]. Yet they also included distinguished Marxist intellectuals and card-carrying members of the Communist Party — in India and in Pakistan.

Theirs was a way of life that was built on politesse and sartorial care, with an emphasis on education, literature and music as performative, leisure and recreational practices.

These were multi-lingual cosmopolitans. At home, they did not speak Urdu but Awadhi; and if counted among the educated, they had gone through Persian poet Saadi’s Gulistan and Bustan — a requirement shared by educated Muslims and Hindus in Punjab, and elsewhere.

Qasba, tehzeeb and the need for education had a powerful hold on Raza. In 1994, through an endowment, Raza founded the Sanjan Nagar School and Trust, for girls from less-privileged backgrounds. Ever the pragmatist, he asked the seasoned former civil servant Mueen Afzal to chair the trust. More than a year ago, when I visited Raza, he told me that the School Trust was “in Ehsan’s [Mani] safe hands.”

To date, 1,500 girls have graduated from the school — the alumni include medical doctors, of whom some have worked for the National Health Service in England, and a PhD in plant biology from Rutgers University in the USA.

Rest in peace Raza — heaven help the angels who try to fit you into any niche in the hereafter.

In memory of Hima Raza, born in 1975 to Naseem and Raza, who in 2004 predeceased both her parents and all her siblings

The writer is a historian, musicologist, screenwriter and translator

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

‘Political realism’ serves as an important frame­work for how nation-states conduct themselves to guarantee their continued existence and security. This perspective posits that the international order is essentially anarchic, lacking a central authority. Accepting this reality compels states to develop strategic responses to stabilise their position and fulfil their existentialist purpose in a competitive environment.

Over time, in this regard, political realism has evolved into several branches, as perceptions of anarchy and the drivers of state behaviour continue to evolve. ‘Classical realism’ focuses on the inherent drive within human nature for power, while ‘neorealism’ emphasises the external constraints imposed by the global structure that influences human nature.

‘Neoclassical realism’ bridges these ideas by looking at how domestic factors and individual leadership influence a state’s reaction to external pressures. Meanwhile, ‘liberal realism’ attempts to find a middle ground, by acknowledging the role of international norms even within an anarchic system.

Realism has remained a vital subject of academic study and practical statecraft for centuries. However, significant tensions exist within these various realist frameworks.

Neorealism, for example, is divided into two competing perspectives: ‘defensive realism’ and ‘offensive realism.’ Defensive realists argue that states should pursue only a limited amount of power to maintain their security, as an excessive build-up might provoke others and trigger a conflict. Offensive realists, on the other hand, contend that true security is only achievable by becoming the dominant power in the system, leading states to maximise their influence whenever possible. The current global reality reflects a complex struggle between these two neorealist strategies.

While neorealism seems to have the upper hand overall in explaining the behaviour of nation-states in an anarchic world, as evidenced by Pakistan’s strategic recalibration, defensive realism is paying more dividends

While neorealists as a whole prioritise the raw competition for power and survival, liberal realism argues that international norms and shared frameworks can mitigate conflict despite an anarchic environment. But liberal realism is receding because its proponents still seem to be rooted in a previous and eroding world order. Recent global trends suggest that it is the neorealist school of thought that is now the primary driver of nation-state behaviour.

Ideology is secondary to all this. According to prominent political neorealists such as the American political scientist Kenneth Waltz, it does not matter whether a state is a liberal democracy, an autocracy or a dictatorship. It is likely to act in a neorealist manner because it is constrained by the ‘anarchic structure’ of the international system. This forces states to engage in similar patterns of behaviour, regardless of their internal beliefs.

Neorealists maintain that states should be viewed as rational actors that respond to tangible military and economic realities rather than moral or ideological crusades. Ideologies can be adopted, replaced and discarded accordingly. Let’s explore this through two examples.

For decades, Israel has functioned as an offensive realist actor. On the other hand, Pakistan, particularly in recent years, has demonstrated a move toward defensive realism. Until the 2000s, Israel’s offensive realism was primarily rooted in its identity as the ‘sole liberal democracy in the Middle East’, framed as being locked in an existential struggle against hostile Middle Eastern autocracies. This ideological narrative served as the catalyst for Israel’s offensive realist posture.

However, from the 2010s, this narrative began to mutate. The mutation was driven by the persistent challenge posed by Iran to Israel’s strategic ambitions, alongside the recent security implications of Saudi Arabia formalising a defence pact with a nuclear-armed Pakistan. As efforts to effect regime change in Tehran faltered, Israel’s narrative shifted. The emphasis moved away from it being a ‘democratic outpost’ toward a broader civilisational struggle.

Israel began to portray itself as a bulwark against violent Islamism to protect Judeo-Christian heritage. The ‘ideology’ transitioned from the promotion of ‘regional democracy’ to the fulfilment of a ‘sacred biblical mission.’

Pakistan can be characterised as a defensive realist state, as its primary strategic objective is the preservation of its territorial integrity and sovereignty, rather than the expansion of its power or territory. While Pakistan experienced periods of offensive realism, most notably during the 1980s when an Islamist ideology was employed as a smokescreen, the subsequent blowback necessitated a change in approach.

Pakistan has accelerated its transition toward a defensive realism approach. This strategy involves solidifying strategic partnerships with China and Saudi Arabia while maintaining pragmatic, functional relations with offensive realists, such as the United States. Pakistan’s ideological narrative in this context has evolved as well. The previous Islamist rhetoric has been sidelined in favour of pragmatic nationalism. This move allows Pakistan to maintain essential global ties while effectively stonewalling the offensive realism of India.

This has necessitated experimentation with internal hybrid political systems. While a previous iteration (2018-2022) proved unsuccessful, the current hybrid model is viewed by the state as being more compatible with its defensive realist strategies. Not only is ‘Islamism’ being gradually filtered out from the country’s ideological surface, the tenets of liberal democracy, too, are being constrained because they are seen as poorly suited to the state’s current defensive realist objectives.

Neorealism is very much in the driving seat of contemporary geopolitics. The recent diplomatic manoeuvres on the global stage by Pakistan, and its rising stature as a prominent player in international politics can be used as an excellent example to demonstrate that defensive realism has proven to be more effective than offensive realism.

The latter seems to be coming apart, as exemplified by the recent foreign policy failures of India, and the military ‘defeat’ of the US and Israel at the hands of Iran.

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

— Carl von Clausewitz, On War

“Conflict remains the Middle East’s most troublesome dynamic, but there is today less to this problem than headlines might lead one to believe. Iran — the region’s chief destabilising force — has been greatly weakened… As this administration rescinds or eases restrictive energy policies and American energy production ramps up, America’s historic reason for focusing on the Middle East will recede.”

— US National Security Strategy, 2025

“There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,/ For I am arm’d so strong in honesty/ That they pass by me as the idle wind,/ Which I respect not.”

— William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

“Woe to the land that’s governed by a child.”

— William Shakespeare, Richard III

PROLOGUE

The second round of talks between Iran and the United States scheduled for last Wednesday in Islamabad remained stillborn. Reason: US President Donald Trump is still averse to negotiating. He thinks that negotiations are spelled D.I.K.T.A.T. That is a non-starter.

The inordinate time he spends putting out mocking posts in all caps, he was already set to sabotage the process. Publicly insulting the other party is not the best way to go into talks. One doesn’t need to learn negotiations theory at Harvard to figure that out.

Second, there’s a growing corpus of literature on the disruptive nature of “Twiplomacy”. The general consensus among scholars is that it is dangerous for serious diplomacy and negotiations because social media fundamentally alters the speed, substance, and secrecy of traditional negotiations.

To put it in perspective, imagine Clemens von Metternich or smartphone-carrying X-ers in the five major powers of the time tweeting about what he was doing to put together the Concert of Europe, an exercise so complex that it just couldn’t have been done without secrecy, aristocratic exclusivity, and slow, deliberate, face-to-face negotiations among elite diplomats. In the era of twiplomacy, Metternich’s gravitas would have collapsed irredeemably.

As Washington and Tehran oscillated between escalation and diplomacy after the war imposed by the US and Israel on Iran, Pakistan emerged as an unlikely but structurally primed mediator. Ejaz Haider unpacks the conflict so far, where we stand now, the limits of coercion and Pakistan’s role in helping to forge peace

Three, the refusal of Iran to send a delegation should have been anticipated. That the second round could not happen doesn’t necessarily reflect on Pakistan’s efforts. Tehran simply cannot be seen at the table with the US while the blockade continues. As I wrote in this space in early March, nor can Iran negotiate away the three pillars of its security: nuclear latency, missile programme (now also drones) and regional relationships.

Iran’s position remains more circumscribed. It has signalled willingness to limit enrichment temporarily, reduce stockpiles, and accept international monitoring in exchange for sanctions relief and unfreezing of its money. Missile forces and regional relationships were/are not on the table. Further, a second war in the middle of talks has also made it imperative for Iran to demand a guaranteed, comprehensive non-aggression pact.

Four, Trump doesn’t have many good choices. Bluster aside, he can’t really escalate without bombing targets that would make him a war criminal under existing International Law provisions. Granted he could wave that off as a minor nuisance and still go ahead.

But would that force Iran to capitulate? Highly unlikely. Would it kill thousands of civilians? It would. Does the world have an appetite for such savagery? No, leaving aside the horrendously murderous Zionist entity. Would Iran retaliate? Absolutely. Would such escalation send regional and extra-regional economies in a tailspin? Most certainly. Could it result in a diplomatic solution in the US’ favour? Forget it.

Action: extremely high risk. Result: very dubious to zero payoffs.

Five, to other sticking points we now have the added problem of US naval blockade of Hormuz. Everyone keeps talking about a ceasefire — to the extent that bombing has been paused, yes — but the blockade under relevant International Law provisions is an act of war. The ceasefire, to that extent, is already deceased, like the dead parrot in Monty Python.

The central question is, how long can the blockade be sustained? Iran believes, and has stated this in so many words, that it can outlast pressure. It’s the same clock versus time dialectic the US faced in Afghanistan. The underdog, if it can take and absorb pain, turns time into a strategic asset.

As Dennis Citrinowicz, a former intelligence officer and Iran expert for the Zionist entity, has written: “This is not a solution, it is a path towards deeper instability. This is a strategy of delaying the inevitable [by Trump] rather than resolving the conflict.”

With this inverted pyramid, let’s look at what Iran’s operational and politico-strategic approaches have achieved so far and also at Pakistan’s mediation efforts.

RECAP

Like last year, when Iran was attacked in the middle of talks on the nuclear file, this time, too, it was attacked while the talks were ongoing. This time, it was Operation Epic Fury (have US military planners outsourced op code-naming to professional wrestlers?). The gambit was decapitation and degradation strikes. Pesky Iran was supposed to crumble and sue for peace. Trump was to boast about the beauty of his operation.

But Iranians are nothing if not vexatious. They absorbed the pain and began counter-attacking, escalating horizontally, using missiles and drones, hitting US bases and bringing the Gulf to a precipice. Then, when their infrastructure was hit, they hit back at infrastructure. Worse, they closed the Strait of Hormuz. Trump suddenly realised they have swarms of these small, pestiferous high-speed boats, the naval equivalent of bees attacking a bulldozer.

Meanwhile, Trump, who cannot be accused of strategic coherence, declared on Truth Social on March 1 that Iran would be “hit so hard they won’t recognise what’s left of their sand.” By March 3, he was musing that “honestly, a little bombing never hurt anybody”, before pivoting to complain about the price of eggs. On March 7, he announced that “the only thing Iran understands is strength, and we have the biggest, most beautiful bombs, believe me.” Forty-eight hours later, he suggested that Iran’s Supreme Leader was “actually a very smart guy, very smart, maybe we can do lunch.”

By mid-March, he had oscillated between threatening to destroy an entire civilisation and praising the “fantastic engineering” of Iranian drones. When a reporter asked him on March 20 whether the US was at war, he replied, “It depends what your definition of war is. Also, I never said war. I said kinetic peace. Great phrase. Someone give me credit.”

It is strategic whiplash meets performance art meets a man who genuinely cannot remember what he posted on X 20 minutes ago, leaving allies exhausted, enemies confused, and everyone mulling over Richard III’s line, “Woe to the land that’s governed by a child.”

Enter Pakistan, the awkwardly useful middle child of global diplomacy, with its ‘Trust Me, I Know Everyone’ moment. Islamabad, which somehow (we shall get to that) maintains a “strategic partnership” with China, a defence pact with Saudi Arabia, a tense border with Iran, and an on-again-off-again love-hate thingamajig with the US, realised it was the only one everyone was still on speaking terms with.

So, the Chief of Defence Forces Field Marshal Asim Munir got busy, looking like a man who just wanted (still wants) everyone to calm down and have some chai. It’s a classic Pakistani hustle, using the fact that no one hates you enough (India excepted!) to ignore you, and everyone needs you enough to listen to you.

Whether this ultimately ends in a peace deal — much is being speculated on that count — or just an awkward family dinner, where someone leaves early in a huff, remains to be seen. But for now, the bloody playground fight has an unexpected field monitor, if you will.

But the real problem is Trump. We don’t know if he really wants out. Maybe he does; maybe he is still playing the same game. Be that as it may, unless he can be kept away from his phone and making insulting statements, diplomacy will remain complicated and Iranian moderates will have a much weaker hand to play.

THE SCHRÖDINGER MEME AND IRAN’S STRATEGIC CHOICES

Someone started it. It went viral. Talks are dead/talks are alive. Strait is open/strait is closed. But if one were to go into the history of Schrödinger’s cat, it is spot-on. Schrödinger intended for the “dead-and-alive” cat to prove that quantum mechanics was incomplete and that large-scale objects cannot be in two states at once. He was wrong on that count but he was also right in a way.

The cat, used as a metaphor, can be both dead and alive. Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg were right. In this situation, too, we have that duality and it depends on where one is observing it from: Washington or Tehran. Nota Bene: there’s no known idea in physics that accounts for the perfidious trinity involving the Zionist entity!

Iran has now been attacked twice, both times in the middle of ongoing talks. For anyone to tell it that the cat is alive in terms of talks would need a lot of convincing. The play has become obvious: send Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner to conduct “negotiations,” and declare that the only acceptable “negotiated” outcome is one that would require Iran to meekly submit to the US. In other words, surrender. Remember Trump’s words? Unconditional surrender.

Before the war began, Iran was negotiating but also preparing for a conflict. This much should be obvious from several interviews given to international television channels by the country’s foreign minister, Abbas Araghchi.

Its war preparations had four interconnected strategies: dispersal and delegation (mosaic defence); succession redundancies to offset the impact of decapitation strikes; horizontal escalation to raise the cost of war; and using allies as strategic reserves. Blocking the Strait of Hormuz was also an obvious part of the strategy of raising the cost of war.

To put it another way, Iran’s operational strategy was to fight its own war against the US-Zionist duo, not get into the conflict on the US’ terms. I have made this point before in this space through a children’s fable by Aesop but it bears repeating.

The fable goes thus: North Wind and Sun were quarrelling about who was stronger. As the argument became heated, Sun spotted a traveller and said to North Wind, “Let’s agree that he is the stronger who can strip that traveller of his cloak.” North Wind agreed and sent cold gusts towards the traveller, increasing the strength of the gusts gradually. But the stronger the gusts became, the more tightly the traveller wrapped his cloak around him. Seeing this, Sun began to shine and slowly increased the temperature until the traveller, feeling hot, removed his cloak.

How did Sun win? More aptly, why did North Wind lose? It lost because it got into a contest on Sun’s terms, a contest it was fated to lose even before it had begun. Sensible force employment in every contest of arms, but more importantly in an asymmetric contest, is meant to avoid just that.

Result: Iran took the pain of decapitation and degradation strikes. Dispersal allowed it to increase the survivability of its missiles and drones for counter attacks and delegation meant that field commanders could operate without being in constant contact with the top leadership and had pre-delegated orders of how to respond.

Survivability strategies, as is now known, also rely on deeply-buried production and firing sites. Even when entrances are bombed, clearing can be done from the inside.

Another aspect, which has now come to light with more evidence, is Iran’s enhanced satellite-based ISR and targeting capability. According to an April 2026 Financial Times investigation, a private Chinese firm, Earth Eye Co, allegedly sold a high-resolution spy satellite to Iran in late 2024. Leaked documents and subsequent analyses indicate that the satellite was used to monitor US military installations across the Middle East, both before and after the US strikes in early 2026.

The arrangement effectively enabled Iranian surveillance of American assets in the region. For its part, China has denied these claims. What is clear is the fact, noted by all experts, that Iran’s targeting in this war has been far more accurate and effective than in June 2025.

WHAT NOW?

The next round everyone was speculating about is not happening. While such speculation is understandable, serious analysis requires looking beyond immediate events to the structural and historical interrelations that make the conflict intelligible. As structuralism posits, phenomena are understood through their interrelations.

To answer the question of whether Iran and the US can co-exist, it’s important to look at history.

Since the 1979 revolution, US-Iran relations have followed a broader trajectory of hostility, despite brief periods of cooperation. In 2001, US envoy James Dobbins and Iranian deputy foreign minister Javad Zarif hit it off (Dobbins has written about it) and would even meet informally during the Bonn Process for Afghanistan. Iran also offered to help stabilise Afghanistan, but US President George W. Bush’s “axis of evil” speech ended that opening.

In 2003, Iran proposed a “grand bargain” covering its nuclear programme, relations with and support for Hezbollah and Hamas, and the acceptance by the Zionist entity of a two-state solution. This was also rejected by Bush. Earlier, during the Iran-Iraq War, Iran and the Zionist entity had briefly cooperated against Iraq, which the latter thought at the time was a bigger threat.

The broader animus, however, shapes current dynamics. Both sides remain trapped in what might be called a Daedalian labyrinth. Just as Daedalus needed waxen wings to escape his own maze, both the US and Iran must find a way out together. That moment depends not only on increasing pain but on a perceived payoff, American academic Ira William Zartman’s ‘mutually enticing opportunity.’

If both sides believe the rising cost of conflict is unbearable, they are ready for peace. If only one feels unbearable cost while the other retains the capacity to bear losses, the stronger will press for surrender. If both believe they hold the stronger hand, neither will concede.

Iranian-American scholar Arash Reisinezhad has warned Iran against overplaying its hand, coining the term “Faw Syndrome.” During the Iran-Iraq War, Iran’s capture of the Faw Peninsula in 1986 should have made Tehran diplomatically more flexible. Instead, victory led Iranian leaders to believe that Iraq’s total defeat was within reach. This is the ‘culminating point of victory’ problem Clausewitz discussed at length. The result: no diplomatic gain, and the war ended with UN Security Council Resolution 598. Reisinezhad warns that, today, the Strait of Hormuz and Iran’s enriched uranium stockpile may be caught in the same trap.

This assertion can be debated but the key question is whether the space Iran has created through asymmetric kinetic responses can be translated into diplomatic gains: sanctions relief and a guaranteed end to hostilities. That circles back to what Iran could concede, and to what extent.

It brings us to increasing evidence within Iran of the tussle between the hardliners and the moderates. The recent campaign in Iran against Araghchi recalls how hardliners sabotaged Javad Zarif before and after the JCPOA. When Obama failed to lift non-nuclear sanctions and Trump ultimately walked out of the deal, hardliners sidelined the moderates who could have been effective negotiating partners. That dynamic continues to block a diplomatic resolution.

But the real problem is Trump. We don’t know if he really wants out. Maybe he does; maybe he is still playing the same game. Be that as it may, unless he can be kept away from his phone and making insulting statements, diplomacy will remain complicated and Iranian moderates will have a much weaker hand to play.

THE STRUCTURAL LOGIC OF MIDDLE POWERS AND PAKISTAN’S ROLE

Finally, this brings us to how did Pakistan get into this? A number of analyses seeking to explain how and why Pakistan has emerged as a mediator in the US-Israel war of aggression on Iran have focused on surface-level factors. Some point to CDF Munir’s personal relationship with Trump; others highlight his alleged connections with the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC).

Still other analyses, more accurately, note that Pakistan is perhaps the only state that enjoys a measure of trust across the board: with the United States, with China in a deep strategic partnership, with Saudi Arabia, and with Iran. What very few have realised, however, is the China factor and the close, strategic coordination between Beijing and Islamabad that underpins Pakistan’s diplomatic manoeuvres, even as China remains reluctant to enter the fray directly.

My proposition here is that, for the most part, analyses have missed the deeper, structural reasons that have placed Pakistan in the position it has worked out for itself. To that end, I use the ‘middle power framework’. It offers a robust framework for understanding Pakistan’s emergence as a regional mediator.

In other words, Pakistan’s mediating role is not just a function of personal relationships, though that can play an important role in getting the warring sides to be more amenable; nor is it just momentary diplomatic opportunism. It is the product of structural shifts towards a multipolar world, Pakistan’s unique position within overlapping great power rivalries, and the strategic utility of middle power diplomacy in an era of complex interdependence.

In his book The Reason of State, Italian diplomat and scholar, Giovanni Botero categorised the states as grandissime [great], mezano [middle], and piccioli [small]. He defined a mezano as a state that doesn’t attract the envy or “passions” associated with great powers but which has sufficient strength and authority to stand on its own.

Botero’s definition is surprisingly modern, if we discount the localised nature of his world, where states could indeed stand on their own for the most part. Today, not even the grandissime can be self-sufficient in an autarkic sense, given the complex interdependencies and legal-normative frameworks that dictate acceptable state behaviour on a wide range of issues.

In the 1940s, Canadian Prime Minister Mackenzie King and Australian Minister for External Affairs Herbert Evatt used the term “middle power” to assert that medium-sized powers such as Canada and Australia should have a significant role in multilateral bodies. Such a role, they argued, was essential for maintaining international security. Such powers, they argued, weren’t mere insignificant “price takers.”

The closest we get to the modern definition is with British international relations scholar Martin Wight. In his revised 1978 work Power Politics, Wight posited that, while great powers have interests as broad as the system itself, middle powers possess significant regional influence and often act as “swing states” (yes, the term comes from Wight) or middle-tier actors. Recent scholarship distinguishes between traditional middle powers (wealthy, stable, Western-aligned states such as Canada and Australia) and emerging middle powers in the Global South.

Certain conditions need to be present in order for a middle power or a coalition of middle powers to intervene and act in a crisis: a situation where two or three great powers are deadlocked; a situation where a great power is directly involved in a conflict and cannot be a broker; and a situation where one of the great powers is reluctant to get directly involved, another is an aggressor and still another is benefiting from the conflict.

The third situation is what we are witnessing in regard to the war on Iran: the US is the aggressor, China is playing its hand in the backdrop and Russia is benefitting from the war.

Pakistan fits this structural description precisely. It possesses sufficient military capability and nuclear deterrence to command respect, yet it does not threaten the global primacy of the United States or China. It maintains deep strategic coordination with Beijing through the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (Cpec), while simultaneously retaining functional diplomatic channels with Washington, Riyadh and Tehran. This is not accidental. It is the product of deliberate statecraft designed to occupy the mezano space: hedging, capable and indispensable, precisely because it is not a hegemonic rival.

Pakistan’s position is also reinforced by China’s strategic interests. Beijing benefits from having a trusted partner capable of engaging with the US, Saudi Arabia and Iran simultaneously, particularly when China itself is locked in great power competition and prefers not to take direct ownership of every regional crisis.

Will something come out of Pakistan’s mediation? Before I answer this question, it’s instructive to read what Ambassador TCA Raghavan, a former High Commissioner of India to Pakistan wrote in The Telegraph in India after the first round of Iran-US talks produced no outcome:

“This time, Pakistan has played an even more astonishing role… It is no small achievement to have played some role in bringing to a pause, howsoever temporarily, one of the most intense military and geo-economic conflicts we have seen in recent history. Whether the failure to reach an agreement in Islamabad is a pause or a real setback remains to be seen. But bringing the belligerents together and possibly starting a process is no small feat, and there is applause from professionals across the world.”

These words are to be taken seriously. What Ambassador Raghavan has written also indicates that the outcome itself is not what matters, though a positive one would be an even greater feat.

EPILOGUE

For Pakistan, it is important to understand three broad points: its primary task is to mediate; it is not an enforcer. Put differently, Pakistan must remain a facilitative mediator, not a directive one. The latter role can induce distrust in one or both sides. It’s never easy to avoid the mediation dilemma.

Two, given the complexity of the issues, even if we were to accept that the moment is ripe for the two sides to start talking, it is far from clear at this stage if a ‘mutually enticing opportunity’ can emerge.

Three, if mediation could help extend the ceasefire for another 30 or 60 days, that would be a big achievement at this stage. If, as part of further confidence-building, the US were to lift the blockade and Iran were to open the strait, that would be icing on the cake. These developments won’t resolve the issue but could help create a conducive environment for further negotiations.

It will take much more effort than one, two or three rounds, howsoever hectic, to break this logjam. It’s like brick-laying. Pakistan should also not offer further mediation unless both sides request that.

Finally, there’s the serpent: the Zionist entity. It will do everything possible to scuttle any deal. Iran knows that. Pakistan should expect that.

The writer is a journalist interested in security and foreign policies.
X: @ejazhaider

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 26th, 2026

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nashra, are you listening?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nashra! I finally started a new anime!”

“After a month?” I raised my eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

“Advice,” I muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The price of a typo

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

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

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

Anas Naushahi
Karachi

Powered by caffeine

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

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

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

Zoya Rafiq,
Lahore

Calligraphy: where writing becomes art

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

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

Safiullah Behroz,
Karachi

Eid is for everyone

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

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

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

Dr M Qudrat-e-Khuda,
Karachi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not yet,” she answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am bored.”

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

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

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

“What is your routine?” Dado asked gently.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, but what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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