Mahtab Bashir, Islamabad

TOUCH GRASS AND FEEL LIFE BEYOND THE SCREEN

2026-09-28T21:30:26.687-07:00

Muhammad Ibrahim Mahtab
0333 53 63 248
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
Islamabad

Muhammad Ibrahim Mahtab highlights why, in an age ruled by screens and digital distractions, touching grass is no longer merely an internet joke but a gentle reminder to reconnect with the real world.

Humanity has spent thousands of years asking magnificent questions. How did the universe begin? What is the meaning of happiness? Why do civilisations rise and fall? Brilliant minds have devoted entire lifetimes to finding answers.

Yet the digital age has produced a strangely memorable question of its own, "when was the last time you touched grass?

It sounds ridiculous. Grass is ordinary. It grows in parks, gardens, playgrounds, and along quiet streets. We walk over it without thinking. Children roll across it. Gardeners cut it every weekend. Why would something so common become the symbol of a modern philosophy?

Because touch grass no longer means simply placing your hand on a lawn. It has become internet shorthand for something much deeper: step away from the screen, breathe fresh air, and remember that life exists beyond notifications.

Technology has transformed civilisation. It connects families across continents, educates millions, creates careers, entertains us, and opens doors to knowledge unimaginable a generation ago. The internet is not the villain of this story. The problem begins when the digital world quietly becomes our entire world.

This essay is not an argument against smartphones, gaming, social media, or technology. It is an invitation to reclaim balance, to rediscover sunlight, conversations, movement, creativity, and the simple joy of being physically present.

After all, the greatest luxury in the twenty-first century may not be faster Wi-Fi.

It may be ten uninterrupted minutes beneath an open sky.

From meme to meaning

The phrase “touch grass” was born as a joke.

When someone spends hours arguing online about fictional characters, sports debates, celebrity drama, or impossible conspiracy theories, another person inevitably replies, “Go touch grass.”

It is funny because it instantly shrinks an oversized problem. The internet often magnifies tiny disagreements until they feel like world-changing events. Outside, birds continue singing. Trees continue growing. Clouds continue drifting across the sky.

Nature has no opinion about your comment section.

That contrast gives the phrase its power. It reminds us that perspective is sometimes only one walk away.

The balance we forgot

Nearly everything beneficial becomes harmful without moderation.

· Food nourishes, but excess harms.
· Exercise strengthens, but overtraining injures.
· Work creates purpose, but burnout destroys joy.
· Entertainment relaxes, but endless distraction consumes time.

Technology follows exactly the same rule.

Modern apps are brilliantly designed to keep our attention. One short video becomes twenty. One message becomes an hour-long conversation. One quick search becomes a journey through countless tabs.

The internet rarely tells you to stop.

Balance is therefore a personal decision. Sometimes the healthiest notification is the one your own mind creates, “I've been sitting here long enough.” That moment is worth listening to.

Reality has better graphics

Screens are extraordinary, but they remain windows, not worlds. Outside, the experience is wonderfully impossible to download.

You feel the warmth of sunlight on your face. You hear birds instead of ringtones. You smell rain before it arrives. You notice wind moving through leaves in ways no animation perfectly imitates.

The physical world engages every sense simultaneously.

A smartphone can show you a beautiful forest.
A real forest lets you stand inside it.

That difference matters.

Your body was built to move

Modern life has quietly become a sitting competition.

Students sit in classrooms. Office workers sit behind desks. Gamers sit for hours. Streaming services encourage “just one more episode.” Social media asks for one more scroll.

Our bodies were never designed for permanent furniture.

Fortunately, movement does not require expensive equipment. Walking remains one of humanity's greatest inventions.

A ten-minute walk can become:

· an unexpected conversation,
· a football match with friends,
· a bicycle ride,
· a peaceful evening stroll,
· or simply a chance to stretch after hours indoors.

Exercise feels less like a chore when it looks more like play.

Why nature never begs for your attention

Digital platforms compete aggressively for your focus. Nature does not.

A tree never sends reminders. A flower never interrupts your conversation. A sunset never demands that you enable notifications.

Ironically, this quietness is what makes nature remarkable.

Look closely at a single tree. Birds occupy its branches. Ants travel across its bark. Sunlight changes its appearance every minute. What seemed ordinary becomes astonishing once attention replaces distraction.

Nature is not boring. It is simply patient.

Perspective is waiting outside

Have you ever lost an online game and felt personally offended by the universe?

Or spent an evening arguing with a stranger whose real name you never learned?

Inside the digital bubble, everything feels urgent.

Step outside and something curious happens.

Cars continue moving. Children continue laughing. Someone walks their dog. The evening sky slowly changes colour. The world quietly demonstrates that your argument was never the centre of reality.

Perspective is not forgetting your problems. It is remembering their actual size.

Real conversations sound different

Technology has made communication effortless.

We can message instantly, video-call relatives abroad, and build friendships across oceans. These are extraordinary achievements.

Yet face-to-face conversations still possess something irreplaceable.

Shared laughter.
Comfortable silence.
Eye contact.
Walking beside someone instead of texting them.

Some of life's most memorable discussions happen without planning. Two friends leave home intending to walk for ten minutes and accidentally spend an hour talking about dreams, family, careers, or nothing important at all.

Those moments rarely go viral. They become memories instead.

The unexpected gift of boredom

Modern culture treats boredom like an emergency. The moment silence appears, many of us instinctively reach for our phones.

But boredom has a remarkable hidden talent. It creates space for imagination.

Without constant digital input, the brain begins producing ideas of its own. Stories emerge. Poems appear. Business ideas develop. Problems find solutions. Curiosity wakes up.

Creativity often begins exactly where endless scrolling ends.

The sky doesn't have a comment section

Perhaps the most underrated outdoor activity is looking upward.

Morning skies glow softly. Afternoon clouds invent impossible shapes. Sunsets paint colours no filter truly captures. Night reveals stars that existed long before humanity invented electricity.

The sky offers remarkable features:

· No password
· No subscription
· No advertisements
· No algorithm
· No comment section

It simply exists. And somehow, that feels luxurious.

Where did three hours go?

Digital entertainment changes our perception of time.

You promise yourself five minutes.

Suddenly it is evening.

This is not necessarily malicious; enjoyable experiences naturally compress our sense of time. But outdoor life follows a different rhythm. Walks have beginnings and endings. Conversations pause naturally. Parks encourage observation rather than constant consumption.

Sometimes productivity is overrated. Being present is productive enough.

Technology is a tool, not a universe

The healthiest lifestyle is not a battle between screens and nature.

It is a partnership.

Use technology to learn languages, write stories, edit photographs, build businesses, communicate globally, and explore ideas.

Then close the laptop.

The goal has never been technology versus trees. It is technology alongside trees.

Small breaks change big habits

Many people imagine dramatic solutions.

Delete every app.
Throw away the phone.
Move into a cabin.
Reality is kinder.
Small habits create meaningful change:

Instead of..... try.......

Scrolling during every break
Walking outside for 10 minutes
Gaming continuously
Stretching between matches
Messaging constantly
Talking face-to-face occasionally
Watching another video
Looking at the evening sky
Balance grows through tiny decisions repeated consistently.

Grass is the least judgmental thing you'll ever meet

Social media constantly measures people.

Followers.
Likes.
Views.
Shares.
Comments.
Popularity becomes a visible number.

Grass measures none of these things.
A tree offers shade whether you're famous or anonymous. A park welcomes children, athletes, students, grandparents, and strangers equally. Nature has no leader-board.

Sometimes existing without being evaluated is wonderfully refreshing.

Creativity loves fresh air

Writers borrow stories from streets. Artists steal colours from sunsets. Photographers chase light through parks. Scientists ask questions after observing ordinary things. Changing environments changes thinking.

Many brilliant ideas arrive during walks rather than while staring aggressively at blank screens. Going outside is not always escaping work. Sometimes it is quietly preparing for better work.

Curiosity begins with “why?”

The outdoors is an endless classroom.

Why do leaves change colour?
Why do clouds move?
Why does grass grow toward sunlight?
Why do birds appear before rain?
Reading answers online is valuable.
Seeing the questions happen in real life makes knowledge unforgettable.
Observation gives education a heartbeat.

The fair argument against touching grass

To be honest, touching grass is not always possible.

Some people live in crowded cities with limited green spaces. Others face extreme weather, disabilities, demanding schedules, or unsafe neighbourhoods. Many meaningful hobbies exist entirely indoors, from programming and reading to gaming and digital art.

Passion is not the problem. Imbalance is.

“Touch grass” works best as a gentle reminder, not an insult. Loving technology and enjoying indoor hobbies can coexist beautifully with caring for your physical well-being.

The internet will wait

Perhaps the greatest illusion of online life is urgency.

Another message will arrive.
Another meme will appear.
Another trend will begin.
Another argument will continue.
The internet is wonderfully persistent.
It will still be there after your walk.
Your attention, however, is limited. Spend it intentionally.

The surprisingly scientific grass-touching method

For the sake of academic excellence, let us establish the official procedure.

1. Locate a safe patch of grass.
2. Walk toward it at a respectable pace.
3. Observe the surroundings.
4. Touch the grass.
5. Resist immediately checking your phone.
6. Stay outside for a few extra minutes.
7. Return whenever you're ready.

Congratulations.

You are now an internationally certified grass toucher. (Unfortunately, no diploma is available.)

Why this joke refuses to die

The phrase became famous because it captures a uniquely modern truth.

Online communities can make tiny issues appear enormous. Inside the internet bubble, everyone seems to care. Outside it, most people are simply living their lives.

Schools continue teaching.
Families continue eating dinner.
Parks continue filling with children.
Rain continues falling.
The internet is vast.
Reality is larger.

The philosophy of grass

What can grass possibly teach us? Perhaps simplicity.

Grass does not compare itself with flowers. Clouds do not compete for followers. Birds never worry about engagement statistics.

Nature exists without constantly asking whether it is winning. Humans often forget this.

We compare careers, salaries, appearances, grades, houses, vacations, and popularity. The digital world amplifies these comparisons every day.

Stepping outside interrupts the scoreboard. For a few quiet moments, you are not competing. You are simply alive.

A love letter to the internet

Dear Internet,

Thank you.

You helped us learn languages, reconnect with childhood friends, publish books, discover music, attend universities, and laugh at impossibly strange memes.

You changed civilisation.

But even masterpieces deserve intermissions.

We'll be back after our walk.

Please don't take it personally.

Sincerely,

Humanity

Conclusion: Step outside, the world is waiting

Why should you touch grass?

Not because grass is magical.

Not because going outside instantly solves anxiety, deadlines, heartbreak, or unfinished homework.

And certainly not because an internet stranger ordered you to.

You should touch grass because balance is one of the healthiest habits a person can build.

The real world offers things no algorithm can fully imitate: the warmth of sunshine, the smell of rain, spontaneous conversations, laughter shared without headphones, children playing in parks, the changing colours of evening skies, and the peaceful realisation that not every notification deserves your attention.

Technology remains one of humanity's greatest achievements. Use it to learn, create, communicate, and dream. But never let it convince you that the screen is the whole story.

Beyond your door are ordinary moments that quietly become extraordinary memories.

A nearby park.
A familiar street.
A bicycle ride.
A family conversation.
A breeze moving through trees.

And somewhere, probably only a few steps away, a completely innocent patch of grass, growing patiently without Wi-Fi, followers, advertisements, or opinions about your latest post.

It is simply waiting.

So close the app.
Pause the game.
Silence the notification.
Open the door.
Look at the sky.
Walk a little farther than necessary.
Smile at someone.
Breathe deeply.
And if the opportunity presents itself, touch grass.

The writer is 11 years old and currently studying in Grade 5 at Islamabad Convent School (ICS), Islamabad.

A FRIEND’S TALE: FROM BALA’S DUSTY ROADS TO OXFORD’S GRAND HALLS

2026-09-13T13:01:08.091-07:00

From a modest beginning in southern Punjab to postdoctoral research at one of the world’s most prestigious universities, Dr Muhammad Iqbal Hajana’s journey is a story of perseverance, friendship and an unyielding hunger for knowledge

Mahtab Bashir
03335363248
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
ISLAMABAD

Some journeys are planned around destinations. Others are forged slowly, painfully and patiently until the destination itself becomes a consequence of perseverance. Dr Muhammad Iqbal Hajana’s journey belongs to the latter kind.

Catching up with Iqbal, talking about life, memories and how far we’ve come.

From Jampur in Rajanpur, a relatively remote city of southern Punjab, to the distinguished corridors of the University of Oxford, his story is not merely about academic degrees, professional positions or scholarships. It is about refusing to accept circumstances as a verdict.

It is about a young man who arrived in Islamabad with little more than ambition, discipline and an unspoken conviction that his life could become larger than the geographical boundaries from which he had emerged.

I met that youngster in 2003, in the Computer Sciences Department of Quaid-i-Azam University. Back then, he was simply Iqbal. Many of his friends called him Bala.

There was nothing ostentatious about him. He was quiet, somewhat shy and rarely the loudest voice in a room. But there was something unmistakable beneath that reserved personality: determination.

I had been born and raised in Islamabad, so I had seen countless young people arrive in the capital carrying dreams of education, employment and a better future.

But Iqbal was different.

He did not merely arrive in Islamabad. He gradually conquered the challenges it placed before him. From Jampur to Quaid-i-Azam University

Iqbal came to Islamabad in 2001, shortly after completing his graduation.

Some classmates and teachers encouraged him to consider Quaid-i-Azam University, then, and probably still, one of Pakistan’s most formidable centres of higher learning.

For a young man coming from Jampur, the transition was considerable. But Iqbal did not regard Islamabad as an escape from his past. He regarded it as an opening to his future.

In 2003, he completed his M.Sc in Earth Sciences from QAU. Yet one degree was not enough. He enrolled in the Computer Certificate Programme at QAU’s Department of Computer Sciences. That was where we met, where our paths first crossed, and where fate would eventually bring us together again.

We spent roughly six months in the department together.

I remember Iqbal as hardworking, disciplined and intensely focused. His ambitions were never noisy. They were visible in his conduct. Then came the class elections.

Iqbal was elected Class Representative, while Nazia, another mature and brilliant student from the Anthropology Department, was elected Girls’ Representative.

The choices reflected something simple but important: people trusted them.

Iqbal subsequently entered the M.Phil programme in Earth Sciences, continuing to build the academic foundation that would eventually take him far beyond the boundaries of Pakistan.

A motorbike, a challan and Lahore

Friendship, however, is not built from degrees. It is built from ordinary days. Iqbal and I once travelled from Islamabad to Rawalpindi on a motorbike. On that journey, a traffic warden handed me a challan.

It may have been the first, and perhaps the last, traffic ticket I ever received in Rawalpindi.

The story became even more complicated when I handed the voucher to a colleague, a Daily Times reporter in Rawalpindi, hoping he could help me retrieve my driving licence. He lost the voucher. I eventually stopped pursuing the matter until my licence expired and I had to apply for a new one.

Years later, I still remember that episode more fondly than I remember many serious events of that period.

Life was moving. So were we.

At one point, wedding invitations began arriving from the very people with whom we had once shared classrooms and examinations. The Class Representative and Girls’ Representative were getting married.

Two friends and a dream in Lahore

Iqbal and I also travelled to Lahore to appear in Punjab Public Service Commission (PPSC) examinations.

Those two weeks remain among the more colourful memories of our younger years. We would sit the examinations at Fortress Stadium and then wander through Lahore. We explored its streets, visited its landmarks and sampled its food.

One day, as candidates emerged from the examination centre, we noticed a reporter interviewing them. Iqbal was late. So, I spoke to the journalist and shared my aspirations. The next morning, we bought the newspapers. There it was: “Over 11,000 Youth to Fight for 20 Vacant Posts under PPSC.” I have somehow managed to preserve that newspaper to this day.

When Iqbal finally emerged from the examination centre, I told him about the interview. Then I shared another little incident. “While I was coming out,” I told him, “I heard one candidate ask his friend, what you have written in reply to a question, whether Iqbal was a better Shair (poet) or Hakeem (a healer).” His friend prompted: “Nothing, my friend. I have only just discovered that Iqbal was also a Hakeem.” We laughed. It was a tiny episode in the vast story of our lives.

But decades later, I still remember it.

Perhaps that is the strange mathematics of friendship: some moments become more valuable with age.

The professional world could not contain him

During his M.Phil studies, Iqbal joined Oil and Gas Development Company Limited (OGDCL). The professional world opened another door for him.

He gained practical experience in the energy sector, learned the demands of professional life and established himself beyond academia. But professional stability did not silence his academic hunger.

Instead, it seemed to sharpen it.

He eventually secured a Higher Education Commission scholarship and proceeded to Cardiff University, UK for advanced studies. For someone who had begun in Jampur, Cardiff represented another formidable leap.

But by then, perhaps Iqbal had stopped measuring his dreams by distance.

After returning to Pakistan, he joined Weatherford, a multinational oilfield services company. Later, his professional journey took him through OGDCL, OGTI in I-9 and Weatherford in I-10.

Our meetings continued. Sometimes we would sit over tea. Sometimes over a meal. We would revisit old memories, discuss our respective careers and wonder how quickly the years were disappearing.

Our professions had taken us in different directions. Our friendship had not.

From industry to the classroom

Eventually, Iqbal made another significant decision.

He moved from the corporate oil and gas sector into academia and joined Bahria University Islamabad as a member of its teaching faculty. It was more than a career transition. It seemed to reflect something fundamental about him.

For Iqbal, education was never simply a collection of certificates to be displayed on a wall or degrees to be added to a curriculum vitae.

Knowledge was a lifelong pursuit. He wanted to learn more. Then he wanted to teach. And after teaching, he wanted to discover more. That restlessness eventually took him back to the pursuit of advanced research.

And then came Oxford

Years after leaving Jampur, Iqbal secured another HEC scholarship. This time, the destination was the University of Oxford. Today, he is undertaking postdoctoral research in Earth Sciences at Oxford.

The distance between those two points is difficult to measure merely in kilometres. Jampur to Oxford is not simply a geographical journey. It is a journey across circumstances. Across uncertainty. Across financial and social limitations. Across countless moments when it would have been easier to settle. But Iqbal kept moving.
“Iqbal, do you remember?”

When he recently returned from Oxford during a break, he called me. We met over tea at Super Market in F-6, the very sector where I was born and raised.

As we sat together, the years seemed to collapse. I looked at him and, for a moment, I could almost see the young Iqbal of 2003 sitting before me.

The Earth Sciences Department, The Computer Sciences Department. The class elections. The motorbike. The Rawalpindi challan. The Lahore examinations. The newspaper. The laughter. The dreams.

“Iqbal, do you remember those days?” I asked. Of course, he did. Some memories do not require photographs. They remain preserved somewhere deeper.

The teacher became a mentor

Today, Iqbal’s contribution extends beyond his own academic journey.

He has supervised two PhD students and several MPhil students, while contributing numerous research papers to national and international academic journals.

The young man who once sat beside us in a university department has himself become a mentor to a new generation of scholars.

That, perhaps, is a more profound measure of achievement than any title. Knowledge becomes meaningful when it is passed forward.

A life built together

Iqbal’s personal journey has also been intertwined with academia. He married one of his university colleagues (yeah, GR), who herself is a PhD scholar and faculty member at a reputable public-sector university. Together, they have three children and are currently residing in the UK.

Over the years, he has achieved many of the material comforts associated with professional stability, a home, luxury vehicle(s) and a secure life.

But when I look at his journey, these things appear almost incidental.

The greater achievement is intangible. It is the respect he has earned. It is the students he has inspired. It is the knowledge he continues to create. And it is the distance he has travelled without forgetting where he began.

What Jampur gave him

Iqbal’s story is particularly significant because of where it began.

Jampur did not offer him the same concentration of opportunities available in Pakistan’s major urban centres.

Yet he never treated his birthplace as a limitation. He carried Jampur with him. Then he added Islamabad. QAU. Cardiff. The corporate world. Academia. And finally, Oxford. Each place became another chapter rather than a replacement for the previous one.

That is perhaps the most beautiful aspect of his journey. He did not erase his origins to reach Oxford. He carried them there.

The only missing link

Amid his many achievements, Iqbal feels the absence of his parents, who are no longer here to celebrate the milestones they helped him reach.

He remembers them with deep affection and gratitude and repeatedly acknowledges that whatever he has become is inseparable from their sacrifices, prayers and upbringing.

For all the universities he has attended, all the scholarships he has won and all the professional milestones he has crossed, there remains a part of the journey that belongs entirely to them.

Perhaps every achievement of his carries an invisible dedication. To his mother. To his father. To the people who believed in him before the world had any reason to do so.

Geography decides where you begin, not where you end

As someone born and raised in Islamabad, I have seen many talented young people come to the capital in search of opportunity.

Some found it. Some lost their way. Some achieved what they came for. Iqbal did something different. He kept expanding the boundaries of what was possible for himself. His journey offers a powerful lesson to young people growing up in smaller cities and less privileged environments:

From Iqbal to Dr Iqbal

When I first met him in 2003, he was simply Iqbal. A shy young man. A hardworking student. A friend. Today, he is Dr Muhammad Iqbal Hajana, an academic, researcher, mentor and postdoctoral scholar at Oxford. Yet, sitting across from him over tea in F-6, I did not see only the scholar. I saw the old friend.

The young man from Jampur who came to Islamabad carrying a dream that was probably larger than he could explain at the time. Perhaps that is why his story touches me personally. Because I witnessed a small part of the beginning.

I watched the journey unfold. And now, from Jampur to Oxford, I can see just how far that quiet determination carried him.

His journey is not over. Perhaps Oxford is not the destination either.

Perhaps it is simply another milestone on a road that began in Jampur and continues wherever his curiosity, scholarship and determination take him.

And if I were to ask him one final question today, sitting across that cup of tea, it would be simple: “Mr. Bala, oh sorry Dr. sb, how far do you think you can still go?” Knowing him, I suspect he would smile quietly, and keep walking.

“TEA IS FANTASTIC” ABHINANDAN’S NEW ANNOUNCEMENT MAY COME FROM AN ATR

2026-09-05T00:06:42.329-07:00

IAF fighter pilot moves from the MiG-21 cockpit to a local ATR, leaving behind the dogfight, the Vir Chakra and a famous cup of Pakistani tea.

Mahtab Bashir
0333 53 63 248
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
ISLAMABAD

Once celebrated as the moustachioed face of Indian air force, Group Captain Abhinandan Varthaman is now preparing for a very different kind of flight, training to operate an ATR for Indian regional airline FLY91.

One cannot help wondering: is India's celebrated fighter pilot not capable enough to fly an ATR yet? Perhaps he is. And perhaps that is precisely why he needs the training. After all, the last time he ejected, landed on the Pakistani side and was captured.

He flew a fighter jet into an encounter with Pakistani aircraft, his MiG-21 came down. So, after the MiG-21 chapter, comes the ATR chapter.

Abhinandan sipping tea during captivity in Pakistan

From supersonic fighter sorties to regional passenger flights, from chasing aircraft to chasing schedules, it is certainly an unusual career transition for a man whom India's political and media establishment once turned into a symbol of military heroism.

And somewhere in this curious aviation story, one sentence continues to hover above everything: “Tea is fantastic.”

Those three words, uttered by Abhinandan while in Pakistani custody in 2019, became an unlikely cultural phenomenon in India. The captured pilot, visibly injured but composed, was shown drinking tea and answering questions without revealing information.

But Indian media soon did what Indian media does best when presented with a dramatic television moment: it turned a cup of tea into a national epic.

The man whose aircraft had been shot down and who had subsequently been captured was transformed into a heroic symbol. His moustache became iconic, his photographs appeared everywhere and his name became embedded in India's political rhetoric.

Then came the Vir Chakra.

Abhinandan was decorated with India's third-highest wartime gallantry award, while the episode was increasingly packaged as a story of “extraordinary Indian military valour”.

And that is where the story deserves a little less Bollywood and a little more reality.

There is no question that maintaining composure while injured and in enemy custody is difficult. But composure in captivity and victory in aerial combat are two very different things.

Yet somehow, in the Indian telling of the story, the distinction became rather conveniently blurred.

The fighter went down.
The pilot was captured.
The tea was fantastic.
And the hero was born.

Now, seven years later, the same hero is reportedly preparing to fly an ATR in India's regional aviation sector.

The symbolism is almost too perfect.

The MiG-21 was built for combat. The ATR is built to carry passengers between cities.

One carries weapons. The other carries luggage.

One produces the sort of noise that makes people look up nervously.

The other produces the sort of announcement that makes passengers check whether their flight is delayed.

For Abhinandan, therefore, the aviation vocabulary is about to change dramatically.

“Target acquired” may become “boarding completed.”

“Enemy aircraft detected” may become “cabin crew, prepare for take-off.”

And instead of wondering whether the opposing aircraft has locked on, passengers will presumably be wondering whether their checked baggage has made it onto the plane.

But perhaps the biggest irony lies in the fact that Varthaman's most internationally remembered words came not from a successful fighter sortie, but from his time after that sortie had ended rather abruptly.

“The tea is fantastic.”

It was a remarkable public-relations victory for Pakistan. A captured Indian fighter pilot sitting in Pakistani custody, calmly drinking tea and praising it, became one of the most replayed moments of the confrontation.

India, meanwhile, had a different response: instead of allowing the episode to remain an uncomfortable military episode, it elevated the man at its centre into a national icon.

The medal helped.
The television coverage helped.
The moustache certainly helped.
And the tea? The tea became legendary.

Now imagine the next stage.

A passenger boards an ATR. He looks toward the cockpit. Perhaps he notices the pilot's name.

“Abhinandan Varthaman?”

The passenger might reasonably wonder whether this is the same man whose photograph once dominated television screens across India.

And then comes the announcement:

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard.”

No Pakistani jets.
No dramatic dogfight.
No ejection seat.
No international crisis.
Just an ATR heading toward its destination.

That, perhaps, is the most amusing part of the entire saga.

War propaganda thrives on drama. Commercial aviation thrives on routine.

The first requires enemies, headlines, medals and patriotic speeches.

The second requires punctuality, discipline, navigation and passengers who have remembered to switch their phones to flight mode.

The Vir Chakra cannot help with turbulence.
A patriotic slogan cannot land an aircraft.
And a famous moustache is no substitute for an aviation licence.

Perhaps this is why the ATR chapter is so revealing. It strips away the political theatre and returns aviation to what it actually is: a profession in which performance matters far more than mythology.

If Abhinandan successfully completes his training and begins flying commercially, he will simply become another professional pilot responsible for getting passengers safely from one airport to another.

No national anthem required.
No heroic soundtrack necessary.
And certainly no need to remind anyone about the tea.

Although, given the extraordinary afterlife of those three words, one suspects that whenever Abhinandan is offered a cup of tea before a flight, somebody somewhere will remember:

“Tea is fantastic.”
What a journey.
From the cockpit of a MiG-21 to the cockpit of an ATR.
From aerial combat to domestic routes.
From fighter pilot to commercial trainee.

And from a captured pilot's famous cup of tea to a career where the real test is no longer how convincingly one can appear heroic on television, but whether one can safely land the aircraft.

Perhaps that is the final irony.

The Indian establishment spent years turning a three-day captivity into a legend.

Now aviation may reduce the legend to something wonderfully ordinary:

Captain, passengers are waiting. The aircraft is ready. Please fly.

The writer is a journalist who completed MPhil thesis titled “U.S. Pro Israel Policy: The Rise of Anti American Rhetoric in Pakistan" from Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad.

SYSTEM HAS COLLAPSED, LET’S CELEBRATE IT!

2026-08-24T11:49:44.871-07:00

Mahtab Bashir
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
ISLAMABAD

After nearly eight decades of independence, Pakistan has finally achieved something remarkable: we have spent 80 years perfecting the art of making a functioning society look dysfunctional.

Corruption is no longer an aberration but an operating principle; policies are drafted more for files than for implementation; professionalism is often sacrificed at the altar of sifarish; loyalty is measured by personal benefit rather than principle; patriotism appears most passionately on national days, preferably with a flag as a profile picture; and empathy has become an increasingly rare luxury.

From politics to bureaucracy, education to healthcare, media to business, and institutions to ordinary social dealings, the same disease seems to have spread everywhere, rules are negotiable, accountability selective, and merit perpetually homeless.

And now, after eight long decades of denial, excuses and ceremonial self-congratulation, we are astonished to discover that the system has not merely developed cracks, it has collapsed.

The tragedy, however, is not that we failed to notice the collapse; it is that we spent 80 years calling the falling walls “progress.”

Many moons ago, when a Pakistani swimming contingent returned home after a dismal performance at the Olympics, they faced severe criticism. During a meeting with the swimmers, sports minister congratulated them, saying, “Everyone has returned safely, and, thankfully, no one drowned. Big congratulations!”

Let's talk about Hockey, the sport in which Pakistan once ruled the world and proudly flaunted it as our national game, has now given us another reason to celebrate. The Pakistan hockey team qualified for the World Cup after a hard-fought campaign and managed to win just one match, against Japan. It was, of course, a historic victory: our first World Cup win in 16 years. And, naturally, we also lost to our arch-rivals, India.

But by the time these lines are being written, the celebrations over the thrilling 4-3 victory against Japan may have ended, or perhaps they are still going on. After all, the Green Shirts will now play in the 9th-to-16th-place classification matches. Big congratulations!

On Friday, August 21, England defeated visiting Pakistan by an innings and 120 runs within three days at Headingley, in what was supposed to be a five-day Test match and the first of a three-match series. The second Test will be played at Lord’s on August 27, when Babar Azam is expected to make his comeback.

At Headingley, many people, including the goras, ridiculed Pakistan’s selectors, with some calling it the worst team in the history of Pakistan cricket, or suggesting that perhaps the selectors themselves were the worst. Ali Usman, however, proved them all wrong. He became the first overseas spinner since 1972 to claim a five-wicket haul at Headingley. Yes, Pakistan suffered a massive defeat, but let us not allow that minor detail to spoil the celebration. Big congratulations!

Arshad Nadeem, our champion javelin thrower who stunned the world by setting an Olympic record of 92.97 metres to win gold at the Paris Olympics, suffered an early exit after reportedly feeling cold and groggy. As he himself described it, the cold apparently got the better of him before his javelin throw at the Commonwealth Games in Glasgow, where he finished ninth among 12 competitors.

Arshad managed a best throw of 77.41 metres in his first three attempts. But there was one encouraging sign: thankfully, the javelin (neza) was not frozen, only the thrower seemed to be. Especially the thrower in whom governments and the private sector have invested so heavily. Big Congratulations!

On August 14, the Pakistani government announced a number of civilian awards for people contributing in different fields. The actual conferment, however, will take place on March 23 next year. The decision was widely mocked on social media, with critics arguing that the value of civilian awards has been diluted, not only by some of the recipients, including serving office-holders, but also by those handing them out.

One social media user summed up the sentiment rather brutally: “Those deprived of awards for some reason can always get a Sitara-e-Imtiaz from any outlet of Imtiaz Store.”

Another interesting development came when a lawyer put the Presidency on notice by issuing a legal notice to President Asif Ali Zardari, seeking revocation of the civil awards announced for serving bureaucrats and officials. The petition reportedly invokes Article 259(2) of the Constitution and the Decorations Act, 1975, questioning whether routine official duties can really be classified as extraordinary public service.

Will the Presidency respond? If it does not, perhaps the awardees will simply have to accept the honour. Congratulations!

On the same evening, the Islamabad city administration (ICT) and Islamabad Police organised “A Parade” at D-Chowk as part of the Independence Day celebrations. The public event was largely appreciated, but the appearance of the Chief Commissioner Islamabad, who also happens to chair the CDA, and the Inspector General of Islamabad Police riding together on a buggy certainly added an unexpected royal touch to the proceedings.

Social media, naturally, noticed. The federal interior minister who days earlier had revealed that ‘system has collapsed’, later offered a rather thoughtful explanation: the chief guest was late because of other engagements, and the two senior officers were apparently directed not to give the public any “further pain” by making them wait any longer. So, instead of waiting on the ground, the two high-ranking officials were placed on the buggy. Problem solved, and, apparently, history made.

Days later, however, the prime minister took stern notice, expressing disappointment and displeasure over the display of pomp and show. The officials were advised to demonstrate humility, restraint and dignity, and to ensure that such conduct would not recur.

The public, meanwhile, appreciated the parade. The gathering was somewhat thin, but perhaps that too was part of the national restraint. Big Congratulations!

Most recently, on Monday, August 24, 2026, yet again during the month of our Independence, a group of students at Sarhad University’s Islamabad campus staged a protest over issues about the reinstatement of their Head of Department, fee structure and class arrangements.

The university’s female Head of Student Affairs, approached the protesting students in an attempt to engage with them and resolve their grievances; however, some of the agitated students reportedly misbehaved her. She subsequently called her husband, a serving military officer, for assistance.

Upon entering the university premises, the officer confronted the students; after a quick exchange of harsh words, he scuffled and opened ariel fire, apparently to intimidate protesting students. Several mobile-phone videos, including footage portraying the officer’s conduct during the incident, subsequently went viral on social media.

Having watched all the viral videos circulating on social media and thoroughly examined the matter at the campus, many are now showering praise on the civilian-military couple for their “gallant” intervention in resolving the issue, with some even recommending that the President confer upon them the prestigious Sitara-e-Imtiaz. Big congratulations!

Meanwhile, according to the official version, the officer has since been taken into custody and disciplinary proceedings have been initiated against him. The Pakistan Army has reiterated that discipline, accountability and justice remain its foremost institutional priorities, and that appropriate action will be taken in accordance with the findings of the ongoing inquiry.

Read Also: CONSTITUTION WEEPS, POLITICIANS SPEAK, CITIZENS WAIT IN PAKISTAN

Talking to this scribe, Shahzad Anwar Farooqi, a senior journalist and political commentator, said it was unfortunate and a matter of concern that Pakistan was declining in almost every field, with sports being no exception.

“Over the years, whatever Pakistan has achieved in various sports has largely been because of individual brilliance and natural talent. Teamwork never really worked in our sporting history. Now, unfortunately, those individuals are also missing,” he lamented.

Farooqi said Pakistan no longer produced players of the class of Abdul Razzaq, Shoaib Akhtar and Wasim Akram, to name a few. “Perhaps players of that calibre still exist, but where are the eyes that can identify them and put them into the playing arena?”

He questioned the current selection system, saying policies were often made in closed rooms. “How can a selector identify the quality of a player without watching him in domestic cricket? Statistics can tell you who performed best, but they cannot always reveal a player's real quality under different circumstances, pitch, ground conditions, facilities and other factors, unless selectors are physically present.” So, politics is everywhere, and the system has collapsed, he concluded.

Now, we have reached a point where failure is celebrated as survival, mediocrity as achievement, privilege as merit and misconduct as gallantry. Whether it is sport, education, administration, institutions, or public life, we no longer seem interested in fixing the system; we are merely competing to explain why its latest failure deserves congratulations.

After 80 years, the walls have finally fallen, and instead of rebuilding them, we are busy applauding the collapse. Big congratulations, Pakistan!

Mahtab Bashir is a journalist and holds M.Phil degree in Political Science and International Relations from Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad.

YOUR WOMAN IS RESPECTED, EVERYONE ELSE IS UP FOR DISCUSSION?

2026-08-24T02:41:10.856-07:00

LALARUKH FAROOQ
ISLAMABAD

I have always found the sentence, “We respect women,” rather fascinating. Because in our society, even respect seems to come with terms and conditions. The rules are apparently simple, but somehow they change depending on who the woman is, what she is wearing, what family she belongs to, and most importantly, whether she is considered “ours.”

Some women are treated as precious. Some are judged more harshly. And some seem to be missing entirely from the official register of people deserving basic respect.

The difference is often not their character. It is their relationship to us.

I once travelled by train with my sister. Circumstances meant that we had to travel without our father and brothers, so we booked seats in the ladies compartment simply to avoid unnecessary inconvenience.

We do not cover our faces with a niqab, but that certainly does not mean we have no concept of modesty or boundaries. I am not exactly the sort of person who chats with strangers or turns every gathering into a social event. I am rather reserved, quiet and perfectly happy minding my own business.

Anyway, a group of women came and sat opposite us.

They were covered from head to toe in burqas, but the volume of their laughter and conversation suggested that the entire compartment had accidentally become their private living room.

They were accompanied by a man.

He had a beard, wore a short shalwar and a prayer cap. Judging purely by appearance, one might have thought, “Well, what a pious and respectable gentleman.”

There was just one tiny problem.

His eyes kept wandering towards us.

Then this wonderfully respectable gentleman picked up our bags, threw them down beside us, and began arranging his own family’s luggage in the overhead storage space.

We had a couple of shoulder bags and a small suitcase, so we simply kept them beside our seats. It was a five hour journey, and frankly, their constant chatter had already exhausted our patience. We had absolutely no interest in starting a luggage dispute on a moving train.

But the real comedy had not even begun.

As soon as the train started moving, our respectable gentleman ran off to buy juice and Lays, returning like a man feeding his favourite hens.

Then he gave us another strange look and remained nearby. Perhaps he was thinking,

“I really should have brought a burqa and travelled in the ladies compartment too.”

Later, the women removed their burqas.

Fair enough. It was a ladies compartment, after all. There was no particular reason for them to remain covered around other women.

But then, at almost every stop, some man would appear at the window, leaning in for conversation, jokes and laughter.

The volume was impressive. The language was even more impressive.

And the contrast between their appearance and their conversation was so dramatic that I genuinely wanted to ask,

“Who wrote this script?”

Then, about half an hour before our destination, the burqas came back. The niqabs came back. Suddenly everyone was once again perfectly modest, graceful and innocent.

And our respectable gentleman, who had spent most of the journey trying one way or another to create an interaction with us, went off on another important mission.

Our luggage was already safely beside us, so his assistance was not required.

Still, the effort was admirable. The success rate, however, was zero.

And here comes the funniest part.

Read Also: IT'S NOT ABOUT AGE, IT'S ABOUT MINDSET

These were all very respectable, decent and honourable people. Because they had respect. We, apparently, were another category altogether. And that is exactly where the real issue begins. We encounter little scenes like this all the time.

Someone proudly declares, “I respect women.”

Then, five minutes later, a mother or sister becomes the subject of a perfectly fluent insult.

Just stop for a second.

The woman whose name you are using as an insult is also a woman. She simply happens to be someone else’s mother, sister or daughter. And perhaps that is the simplest description of our problem:

Your woman is respected. Everyone else is up for discussion.

Your sister’s clothes?

Absolutely nobody is allowed to comment. Another girl wearing something you dislike? Suddenly everyone becomes a fashion critic, moral judge and character certificate distributor.

Someone looks at your wife? Outrage.

But staring at a girl walking down the street? Apparently that is harmless.

Your woman chooses to cover?

“Of course. She understands the importance of our honour.”

Another woman chooses not to?

“Well, if she is not covering, why should I control my eyes?”

What a fascinating piece of logic.

Apparently modesty is everyone else’s responsibility, while self control is optional.

Then the same pattern appears at workplaces.

Women are judged for what they wear, how they speak, how loudly they laugh, whom they talk to and how friendly they are.

Men tease one another, make comments about women and discuss their appearances.

And somehow, at the end of it all, someone still announces,

“We really respect women.” No.

You do not necessarily respect women.

You respect the women you personally consider yours.

And those are two completely different things.

Real respect is not tested when the woman standing in front of you is your mother, sister, wife or daughter.

Almost everyone knows how to behave then.

The real test begins when the woman in front of you has no relationship with you, owes you nothing, cannot benefit you, does not dress according to your preferences and is completely outside your control.

If you can still keep your eyes, your tongue and your behaviour respectful then, perhaps you genuinely understand respect.

Otherwise, protecting your own women while judging every other woman is not respect.

It is simply favouritism dressed up as morality.

And there is something particularly strange about making a woman’s dignity dependent on her clothes.

If a woman wears a full burqa, does that automatically make her more worthy of respect?

And if another woman chooses not to cover, does that somehow make her less worthy of basic human decency? Of course not.

Modesty can be a religious choice. It can be a personal value. Different people will make different choices.

But basic human respect should not be conditional upon clothing.

Otherwise, the real problem is no longer the woman’s clothes.

It is our own gaze and our own thinking.

What makes this even more ironic is that some people who are extremely strict about women’s clothing seem to give their own language a complete exemption from the same moral standards.

A woman wears something they dislike?

Judgement.

A woman laughs loudly?

Judgement.

A woman speaks to men?

Judgement.

A woman does not dress according to their expectations?

Another judgement.

But when the same person casually uses insults involving someone’s mother or sister?

“Oh, that is different.”

Of course it is.

Apparently their morality comes with a very convenient membership plan called:

Your woman is respected. Everyone else is up for discussion.

If we genuinely believe in respecting women, then the standard cannot be limited to the women we love, belong to, or feel responsible for.

Respect has to exist even when there is no personal connection.

Even when we disagree with someone’s choices. Even when we dislike their clothing. Even when they owe us absolutely nothing. You can disagree with a woman’s choices without humiliating her.

You can hold personal religious or cultural values without turning yourself into the judge of every woman around you.

And you can believe in modesty without believing that women who dress differently have somehow surrendered their right to dignity.

Because the true measure of a person’s character is not how respectfully they treat the women they call their own.

It is how they treat the women who are not theirs. Otherwise, our entire moral system can be summarised rather neatly:

Your woman is respected. Everyone else is up for discussion.

And then, with a completely straight face, we proudly announce,

“We respect women.”

The sentence says “women.”

The mindset says “our women.”

And that tiny difference explains a lot about the double standards we see around us every single day.

Respect should not be a privilege handed out according to relationships.

It should be a basic standard of human behaviour. Otherwise, it is not really respect at all.

It is simply special treatment for the people we claim, and judgement for everyone else.

Lalarukh Farooq is a media professional, analyst and Gold Medalist with an M.Phil. in Media Studies.

CONSTITUTION WEEPS, POLITICIANS SPEAK, CITIZENS WAIT IN PAKISTAN

2026-08-17T11:56:39.301-07:00

MAHTAB BASHIR

ISLAMABAD

If there is one thing Pakistan's political elite excel at, it is the art of doing absolutely everything and absolutely nothing at the same time. August 17, 2026, was a masterclass.

On one side of the city, the Senate Sub-Committee on Devolution declared 25 federal ministries unconstitutional and demanded their immediate abolition. On the other side, the Sustainable Development Policy Institute (SDPI) hosted a seminar where political leaders passionately debated whether Pakistan should create even more administrative units.

The Constitution was invoked, cited, lamented and violated, sometimes by the same people, on the same day, in the same city. One group wanted to shrink the government. The other wanted to expand it.

Neither seemed to know what the other was doing. And both were absolutely certain that they were right. If only they had swapped rooms, they might have saved everyone a great deal of confusion, but that would require the kind of coordination that has eluded Pakistan's politicians for 79 years.

Senate committee: 25 ministries are illegal, throw them out

The Senate Sub-Committee on Devolution, chaired by Convener Senator Barrister Zamir Hussain Ghumro, delivered a scathing indictment of the federal bureaucracy. The committee declared that 25 ministries, including Health, Education, Railways, WAPDA, Petroleum and the Police Service, are operating in "serious and gross violation of the Constitution."

The following 25 ministries, divisions, corporations, and authorities are operating in "serious and gross violation of the Constitution" and must be immediately shut down and/or devolved:

1. Health
2. Education
3. National Food Security
4. Water Resources
5. Climate Change
6. Housing
7. Special Initiatives
8. Culture and Heritage
9. Evacuee Trust Board
10. Zakat and Ushur (collection)
11. Naya Pakistan Housing Authority
12. EOBI
13. Narcotics
14. Police Service
15. PMDC
16. Korangi Fish Harbour
17. Press Information Department
18. SIDCL
19. Railways
20. Industries
21. Statistics
22. Petroleum
23. Inter-Provincial Coordination
24. Planning and Development
25. WAPDA

The committee revealed that even before the 18th Amendment, the federal government had no authority over concurrent matters, yet 17 ministries were unconstitutionally established anyway. Loans were raised against those ministries, plunging the country into a debt trap. Why follow the Constitution when you can just borrow against ministries that should not exist?

"Non-implementation of the 18th Amendment has led to hemorrhaging money," Senator Ghumro declared, helpfully pointing out what everyone already knew. The committee noted that the federal government has "consistently, periodically and brazenly ignored" the Constitution.

Recommendations

The Committee's recommendations constitute nothing less than a constitutional reset for Pakistan:

A) Limit Federal Government to Nine Core Ministries

The federal government must confine itself exclusively to:

• Defence
• Foreign Affairs
• Finance
• Commerce
• Communication (including broadcasting subject to provincial part under Article 159)
• Maritime Affairs on High Seas
• Science and Technology
• Law and Justice (including Human Rights)
• Parliamentary Affairs

These nine ministries have an official budget of Rs 3.3 trillion this year (excluding Rs 130 billion paid by provinces through NFC to the Finance Division for tax revenue collection).

B) Reduce Federal Expenditure from Rs 19 Trillion to Rs 13 Trillion

Pakistan can save Rs 6 trillion annually by faithfully implementing these recommendations, reducing federal expenditure from its current colossal Rs 19 trillion to Rs 13 trillion.

C) CCI Re-constitution on Provincial Equality

The Committee demanded that the CCI be reconstituted "on the basis of equality of Provinces instead of majority of one Province," with the summary sent to the President "who is a symbol of the Federation with immediate effect."

D) Fixation of Essential Commodity Prices in CCI

The Prime Minister must convene CCI meetings to fix prices of petroleum products, gas, electricity, medicinal drugs, and other essential commodities, matters that constitutionally belong to the CCI, not the Federal Cabinet.

Stark reality: Provincial budget laid bare

In a comparison that lays bare the scale of federal overreach, the Committee highlighted the 2026-27 provincial budgets:

Province Annual Budget

Balochistan Rs 1.089 trillion
KP Rs 2.1 trillion
Sindh Rs 3.5 trillion
Punjab Rs 5.9 trillion

The Federal Government illegally and unconstitutionally withholds and wastes the equivalent of Punjab's entire annual budget, a sum that could transform healthcare, education, and infrastructure across the nation.

SDPI seminar: But what if we made even more provinces?

Meanwhile, at the SDPI seminar titled "Should Pakistan create more administrative units?", political leaders from PMLN, PPP, MQM, PTI, JI and JUIF gathered to discuss governance reform. Because nothing screams effective governance like inviting all the parties to one room and asking them to agree on anything.

Syed Mustafa Kamal argued that smaller administrative units could bring government closer to citizens, a revolutionary idea that somehow required a high-level seminar.

Barrister Aqeel Malik noted that citizens care about roads and sewerage, a shocking revelation that apparently demanded parliamentary attention. Asad Umar warned of declining public trust, as if that needed pointing out.

Salman Akram Raja pointed out that even splitting Punjab into three provinces would leave each unit larger than most European countries. Zahoor Dhareeja made an impassioned case for a separate Seraiki province.

Dr Farrukh Saleem opposed creating more provinces without fixing institutions first. Fawad Hussain Chaudhry said restructuring needs political consensus.

The participants, in their collective wisdom, reached a "remarkable consensus" that something must be done, without agreeing on what, how, when or who should do it. In short, they agreed that they disagreed, and called it progress. Only in Pakistan can a group of politicians agree on absolutely nothing and still declare it a success.

The irony: Shut down or build up?

The contrasting events of August 17 reveal a uniquely Pakistani talent for contradiction. The Senate committee wants to abolish Health, Education, Railways, WAPDA and 20 other bodies. The SDPI participants want to explore creating new provinces. One group wants to shrink the government. The other wants to expand it. Both are happening simultaneously, in the same city, with many of the same politicians.

The 18th Amendment remains unimplemented on both sides. The Senate committee blames the federal government for violating it. The SDPI participants lament that provincial resources have not reached local governments. Everyone agrees the Constitution is being violated. Nobody agrees on how to stop violating it.

Perhaps the most telling moment came when the Senate committee reminded the federal government that Pakistan is a federation created by its provinces, not a unitary state.

The SDPI seminar boomed similar sentiments, with Qamar Zaman Kaira warning that reform must avoid deepening inter-provincial sensitivities. So everyone agrees on the problem. Everyone agrees on the solution, in principle. Implementation? That is where the magic of Pakistani politics kicks in.

What do we learn?

Pakistan's politicians have once again demonstrated their unparalleled ability to talk endlessly while achieving nothing. They agree the Constitution is being violated. They agree governance needs reform. They agree local governments need strengthening. They just cannot agree on how to do any of it.

The Senate committee has spoken. The SDPI seminar has deliberated. The Constitution has been invoked, cited, lamented and violated, sometimes by the same people on the same day.

Meanwhile, Pakistan's 248 million citizens continue to wait for someone, anyone, to actually do something. Do not hold your breath.

The writer is an Islamabad-based journalist and can be reached at mahtabbashir@gmail.com

IT'S NOT ABOUT AGE, IT'S ABOUT MINDSET

2026-08-14T03:20:52.716-07:00

Lalarukh Farooq

Islamabad
lalarukhfarooq@gmail.com

Age is such a funny thing in our society. Some people hide their own age. Some keep counting everyone else’s. And some completely forget their own age while making someone else’s age their personal national issue.

In my workplace, most people belong to Gen Z or the older generations. What I find amusing is that people who become strangely secretive about their own age, as if asking their age is an interrogation, can be remarkably fearless when commenting on someone else’s.

“You’re older than my mother!”

Okay… and?

Since when did someone’s age become a measure of their intelligence, education, skills, beauty or worth?

If someone’s mother married young, that is not my responsibility. Two women being different in age is neither a crime nor an achievement. It certainly does not tell us who is more intelligent, capable or accomplished.

And wrinkles?

Please.

Pointing out someone’s wrinkles does not make your own personality any smoother.

The real issue here is age-shaming.

Age-shaming is not simply calling someone “old”. It is the deeper belief that as a person grows older, their value somehow becomes smaller.

And here is something worth remembering:

Being younger is not a qualification.

You are younger than me? Congratulations. Your birth certificate has done its job.

But now, let’s talk about the things that actually matter.

Are you respectful?

Are you hardworking?

Are you sensible?

Are you willing to learn?

Can you celebrate someone else’s success without feeling personally threatened by it?

Because age is chronology, not character.

Your age tells me when you were born.

Your choices, discipline, knowledge, skills and behaviour tell me who you have become.

Making fun of someone’s success is easy.

Building your own skills is harder.

Backbiting is easy.

Building character is harder.

Scrolling through reels for hours is easy.

Sitting down to learn something new takes effort.

Taking shortcuts is easy.

Consistency is difficult.

Counting other people’s flaws is easy.

Looking honestly at your own reflection is rather inconvenient.

Perhaps this is one of our biggest social problems:

We are unpaid analysts of everyone else’s lives, yet barely interns in our own.

We have opinions about everyone.

Their age.

Their appearance.

Their wrinkles.

Their clothes.

Their accent.

Their success.

Yet somehow, when it comes to improving ourselves, the meeting is mysteriously postponed.

Making fun of someone’s age will not make you younger.

Mocking someone’s wrinkles will not make you more beautiful.

Diminishing someone’s achievements will not make yours greater.

And calling someone “old” certainly does not make you wise.

Real maturity is being able to respect someone who is older than you, more experienced than you, more educated than you, or simply better at something you are still learning.

That does not mean every older person is automatically right.

Respect is not obedience to age. It is evidence of character.

And perhaps we should collectively learn one simple lesson:

If you have enough time to comment on someone’s age, appearance, wrinkles, clothes, accent and achievements, you probably have enough time to reserve a small slot for your own growth too.

Because, in the end, people will not remember how cleverly you joked about someone’s age.

They will remember what kind of person you were.

Youth is a stage of life.

Maturity is a way of thinking.

Respect is a choice.

So if you are younger than me, by all means, enjoy the privilege.

But please do not confuse being younger with being better.

A birth date can make you young.

Your choices, your character and the way you treat people are what make you mature.

Lalarukh Farooq holds an M.Phil. in Mass Communication, is a gold medalist, and brings valuable newsroom experience along with expertise as a social media professional.

Karoline Says ‘Leave It’ to White House, ‘Mom’ Role Comes First

2026-08-13T23:24:39.814-07:00

White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt is stepping down from her high-profile position at the end of August to devote more time to her young children and family, President Donald Trump has announced.

At 28, Leavitt made history as the youngest person ever to serve as White House press secretary and became the first person to openly navigate pregnancy while holding the position.

Despite leaving the post, she is expected to remain close to Trump as an outside adviser and continue to play an influential role in the Republican Party.

Key Points

Karoline Leavitt will leave the White House press secretary position at the end of August.
President Donald Trump described her as one of his most trusted aides and praised her performance.
Leavitt, 28, became the youngest White House press secretary in history in January 2025.
She became the first White House press secretary to openly experience pregnancy while holding the job.
She will continue advising Trump from outside the White House.
Leavitt said her decision was driven by her desire to be a better mother to her two young children.

Trump announced Leavitt's departure in a post on Truth Social on Wednesday, saying she wanted to spend more time with her “beautiful young children and family,” a decision he said he understood and respected.

Trump also said Leavitt would become one of his top outside advisers as his administration prepares for the midterm elections. He praised her work in the White House and described her as one of the best press secretaries in the history of the office.

Leavitt, meanwhile, said on X that her “past year and a half” in the White House had been the “honor and adventure of a lifetime.” She expressed gratitude to Trump for giving her the opportunity to work in the West Wing, spend time in the Oval Office, travel internationally and meet foreign leaders and Americans across the United States.

She said balancing the demanding press secretary role with motherhood had been both challenging and rewarding. However, following the birth of her daughter in May, Leavitt said she realized she could not give her two young children the time and attention they deserved while continuing in one of the most demanding jobs in the world.

“I have felt in my heart that I cannot be the best mom my two young children deserve,” she said, explaining the decision to leave the position.

Leavitt gave birth to her daughter, Viviana, on May 1. She and her husband, Nicholas Riccio, 60, also have a two-year-old son, Niko. She returned to the White House on July 16 after several months of maternity leave.

Her pregnancy itself marked a milestone in White House history. After announcing in December that she was expecting another child, Leavitt became the first White House press secretary to openly navigate pregnancy while serving in the position.

Leavitt assumed the post in January 2025 at the age of 27, becoming the youngest person ever to hold the job. She had previously worked in Trump's White House press office during his first administration and later served as a spokesperson for his 2024 presidential campaign.

She was the only person to serve as Trump's press secretary during his second term. During Trump's first presidency, the position was held successively by Sean Spicer, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, Stephanie Grisham and Kayleigh McEnany.

Although her tenure at the White House podium is coming to an end, Leavitt has made clear that her political career is not. She said Trump had asked her to continue serving as a top adviser from outside the administration and vowed to remain a vocal supporter of the Republican Party and the MAGA movement.

“My fight is entering a new phase, but it is far from over,” Leavitt said.

US Shirt Claims 30-Day Freshness. Pakistan Accepts the Challenge

2026-08-08T23:52:19.739-07:00

Americans wash clothes 8 to 10 times a week. That's a lot of water, soap, and effort.

A company in Minnesota looked at that and thought, "We can do better." So they made a t-shirt using copper, silver, gold, volcanic ash, and two secret ingredients they won't tell anyone about.

Three Versions, Three Prices

Budget – $39 – Stays fresh for 3+ days
Standard – Price not disclosed – Stays fresh for 14+ days
Max – $79 – Stays fresh for 30 days

It's called the HercShirt V5.0, fifth version of their anti-smell tee. They even made self-cleaning underwear before this (seriously). Their Kickstarter raised **$275,000** against a $3,333 goal. People really hate laundry.

The Claim

Wear it 30 days straight. No wash. No smell. Seven odor-fighting materials woven into the fabric.

The Science

· Copper: kills bacteria (hospitals use it)
· Zinc: kills sweat smell
· Volcanic ash: soaks moisture

All inside the fabric, not sprayed on top.

Pakistan Summer Test

Karachi – humidity so thick you sweat in 5 minutes.
Example: Bus from Tower to Saddar at 3 PM. Packed with 20 people. The guy next to you hasn't changed his shirt in 3 days. His smell hits before his elbow. Can the HercShirt save him? Maybe. Can it save you? Debatable.

Lahore – dry heat + pollution = sticky grey sweat paste.
Example: Food delivery rider on bike, 11 AM to 6 PM. Shirt soaked, stuck to back. By evening, smells like fried onions and regret. If this shirt survives that for a month, it's a miracle.

Islamabad – cooler, but still brutal.
Example: Government officer walks 3 minutes from car to office. Sweat patches under arms. Sprays cologne, now smells like flowers + gym sock. HercShirt would save his dignity.

The Honest Truth

Summer turns everyone into a science experiment.

· Some shower daily, still smell by noon.
· Others skip showers and wear the same shirt for days.
· The shabby ones? Yellow stains, permanent odour, clothes that've never seen detergent.

They don't just smell, they announce themselves.

The Catch

Silver and copper are toxic to water. Up to 80% washes off in the first cycle. Company says: "Then don't wash it." Fair, 12 washes a year is less damage.

When & Should You Buy?

Ships November. Black only (navy, burgundy, green later).

· Travel a lot? Yes
· Lazy with laundry? Yes
· Live in Pakistan? Gamble
· That uncle with the week-old kurta? Please buy it for him

At $79, it's either smart or silly. But if it survives one Karachi, Lahore, or Islamabad summer day without smelling like a wet goat? I'll take two.

UXI MUFTI REVEALS UNTOLD EVOLUTION OF LOK TAMASHA, LOK MELA, LOK VIRSA

2026-07-31T23:28:36.151-07:00

Mahtab Bashir

mahtabbashir@gmail.com

0333 53 63 248
ISLAMABAD

In the summer of 69, (quite different from Bryan Adam’s nostalgic hit), two men with tape recorders hanging on their shoulders, set out on a journey through Pakistan's dusty villages, far-flung towns, and underdeveloped cities, unaware they were about to stumble upon a treasure that would eventually reshape how a nation saw itself.

One was Samir Naguib, a folklore expert dispatched by UNESCO from Rome's prestigious Santa Cecilia Academy. The other was Dr. Uxi Mufti, a young academic freshly returned from completing his PhD from Prague, who had been assigned as Naguib’s local counterpart with a modest budget of just 5,000 rupees between them.

What followed was a tale so improbable that it reads like fiction, a story of bureaucratic betrayal, accidental television broadcasts, jealous colleagues, and one man's stubborn refusal to let Pakistan's cultural soul be buried in government archives.

This is the story of how Lok Virsa, Pakistan's National Institute of Folk and Traditional Heritage, came into existence, told in the words of its founder, Uxi Mufti, who for the first time reveals the complete, authentic history of its evolution.

Wandering scholars and the charge sheet

"Our mission was simple," Uxi Mufti recalls, his eyes still carrying the spark of adventure from those three transformative months in 1969. "Samir Naguib and I were to travel village to village, across the length and breadth of Pakistan, making sample recordings of 100 to 200 hours of folk music and traditions for UNESCO's archives."

Uxi Mufti with the scribe. A file photo

For three months, they crisscrossed the country, through the rugged terrain of Balochistan, the fertile plains of Punjab, the deserts of Sindh, and the mountain valleys of NWFP (now Khyber Pakhtunkhwa). They recorded everything: the haunting melodies of Sindhi dhamal, the rhythmic beats of Balochi dhol, the poetic verses of Pashto tappa. In the process, they discovered something far more valuable than recordings, they unearthed 2,500 unknown artists, musicians, and performers who had never appeared on radio or television.

But upon their return, instead of celebration, they were met with bureaucratic hostility. The ministry's officers had changed, and a section officer demanded they account for every single penny of the 5,000 rupees. "Where did you disappear?" They were asked. "You have no phone number, no office; where should we write a letter to you?"

A charge sheet was prepared. The folklore band they had formed was disbanded. Both men were effectively dismissed.

"I was treated very badly," Dr. Mufti says, the sting of that injustice still audible in his voice decades later. "But looking back, that rejection was perhaps the greatest gift I ever received. It lit a fire in me that would not be extinguished."

The pilgrimage of a dream

Undeterred, Dr. Mufti created a comprehensive project for a Folklore and Folk Art Academy in Pakistan. What followed was a pilgrimage through the corridors of power, a journey that took him to the Ministry of Information, the Ministry of Education, the Foreign Office, the Council of Integration, and every federal secretary who would grant him an audience.

"No one listened to me," he remembers. "I was quite disheartened."

But the 2,500 artists he had discovered haunted him. Among them were names that would later become legends: Khamiso Khan, whose soulful renditions of Sindhi shah jo raag would captivate millions; Munir Balaidi, the master of Balochi folk instruments; Charlie Malang and Party, whose energetic performances embodied the spirit of Punjab; and Allan Faqir, whose Sufi-inspired music transcended boundaries.

"People knew them a little in their own areas," Mufti explains, "but at the national level, no one knew them. They had never appeared on radio or TV. Their voices were trapped in villages, their instruments unheard beyond the next valley."

It was then that Mufti had an audacious idea.

The tomato challenge and the accidental broadcast

Armed with nothing but conviction, Mufti approached Aslam Azhar, the General Manager of Pakistan Television (PTV). "I will give you a stage show," he declared.

Aslam Azhar, known for his pragmatic approach, was skeptical. "What will be in your stage show?" he asked.

Azhar leaned forward. "Uxi, people will throw tomatoes at you." (The remark referred to a common Urdu idiom, implying that the show might end in embarrassment or failure). Where are you planning to stage this show?" he continued.

"At Liaquat Memorial Hall, Rawalpindi," Mufti replied confidently. "Liaquat Hall seats 2,500 people," Azhar said. "Do you really think you can fill it?"

"I promise I'll show you a packed hall," Mufti responded with confidence. ".... And no one will be throwing tomatoes at me." "In my stage show, I will bring very unknown people, whom no one knows, onto the stage," Mufti replied.

Aslam Azhar proposed a test: "First, make a pilot project for me in the TV studio. We will watch it. If it gets approved in our General Manager board, then do the programme. Otherwise, you are out."

Mufti created a pilot called "Lok Tamasha" (The People's Spectacle), featuring Pakistan's best regional musicians and artists, Munir Sarhadi, Khamiso Khan, Charlie Malang and Party, and others. He left no artist undiscovered.

The project was presented to PTV's General Manager Conference, which included media heavyweights like Agha Nasir and Nisar Hussain and others. They watched the pilot and rejected it.

"It is not worth being aired on the elite Pakistan Television," they declared, dismissing it as too rustic, too provincial. All of Mufti's cassettes were thrown into the archives.

But fate had other plans.

In those days, about three-fourths of PTV's programmes came from abroad, American shows like Lucy Show and Dennis the Menace aired during prime time. One evening, the episode of Dennis the Menace that was scheduled for 7 PM never arrived. The flight carrying the tape was delayed.

"The transmission controller got worried," Mufti recounts with a smile. "He called the programme manager and asked what to do. The manager said, 'Check in the cupboards, see what is lying there, play it.'"

The controller opened a cupboard and found cassettes labeled "Lok Tamasha." Without any alternative, he played it.

"My show accidentally went on-air on the national hook-up," Mufti says, still marveling at the cosmic coincidence.

A people's television

When Lok Tamasha aired, Pakistan Television was flooded with letters and messages, from Dera Ghazi Khan, Dera Ismail Khan, Quetta, all of Balochistan, the interior of Sindh, Jacobabad, and Hyderabad.

"For the first time, we realised that this TV is also ours," people wrote. "Where was this programme before? Why wasn't it done before? We liked it a lot."

Aslam Azhar called Mufti immediately. "Mufti, do the show, man! Do it in Liaquat Memorial Hall!"

And so, Lok Tamasha was born. For nine consecutive years, Mufti produced a live programme every week from Liaquat Memorial Hall. It became a cultural phenomenon.

"There was only one TV," Mufti remembers. "When my show used to run, the streets would become deserted. Wherever I went, people would say, 'Oh... the Lok Tamasha guy has arrived.'"

The show's popularity reached such heights that when Mufti went to perform Umrah, people recognised him there too. "Look, the Lok Tamasha guy has arrived!" they would say. The programme had become so beloved that even after nine years, it was difficult to stop.

A complaint against Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Now famous, Dr. Uxi Mufti finally secured an audience with Abdul Hafeez Pirzada, the Education Minister. His celebrity status opened doors that had previously been slammed shut.

Pirzada listened carefully to Mufti's proposal for a Folklore and Folk Art Academy and sent him to meet Faiz Ahmed Faiz, the renowned poet and Chairman of the Pakistan National Council of the Arts (PNCA).

"When I met Faiz Sahab," Mufti recalls, "instead of asking for something, I complained to him. I said, 'Faiz Sahab, I have a complaint against you.'"

Faiz, who knew Mufti in two ways, as the host of Lok Tamasha and as the son of the celebrated writer Mumtaz Mufti, listened patiently.

"You made the Karachi Arts Council, the Alhamra Arts Council, now you made the Pakistan National Council of Arts with a film department, research and publication, visual and performing arts, theater," Mufti continued. "One thing you forgot every time."

"What is that?" Faiz asked. "Folklore department, Folklore research centre," Mufti replied.

Faiz responded, "Brother, who will do that?" "Sir, I will do it," Mufti declared, placing his entire proposal before him.

Faiz was a man who could spot talent easily. He immediately called his accountant and said, "Give him a job, Senior Executive PNCA, Director-in-Charge Folklore Research Centre."

"Mufti, what salary will you take?" Faiz asked. "Sir, I am taking 1,000 as salary. I have an intention to marry, so if you increase it by 200 rupees, I will come to you," Mufti replied. "Give him 1,200 rupees," Faiz ordered.

The jealousy and the 500-Rupee budget

But acceptance was not without its battles. The subordinates at PNCA were jealous of Uxi Mufti's appointment. "Who has arrived?" they sneered.

"They did everything to undermine me," Mufti says. "They stopped the budget of the Folklore Research Centre; they made my programme budget 500 rupees per month."

With such a paltry sum, nothing substantial could be done. But Mufti had a resource that money couldn't buy, his Lok Tamasha programme on TV. He continued bringing artists into folklore research, recording their performances, and slowly building an archive.

Soon, his office filled with the sounds of drums, instruments, dance, and music. "In my office, drums, instruments, dance, music, sounds started coming all the time," he recalls.

The PNCA people became even more jealous. "He is doing performing arts, not research work at all!" they complained. "Stop him!" But Mufti paid no attention.

The first Lok Mela and the resignation

Mufti approached Aslam Azhar again. "Lok Tamasha is done now," he said. "My intention is to organise a Lok Mela. Will you fund it?" "How much money do you need?" Aslam Azhar asked. "Give me 75,000 rupees, and I will organise a Lok Mela for you," Mufti replied.

And so, the first Lok Mela, "Artisan at Work Festival", was organised in the parking area of the Islamabad Club in 1986 or 1987.

When the festival was broadcast on Pakistan Television's national hook-up, Khalid Saeed Butt, who had replaced Faiz Ahmed Faiz as DG PNCA, made a strong complaint against Mufti. He went to Hafeez Pirzada's office and said, "Look at Mufti! He said he would make a Folklore Research Centre, and he is holding festivals with dancing and folk dancers from all over the country, all without my permission and your permission."

Hafeez Pirzada immediately called Mufti and ordered, "Stop all this, and come to my office."

Mufti neither stopped the festival nor went to his office. Instead, he wrote his resignation and went to Hafeez Pirzada's office that evening.

"Before you say anything to me, this is my resignation," Mufti declared. "If I, being the head of the folklore department, cannot even show folk dance, cannot even call regional artisans, then you don't need me. I am sorry, I am going back to television to work for them."

Hafeez Pirzada instantly changed his stance. "No, no, no... No Mufti, I am sorry, what do you want?" "Sir, I cannot survive with PNCA," Mufti replied. "If you want my services to continue and I keep doing this work, then you must create a National Folk and Traditional Heritage institution for me, separate from PNCA."

Pirzada agreed. "Call all the diplomats," he said. "I will launch this new idea."

Birth of Lok Virsa

Thus, the National Institute of Folk and Traditional Heritage (NIFTH) was established. In the beginning, it was a small office in F-7/1 with a tiny museum.

"When it became a complete separate institution, I kept its local name 'Lok Virsa'," Mufti says proudly. "Many people objected because in those days, local names were not kept for government institutions. I was the first person who kept a local name for a government institution."

The name Lok Virsa, which translates to "The People's Heritage", became famous all over the country and the world. What started as a rejected tape recording expedition in 1969 had evolved into a national institution that preserved and celebrated Pakistan's rich cultural heritage.

"Lok Virsa's soul is in Lok Tamasha," Dr. Mufti reflects. "The people of Pakistan opened their hearts to this television programme, and then they opened their homes to the idea of preserving their heritage.

Lok Tamasha was the call that awakened us, Lok Mela was the voice that carried the message, and Lok Virsa stands as the sacred sanctuary we raised with our shared hands.

Read Also: PAKISTAN MONUMENT: A THEMATIC MUSEUM

Epilogue: The voices that would not be silenced

Today, Lok Virsa stands as a living museum of Pakistan's diverse cultural traditions. The 2,500 artists Dr. Uxi Mufti discovered in 1969, the Khamiso Khans, the Munir Balaidis, the Charlie Malangs and Parties, found their voices on the national stage.

Now, Lok Mela has become the hallmark event of Lok Virsa, which organises this annual festival in winter to celebrate Pakistan's rich cultural heritage. The festival brings together artisans and folk artists from across the country, who demonstrate their traditional crafts, skills, music, and performances.

Over the ten-day event, the Lok Virsa complex remains packed with visitors, while parking areas overflow as thousands of people flock to the festival.

Throughout the ten days, a vibrant array of cultural activities, folk performances, craft exhibitions, traditional cuisine, and musical shows create a lively atmosphere, making Lok Mela one of Pakistan's most celebrated cultural festivals.

The legacy of Uxi Mufti is a powerful reminder: when we listen to the unheard, we discover our own identity. His transformation, from a rejected officer to a celebrated visionary, from a shelved idea to a globally respected institution, proves that culture is not preserved in sterile archives. It lives in the dust of rural paths, in the songs of forgotten artists, and in the courage to carry tradition forward into an uncertain tomorrow.

"The evolution of Lok Virsa is a remarkable tale, Mahtab," Mufti declares with a knowing smile. "And what you have just heard is the complete, authentic history, never before told, and you are the first person I have chosen to entrust it to," he concludes.

The writer is an Islamabad-based journalist who puts ethics ahead of sycophancy.

A Resignation That Chose Conscience Over Comfort & Luxury

2026-05-22T22:59:42.756-07:00

Mahtab Bashir
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
Islamabad

She could have clung to this powerful designation, as so many in both civilian and military circles in this part of the world often do, rather leave no stone unturned in seeking an extension.

She could have quietly slipped into an extended leave, with or without pay, secure in the certainty that such a lucrative position would always remain within reach.

She could have chosen comfort, privilege, and silence.
She could have devoted herself to building grand symbols of legacy and love, much like the monumental mausoleums of the Mughal era that history endlessly romanticises.

But, she chose something far rarer: dignity over attachment, principle over power, and conscience over convenience.

In doing so, she has delivered a profound and painful rebuttal to those clerics and commentators who tirelessly preach that the ‘Western system’ is hollow, fragile, and devoid of family values or moral courage. Her decision stands as a reminder that integrity is not confined to geography, religion, or culture, it is born from character.

Yes, many continue to criticise Director National Intelligence, Tulsi Gabbard for not resigning earlier, before or during the outbreak of the Israel–US–Iran conflict.

That debate will continue in political circles and drawing rooms alike. But beyond politics, beyond timing, and beyond partisan arguments, this single page of resignation carries a moral weight that speeches, slogans, and carefully crafted narratives often fail to achieve.

This resignation letter is not merely an official document. It is a golden page of history, one that will be remembered for a very long time, not because it held power, but because it had the courage to walk away from it for a cause.

Some letters fade into archives. Others become part of history. It is a mirror held up to power, privilege, and conscience. Read it. Feel it. And absorb every word of it.

Get well really soon, Abraham!

Writer is Islamabad-based journalist who can be accessed at mahtabbashir@gmail.com

NPC Elections 2026-27: How Hubris, Internal Divisions, and a Demand for Accountability Ended the Journalist Panel’s 20-Year Dominance

2026-03-23T00:22:00.000-07:00

The surprise outcome of the National Press Club Elections for 2026-2027 has not only busted the two-decade-long monopoly of the Journalist Panel but has also ushered in a strict mandate for deliverance for The Democrats. With the newly elected panel now holding both the presidency and secretary slots, the outcome signals a sharp departure from business as usual, and places the incoming leadership under strict pressure to deliver tangible reform within a one-year tenure.

ISLAMABAD: The annual elections at the National Press Club (NPC) have upended decades of political continuity within one of Pakistan’s most influential journalist bodies. The results brought a definitive end to the Journalist Panel’s long-running dominance, elevating the opposition Democrats Panel to the club’s top slots.

Journalists from Dunya News, while talking to this scribe, point to a convergence of structural failures, internal dysfunction, and shifting voter behaviour that collectively sealed the panel’s fate. Below is a critical examination of the key factors behind its defeat.

Internal Dissidence: A House Divided

The Journalist Panel’s collapse was accelerated from within. Long-simmering discontent among its own ranks, voiced by figures such as Haji Anwar Raza, Qurban Satti, and factions within the APP and Southern Punjab, shattered the appearance of unity. These internal fractures alienated core supporters and handed The Democrats a clear opening.

As Zafar Hashmi, chief reporter at Dunya News, noted, the Journalist Panel’s troubles were self-inflicted long before the first vote was cast. The panel’s presidential nomination was deeply controversial, with internal voices raising serious objections well ahead of election day, objections that were summarily dismissed by those at the helm.

Rather than selecting a candidate capable of commanding broad-based support, the leadership doubled down on a choice that alienated key segments of their own voter base.

Even more damaging, Hashmi continued, was the handling of the secretary slot. In a glaring lapse of judgment, the position was handed to a novice, selected not on merit or strategic calculation but through the influence of a few members within the panel. This decision reflected a broader pathology: the prioritisation of factional favouritism over electoral viability.

The secretary candidate was not only politically inexperienced but also ill-equipped to shoulder the organisational weight of a campaign already under strain.

Crucially, both decisions were symptomatic of a unilateral decision-making structure in which Afzal Butt exercised near-total control, sidelining group members and disregarding their input and feedback.

Key choices were made in isolation, without the benefit of collective deliberation or internal accountability. Dissenting voices, far from being integrated into strategy, were treated as obstacles to be managed rather than signals to be heeded.

The result was predictable. The panel entered the election fragmented, its internal divisions laid bare, and its leadership politically exposed. In the absence of institutional checks within the group, there was no mechanism to correct course, no room for recalibration. By the time the campaign officially began, the damage had already been done, and the electorate took note.

According to the chief reporter Dunya News, Afzal Butt's choice to pit Abid Abbasi against Khawar Nawaz Raja for the position of finance secretary was a shrewd move, given that both belonged to Kashmir. Consequently, Abbasi's win and Raja's loss came as a surprise to many voters, myself included. Many had anticipated a clean sweep from the top-tier slot.

A Campaign of Complacency

Where previous elections saw the Journalist Panel deploy structured campaigns, this year’s effort was strikingly lacklustre. No clear manifesto was presented. Outreach remained minimal, and messaging offered little beyond vague rhetoric. Voters, accustomed to promises of continuity, were given no compelling reason to remain loyal.

This strategic vacuum allowed The Democrats to frame themselves as the only credible alternative, one backed by a clear reform agenda and a visible commitment to institutional accountability.

Overconfidence After Two Decades of Control

Twenty years of uninterrupted rule bred a fatal complacency. The panel assumed traditional loyalties would carry the day, neglecting grassroots engagement and dismissing early signs of voter discontent. This arrogance left them unprepared for an electorate increasingly willing to break with old allegiances.

Accumulated Grievances: Years of Neglect Come Due

For nearly two decades, club members watched facilities decline, communication from leadership evaporate, and grievances accumulate without redress. Complaints about administrative neglect, elite capture, and detachment from rank-and-file journalists were routinely ignored. This reservoir of frustration made the electorate receptive to any opposition that promised accountability, a space The Democrats successfully occupied.

The Collapse of Panel-Based Voting

A fundamental shift in voting behaviour further undermined the Journalist Panel. For the first time in years, journalists cast ballots based on individual credibility rather than panel affiliation. Personal reputation, accessibility, and track record outweighed traditional loyalties.

As Aslam Lurka, Syed Qaisar Abbas Shah, Sohail Khan, and SM Zaman observed, this marked a clear departure from past voting patterns, one that directly benefited The Democrats, who fielded candidates with strong independent followings.

Scrutiny of the Voters List: A Level Playing Field

Administrative reform played a decisive role. Rigorous scrutiny of the electoral roll led to the removal of thousands of fake journalist entries, a long-standing mechanism that had historically inflated the Journalist Panel’s vote bank. With genuine voters now forming the electorate, the panel could no longer rely on manufactured majorities.

Dr. Zahid Awan, sports journalist and columnist for Dunya News, noted that the results reflected a direct backlash from legitimate voters against the previous regime’s promotion of fake voters.

Failure to Defend Journalists’ Rights

Perhaps most damaging was the Journalist Panel’s perceived failure to defend press freedom and journalist welfare during critical moments. Last year’s controversial police raid on the Press Club, during which law enforcement entered the premises without authorisation and assaulted journalists, became a watershed.

Many members viewed the panel’s response as tepid and insufficient, eroding trust in its ability to protect institutional autonomy.

This failure became a rallying point for The Democrats, who campaigned on a promise of assertive leadership in defending the club’s dignity and its members’ rights.

Unity as the Democrats’ Strategic Advantage

In contrast to previous opposition efforts, often fractured by individual ambitions, The Democrats forged a rare and disciplined coalition under the leadership of veteran journalists Tariq Usmani and Haji Nawaz Raza. This unity allowed them to present a cohesive alternative, channelling widespread dissatisfaction into a focused electoral challenge.

The Results: A Historic Shift

The Democrats secured key victories across major positions:

Position	Winner	Margin / Context
President	Abdul Razaq Sial	15 votes (against Nayyar Ali)
Secretary	Dr. Furqan Rao	Significant victory
Vice Presidents	Two slots secured	Strategic wins in competitive races

With approximately 2,200 votes polled, the presidential margin of just 15 votes underscores how tightly contested the election was, and how each factor above proved decisive in tipping the balance.

Turnout stood at 65 percent, a figure considered resilient given that the elections were held during Ramadan, with many journalists unable to vote due to unavoidable circumstances.

Broader Implications: Accountability Arrives at the Press Club

This election transcends a simple change of office-bearers. It signals:

· A demand for accountability: Journalists expect their own institutions to model the transparency they advocate for in governance.

· The end of dynastic complacency: Long-term dominance is no longer a guarantee of electoral success.

· The power of institutional reform: Cleaning the voters’ list fundamentally altered the electoral landscape.

· A shift toward merit: Voting based on individual capability has overtaken blind panel loyalty.

A Mandate, Not a Gift

The Democrats’ victory carries weighty expectations. Members who voted for change will now demand visible improvements in club facilities, governance, communication, and the institution’s role as a defender of press freedom. Whether this moment becomes a genuine turning point or merely a change of faces will depend entirely on the new leadership’s ability to deliver.

What remains beyond dispute is the message sent by Islamabad’s journalist community: after two decades of unfulfilled promises and institutional drift, accountability has finally arrived at the National Press Club.

Mahtab Bashir is an Islamabad-based journalist and can be reached at 0333 53 63 248

ISLAMABAD’S PRIDE: POPO FOOTBALL CLUB – WHERE LOCAL TALENT FINDS GLOBAL WINGS

2026-02-22T22:12:00.000-08:00

KEY POINTS

‘Popo’: The moniker that evolved from university halls to football fields.
Grassroots focus pays off as the club becomes a critical feeder for Pakistan U-19 and U-16 teams, instilling pride by seeing players don national colours.
In 2022, a partnership with SKA Brasil sends two players and a coach to South America, offering life-changing global exposure unmatched by any other Pakistani club.
Selected players receive world-class coaching, creating a nurturing environment where football dreams are built on a foundation of care.

ISLAMABAD: In a country where cricket often drowns out the rhythm of other sports, a different kind of passion is being nurtured on the lush green fields of the federal capital.

In the world of football, where legends are born and legacies are built, there exists in Pakistan a club that stands unparalleled. It is a sanctuary for young, aspiring footballers, a place where the beautiful game is not just played but is lived with an unmatched fervour.

This is the story of Popo Football Club, a tale woven with threads of dedication, dreams, and the indomitable spirit of its founder.

A Labour of Love: More Than Just a Club

For the football-loving youth of Pakistan, the 21st century brought with it a new ray of hope. Nestled in the heart of Islamabad, the country's most beautiful city, lies POPO FC, a club that has become synonymous with exceptional, praiseworthy, and world-class training. It is a place where raw talent is chiselled into professional skill.

The respect for this institution is so profound that even rival clubs, in their own gatherings, sing praises of the remarkable work being done here. And the credit for this beacon of hope rests squarely on the shoulders of one man: a man of steel, known to the world as Haris bin Haroon, affectionately called Popo.

The Man Behind the Mission: From Lecturer to Mentor

The story of POPO FC is not one of corporate sponsorships or inherited wealth; it is a story of personal sacrifice and a deep-seated love for the game.

It began in 2012 with Haris bin Haroon, then a business lecturer at International Islamic University, Islamabad. It was here that his students, inspired by his teaching style, gave him the nickname 'Popo', a moniker that would one day become a symbol of footballing excellence in Pakistan.

What started as a small team participating in local Islamabad tournaments soon blossomed into a vision. Haroon saw beyond the makeshift goals and dusty grounds; he saw the potential in Pakistan's youth.

His vision was to create a formal academy, a home for young talent, leading to the official establishment of the POPO Football Club academy.

Nurturing Dreams, One Player at a Time

The true measure of POPO FC's success is not just in the trophies it holds, but in the hearts it has shaped.

The club’s primary focus has always been on grassroots development. This commitment bore fruit in 2019 when the club became a critical feeder for the national side, producing numerous outstanding players for both the Pakistan U-19 and U-16 teams as they prepared for the 2020 AFC Championship qualifiers.

The pride of seeing their boys don the national colours is a feeling that resonates deeply within the club's walls.

The professional debut in the 2020 PFF National Challenge Cup was a testimony to their youth-centric approach. They played with the fearless spirit of underdogs, securing a memorable 2-1 victory against Safe Tax in their very first match. Though they didn't advance past the group stage, they had made their mark, proving they belonged on the bigger stage.

A Dream Realised: The Brazilian Connection

For any footballer, playing in Brazil is a fantasy. For the young men at POPO FC, that fantasy became a breathtaking reality in 2022.

In a landmark partnership with Futebol Clube SKA Brasil, the club sent two of its finest, Waleed Khan and Muhammad Rizwan, along with coach Shehzad Anwar, to train and play with the Brazilian club's U-20 side.

It was a moment of profound validation, not just for the players, but for the entire POPO FC family, a tangible sign that their hard work was being recognised on a global scale. No other club in Pakistan has been able to offer its young talents such a life-changing opportunity.

The Heartbeat of the Academy: A Family Affair

Walk into a POPO FC training session, and you will witness a scene of pure, unadulterated passion. Coaches, trained in the club's own philosophy, work tirelessly side-by-side with their founder. They dedicate their body, mind, and soul ('tan, mann, dhan') to the boys.

For three hours every morning and evening, they don't just teach football; they mentor young men, sharing the intricate secrets and soul of the game.

The club’s commitment to its players goes beyond the pitch. Every year, trials are announced on social media, drawing the best talent from the four corners of the country.

The chosen few, aged between 16 and 23, are given a home. POPO FC covers all their expenses, accommodation, education, and food, so they can focus entirely on their dream.

This holistic, nurturing environment is the secret ingredient to the club’s success, a model of care and dedication that remains unmatched in Pakistan.

An Unmatched Legacy of Love and Labour

POPO Football Club is more than just a name; it is a movement. It is a testament to what can be achieved when one man’s passion ignites the dreams of many.

It is a story of Haris bin Haroon, the former lecturer who chose to invest in the future of Pakistan’s youth. His unique approach to preparing young talent for the world stage is an honor not just for him, but for the entire nation.

As the world watches the fruits of this labour unfold on international fields, one thing is clear: in the heart of Islamabad, a footballing revolution is being powered by love, dedication, and an unshakeable belief in the power of dreams.

All our love and support for POPO FC.

A LOVE'S ETERNAL SEAL: CRISTIANO RONALDO'S DEVOTED TRIBUTE TO GEORGINA ON HER BIRTHDAY

2026-01-30T22:46:00.000-08:00

In a celebration that mirrored the warmth of their bond, Georgina Rodríguez’s 32nd birthday was adorned with tokens of deep affection and unwavering loyalty from her fiancé, a football star, Cristiano Ronaldo. The day transformed into a heartfelt sonnet, composed of cherished gifts and sincere devotion.

Marking her 32nd birthday, Portuguese legend pays a heartfelt tribute to Georgina Rodriguez

The most poignant symbol was a magnificent Rolex Lady-Datejust, a £45,000 emblem of timeless commitment. With a dial blooming in passionate red ombré, a bezel set with diamonds that sparkled like constant admiration, and a band of steadfast gold, the watch was presented in its iconic green box, a moment Georgina lovingly shared with the world.

Beside it, her stunning 30-carat engagement ring, a £2.6 million testament to eternal fidelity, shone brightly as their promise made tangible.

Cristiano, the epitome of a devoted partner, poured out his affection on social media with a tender photo from a candlelit embrace, captioned simply: “Happy birthday to the woman of my life!”,a public vow of the heart.

Their family, the very cornerstone of their shared life, infused the day with pure affection. The couple’s children presented a handmade pink sign declaring, “Happy Birthday Mama. Te Amo Mucho,” its innocent words a symbol of the love that surrounds her.

This new treasure will join Georgina’s collection, yet its true worth is sentimental, a lasting emblem of a chapter in a love story that began with a fateful meeting in 2016.

From that spark grew an unbreakable bond, a family, and a partnership built on mutual admiration and loyalty.

Cristiano once revealed the profound sincerity of their commitment, noting Georgina’s tears were not for the ring, but for the heartfelt emotion behind the proposal. Their engagement was sealed with Georgina’s own vow of eternal loyalty: “Yes I do. In this and all my lives.”

More than an exhibition of luxury, this birthday was a lavish, loving ode, a celebration of a devotion that is, in every sense, everlasting.

Mahtab Bashir is a journalist based in Islamabad, reachable at mahtabbashir@gmail.com or 0333 53 63 248.

IS YOUR RESEARCH ASSISTANT ACTUALLY SABOTAGING YOUR PAPER? THE HIDDEN RISK OF AI CHATBOTS

2026-01-09T10:45:00.000-08:00

Mahtab Bashir

mahtabbashir@gmail.com

Islamabad

Experts from academia, tech, and policy have warned that the reflexive use of Artificial Intelligence (AI) chatbots is quietly undermining the integrity of research, cautioning that these tools, despite their utility, are propagating serious inaccuracies, encouraging intellectual complacency, and obscuring the path to trustworthy scholarship.

A recent UK survey underscores a seismic shift in higher education, revealing that a staggering 92% of students now regularly use generative AI tools, a dramatic surge from 66% just a year prior.

This integration into daily academic life presents a pressing question for researchers and institutions alike: is AI a transformative boon for scholarship or a fundamental threat to intellectual rigour?

In conversations with this scribe, a broad coalition of professionals, from educators and media figures to researchers, students, think tank officials, IT experts, and policymakers, shared a common fear. They worry that heavy reliance on AI-generated content could foster a generation skilled at compiling information but lacking the ability to analyse critically, synthesise concepts, or generate truly original ideas.

Dr. Tariq Banuri, former chairman Higher Education Commission Pakistan, an economist and expert on climate change, stated that while Artificial Intelligence (AI) is not new, the recent advent of Generative AI (GAI) tools marks a significant step toward human-like intelligence, or Artificial General Intelligence.

He views this development as largely positive, though he acknowledges two categories of criticism: evaluative and apocalyptic.

Evaluative concerns, he explained, focus on the immediate difficulty of distinguishing between human creativity and machine-generated content. This poses challenges in areas like grading academic work or verifying digital evidence. His solution is to adapt our evaluation methods rather than reject the technology.

The apocalyptic criticism, while currently speculative, warns of a future where super-intelligent machines could surpass and endanger humanity, akin to dystopian science fiction. He noted this as a potential long-term issue but not an immediate reality.

Dr. Banuri described AI as a "stimulus technology" capable of boosting economic growth, productivity, and competitiveness. For Pakistan, he recommended two key policy responses: first, to stop disruptive internet shutdowns that drive businesses abroad, and second, to stimulate demand for GAI services, particularly in data generation and privacy.

While the private sector will naturally adopt GAI for efficiency, the government should modernise its own operations. Although some departments already use AI chatbots for drafting documents, resistance remains when it comes to enhancing transparency and reducing corruption, areas where Dr. TB urged proactive reform.

He emphasised that ethical guidelines for researchers, such as proper attribution of authorship, remain essential.

TORCH Global visiting Professor at the University of Oxford, UK, Dr. Fouzia Farooq, stated that acceptance of AI chatbots as research aids is essential for progress.

She argued that instead of researchers exhausting effort to prove the originality of their work, they must acknowledge the reality of AI and focus on showcasing their unique intellectual contribution beyond automated outputs.

She noted that Pakistan’s Higher Education Commission (HEC) has integrated AI detection into its anti-plagiarism policy, which has instilled caution among researchers. While this sets a baseline, Dr. Farooq believes regulatory measures can only go so far.

According to her, AI has revolutionised research methodologies, especially in fields like statistical analysis and data projection, but its integration into qualitative domains such as literature and art will take longer. The advent of AI, she said, has fundamentally shifted global research metrics, demanding an evolution in academic values and methods.

Dr. Farooq emphasised that with AI handling preliminary tasks, researchers should now focus on higher-order thinking and innovation. However, in societies like Pakistan, where research culture is underdeveloped, there is a risk of over-dependence, outsourcing entire projects to AI, which she called 'very wrong'.

Her advice was to 'make AI our slave, not our master', acknowledging that while AI offers significant benefits, it also poses a danger of encouraging intellectual laziness, particularly in work-shy communities.

A key challenge, she highlighted, is learning how to frame meaningful questions and interpret AI-generated answers critically. If the entire question-and-answer cycle becomes AI-mediated, research could become “lifeless and without experience.”

Dr. Ilhan Niaz, a senior professor at Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad, warned that for university students, AI chatbots have become an "ultimate cheat code."

He cautions that by allowing AI to generate assignments, leaving students to only "tweak" the output, we risk creating a generation that loses the fundamental skill of writing, a key activity for developing brainpower and critical thinking. This could trap students in a vicious cycle where reduced intellectual effort leads to greater dependence on AI, progressively diminishing human analytical ability.

For academics, he observed, AI can similarly serve as a convenient tool for aggregating information and producing text that is then presented as original work. He described a dystopian vision of the near-future university: a place where professors use AI to create lectures, and students use AI to complete assignments, resulting in a hollow educational experience.

While acknowledging AI’s legitimate and powerful applications, such as in medical diagnostics and processing astronomical data, Dr. Niaz described it as the 'lazy person’s dream come true' for everyday research and education. He raised concerns about the internet becoming flooded with indistinguishable AI-generated content.

His prescription is strict, sector-specific regulation. He argued that to prevent harm, AI use must be limited to fields where it demonstrably does more good than harm, such as medicine and data science, while being restricted in humanities disciplines like history and philosophy. He also called for formal "AI co-authorship" crediting mechanisms.

Dr. Niaz asserted that without treating AI as a carefully rationed public good aimed at collective well-being, sustainable and effective governance of the technology will be impossible. He noted that Pakistan's Higher Education Commission (HEC) faces a significant challenge, as the current educational model is ill-equipped to adapt to AI's disruptive presence.

A faculty member of IT department of Jazan University, Saudi Arabia, Muhammad Humza Farooq, explained that because AI tools are now hard to spot and control, many universities are stopping the use of take-home essays. Instead, some are bringing back oral exams, where students have to talk through and defend their ideas right then and there.

The reason is straightforward: AI can write neat essays, but it can’t answer unexpected follow-up questions or show it really understands a topic when put on the spot. With an oral exam, it’s much tougher for students to use outside help.

Humza also points out that AI-detection software has proven unreliable, sometimes flagging original student work incorrectly. Face-to-face assessment removes this uncertainty by focusing on direct interaction.

Beyond academic integrity, supporters argue this method builds essential real-world skills, such as clear communication, critical thinking, and the ability to explain complex ideas on the spot.

Dr. Munawar Hussain, an expert in international relations and social media, noted that AI has introduced a degree of laziness into today's student population. In the past, students dedicated significant effort to tasks like reading books, analysing research papers, conducting interviews, and performing content analysis. Today, similar information is accessible with just one click.

He recognised the advantages: AI saves both time and money for many, minimising the need for extensive manual research.

However, Dr. Hussain highlights serious downsides. Primarily, the essential ability to work directly with raw data, verify facts, and discern patterns is being eroded. Secondly, researchers are growing less capable of producing original analysis, relying too heavily on AI-generated interpretations. Lastly, although AI is useful for brainstorming early research ideas, excessive dependence on it curbs independent thinking.

Dr. Hussain summarised AI's influence as a "mixed bag", offering clear efficiencies while posing significant threats to the cultivation of critical and analytical skills.

Saima Faheem, a researcher at Vrije Universiteit Brussel, Belgium, warns that a significant yet overlooked risk of using AI chatbots in research is cognitive rather than factual.

She explained that the quick, confident answers they provide can erode essential research habits, such as verifying sources, questioning assumptions, and tolerating uncertainty, by making inquiry feel deceptively smooth.

The core danger, Faheem noted, is not just AI errors, but the user’s declining vigilance in detecting them. She emphasised that AI chatbot remains valuable only when it critically supports, rather than replaces, human judgment.

A postdoctoral researcher at Vrije Universiteit Brussel, Belgium, Dr. Faheem Siddiqui, argued that AI is fundamentally reshaping academic research. He believes that while the technology presents a mix of advantages and disadvantages, the overall benefits are greater.

He pointed to two primary ways academics can use AI effectively. First, by automating repetitive tasks to boost productivity and free up time for more complex, intellectually demanding work. Second, he highlighted the importance of understanding that AI tools are trained on existing data and can be prone to providing biased or user-pleasing answers.

Mastering 'prompt engineering', the skill of crafting precise inputs, is therefore crucial for obtaining objective and useful results from these chatbots.

Siddiqui offered clear guidance for responsible use: researchers should utilise AI as an aid in their work and publications, but they must maintain ultimate responsibility for their final output.

He warned against using AI in the peer review process, arguing that removing the essential human judgement from evaluating new research could be detrimental to scientific progress in the long term.

Muhammad Usman Farooq, an Islamabad-based Information Technology expert, characterised AI as an 'indispensable research assistant' for academics. For students and junior researchers, it functions as a 'tireless, instant co-pilot', streamlining tasks like literature reviews, paper summarisation, coding, and idea generation, thereby accelerating workflows and clarifying complex subjects.

However, this efficiency is not without significant pitfalls. Farooq pointed to AI's capacity to 'fantasise', generating plausible yet entirely fabricated citations and information, which jeopardises the integrity of academic work.

He further cautions that excessive dependence on AI risks corroding the profound analytical reasoning that is the hallmark of genuine scholarship, potentially yielding results that are 'superficially competent but intellectually hollow.'

A media practitioner and expert on governance, AI, and security, Dr. Saeed Minhas Ahmed, acknowledged that AI has dramatically increased research speed, enabling faster literature reviews, data synthesis, and methodological testing, while boosting overall productivity.

However, he warned that without proper oversight, its unchecked use threatens to produce superficial research, standardised thinking, and degrade critical analysis. The core problem, he argues, is not AI, but the lack of accountability in how it is used.

For society to truly benefit, regulatory bodies, like Pakistan’s Higher Education Commission (HEC), must set strict standards for quality, transparency, and intellectual ownership, similar to existing plagiarism policies.

He emphasised that AI must serve strictly as an assistant in scholarly work, not as a replacement for human judgement. Institutions should implement clear policies requiring the disclosure of AI use, limiting its role to technical tasks like language editing or data organisation, and strictly prohibiting AI from constructing arguments or generating theories without human verification.

The HEC, he suggested, could take a leading role by developing AI-audit systems, training reviewers to identify AI-generated content, and embedding ethical guidelines into research assessment.

Dr. Minhas advocated for a hybrid scholarly model, where human researchers lead theoretical development, fieldwork, and critical interpretation, supported by AI for efficiency and scalability.

He insists that peer review, archival rigour, and methodological integrity must remain human-centred processes, with AI acting only as a tool to augment, not replace, research skill. This balanced approach, he said, maintains intellectual depth while adapting to new technologies.

Experts agreed AI is a transformative but double-edged tool for research. Its benefit depends entirely on human oversight. Moving forward, researchers must master this new skill, approaching AI with both excitement and sharp scrutiny, balancing its power with indispensable human judgement.

The writer is a journalist based in Islamabad and holds an MPhil degree in International Relations from Quaid-i-Azam University.

DARE-RC SUMMIT CALLS FOR EVIDENCE-LED TRANSFORMATION IN PAKISTAN’S EDUCATION

2025-12-21T00:30:00.000-08:00

The two-day DARE-RC International Education Summit stressed that data, research, and classroom realities must guide education policy in Pakistan.
Federal Minister Ahsan Iqbal highlighted evidence-based planning and stable leadership as essential for sustainable education reform.
British High Commissioner Jane Marriott warned that without quality teaching and strong schools, Pakistan’s children may reach only 41% of their potential.
International experts and development partners emphasised equity, inclusion, and climate resilience as core education priorities.
The summit concluded with a commitment to stronger collaboration between government, universities, and partners to translate research into real classroom impact.

Mahtab Bashir

mahtabbashir@gmail.com

0333 53 63 248

ISLAMABAD: The two-day “International Education Summit 2025” held under the Data and Research in Education, Research Consortium (DARE-RC), concluded with one strong and shared message: Pakistan’s education system can only improve if decisions are guided by facts, research, and real classroom realities.

Organised at Allama Iqbal Open University (AIOU), Islamabad, the summit (December 17-18, 2025) brought together policymakers, researchers, and development partners from Pakistan and abroad to talk about how education can become more inclusive, stronger, and fair for every child.

Participants of the DARE-RC International Education Summit gather for a memorable group photo, celebrating collaboration, innovation, and global learning.

Federal Minister for Planning and Development Ahsan Iqbal stressed that Pakistan cannot reach its development goals without using data and research in education planning. He said policies must be based on evidence so schools can better respond to the needs of children and young people across the country.

Referring to a well-known book The Knowing–Doing Gap: How Smart Companies Turn Knowledge into Action by Stanford University professors Jeffrey Pfeffer and Robert Sutton, published in 2000, Ahsan Iqbal, said, Pakistan must move beyond ideas and focus on action.

He noted that political instability in the country has caused serious setbacks, as frequent changes in governments disrupt continuity and make it difficult for policymakers to carry forward reforms.

Federal Minister Ahsan Iqbal addresses the summit

Recalling the nuclear tests of May 28, 1998, Iqbal shared a personal interaction with Dr. Abdul Qadeer Khan and his team, during which he asked how such a major achievement was made possible. According to him, Dr. AQ Khan explained that the success was built on six core principles: a clear sense of purpose, stable leadership, merit-based systems, investment in human resources, availability of necessary resources, and institutional autonomy.

Federal minister concluded that when these elements are in place, institutions can progress and succeed far more rapidly.

British High Commissioner Jane Marriott on the rostrum

British High Commissioner Jane Marriott CMG OBE also pointed to the learning crisis facing many children in Pakistan. She said strong teaching, reliable institutions, and evidence-based decisions are essential, especially to help the most disadvantaged children succeed.

“Many children in Pakistan face the serious risk of achieving only 41 percent of their potential over a full lifetime,” she said.

Abdur Rauf Khan, Country Director, Oxford Policy Management, Pakistan, said, "DARE-RC is a unique initiative that brings together researchers, policymakers, and practitioners to share knowledge and experiences. We are proud to be part of this consortium and look forward to continuing our work together to improve education outcomes in Pakistan."

DARE-RC Team Lead Dr Ehtasham Anwar said the summit created an important space for key stakeholders to come together and discuss the major challenges facing education in Pakistan. He added that DARE-RC remains committed to working closely with the government and partners to ensure that evidence is used to shape both policy and practice.

DARE-RC Team Lead Dr. Ehtasham Anwar

Equity and Inclusion Take Priority

The summit opened with a keynote by Professor Kamal Munir from the University of Cambridge, who highlighted the need to put fairness and equity at the centre of education reform. Discussions on the first day focused on issues such as gender gaps, disability inclusion, poverty, and the growing impact of climate change on education.

Experts from the World Bank, UNICEF, Sightsavers, and global universities agreed that Pakistan’s education system must include every learner and be prepared for future challenges.

Turning Research into Real Change

On the second day, attention shifted from ideas to action. Sessions focused on how research can improve teaching, support teachers, and strengthen accountability and governance.

Speakers emphasised the need to move “from evidence to action.” Policymakers from all provinces joined international experts to discuss teacher recruitment, performance monitoring, and system-level reforms that can make a real difference in classrooms.

Universities as Key Partners in Reform

A major takeaway from the closing session was the important role of universities in shaping education reform. Academic leaders shared their commitment to producing research that helps policymakers and to training future leaders who understand both research and practice.

More than 30 research studies supported by DARE-RC were shared, covering inclusion, social justice, teaching quality, education governance, and system resilience.

Working Together for Lasting Impact

In closing remarks, Sam Waldock from the British High Commission highlighted that lasting education reform depends on strong partnerships. Governments, universities, and development partners must work together to turn research into real change.

A Shared Vision for the Future

The summit ended with a shared commitment to build an education system that is fair, inclusive, and guided by evidence.

Journalists pose with Dr. Tariq Banuri

Participants agreed that continued cooperation, investment in research, and close links between policy and practice are key to improving learning outcomes for all children.

Funded by the UK Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office (FCDO), the DARE-RC programme will continue to support research-led education reform and help shape a better future for education in Pakistan.

HOW AND WHY PAKISTAN'S TOUGHEST EXAM CSS CONTINUES TO CRUSH ASPIRANTS?

2025-11-27T10:45:00.000-08:00

· Experts say the real CSS challenge is the huge gap between university learning and exam expectations.
· The government’s limited demand for officers keeps the pass rate stuck around 2%.
· Language gaps, rote-learning, and outdated curricula leave most candidates unprepared.
· Scholars call for bilingual exams, analytical testing, and modernized subject structures.
· Systemic decline in education, especially in public institutions, directly fuels low CSS success rates.

Mahtab Bashir
0333 53 63 248
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
Islamabad

ISLAMABAD: Pakistan’s Central Superior Services (CSS) exam, the highest-tier competitive examination for recruiting bureaucrats into the country’s elite civil service, has consistently recorded a pass rate of barely 2 percent over the last few years, sparking widespread debate among academics, policymakers, and aspirants.

The stubbornly low CSS success rate is now viewed not just as a measure of the exam’s toughness, but as a symptom of deeper cracks within Pakistan’s educational and administrative systems.

In an effort to untangle this complex picture, this scribe reached out to key stakeholders to ask the hard questions: Is the problem rooted in government policy, flawed teaching methods, candidates’ misunderstanding of the exam, the vested interests of preparatory academies, or a broader collapse of the education system itself? The discussions also explored the path ahead and the essential art of mastering this high-stakes examination.

Former Consul General of Barcelona, ambassador, and ex-Director of the Common Training Program at Civil Services Academy, Lahore, Imran Ali, explained that the CSS exam pattern itself is not flawed; the real issue lies in the vast gap between what students learn at the bachelor’s level and the expectations of the exam. For the average student, this gap makes the exam exceptionally challenging.

Imran highlighted that improving CSS pass rates requires high-quality liberal learning. Bachelor’s and master’s programs in liberal arts subjects, such as political science, literature, and economics, etc must reach a high standard before students attempt the exam. In the short term, there is no simple fix. Another approach could be to reduce the exam’s diversity: by making it shorter and more focused on specific subjects, pass rates might improve.

He emphasised that the CSS remains a tough test, largely because its standard sits between BA and MA levels, whereas the quality of undergraduate and graduate programmes has generally declined, making the exam appear harder. Also, the exam’s breadth adds to the difficulty: candidates must cover Current Affairs, Pakistan Affairs, Islamiyat, English language and literature, three optional subjects, and even Everyday Science, making it extremely diverse and demanding.

Dr. Muhammad Mubeen, Tenured Associate Professor of Humanities at COMSATS University Islamabad, explained that CSS pass rates are largely dictated by percentiles rather than absolute scores. He noted that government demand for officers is limited each year, as retirements dictate the number of new recruits. This means FPSC often aims to qualify only the top 5–10% of candidates, regardless of whether 500 or 700 appear fit.

Many candidates fail in key subjects, English Essay, English Precis and Composition, Islamic Studies, or Urdu, while elective subjects generally see high pass rates. The decision to include or exclude a candidate often depends on the paper checker’s discretion, guided by instructions to keep the overall pass ratio low.

Dr. Mubeen emphasised that the small fraction of candidates who do pass, around 30–35 annually, are mostly from modest backgrounds, with a few from influential families, reflecting a carefully controlled induction process. The government typically requires only 150–160 candidates, so the 2% pass rate aligns with demand. If the need were larger, pass rates could easily be increased.

He described CSS as a high-pressure competency exam, with factors such as hard work, analytical ability, time management, luck, and the quota system all influencing outcomes. The exam’s intensity stems from having multiple papers in a single day and managing limited government slots.

Dr. Mubeen concluded that while the CSS exam is challenging, its strict passing ratio is a reflection of controlled demand and systemic design rather than arbitrary failure.

Dr. Ilhan Niaz, professor of history at Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad, contextualised the challenge by comparing it with China, which has the world’s oldest tradition of competitive public service recruitment. “Today, between 3 and 3.7 million candidates compete for 35,000–40,000 posts in China’s civil service exam, translating to 80–100 qualified candidates per post,” he said.

By contrast, Pakistan’s 2024 CSS written examination saw 15,600 candidates appear, with only 387 clearing the written stage and 229 finally allocated to services, roughly 68 candidates per post. Considering fewer than 7,000 CSS officers are in service at any time, Dr. Niaz believes Pakistan’s applicant-to-selection ratio is still reasonable.

Low Educational Standards and Language Barriers

Dr. Niaz highlighted that the real hurdle lies in Pakistan’s education system. “The quality of education, especially in public-sector schools, is insufficient to prepare students for competitive exams,” he explained.

He also pointed to the English-language requirement as a barrier that disqualifies many capable candidates. “Improving overall education is a long-term task, but the language barrier can be addressed immediately. Introducing bilingual exams (Urdu/English) for all papers and interviews, except for outward-facing services like Foreign Service or Commerce Group, is feasible and necessary,” he argued.

Rethinking Exam Structure

Dr. Niaz criticised the CSS system’s overreliance on rote learning. He suggested that most compulsory subjects should be removed, retaining only general knowledge/current affairs and a basic aptitude test. Optional subjects, he argued, should focus on analytical thinking and problem-solving, possibly conducted as open-book exams from specified texts. “The goal is to recruit officers who can think critically, reason through problems, and communicate clearly,” he said.

He also stressed the need for robust psychological screening, pointing out that many recruits quickly conform to group pressures in the bureaucracy, compromising ethics. “Academic brilliance alone is insufficient if it is used to harm citizens or serve unlawful interests,” he said.

Structural and Academic Challenges

Raza Bashir Tarar, former bureaucrat, ambassador, and foreign services officer, stated that Pakistan’s low CSS pass rates result from a combination of systemic, socio-economic, and exam-specific challenges.

He noted that years of rote-learning leave students with weak analytical and critical thinking skills, while the sudden shift to advanced English in the exams exposes a language gap. Uneven preparation in core subjects like Pakistan Affairs, Current Affairs, and Essay further disadvantages candidates, particularly those in rural areas with limited access to libraries and expert guidance. He added that coaching centres often emphasize memorized notes over skill development, and challenging sections like the Essay and English Précis filter out most aspirants.

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Tarar suggested that introducing analytical writing courses, standardised English instruction, a National CSS Preparatory Framework, expanded digital resources, and a nationwide Digital CSS Academy could help bridge these gaps and improve pass rates without compromising standards.

He also noted that the number of applicants and those who actually sit for the exam fluctuates significantly from year to year, with around 18,000 applying in 2025 but only about 12,800 appearing. The consistent low pass percentage, which rarely exceeds 3%, underscores the rigorous and selective nature of CSS.

Tarar elaborated that the high competition, coupled with the narrow gate for success, means that only a few candidates become civil servants through CSS, despite intense preparation. He also emphasised that clearing the written exam is just the first hurdle, and aspirants must clear multiple stages, requiring long-term preparation and resilience.

Ultimately, the systemic selectivity of CSS ensures that those who succeed come from a small, elite pool, influencing the continuity and authority within the bureaucracy.

Systemic Decline in Education

Dr. Munawar Hussain of the Area Study Centre at Quaid-i-Azam University argued that CSS failures mirror a broader decline in Pakistan’s education system. “Once limited to peripheral regions, educational deterioration is now evident in major cities including Karachi, Lahore, Islamabad, Peshawar, and Quetta,” he said.

Dr. Munawar highlighted the dominance of private institutions, concentrating talent within a small section of society, while public-sector institutions have deteriorated, and accountability has been largely ignored. Underfunding has further weakened research output and library facilities, leaving students ill-prepared. He also criticised the prevailing approach of promoting teachers on the basis of research rather than teaching effectiveness, which discourages graduates from pursuing academia.

He pointed out that CSS results were better when eligibility required a simple BA. The shift to a four-year BS programme, influenced by Western systems, has contributed to a drop in pass rates to just 1.5–2%.

Prof. Dr. Syed Habib Ali Bokhari, former vice chancellor of Kohsar University Murree, highlighted key reasons behind Pakistan’s persistently low CSS pass rates. He observed that many students emerge from rote-learning environments, lacking critical thinking, analytical writing, and reasoning skills, especially in Essay, English, and Current Affairs papers.

Dr. Bokhari pointed out that the fragmented education system worsens the issue: public-sector schools rarely align with CSS demands, university syllabi are outdated, and teachers often lack training in modern pedagogical methods like Bloom’s Taxonomy and inquiry-based learning. Rural and low-income candidates face additional hurdles, including limited access to libraries, newspapers, digital resources, and mentorship, compounded by weak English proficiency and poor time management during exams.

He recommended integrating subjects such as data interpretation, evidence-based reasoning, analytical writing, governance, and contemporary sciences into the curriculum, emphasising that a systemic overhaul could potentially raise CSS success rates above 5%.

Dr. Mariam Anees, Professor of Biochemistry at Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad, highlighted that a lack of strong analytical and writing skills remains a key barrier for CSS aspirants.

She observed that while graduates may shine in technical subjects, the exam demands sharp reasoning and effective expression, abilities seldom cultivated in current degree programs. Years are often wasted memorising facts instead of honing smart strategies and writing proficiency.

Language Barriers and Curriculum Gaps

Vice Chancellor of the University of the Punjab, Prof. Dr. Muhammad Ali Shah, resonated concerns regarding English. “A large majority of CSS candidates fail in English, particularly in Essay and Précis & Composition,” he said.

Dr. Shah argued that English should not be compulsory, as many capable students fail solely due to language proficiency. He suggested offering candidates a choice of language courses, noting that advanced English is not essential in several professional roles.

Former Dean of Social Sciences at Quaid-i-Azam University, Prof. Dr. Nazir Hussain, linked declining CSS performance to broader flaws in education policy. He explained that the mismatch between university standards and FPSC requirements, particularly after the shift to BS and MS programmes, has deepened the problem.

Dr. Hussain stressed that reforms must focus on raising eligibility standards to 16 years of education, bridging the language gap, and ensuring that policies do not favour the elite or influential groups.

Recent Policy Reform: Age and Attempt Relaxation

In May 2025, the National Assembly passed a resolution raising the CSS age limit from 30 to 35 years and expanding allowed exam attempts from three to five. Moved by PML-N lawmaker Nosheen Iftikhar, the resolution was widely welcomed by civil service aspirants struggling under strict eligibility constraints.

The development came after the 2024 CSS results, where only 395 out of 15,602 candidates passed, marking a success rate of 2.53 percent. While the measure provides relief, experts insist that it addresses only a minor part of the problem.

Calls for Comprehensive Reform

Professor Dr. Tahir Jamil of the Area Study Centre, Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad praised the age and attempt relaxation but stressed that deeper reforms are essential. He criticised overreliance on CSS academies and emphasised a modern, evolving syllabus with greater specialisation. “Outdated teaching methods, rote learning, and excessive dependence on guides undermine creativity and weaken communication skills, especially in English,” he said.

Experts collectively warn that CSS results are symptomatic of a broader crisis. Weak analytical foundations, poor reading habits, and outdated learning environments leave candidates ill-prepared despite their determination.

Educationists argue that without reforming both the CSS preparation framework and Pakistan’s education system, administrative reforms alone will not bridge the gap. As a result, the country’s future bureaucracy continues to face challenges in recruiting competent, ethical, and analytically capable officers.

The CSS exam, long considered the gateway to Pakistan’s elite civil service, highlights the systemic weaknesses of the country’s education and administrative framework.

While recent policy tweaks, including age relaxation and additional attempts, offer temporary relief to aspirants, experts agree that meaningful change requires deep-rooted reforms, from improving foundational learning, teacher training, and curriculum quality to redesigning the exam structure and introducing ethical and psychological evaluations.

Without such measures, the aspirants’ ambitions and the nation’s bureaucratic efficiency may continue to suffer under the weight of structural neglect and outdated practices.

Saeed Ahmed Minhas, a veteran journalist and educationist, argues that the current entire system requires a fundamental overhaul. He points out that the very structure was designed by colonial masters who never implemented it in their own countries; it was crafted solely to produce a loyal cadre of civil servants to serve the Crown.

Today, however, this system has devolved into a tool for Kingmakers, churning out compliant bureaucrats who rarely question authority. Merit and competence are sidelined, numbers and credentials matter little to those in power, who are more concerned with loyalty than talent.

Yet, as Minhas notes, numbers don't matter to these dwarfs who care not about who deserves and who not. At least the flaws are now documented, providing a record for future reformers to consider.

NOVEMBER 10, 2025: THE PASSING OF TWO INTELLECTUAL GIANTS

2025-11-11T09:17:00.000-08:00

Mahtab Bashir

Islamabad

0333 53 63 248

mahtabbashir@gmail.com

On November 10, 2025, Pakistan lost two brilliant minds, Arfa Sayeda Zehra and Irfan Siddiqui, who dedicated their lives to education, language, history and society. Both intellectual giants and passionate advocates for Urdu, they inspired with their humility and soft-spoken wisdom. Their words resounded deeply, leaving lasting impressions on all who listened. A loss of such influential figures creates an irreplaceable void, but their legacy will endure in the knowledge they shared and the countless lives they touched.

Dr. Arfa Sayeda Zehra, the eminent Pakistani educationist, intellectual, and human rights advocate, passed away on November 10, 2025, at the age of 88, leaving behind a legacy of scholarly excellence and tireless activism. Her passing marks the end of an era for the academic and social fabric of Pakistan.

After completing her early education at Lahore College for Women University and Government College University in Lahore, she pursued further studies at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, where she earned a Master of Arts in Asian Studies and a Doctorate in History. Her ground-breaking dissertation on Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan, "Man with a Mission", is an evidence to her deep commitment to understanding South Asian intellectual history.

Dr. Zehra’s academic career was marked by a series of ground-breaking roles, including serving as the principal of Lahore College for Women University, the Government College for Women, and as a professor emeritus at Forman Christian College.

Over the years, as I hungrily studied language, two voices have guided me like stars: Arfa Sayeda Zehra and Sashi Tharoor. Both tease and sculpt words with such deftness that listening becomes a feast for the soul. ASZ, raised her voice not to roar, but to summons society to its better self. An educationist, a professor emeritus, a tireless human rights advocate, she wore many lights at once, and they burned with uncommon grace. Her departure left a void so deep it altered the geography of our generations. Gen Y, Gen Z, and the years that follow still feel the tremor of her absence, as if a compass has been laid down in unrecoverable distance.

She was a passionate advocate for the Urdu language, emphasizing its importance for the nation’s cultural identity. Known for her expertise in intellectual history, South Asian social issues, and gender equality, Dr. Zehra played a pivotal role in shaping Pakistan’s academic discourse. She also held significant public offices, including the chairmanship of the National Commission on the Status of Women and as a former caretaker provincial minister of Punjab.

Beyond academia, Dr. Zehra's voice was heard at language conferences, televised forums, and in forums advocating for gender equity and the rights of women. A tireless supporter of the literary and intellectual development of Pakistan, her work has left an indelible impact on both the education sector and the broader cultural landscape. She was also a recipient of the prestigious University of Hawaii’s Distinguished Alumni Award in 2016.

Dr. Zehra’s passing is not only a loss for the academic community but for all those who championed the causes she so passionately advocated. Her dedication to education, her fight for female equity, and her unwavering commitment to the rights of the marginalized will remain her enduring legacy.

Senator Irfan Siddiqui, a towering figure in Pakistan's political and journalistic circles, passed away on November 10, 2025, at the age of 68 after battling severe respiratory complications. His death, following a two-week hospitalization, marks the end of a career that spanned decades, during which he played an instrumental role in Pakistan’s politics.

Late Irfan Siddiqui in discussions with the late President Rafiq Tarar and my late father, BHN

Irfan Siddiqui stood as a steady beacon, steering Pakistan through its fiercest storms with quiet resolve. From shaping national affairs to guiding Senate debates, his loyal badge shone, a proof to a life spent in service, leaving a charity of memories that ache with his absence. May his enduring legacy live in the causes he championed and the example he set, a seasoned leader who faced turmoil with dignity and a steadfast heart.

Siddiqui was a senior member of the Pakistan Muslim League (N) and served as a Senator for Punjab, holding significant positions such as Parliamentary Party Leader and Chairman of the Senate Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs. His close ties with the Sharif family, especially his advisory role to Nawaz Sharif, cemented his influence in the party and government.

A file photo of this scribe with Senator Irfan Siddiqui

Beyond his political career, Siddiqui was a prolific writer, with his book, PTI and Pakistan: From Cypher to Final Call, offering critical insights into Pakistan's political crises. However, his final days were surrounded by controversy, with reports suggesting he was kept on life support during the Senate's controversial passage of the 27th Constitutional Amendment, a matter that continues to spark debate.

Despite the controversies, Siddiqui's legacy as a dedicated party loyalist, political reformer, and thoughtful commentator will endure in Pakistan’s history.

Requiescat in peace ASZ and Irfan Siddiqui.

DR. AFZAL BABAR: A LEGACY OF UNYIELDING STRUGGLE FOR EDUCATIONAL RIGHTS COMES TO AN END

2025-10-23T09:55:00.000-07:00

* Dr. Babar championed private schools as the backbone of Pakistan’s education system, driving excellence in student achievement
* Beyond his professional contributions, Dr. Babar personally sponsored numerous students, ensuring that financial barriers never stood in the way of their educational dreams
* Even after health challenges, Dr. Babar's tireless advocacy for educational rights continued, marking the end of an era of genuine struggle for the future of private institutions

Mahtab Bashir
0333 53 63 248
ISLAMABAD
mahtabbashir@gmail.com

Dr. Muhammad Afzal Babar, a renowned educationist and the founding president of the Private Schools Network (PSN) Islamabad, passed away in the wee hours of Thursday, October 23, 2025, leaving behind a legacy of dedication to education and the rights of private educational institutions.

His funeral was held at the Bhara Kahu graveyard in Islamabad, where hundreds of mourners, including educational leaders, political figures, and local citizens, gathered to pay their final respects.

For decades, Dr. Babar was a passionate advocate for the promotion of education and the protection of private schools, particularly those that served lower-income communities. Under his visionary leadership, PSN Islamabad became a beacon of support for countless teachers and students, providing a robust platform for growth and progress in the private education sector. His untimely passing has left a void in the education community, as colleagues and students alike remember him not only as a gentle teacher but as a tireless spokesperson for education.

Zafar Sipra, President of the Federal Education Reporters Association (FERA), Islamabad, expressed his deep sorrow, describing Dr. Babar as the “champion of education.” He recalled how Dr. Babar fervently believed that education was the only key to a nation’s prosperity and fought relentlessly for the rights of private educational institutions.

Despite the financial constraints faced by these schools, Dr. Babar always emphasized that they were the backbone of the education system, shouldering a significant portion of the responsibility to enroll students and provide quality education. He often pointed out that private institutions, while underfunded, continued to outperform government schools, producing top-ranking students in national exams.

Zaigham Naqvi, Chairman FERA and a seasoned journalist, praised Dr. Afzal Babar as a remarkable educationist. "He was a staunch advocate for low-fee private educational institutions, tirelessly battling legal challenges with higher authorities on their behalf," he said. "May Allah Almighty grant him forgiveness."

Shahbaz Qureshi, Information Secretary of FERA and a journalist, expressed his shock at Dr. Babar's passing, saying, "Every time we attended an education event, Dr. Babar was always there, leading the charge. His commitment to promoting education was unwavering, and he dedicated his entire life to the cause. Just months ago, FERA lost another senior member, Masood Malik, and now, with Dr. Babar's loss, we are left in deep shock. May both of their souls find eternal peace."

Dr. Babar’s commitment to education extended beyond his professional work; he personally sponsored the education of many children, ensuring that financial barriers did not prevent them from pursuing their dreams. His contributions to the education sector were not limited to his own institutions but spread across the community, as he generously supported various causes and initiatives aimed at uplifting underprivileged students.

Dr. Babar had a deep fondness for FERA and its members. Whenever we reached out to him, he would always suggest, "Let’s meet soon over dinner or lunch and chat about this, and the many other challenges facing the education sector."

Throughout his life, Dr. Babar remained an advocate for smaller educational institutions, especially those in the private sector, fighting for their recognition and fair treatment in the face of government indifference. He firmly believed that these institutions played a vital role in relieving the burden on public schools and ensuring a brighter future for the nation’s children.

His unwavering commitment to education continued even after he suffered a severe cardiac arrest several months ago. Despite his health challenges, Dr. Babar resumed his national work, tirelessly fighting for educational rights and serving as a governing member of the Pakistan Scouts Association. His personal dedication and love for education were unparalleled, and his passing marks the end of an era of genuine struggle for the rights of smaller private educational institutions.

Dr. Afzal Babar’s legacy lives on in the countless lives he touched and the transformative impact he had on Pakistan’s education system. His vision and tireless work for educational reform will be remembered for years to come.

MALALA YOUSAFZAI'S ‘FINDING MY WAY' LIFTS THE VEIL ON HER SECRET LOVE AFFAIR

2025-10-11T10:58:00.000-07:00

Finding My Way explores not only Nobel Laureate's romance but also her personal growth, family conflicts, and resilience during her Oxford years

Mahtab Bashir
Islamabad
0333 53 63 248
mahtabbashir@gmail.com

Malala Yousafzai’s upcoming memoir, Finding My Way, reveals deeply personal insights into her secret relationship with now-husband, Asser Malik, during her time at Oxford University. The memoir, set for release on October 21, takes readers behind the scenes of a love story that was kept hidden from both the public and Malala's family due to cultural and familial expectations.

Malala recalls the secrecy surrounding their budding romance, describing how she and Asser would navigate their time together, including private meetings and wardrobe changes to avoid suspicion. She reminisces about one particular moment when she swapped her modest shalwar kameez for a pink, sleeveless dress. "When I returned to the table, Asser sat up straight, his mouth broke into a smile I hadn’t seen before,” Malala writes. “He whispered, ‘You’re a sex bomb!'"

Malala posing with her husband

However, the romance wasn’t without its challenges. Malala’s family, particularly her mother, strongly disapproved of the relationship, partly due to Asser not meeting the expectations of a Pashtun suitor. "Absolutely not! Does he even speak Pashto? She must marry a Pashtun man!" her mother reportedly exclaimed. The pressure from her family became so intense that Malala even asked Asser if they could "pause" their feelings until after she finished her studies. To which, Asser responded, “I’m not sure feelings work that way. But, for you, I’m willing to try."

Despite the tension, their commitment to each other remained strong. Nearly four years after their intimate wedding in Birmingham, Malala is offering fans a rare and heartfelt look at their journey, including the obstacles they faced in keeping their love private.

In addition to exploring her romance with Asser, Finding My Way digs into Nobel Laureate Malala’s self-discovery journey at Oxford, documenting her triumphs, struggles, and the resilience she built in the face of adversity. The memoir promises to be a deeply revealing and powerful account of her life, one that showcases her continued evolution, not just as a global advocate for girls’ education but also as a woman navigating love, family conflict, and personal growth.

A multi-city book tour will follow the release, where Malala will share her experiences of love, family, and resilience with readers across the world. Finding My Way will be available on October 21.

TRUMP BLAMES UN FOR BROKEN TELEPROMPTER AND ESCALATOR

2025-09-24T08:50:00.000-07:00

US President New Prescription: Less Paracetamol, More Paranoia

Mahtab Bashir
Islamabad
+92 333 53 63 248
mahtabbashir@gmail.com

The United Nations has cracked the case behind the sudden halt of an escalator, right after none other than President Donald Trump stepped onto it. The culprit? Apparently, a videographer’s accidental push of a safety feature turned the escalator into a stationary monument.

During his speech to the world’s leaders on September 23, Trump took the incident in stride, quipping, “These are the two things I got from the United Nations: a bad escalator and a bad teleprompter,” eliciting chuckles from the assembly. Who knew international diplomacy could be so... escalator-ly amusing?

Meanwhile, White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt took a more serious tone, warning that if someone at the UN deliberately stopped the escalator to embarrass the President, they should be promptly fired and investigated. Because nothing says “diplomatic decorum” like a suspiciously halted escalator.

UN spokesperson Stéphane Dujarric explained that the escalator’s central processing unit had a built-in safety mechanism that kicked in when a comb step was triggered at the top, likely by Trump’s videographer, who was busy filming the President’s grand entrance while moving backwards up the escalator. Apparently, in the quest for the perfect shot, the videographer accidentally pressed the “pause” button on safety.

As for the teleprompter troubles, Trump joked that whoever was operating it was “in big trouble,” though the UN clarified that the White House was using its own teleprompter, so perhaps the real culprit remains at large.

In the end, UN General Assembly President Annalena Baerbock assured everyone, “The UN teleprompters are working perfectly,” leaving the world to wonder if perhaps the real comedy was happening behind the scenes all along.

Trump Blames Pills, Science Blames the Script

A day earlier, President Trump and Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. took the stage to deliver a blockbuster announcement that left the medical community scratching their heads, and the public wondering if they had accidentally tuned into a parody.

Video Courtesy BBC

The duo declared that paracetamol, the humble over-the-counter hero known as Tylenol, might be secretly plotting to cause autism when used during pregnancy. Yes, you read that right. The medication, which has been safely trusted by millions for decades, was suddenly cast as a villain in a drama with no script, no evidence, and certainly no scientific backing.

During a White House press conference that felt more like a stand-up routine, President Trump urged pregnant women to “fight like hell not to take” Tylenol, unless, of course, they’re battling a very high fever. His advice, candidly admitted to be based on personal opinion rather than science, was followed by a swift directive to the FDA to slap warning labels on the drug, warning of a supposed link that experts say doesn’t exist.

Adding fuel to the fire, the administration announced plans to fast-track approval for leucovorin as an autism treatment, despite limited evidence, because who needs facts when you have bold claims? The president also threw in unverified assertions about vaccines and autism, turning the press conference into a veritable carnival of conjecture.

The scientific community responded with the speed of a well-oiled machine, condemning the statements as “irresponsible” and “dangerous.” Major organizations, including the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, reminded everyone that Tylenol remains the safest pain relief for pregnant women, emphasizing that untreated fevers can be more harmful than a hypothetical autism risk.

Experts pointed out that while some observational studies have flirted with the idea of a link, they don’t prove causation, kind of like saying eating ice cream causes rain because they both happen in summer. Larger, more rigorous studies have found no such connection, especially when considering other factors like parental neurodivergence.

The World Health Organization chimed in, urging caution and reminding everyone that science is a process, not a guessing game. Meanwhile, Kenvue, Tylenol’s manufacturer, issued a firm statement: “Sound science clearly shows that taking acetaminophen does not cause autism,” adding that the real danger lies in avoiding necessary treatment and risking dangerous fevers.

This episode highlights President Trump’s penchant for making sweeping statements that often outpace the facts, sometimes turning serious health topics into a comedy of errors. As the public navigates this whirlwind of claims, one thing remains clear: when it comes to science, it’s best to stick with the experts, and perhaps keep the Tylenol close, just in case.

HOW MYTHS UNDERMINE PAKISTAN'S FIGHT AGAINST CERVICAL CANCER

2025-09-20T01:54:00.000-07:00

Pakistan’s HPV Campaign Faces Cultural and Digital Barriers

Mahtab Bashir
ISLAMABAD

Pakistan's groundbreaking nationwide initiative to jab the Human Papillomavirus (HPV) vaccine to over 13 million girls aged 9 to 14 marks a monumental stride in the fight against cervical cancer. The campaign, set to unfold from September 15 to 27, aims to reach every corner of schools and communities, symbolising a bold commitment to public health. Amidst this ambitious effort lies a formidable obstacle: the persistent shadows of public mistrust, the spread of misinformation, and a critical gap in awareness. Overcoming these challenges will be essential to ensure the success of this pioneering endeavour and to safeguard the health of future generations.

From the outset, social media has become a battleground of falsehoods, ranging from fears of infertility and halal concerns to conspiracy theories questioning the vaccine’s origins and intentions. These myths are spreading rapidly, creating a barrier that threatens to derail a life-saving campaign.

Understanding the Silent Threat

Cervical cancer, a malignant growth in the cervix, the passage connecting the uterus to the vagina, often develops unnoticed, with early symptoms rarely apparent. When symptoms do appear, they may be mistaken for common ailments, such as irregular bleeding, unusual vaginal discharge, pelvic pain, or urinary discomfort. Early detection is crucial, yet awareness remains alarmingly low.

The Urgency of Vaccination

The vaccine in use, Cecolin, developed in China and introduced globally in 2006, is designed to protect against HPV types 16 and 18, responsible for approximately 70% of cervical cancer cases. Already adopted by over 150 countries, this vaccine is a cornerstone of the World Health Organisation's strategy to eliminate cervical cancer by 2030.

Courtesy BBC

In Pakistan, where over 5,000 women are diagnosed annually and survival rates are dishearteningly low, the vaccination campaign is a critical intervention. It targets regions including Punjab, Sindh, Islamabad, and Azad Jammu and Kashmir, with phased plans to expand to other provinces.

Early Challenges and Rising Hesitancy

The HPV vaccination effort currently underway features Cecolin, a pioneering Chinese-made, single-dose, bivalent vaccine introduced worldwide in 2006. This vaccine targets HPV types 16 and 18, which are responsible for approximately 70% of cervical cancer cases. With adoption in over 150 countries, Cecolin is part of the World Health Organization’s ambitious global strategy to eradicate cervical cancer by 2030, Dr. Rashida Batool, District Health Officer (DHO), Islamabad, told this scribe.

In Pakistan, where cervical cancer claims the lives of over 5,000 women annually and the survival rate remains alarmingly low at 36%, the urgency for vaccination is critical. The ongoing campaign initially covers regions including Punjab, Sindh, Islamabad, and Azad Jammu and Kashmir, with plans to expand to Khyber Pakhtunkhwa in 2026, and Balochistan and Gilgit-Baltistan in 2027.

A Consent Form circulated in a private educational institution in Islamabad, Pakistan

Dr. Rashida shared that the Islamabad campaign aims to immunise 147,000 girls aged 9 to 14, encompassing both school-attending and out-of-school populations.

However, she noted that by the third day of the campaign (September 15-27, 2025), unforeseen challenges emerged, notably vaccine refusals. Despite positive initial reactions from teachers, principals, students, and parents, misinformation spread via social media caused a surge in hesitancy. “Our teams, alongside civil society organisations, are now actively engaging with school authorities, lawmakers, and communities through counselling and awareness initiatives to transform resistance into acceptance,” she explained.

Addressing concerns, Dr. Rashida reaffirmed that the HPV vaccine is well-established and not new. “Since its global debut in 2006, it has been utilised in over 150 countries, significantly reducing cervical cancer incidences. Our goal is to integrate this vaccine into Pakistan’s routine immunisation schedule.”

She further clarified that the vaccine in use, Cecolin, is a single-dose, bivalent formulation that shields against HPV types 16 and 18, strains linked to roughly 70% of cervical cancers.

The DHO acknowledged that resistance and negative narratives are common in vaccination campaigns. “But with accurate information and persistent outreach, we can dispel fears and save countless lives.”

Federal Health Minister vaccinates daughter to fight cervical cancer vaccine misinformation

In a move to dispel myths and misinformation surrounding the cervical cancer vaccine, Federal Health Minister Mustafa Kamal vaccinated his own daughter on Saturday, hoping to set a powerful national example.

Speaking at a cervical cancer awareness event in Karachi, Kamal highlighted the long and difficult journey to bring the vaccine to Pakistan, making it the 191st country to introduce this vital protection, a step already taken safely by many Islamic nations.

Expressing deep concern over the spread of false claims, he stressed that no child’s life should be put at risk due to baseless fears.

Kamal shared that his daughter agreed to receive the jab after a thoughtful conversation, and though his family typically stays away from the spotlight, he chose to make this moment public to demonstrate trust in the vaccine and urge parents across the country to do the same.

Addressing Concerns and Building Trust

The vaccine, administered as a single dose, has a proven track record in reducing cervical cancer globally. Yet, misconceptions persist: questions about its safety, halal status, and origins continue to circulate. Experts emphasize that the vaccine is safe, effective, and part of a global effort supported by extensive research and testing.

A directive from District Edu. Authority, Rawalpindi

The Role of Schools and Community Engagement

Private schools find themselves caught between parental apprehensions and government mandates. Dr. Muhammad Afzal Babar of the Private Schools Network (PSN) highlights the need for grassroots awareness. “Parents are confused and fearful, often due to misinformation. Without proper outreach, trust cannot be built,” he asserts.

Data Reveals Critical Gaps

A recent survey by Jhpiego underscores the depth of the challenge: only 19% of caregivers have heard of cervical cancer, 5% know about HPV, and just 2% are aware of the vaccine. Half of those familiar with HPV mistakenly believe a cure exists, illustrating widespread misconceptions.

Collaborative Strategies for Change

The campaign’s success hinges on partnerships, local civil society organizations, teachers, health workers, media, and religious leaders are all vital in fostering confidence. Tailored communication, from animated videos to community dialogues, aims to replace fear with facts.

Looking Toward Sustainability

Post-campaign, the government plans to incorporate the HPV vaccine into routine immunisation schedules, ensuring long-term protection. This integration, supported by Gavi, aims to make cervical cancer prevention a standard part of Pakistan’s health landscape.

A Collective Call to Action

The fight against cervical cancer extends beyond science; it demands community trust, cultural sensitivity, and collective responsibility. As Dr. Khurram Shahzad, Director, Federal Directorate of Immunisation (FDI), emphasises, “If we unite, parents, healthcare providers, educators, religious leaders, we can forge a future where no girl suffers from a preventable cancer.”

Now, the message is clear: facts must triumph over fear, and trust must be built brick by brick to safeguard the health of Pakistan’s daughters.

Mahtab Bashir is an Islamabad-based journalist with an MPhil in International Relations and Politics from Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad.

TRIBUTE TO BASHIR HUSSAIN NAZIM - A LIFE OF GRACE, WISDOM AND DEVOTION

2025-09-06T11:41:00.000-07:00

Mahtab Bashir
Islamabad
mahtabbashir@gmail.com

If someone asked me to describe my father in a few words, I would not speak of wealth or worldly accomplishments. I would simply say: he was a man built not of gold, but of grace. In a world dazzled by materialism, he walked a quieter path, one where thought was richer than treasure, and wisdom shone brighter than jewels.

Bashir Hussain Nazim (1937–2012) was not just my father; he was an institution. A self-taught scholar fluent in Urdu, Arabic, Persian, English, Punjabi, and more, he lived not for the spotlight but for the soul. He authored over 37 books, translated rare Sufi masterpieces, wrote and judged Naat poetry with an unmatched linguistic command, and quietly carried the weight of knowledge with humility that made him unforgettable.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuF25zl2Iao

He has garnered immense acclaim within the realm of mysticism for his translations of remarkable works on Tasawwuf. His contributions include the revered 'Kashf-al-Mahjoob' by Hazrat Data Ali Hajveri (RA), 'Shawahidun Nabuwwat' by Maulana Jami (RA), 'Darul Muarif' by Hazrat Shah Ghulam Ali Dehlvi (RA), 'Zubdatul Muarif' by Hazrat Khawaja Hashim Kishmi, and 'Fayyuzatul Rabbaniya' by Hazrat Sheikh Abdul Qadir Jilani (RA), among many others.

In his capacity as Deputy DG in the Ministry of Religious Affairs, my father took on the esteemed role of speechwriter for the Prime Ministers and Presidents of Pakistan. His keen insights as a literary critic, especially within the Naat Genre, underscored his astute judgment and significant impact in the world of literature.

On one memorable 12th Rabi-ul-Awwal, my father, serving as the stage secretary at the National Seerat-un-Nabi Conference, also recited a Naat. As his voice filled the hall with reverence, Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif, the chief guest, stood up in deep admiration and kissed my father's hands. So moved, he requested another recitation. Yet, not even this rare honour stirred pride in my father’s heart.

He had the distinction of being a Presidential Pride of Performance awardee and the recipient of the Iqbal Gold Medal, yet he often rode public buses and walked the same dusty roads as the common man. While majority chased fame, he chased meaning. While others counted riches, he counted the recitation of Durood-e-Pak, over eighty millions (eight crore) times in his life, a number more profound than any bank balance.

I distinctly remember once, as I stood before a mirror, running a comb through my hair, he glanced at me and said, “Allah has blessed you with health, a graceful face, intelligence, and...” My heart swelled with joy, but before I could bask in it, he gently finished, “…and have you thanked Him for it? Go, and offer a prayer.” That was his way, redirecting every praise back to the Divine.

Also Read:
https://mahtabbashir.blogspot.com/2024/09/bashir-hussain-nazim-staunch-lover-of.html

He loved the Holy Prophet (Peace Be Upon Him) with a devotion that permeated every day, especially 12th Rabi-ul-Awal, which he turned into a day of service, celebration, and scholarship. He judged national Seerat and Naat competitions, wrote weekly articles for over three decades, and corrected even seasoned scholars on Quranic wording with a sincerity that stemmed not from arrogance, but from deep reverence for the sacred.

He once scolded me for writing “رحمت للعالمین” with an addition of Alif, saying, “You are writing like an illiterate Maulvi. Erase it.” And this was just one example. To him, even a misplaced letter was a deviation from truth.

I remember driving him on my CD-70 motorcycle to Constitution Avenue, unaware that he had an appointment with the President of Pakistan. While luxury cars passed us by, my father entered the gates of power, not with pomp, but with books in his lap and sincerity in his heart. This was him: a scholar invited to the palace, arriving on the seat of humility.

He was called “Ustaad” by poets like Iftikhar Arif and Ehsan Akbar, consulted by the likes of Pir Naseeruddin of Golra, and deeply admired in mystic and literary circles across the globe. His Persian verses are inscribed at the shrine of Hazrat Data Ganj Bakhsh (RA) in Lahore, a poetic immortality that few can claim:

تاجدار ملک و معنی، پیر پیراں گنج بخش
کو کب رشد و ہدایت، نجم ایقاں گنج بخش
ہستی او مزرع اسلام را ابر کرم
خطہ پنجاب را احسان یزداں گنج بخش
— بشیر حسین ناظم

The writer believes that a noble character outlives wealth and endures long after death.

BLAMING GOD, DODGING GUILT: A NATION SUBMERGED IN EXCUSES

2025-08-28T10:37:00.000-07:00

Drenched Thoughts

Mahtab Bashir
mahtabbashir@gmail.com

Islamabad

When floods drown villages, when earthquakes level homes, and when lives are lost not by dozens but by thousands, a familiar chorus rises in Pakistan: “It is the wrath of God.”

It’s a refrain repeated with solemnity, broadcast from pulpits and parliaments alike. But is this divine anger or human failure dressed in spiritual language?

Let’s ask a simple question:
Why is it always the poor who face God's so-called wrath?
Why do slums collapse while gated colonies stay standing?
Why do tin roofs fly, but ministerial mansions hold firm?

Every year, as monsoon rains swell rivers and inundate cities and villages across Pakistan, devastating floods become a grim routine rather than an unforeseen disaster. Yet, instead of proactive planning, investment in infrastructure, or timely relief measures, the state often responds with complacency wrapped in fatalism. Leaders and officials deflect blame by calling these disasters the “wrath of the Almighty,” using divine attribution as a shield against scrutiny. This narrative conveniently masks decades of mal-governance, rampant corruption, and institutional decay that have left the country vulnerable to predictable natural events.

For countless years, the blueprint for building dams and water reservoirs has gathered dust, while clogged drainage systems and crumbling embankments are left to rot with indifference. Emergency protocols, if they exist at all, are relics of a forgotten era, ignored until disaster strikes. These floods are not acts of God, but symptoms of man-made apathy, where corruption drowns responsibility, and pious rhetoric becomes a smokescreen for failure.

Why do countries like Japan and the Netherlands, where religion is often a private affair, not public policy, survive nature’s worst with minimal loss of life? Why does Tokyo stand when tremors shake its core? Why doesn’t Amsterdam drown beneath the sea?

Because they plan.

Because they prepare.
Because they do not blame the skies for what they failed to fix on the ground.

In Pakistan, however, we hide behind faith like a curtain. A broken dam is not an engineering failure; it is a “test from Allah.” A collapsed school was not poor construction; it was “God’s will.” This mindset is not humility - it is a refusal to take responsibility.

It is easier to declare a flood a punishment than to ask why illegal housing projects were allowed in floodplains.

It is easier to weep and pray than to admit that funds were eaten by corruption and roads were built without drainage.

It is easier to blame “sin” than to confess to incompetence.

This is not piety, it’s escapism.

And this escape has a cost: real human lives. Children buried under rubble. Families swept away by rivers that should’ve been dammed, diverted, or at least warned of. Each time we declare these disasters "divine tests," we pass the blame upwards, and in doing so, we fail every test of governance below.

Let’s be clear: God is not in the negligence that failed to reinforce a bridge.
God is not in the embezzlement that left relief camps empty.
God is not the one who rejected science, disaster training, and early warnings.
If anything, God endowed us with the intellect to prevent such tragedies, and we chose to ignore it.

The Quran itself encourages reflection, planning, and the pursuit of knowledge. Yet, in Pakistan, we have made faith an excuse to not think, to not build, to not prepare. We have confused surrender with laziness, and patience with passivity.

If natural disasters were punishments, then the sinful capitals of the world would be dust. But they stand - protected not by morality, but by infrastructure. They don't rely on divine mercy alone. They rely on policies, systems, and respect for the laws of nature that God Himself set in motion.

As pledges of aid begin pouring in from countries around the world, Pakistan’s political leadership and bureaucracy wait eagerly, not to rescue the flood victims, but to oversee the inflow of funds they see as yet another opportunity for personal gain. While the poor wade through stagnant waters, salvaging what little remains of their lives, the powerful prepare to count donations and quietly channel them within their own circles.

By the time the funds are "disbursed," the floodwaters will have receded, leaving behind devastated communities and forgotten promises. For the victims, survival means bracing for yet another monsoon, another year, another flood, the same betrayal.

So, quite an emotional stuff. But, again, the question is:

When disaster strikes in Pakistan, is it really God’s wrath, or our own betrayal of the duty to protect our people?

Until we stop blaming heaven for what we haven’t done on earth, we will continue to dig graves with our negligence and blame the heavens for the deaths.

75-YEAR-OLD LEAVES WIFE FOR AI SWEETHEART

2025-08-25T10:42:00.000-07:00

Till Tech Do Us Apart ...

Mahtab Bashir

Islamabad

+92 333 53 63 248

mahtabbashir@gmail.com

In a plot twist fit for a sci-fi romance, a 75-year-old man in China - identified only as Jiang - reportedly asked his wife for a divorce after falling head over heels for… an AI chatbot.

Jiang stumbled across a virtual female avatar on social media - her voice robotic, her expressions slightly off - but to him, she was nothing short of enchanting. She greeted him every morning, tossed in just enough flirtation, and - most importantly - never argued or aged, according to Beijing Daily.

Hooked by her digital charm, Jiang began spending hours glued to his phone, eagerly awaiting her next pre-scripted, saccharine message calling him “brother” and thanking him for his attention. The more attached he became, the more distant he grew from his actual wife of many years - until, eventually, he asked for a divorce.

His real-life partner, understandably baffled and heartbroken, couldn’t compete with the virtual vixen’s 24/7 affection. It wasn’t until their adult children intervened - explaining that the AI was not a sentient lover but a cleverly coded marketing tool - that Jiang began to snap out of his digital daze.

The incident is far from isolated. China has seen a boom in “virtual digital people” - hyper-realistic AI avatars targeting lonely seniors. These bots don’t just flirt; they sell. From camel milk to calcium supplements with questionable science, these AI figures blend emotional manipulation with aggressive product placement.

Experts are warning of a growing trend where the elderly are falling into emotional traps, building one-sided attachments with digital personalities that only exist to sell and deceive. “These relationships may seem harmless,” one analyst noted, “but they can lead to real-world losses - financial, emotional, even marital.”