The US Supreme Court recently reinstated parts of President Donald Trump’s travel ban on seven Muslim-majority countries. These include Somalia, Iraq, Libya, Iran, Syria, Yemen, and Sudan.

Whereas the situation in countries such as Somalia and Libya has become almost entirely anarchic; Syria, Iraq, and Yemen are in grip of complex wars and insurgencies.

Iran has been severely antagonistic towards the US (and vice versa) ever since the 1979 Revolution there, even though till only recently some major breakthroughs were achieved to stall the always-degenerating relations between the US and Iran by former US President Barack Obama.

So what is Sudan doing on the list? From the 1990s onward it has been declared a pariah state by the US (for ‘supporting terrorism against the US’). The common perception of this country is that of a chaotic land ravaged by crazy dictators nurturing crazier ‘Islamic terrorists.’

Indeed a lot of this was largely true, but Sudan is nothing like what has become of countries such as Syria, Libya, Somalia, and Iraq. As the regional editor of The Economist and author Richard Crockett mentions in his breezy 2010 study of Sudan, Sudan: The Failure & Division of An African State, in the early and mid-2000s, Sudan’s economy was one of the most robust in Africa, exhibiting a growth of almost nine percent. Since the early 2000s, Sudan became Africa’s biggest economy.

The economic growth was almost entirely due to Sudan striking oil in 1999. But then, its government had had a falling out with the US and most European countries and severe economic sanctions were imposed on it. China then stepped in and became the biggest consumer of Sudanese oil and also a major investor in Sudan’s economy.

Crockett mentions that the booming economy saw the emergence of a wealthy upper class and a prosperous urban middle class in Sudan; shopping malls, cinemas and stylishly built office and residential complexes became common in the country’s capital, Khartoum. What’s more, Crockett also suggests that at one point Khartoum was preparing itself to become to Africa what Dubai is to Asia! A powerful economic hub.

Though the economy began to somewhat buckle after the dramatic fall in international oil prices, Sudan remains to be one of Africa’s biggest economies – even bigger than its more prominent Muslim-majority neighbour, Egypt.

Crockett, who has visited Sudan on a number of occasions, mentions that no Europeans and Americans can be found in Sudan. But there are a large number of Chinese who remain to be the country’s biggest economic and trading partners and investors.

Crockett also informs that due to sanctions, European and US currencies are not available in Sudan and major credit card companies do not operate here. All business is done on cash – Sudanese, Chinese, and UAE.

Though Sudan did not plunge into anarchy like Syria, Somalia, Yemen or Iraq, its history of the past 60 years or so is one of the most vivid reflections of how during the Cold War (1949-89), major international powers manoeuvered regimes in various Muslim-majority countries for various economic and strategic gains.

They bolstered those regimes and then turned against them once certain ideological and geopolitical experiments which they had supported began to backfire and became ‘Frankenstein’ in nature.

A look at the rise and fall of perhaps Sudan’s most enigmatic leader, Gafaar Nimeiry, can clearly unfold the complex and highly mutable ideological and geopolitical intricacies which eventually led to the anarchic destruction of so many Muslim countries after the Cold War.

Independence and turmoil

Sudan won independence from the British in 1956. At the time, the country’s two main political parties were the conservative and quasi-Islamic Ummah Party (UP) and the secular Arab nationalist, National Unionist Party (NUP). The NUP advocated a union with Egypt. Sudan also had a large communist party, the Sudanese Communist Party (SCP).

Sudan emerged as a democracy, but intense power games in the parliament and a struggling economy gave the Sudanese army the peg to intervene and impose the country’s first military regime in 1958. The coup was pulled off by officers affiliated with right-wing quasi-Islamic groups, the Ansar and the Khatimiyya (a Sufi order in Sudan).

But the political situation and the economy continued to deteriorate, especially when unrest grew in the Christian-majority southern region of the country (South Sudan) against the Muslim-majority (the ruling elite) in the north.

Though Sudan as a whole was economically weak, the south was its most poverty-stricken region. The military regime reacted by expelling all Christen missionary and charity groups in the south, further compounding the problem.

No major power showed much interest in the affairs of Sudan.

In the north, the communist party led popular protests against the military regime which, in 1964, was finally ousted. Parliamentary democracy was restored.

Enter Nimeiry: The socialist

Though after the fall of the military regime in 1964, democracy returned, Sudan had to go through multiple elections when the voting continuously failed to give any party a majority. Weak coalition governments came and went as the economy continued to slide and resentment in the south grew even further. Sudan stood as an ignored, poor post-colonial African state, on the brink of an economic collapse and civil war. A failed democracy.

In May 1969, a group in the Sudanese military, operating secretly as the Free Officers Movement and led by the 38-year-old colonel, Gafaar Nimeiry, toppled the weak civilian government and declared Sudan’s second Martial Law.

Nimeiry was a great admirer of the charismatic Egyptian nationalist leader, Gamal Abul Nasser. Nasser immediately recognised the new Sudanese regime and this also attracted the interest of the Soviet Union which was aiding Nasser since the 1950s.

This way Nimeiry pulled Sudan into the Cold War. When the Soviets and Egypt began to dish out economic and military aid to Sudan, the US and its allies became concerned about ‘the spread of communism in Africa.’

Nimeiry had used pro-communist factions in the military to launch his coup. He was also helped by the strong labour, trade and student unions controlled by the Sudanese Communist Party.

With Egyptian and Soviet aid, as well as help from the newly installed radical regime of Colonel Qaddafi in Libya, Nimeiry began to implement ‘socialist’ economic policies, nationalising whatever little industry Sudan had. He also struck a peace treaty with the leaders in the restive Christian-majority south.

In 1970, the Ansar rose up against the regime’s ‘secular’ and ‘communist’ policies and launched a militant movement in its stronghold, the Aba Island. The Ansar were supported by the Sudanese faction of the Muslim Brotherhood, a largely Egyptian organisation which was brutally suppressed by Nasser. The Ansar and the Brotherhood were being financed by Saudi Arabia.

The Sudanese military, supported by Egyptian air force, crushed the uprising, bombing the Ansar’s headquarters and vanquishing the party. In 1971, after banning all political parties, Nimeiry formed the Sudan Socialist Union (SSU), turning the country into a single-party ‘socialist’ state. He also began ousting the more radical communists from the government, accusing them of ‘blackmail.’

The communist party activated its supporters in the military and attempted to topple the Nimeiry regime in a coup. But the coup failed and the communist party was driven underground through arrests, executions and exile. It could never revive itself again.

Nimeiry: The liberal

After crushing the Ansar and then the communists, Nimeiry’s ideology began to shift to the centre. He broke away from the Soviet Union (who he accused of facilitating the aborted 1971 communist coup against him). As a consequence, he was immediately approached by the US and oil-rich Arab monarchies.

In 1972 Nimeiry began to reverse his regime’s earlier ‘socialist’ policies by introducing economic liberalism and a nominal return to democracy. The US responded by beginning to shower financial aid on Sudan worth millions of dollars.

Nimeiry also managed to bring peace in the south where he constructed schools, hospitals, roads and bridges. Through a new constitution his government recognised the South’s Christian majority and it became an officially-recognised faith in Sudan along with Islam.

Economic and social liberalism was successful in heralding an unprecedented era of political peace and economic development in Sudan. But by 1975 it became clear that all was not quite well.

Economic growth largely failed to trickle down and the radical Islamic groups, especially the Muslim Brotherhood, vehemently criticised the regime for its lopsided economic policies, its social liberalism and for becoming an unquestioning ally of the United States.

As often happens in developing countries, a centralised and authoritarian government’s policies expand the social and economic influence of the middle-classes which, in turn, begin to ask for greater political power. The same happened in Sudan as well.

Since the communist party now stood crushed, young Sudanese, especially from the expanding middle-classes, and the intelligentsia, began to drift towards Islamic groups such as the Muslim Brotherhood, which seemed more ‘modern’ and ‘revolutionary’ than the more traditional Ansar.

In July 1976, Nimeiry faced a serious coup attempt orchestrated by officers sympathetic to the Ansar. Nimeiry responded by ordering severe crackdown on Islamic groups, killing over 400 members of the Ansar.

Nimeiry: The ‘Islamist’

In 1977 Nimeiry moved to reach reconciliation with the Islamic groups. He agreed to release hundreds of political prisoners and allow the return of opposition groups into mainstream politics, even though Sudan remained a one-party state.

In 1979, Nimeiry also recalled the Sudanese Muslim Brotherhood’s main ideologue, Hasan al-Turabi, from exile and made him the Justice Minister. The regime however remained close to the US.

Turabi began to exercise greater influence over Niamey, who donned off his ‘western clothes’ and began to wear traditional Sudanese dress and turban. Corruption became rampant in state and government institutions and even though the US continued to dish out millions of dollars in financial aid, much of this aid landed in the pockets of crooked government and military officials and bureaucrats.

In 1983, as the economy began to decline, creating food shortages and widespread unemployment, protests erupted on the streets. As a reaction and on the advice of Turabi and the growing numbers of Muslim Brotherhood members in the regime, Nimeiry introduced strict ‘Shariah’ laws.

Amputation of limbs for supposed thieves was introduced and such punishments, including floggings and hangings, were televised live on state television. Sale of alcohol was banned and Crockett wrote that in one such exhibition, Nimeiry, who had been a heavy drinker all his life, appeared at an anti-alcohol rally to smash beer bottles against a wall!

The amputations, the floggings and the executions which was all televised live worried Sudan’s allies in the US and Europe. But the aid continued to come in and US President Ronald Reagan actually praised Nimeiry for keeping communism at bay in the region.

In 1985, the economy almost completely collapsed and a severe drought killed thousands of poor Sudanese in the rural areas. The civil war reappeared after the region’s Christian majority saw the introduction of ‘Islamic laws’ as a negation of what the South was promised in the 1970s.

Nimeiry refused to allow aid agencies to distribute food in drought-struck areas. In one meeting he shouted at an official who was requesting him to allow food trucks to reach the victims of the drought. He told him “No! They (the aid organisations) are undermining my revolution!”

In 1985, as protests against the regime grew and became violent, Nimeiry flew out to the US for a meeting with his main supporter, President Reagan. But when he was in the US, General Abdel Salam Swar toppled the regime and imposed the country’s third Martial Law. Sadiq Al-Siddiq of the Ummah Party became Prime Minister.

End result

A series of democratic governments (mostly uneasy and weak coalitions) tried to reverse Nimeiry’s extreme policies and convince the International Monetary Fund to bail Sudan out of its deepening economic quagmire.

In 1989, General Ahmad Bashir toppled the civilian regime in a military coup. Bashir revived the harsh laws imposed by the Nimeiry regime (in the name of Shariah) and went to war against the South.

Under him, Sudan became a pariah state and a hotbed and refuge for radical Islamists. It is believed that by the late 1990s, the situation of the country was such that had oil not been discovered here and the Chinese not stepped in to become main consumers of this oil, Sudan would have descended into complete anarchy just as Somalia had done in the early 1990s.

But with the dramatic fall of international oil prices, old wounds in Sudan opened up again and protests and the civil war in the South became even more intense. In 2010, Bashir was forced to soften his stance against the South and in 2011, the South became an independent country, South Sudan.

Sudan is still on the US list of ‘terrorist states’ and hate crimes against minorities and suspected ‘anti-Islam elements’ are common here. However, China’s large economic involvement in the country has made Bashir try to cultivate a more ‘moderate’ image of himself and his regime.

I graduated from an Indian high school in Dubai, and I was one of the two Pakistani students in the whole school. The other student was a boy and we barely interacted since our school was segregated.

Throughout high school, I was very Pakistani. I got teased when Pakistan lost a cricket match to India and students used to ask me questions about anything and everything related to Pakistan.

But when I started my bachelor’s programme in a very popular university in Dubai, I was suddenly in the midst of many Pakistani students. I was excited, but only until orientation. A couple of those students asked me where in Pakistan was I from, and none of them knew Parachinar. Suddenly, I wasn't so Pakistani anymore.

Throughout my university days, I hid the fact that I was from Parachinar. I was young, naive, and wanted to be part of the Pakistani student circle. But I was too different to fit. My Urdu had an accent, I came from a place no one knew about, I grew up in Dubai where most of the Pakistani students hadn’t lived for long , and I didn’t look like the rest.

Nowadays though, I never hide that I am from Parachinar – and proud of it. Over the years, I have realised that those Pakistani students should have been embarrassed that they didn’t know enough about their own country.

Related: Parachinar pains

At the same time, I often wonder if it was the students’ fault for being so ignorant or was the Pakistani media to blame as well?

The media only talks about Parachinar when tragedy strikes. The rest of the country finds out about it through the hourly news, cast in the middle of other important news. Or when it's Eid, an attack like the one on June 23rd, is almost entirely ignored in favour of Eid shows.

Till date, I have not heard one positive story from Parachinar, Kurram Agency. Before you say, “well there isn’t”, let me tell you about the most obvious one. While so many parts of FATA were under Taliban control for the longest time, Parachinar was not.

Can you fathom how difficult life is when surrounded by the Taliban? In case you didn’t know, the Taliban did try to take over Kurram Agency, but our brave tribal force put up a valiant fight and defeated them.

Was there a sitara for them in recognition and celebration of their struggle? Don’t we deserve the rest of the country to be proud of us?

For decades, we have been ignored by Pakistanis. The rest of Pakistan must think Parachinar is a hell hole. Yes, it’s not perfect but the rest of the country isn’t either.

When the world thinks that Pakistan is just a war zone stuck in medieval times, you get angry. Yet, you think the same of many places in your own country, including FATA and Parachinar.

When there is some terrible incident in a major city in Pakistan, and the rest of the world ignores it, you get angry. Yet, you ignore Parachinar’s pain.

When you go to a Western country and face racism, you complain. Yet, your attitude is no different toward your own countrymen who come to make a living in your big cities from regions you have never heard of .

You are tired of seeing the rest of the world stereotype Pakistanis in their movies and news. Yet, the representation of Pashtuns in your own media is just as deplorable.

You complain that the rest of the world ignores Pakistani artists, philanthropists, scholars, intellectuals, sportsmen, musicians and so many more. But I can raise that same complaint against you.

Do you know what it feels to be treated like foreigners in one's own country? Are you ignoring us because you think we are not ‘Pakistani enough?’

I wish I knew one reason why the rest of the country ignores us. Is it because we live in an area too far away from the Pakistani mainland? Is it because Urdu is not our first language? Or is it because we are Shia? Is it because of all these reasons?

It hurt me to wake up on Eid and see the rest of Pakistan celebrating, oblivious to the plight of the people of Parachinar. There was no one to mourn with us.

Do you need proof from us to show you how patriotic we are? If you do, I can give you a personal example.

When I went to the US in 2010, I did not want to tell anyone that I was from Pakistan. Whenever asked, I would say Dubai.

My parents, who were born and raised in Parachinar, were disappointed in me for doing so. They told me to always be proud of my origins.

My mother told me my good behaviour as a Pakistani will convey a good message about the country as a whole. It can change foreigners’ opinions who might think of Pakistanis otherwise.

The people of Parachinar aren’t asking much from the rest of the country. We wanted the media to give coverage to our sit-in protests. We want you to help amplify our voice, to protest with us against a prime minister who was late in expressing his condolences, late in announcing compensation for the victims, and who still hasn’t bothered to visit the area.

Linguistic, cultural, religious, and ethnic differences should be no more than cosmetic differences at the end of the day. What we share with each other is our common humanity. I ask my fellow Pakistanis to realise that and stand with us and treat every attack on another human being as a personal injustice.

Have you been affected by terrorism in Pakistan? Write to us at blog@dawn.com

I am Rifee Khan, a trans woman and advocate for transgender rights in Sindh. I have come a long way since the day I ran away from my home.

People advise me to gain a skill and start working instead of dancing or begging; little do they know that I have a double master’s degree.

I belong to a well-educated family from Larkana, but that didn’t stop my parents and siblings from rejecting me on the account of my gender. Fortunately, soon enough, my family realised that I was a part of them and they could not just do away with me.

Also read: Pakistan's transgenders mocked by most, abhorred by many

I had run off to a guru who lived in my neighbourhood. The guru talked to my father and explained to him that the more I was suppressed, the more I was going to rebel.

My parents understood and became more accepting of me; they told me that I can be whoever I want to be, and that I should invest in my education so that I could go on to help the transgender community.

It was not easy going to school. I was treated harshly; I had to dress like a boy and was not allowed to sit with girls. Teachers used to ask me to sing and dance to entertain the class, as if that is what a transgender person was supposed to do.

But the most important thing was that I had the support of my parents, which allowed me to go on and do my master’s in political science and economics from Shah Abdul Latif University in Khairpur.

However, the irony is that the desire to live as I wanted has become the biggest hurdle in my life. I thought that getting an education would solve all my issues.

Explore: 'Our birth is our single biggest regret' — Being transgender in Pakistan

My sisters are professors and my brothers run their own businesses and have government jobs. I am more than 40 years old, have a university education, but I am still struggling to make ends meet. It hurts.

When I moved to Karachi to look for a career, I had high expectations. Everyone wants to move to Karachi and live the city life. I did too. I quickly found out that my hopes were misplaced. Not being able to find a job, I had to resort to dancing and begging.

During this time, I was lucky enough to have found a guru and a transgender community in Karachi. My guru thought that looking for a job was useless – and they had a point – but my friends knew that being an educated person, I should have been doing a lot better. My friends didn’t want me to end up like them.

With guidance, I landed a job as a tax recovery officer. Later, in 2014, I was shifted to run the Karachi Trans Community Centre, which was initiated by the Sindh government under the leadership of the Social Welfare Minister, Rubina Qaimkhani.

Everyone was excited that I was working for the government, but the reality is that very soon I was back on the streets begging. I was promised a monthly salary of Rs 15,000 at the centre, but even that derisory sum stopped coming after a while.

I have not been paid a single dime since the past year. I tried to keep the centre alive and buzzing, but we simply weren’t given the funds to do any activity. I no longer go to the centre.

My parents tried their best to educate me, but I am not even able to send them money. I feel ashamed. The government has failed me and my community.

The Supreme Court gave us a 2% quota for government jobs in Karachi, but not even two transgenders have government seats to date. Jobs are advertised for men and women, but there is no mention of transgenders.

Many of us aren’t even registered citizens. Getting identity cards made is a big challenge. Most of us are reluctant to go to NADRA offices because of the obscene abuse we are subjected to by NADRA officials.

Read further: Calls for transgender rights echo in NA budget debate

I help as much as I can. I go with people of my community to NADRA in order to assist them in the process. I worked with the government to get a separate window made at NADRA for transgenders. Thankfully, some NADRA offices now have separate windows for transgenders.

People think that transgenders are nothing more than sex workers; little do they know that if we did sex work, our lives would actually be a lot better than what it is now.

As narrated to Annam Lodhi, who put it together in the form of a blog.

Are you a member of the transgender community or an activist? Tell us your story at blog@dawn.com

Disclaimer: This article is categorised as satire.

Ever since the 2011 Arab Spring, the Kingdom of Bahrain has fascinated me and piqued my curiosity. I’ll admit, I didn’t know much about it other then how it is considered by some as the 'Las Vegas of the Gulf region' because of its vibrant nightlife, cheap hotels and tolerant attitude towards alcohol.

The tiny island nation is five times smaller than the entire city of Karachi and has a historical legacy that spans over five millennia. Located in the Arabian Gulf, Bahrain has always been at the centre of a major historical trade route.

This is why it has been conquered, ruled and colonised by many different empires from the Persians, Greeks, Islamic dynasties, to the Portuguese and British conquests – finally ending with their independence from the British in 1971.

Also read: Here is why a trip to Tehran will leave you in wonder

When my friend moved to Bahrain, I decided to go there and explore the country. For starters, the trip didn’t require much planning – reasonably priced flights head out to Bahrain almost daily from Karachi and the visa policy for Pakistani nationals is pretty relaxed. You can easily acquire a seven-day tourist visa through an efficient online visa system. With my ticket in hand, my 48-hour Bahraini adventure had begun.

When I landed, the first thing I noticed was the airport didn’t look like a gaudy, over the top sci-fi movie set, which was a refreshing change from the other Gulf States I had been to. Everyone at the airport from the sweeper to the immigration officer who stamped me into the country were very friendly.

This came as a much welcomed change in a region where airport staff is notorious for being lazy, unhelpful and sometimes even arrogant. I hadn’t even stepped out of the airport and had already fallen for the charms of this country’s people.

By the time I had come out of the airport, it was already midday. Since it was Friday, my friend and I decided to head straight for prayers in Manama, the capital of Bahrain. We went to at the Al Fateh Grand Mosque – the largest house of worship in the country.

At full capacity, the mosque can accommodate around 7,000 people. Built in 1987 by the then Emir of Bahrain, the mosque is named after the founder of the country, Ahmed Al Fateh.

Explore: Shahjahan Mosque: Thatta's timeless splendour

Compared to other mosques I had visited in the Gulf region, there was nothing architecturally spectacular about this one. It was like any other large mosque I had prayed at back home in Karachi. But what made it unique was the beautiful setting along the coastline of Manama against the backdrop of the city’s skyline.

On the way to my friends place, we passed by a large chunk of the Bahraini capital. Being one of the smallest, yet most densely populated nations in the world, the entire country felt like it was a fully inhabited city.

On the surface, it looked like any other stable, wealthy Gulf city with the usual trickle of oddly shaped skyscrapers. But once you start driving through the inner streets, you start noticing the underbelly of the capital.

For starters, you get a feeling that all is not well in the island kingdom because of the noticeable police presence everywhere. According to my friend, the situation in Manama was under control, but it wasn’t unheard of to hear about violent clashes breaking out in the villages outside the capital. If you look closely, you can even spot some anti-establishment graffiti here and there on the walls of the streets– a visible legacy of the recent uprisings.

The majority of Bahrain’s indigenous population (around 75-80%) adheres to Shia Islam, while the ruling political Al Khalifa family adheres to Sunni Islam. For many years, the majority of the population in the country has felt disenfranchised by the minority ruling elite. In 2011, peaceful protests that soon turned violent led to being controversially suppressed by the state’s military apparatus.

With the Arab Spring still in my mind, I asked my friend to show me the infamous Pearl Roundabout – the Tahrir Square of Bahrain and the site where the 2011 demonstrations started. With a sarcastic grin on his face, he told me that the roundabout didn’t exist anymore. Apparently, its demolition was also a part of the state-sponsored crackdown on the protests.

In depth: Graffiti: Street art and the Arab Spring

After grabbing a quick bite to eat at the Manama Souq, we went to explore the nearby marketplace. Unlike the other souqs in the region I had visited, there wasn’t anything particularly Arab about this one – it felt more like Tariq Road or Liberty Market rather than somewhere in the Middle East.

The smell of incense wood was particularly strong in and around the souq area. To my surprise, everything was on sale in the mobile shops, women’s clothing and kitsch souvenir stores. The majority of the salesman working at the souq were from India, which gave the environment a South Asian vibe.

The deeper we walked into the souq, the more multicultural it seemed. I even saw a Hindu temple and an imambargah, both located a stone’s throw away from one another. Unfortunately, I couldn't go into the Sri Krishna temple since prayers were being conducted at the time.

Read further: Secrets of Thar: A Jain temple, a mosque and a 'magical' well

But I did go to the imambargah, locally known as matams or hussainias. I went to the Matam Mada, which was similar to the ones I had been to in Pakistan. The only difference I noticed was the Persian influence in its architecture. The interior and exterior of the building were embellished with beautiful blue tiles.

We were told by locals that there was also a synagogue in the vicinity, but unfortunately we couldn’t find it. Bahrain is the only Gulf State with a remaining indigenous Jewish population of approximately 37 people, including a Jewish representative in the national assembly, Nancy Khedouri.

After spending a few hours at the souq, we made a quick stop at the national museum. Truth be told, I am not a museum person but I would highly recommend a visit to the Bahrain National Museum to understand the history of this small nation.

It was interesting to learn that Bahrain was at the centre of the global pearl trade industry from the mid 1800s to the 1930s. Before the discovery of oil in the early 1900s, Bahrain made the most of its wealth through pearl diving.

However, only a few pearl divers remain in the country today. Outside the museum, I saw a few interesting monuments showcasing the pearl diving history of the country.

In the evening, we drove south towards the town of Sakhir to check out the Bahrain International Circuit – the site of the Bahrain Grand Prix. I was amazed to learn that Bahrain was the first country in the Middle East to host the Formula One (F1) races.

Every Bahraini that I spoke to throughout my trip, even during the plane ride, were very friendly and helpful in terms of recommending places to visit.

I had the chance to meet many locals and realised that Bahrainis stand out from the rest of their neighbours, since they were approachable and easy going. They were also much more culturally aware and to my surprise, many of them spoke conversational level Urdu.

Everyone was suggesting to go to the F1 circuit; it was obvious that they were really proud to have the opportunity of hosting this grand event in their country. It didn’t come as a surprise when I noticed the iconic F1 circuit on the local currency. Within a short span of time, the races had become a part of the nation’s identity.

When we drove back to Manama, we spent the later half of our evening walking around the bohemian neighbourhood of Adliya, which is filled with hip cafes and restaurants.

It was really interesting to see funky street art in the area. In the middle of the block, there was a small public space where people had gathered for live music and performances.

The next morning, we went on a short drive to the neighbouring town of Muharraq to check out the “Bahrain Pearling trail”, a UNESCO world heritage site. The trail is a 3.5 kilometre long pedestrian pathway that passes through the alleyways of Muharraq, which links together several heritage sites.

Although Muharraq is a short drive across the bridge from Manama, it can easily be mistaken for being in a completely different country. Compared to Manama, the vibe in this part of the country is very Arab.

Also see: Living the good life in Alaçatı, Turkey’s chic seaside town

While walking through the Muharraq souq, you start to notice the small differences; the smell of incense wood is replaced by the overpowering aroma from the Arabian Oud store, more men seem to be dressed in local garb rather than western clothing and the stores playing popular Bollywood songs were replaced by subdued Arabic songs. Even before I had fully began to explore the souq, I was already in love with it.

While aimlessly roaming around the souq, we randomly came on to the pearling trail by accidentally stumbling across one of the heritage sites.

The entire pathway consists of around 17 restored buildings, three oyster beds located out at sea, a part of the coast and a fort that was located in the southern tip of Muharraq.

With my time in Bahrain almost coming to an end, we headed back towards Manama to check out the final site on my travel list - the Qalat al Bahrain (the Bahrain Fort).

Located on a hill overlooking the sea, the fort comprises of seven stratified layers. Each layer is occupied by a different occupant – that includes the Kassites, Persians and finally the Portuguese in the 16th century AD.

Seeing the fort lit up at night in all its glory, I couldn’t help but think how it is a microcosmic representation of the Bahraini identity – open minded, multicultural and a link between the east and west.

Before coming to Bahrain, I was only interested in ticking off another place on my bucket list. But once I began to explore, I realised it is a country that has a raw soul – from the bohemian artistic quarter of Adilya, the Arabian vibes of Muharraq to the subcontinental charms of the Bab Al Bahrain souq.

In a region that is competing for world records, Bahrain doesn’t even need to try. There is nothing pretentious about Bahrain – from its people, souqs, rustic dhows (traditional boats) and coastline – it is genuine. I think that is what makes Bahrain unique and beautiful from every other country in the Gulf.

All photos by the author.

Have you explored any lesser-known destinations across the world? Share your journey with us at blog@dawn.com

M Bilal Hassan is a doctor by profession who loves to travel off the beaten track.

You can follow him on Instagram here. And reach him by e-mail at bilalhassan4688@gmail.com.

My earliest memory of Aamir Zaki is foggy. But this much I remember: He came to my school when I was very, very young.

He sang Mera Pyaar on an acoustic guitar and I immediately knew what I wanted. I wanted a guitar and I wanted to play like him. How ignorant of me.

Many years later, in 2009-10, I was part of a blues-rock band called Spoonful in college. Someone told us Zaki was looking for some guys to play with. He wanted to start performing again. And that person had told him about my band.

Zaki graciously agreed to come jam with us. He brought a small Roland amp with him, too small to cut through the drums and the large amps we'd piled up in a rather small room at my friend's house.

But Zaki didn't need a large amplifier. He didn't even need any pedals or processors. He just plugged his strat into the small Roland contraption and blew our minds.

In consequent jam sessions, we arranged for a bigger Fender amplifier for him. He would gleefully turn it all the way up. We all probably lost a bit of our hearing in those jams. Just as well. We may never ever hear something like that again. I will certainly never hear another guitar player like him.

There's so much that will be written about him in the coming days. About his ability to serve the song, to let it rip when he wanted to. He was Pakistan's greatest guitar hero, our Jimi Hendrix, our Stevie Ray, our troubled, enigmatic rockstar.

My band and I saw his demons too. We knew he was a misplaced genius. He refused to compromise on his music and self even when he fell on hard times.

We could tell that his famous friends were wary of his eccentricities. They wanted someone reliable, someone who fit the mould of the corporate-sponsored cupcake that mainstream music had become.

I’m glad he eventually featured in Coke Studio. But when I saw him sitting there playing a humbucker guitar as opposed to the shrieking single-coil strat he loved, poker-faced, unsmiling, I knew he wasn’t really there. He didn’t deserve to be either.

He deserved to tour the world, to record dozens of incredible albums like Signature. I knew he had these songs in him that he couldn’t wait for the world to hear. We were privileged to hear them, unaffected by the glam of the stage, at my friend’s house.

We would be in awe of his ability, even when he would be lecturing us on the lack of our own. But he never really put us down. He never told me how bad a player I was. On the contrary, he gave me one of his guitars. Just like that.

We were driving back home from a gig and he asked me if I liked the guitar. I told him I thought it was great and he just handed it to me. "Keep it". He later joked how he would not sign it because I’d sell it for a fortune after he died. How ignorant of him.

What is your memory of Aamir Zaki? Tell us at blog@dawn.com

The writer is a desk editor at Herald.

“Pakistan ka mutlab kyaa? Laa ilaha ila Allah. Naraye Taqbeer, Allah ho Akbar! Pakistan Zindabad”. The typical Pakistani cricket chants got louder as the match progressed. There were a few of us Pakistanis watching the game at a hotel in Bur Dubai, surrounded by Indians in the fall of 2009.

Shoaib Malik was in his usual elements against India and Mohammad Yousuf was showing his class as Pakistan secured a rare victory against India in an ICC hosted competition.

At the time, the score was 4 -1 in India’s favour. India had won all four World Cup games while Pakistan had triumphed in the previous Champions Trophy bout.

Explore: After the 17-year-itch: The historic 1978 Indo-Pak cricket series

To date, Pakistan has lost seven out of the nine ODIs played against India in ICC held tournaments. India is 6-nil up in World Cup matches, while Pakistan is 2-1 up in ICC Champions Trophy games.

Win the toss. Win the match: the team that has won the toss has won eight out of nine games.

Win the toss. Bat first: seven out of nine times the team that has won the toss have batted first. India asked Pakistan to bat once on a rainy English summer morning and won on Duckworth Lewis method in a game that was reduced to 22 overs.

While Pakistan has gotten the short end of the stick in ICC tournaments against India, overall Pakistan’s ODI numbers look pretty good. Pakistan has won 41% more games against India than India has against Pakistan. The score is 72 – 51 in Pakistan’s favour.

While Pakistan was perhaps a stronger team through the first four decades of ODI cricket, India has been the more dominant team in world cricket in the last seven years. It is the only period in the rivalry where India leads the head to head. However, very little cricket has been played between the two neighbours in the current decade.

The Indian team of the recent past presented an ideal opportunity for India to close the gap with their neighbours. But due to political tensions between the two nations and the stance from the Indian Cricket Board, in particular, denied India this chance to catch up.

While history can be an indicator, the current rankings present a more accurate assessment of where the two teams stand at the moment.

India is ranked number 3 in the top half of the table, and Pakistan lingers right at the bottom at number 8, just under Bangladesh.

Pakistan had to postpone a series to make sure that they could qualify for the ongoing Champions Trophy, while direct qualification for the 2018 World Cup is still under threat.

In these circumstances, India will go in as clear favourites.

However, in a game between India and Pakistan, pressure acts as the great equaliser. The history, the rankings, the numbers, the odds, everything else will seize to matter once the teams set foot on the ground. What will be of utmost importance is how the two young teams handle the burden of over one billion people that will have their eyes on them.

This subcontinent cricket rivalry provides the chance for players to become heroes, and runs the risk of them becoming villains. This mother of all encounters makes them into a Javed Miandad, or turns them into an Aamir Sohail. You become Shahid Afridi overnight or turn into Misbah –ul- Haq forever. Either way, these performances are etched on the minds of those who watch them unfold.

Pakistan will hope that young batting talent Babar Azam will come to the party and raise his hand when it counts most. It will be interesting to see what number he bats at. In a short career, Babar’s batting position has already floated around a bit.

Also read: Should there be no Indian cricket fans in Pakistan?

India has multiple match winners and any of them clicking will make it difficult for Pakistan to compete. Pakistan will have to come out all guns blazing if they are to stand a chance.

The recent record of Edgbaston suggests that the track will be a belter and a run fest is expected to entertain a full house crowd.

The weather during the English summer is always unpredictable and there are showers expected through the weekend in Birmingham. The toss could again be crucial in this regard.

By the time the 2009 India vs Pakistan Champions Trophy game ended, there were only a few people left at the hotel where we saw the game, almost all being Pakistani. My good Indian friends Saif and Hurez, who had invited me, asked what relevance these religious slogans have in a cricket match.

“We are a Muslim country and God is with us”, I said in my own Shoaib Malik moment. My friends reminded me that they were Muslims too and perhaps there were more Muslims in India than in Pakistan, or at least almost as many.

I did not really have an answer to that because they were right and I was being ignorant. But in response, I shouted out, ‘Naraaye Taqbeer’. After all, that is what I grew up chanting and screaming at National Stadium Karachi.

This was the last time Pakistan won a match against India in an ICC tournament.

It was eight years ago.

What are your predictions for Pakistan's performance in the Champions Trophy this year? Tell us at blog@dawn.com

Aamir Zaki was Pakistan's most legendary guitarist who will be remembered by the nation as one of the greatest icons. As heartfelt messages after his sudden demise come pouring in, we would like to ask our readers, who was Aamir Zaki for you? Send a short tribute or a photo you took with the star to blog@dawn.com

Asad:

I was privileged to see him almost daily as he was my neighbour. He used to have a sports bike and of course, his guitar on his back whenever he was out. He was a very humble guy and as a student, I saw him many times sitting across my table in a small dhaba sipping tea. I am not sure what to say, but today I lost many of my childhood memories just like when JJ died. Allah kay hawalay, my mate. Innalillah.

Kamran:

When I was unable to concentrate on my studies for CA, I used to listen to his song, 'You need that fire'. His music always enabled me to concentrate on my studies. It sounds unusual, but it always worked for me. I will miss you, Sir.

Nadeem Farooq Paracha, in his piece:

In his bedroom were posters of Eric Clapton. He was in love with him, especially with Clapton's '461 Ocean Boulevard' album. Zaki also played the bass, and that too a fretless one preferred by dexterous jazz-fusionists.

We talked about the blues, jazz, prog-rock and the works, until we came to 'The Bomb.' I told him the lyrics were crap. He agreed and then asked me to write new ones. So I did, right there. He loved them. He picked up an acoustic guitar and set those lyrics to a new version of the song. Right there. Thus began my friendship with this most talented and also most frustrating musician.

Faiza:

May Allah bless his soul. I saw one of his concerts where he played alongside the famous Awaz and then Karavan's guitarist. He played Pink Floyd's 'Another brick in the wall' to perfection. He was always a family favourite.

Zia Moheyuddin‏:

A nation is bound together by the creative artists and not by parallel lines of rusting steel. #AmirZaki's demise is a great loss.

Maria Amir:

RIP #AamirZaki. 'Mera Pyar' was the 90s anthem to combat all forms of road rage. You will be missed.

All I'm left with are the songs he wrote for me and the few photos we had together. Missing you dearly my friend. #AmirZaki #RoughCut pic.twitter.com/JtRlRXQrct

— Hadiqa Kiani (@Hadiqa_Kiani) June 2, 2017

Abbas:

RIP. The best guitarist. I can never forget his performance in unplugged versions of 'Aitebar' and 'Teray Liye'.

Jon Eliya:

'Mera tumhara wo ghar humara'. Such beautiful lines. I remember him as a shy individual who was always busy in his work. As the most underappreciated guitarist and vocalist, he never wanted to be in the spotlight. He was probably the greatest guitar player Pakistan has ever seen. We have lost a gem. It breaks my heart. We will miss you, Aamir Zaki.

One of the first people I met in this industry.. the best conversations.. what an artist!! Rest In Peace genius #AmirZaki

— Mahira Khan (@TheMahiraKhan) June 2, 2017

Sahar Soomro:

Sad day for Pakistan. RIP Amir Zaki. We all bore witness to his artistic genius. Wish we could have cherished him while he was with us. We have lost an institution. Huge loss for Pakistan.

Ali Haider Habib, in his piece:

We would be in awe of his ability, even when he would be lecturing us on the lack of our own. But he never really put us down. He never told me how bad a player I was. On the contrary, he gave me one of his guitars. Just like that.

We were driving back home from a gig and he asked me if I liked the guitar. I told him I thought it was great and he just handed it to me. "Keep it". He later joked how he would not sign it because I’d sell it for a fortune after he died. How ignorant of him.

Zain Naqvi:

Most people fall in love with Zaki after 'Mera Pyar', but for me it was 'Bhula Deyna'. Now that he is gone, the lyrics seem more haunting than ever before.

Raheel Qazi:

I met Aamir when I was 18 in 1980, long before he became known for his talent. I remember spending time with him in his smoke-filled room. Lamps, spotlights and posters of Clapton, Knopfler, Frampton adorned the walls of his room. I would ask him to jam Mark Knopfler numbers and he would do it to perfection, maybe even better than him.

Listening to Aamir in his own environment was an experience in itself. The unplugged renditions of early Dire Straits in a setting of his choice simply can't be explained in words. You just had to be there, it had to be felt. I vividly remember him stringing the cords to 'Money for nothing or Romeo and Juliet' using the exact guitar that Knopfler used. I can't explain how cool that was.

Ratti:

Unbelievable! I remember him vividly. He was from our age, when we were growing up and pop was the upcoming culture in Pakistan. He was from the generation of Vital Signs, Hadiqa Kiyani and Ali Azmat when they were young and trying to make a mark in pop music. RIP genius. You were too young to die at this age.

Zahra:

The last time I saw him perform live at the I Am Karachi Music Festival in 2015 was as exciting for me as the first. It was Aamir Zaki, the Aamir Zaki set. Not someone featuring Aamir Zaki. While many great musicians played that night, Zaki’s set reminded me once more of the love for music he instilled in so many of us.

He was the last man standing from the era of Pakistani music when most gave up, or went for the next best financial option that real music couldn’t always promise. He was god sent and always reminded us that loving something wholeheartedly, and following it through, is more rewarding than anything in this world. He did so much for us in ways we didn’t even realise until he passed away.

Muhammad Ali:

Inna Lillah-e-wa-Inna Ilaihe Rajioon! Another blow to Pakistan's music industry. The songs sung and composed by Aamir Zaki were fabulous. Sadly, he passed away at an age when he had the potential to give even more good music to Pakistan. He will surely be missed. May his soul rest in peace - Ameen!

Saqib Hussain:

Last year, I saw my guitar turn into ashes in a house fire. The other day, my younger brother asked me about when I’ll be buying a new guitar. I told him, this time I’ll buy an electric not the acoustic one. But now, perhaps I won’t be getting any, because on Friday night I lost my reason to play. Rest in peace my idol.

Ashar Ahmed:

All good men go early. Never met him, but his genuineness and humbleness shone through. Always was a fan and always will be! Inna lillahe wa inna ilaehe rajeoon!

A blue board pointed towards a small trail heading into the jungle. In front of me was a majestic lake, the lifeline of Kallar Kahar. This small town lies on the banks of the river Jhelum, within the embrace of the salt range. It has been a tourist destination for a long time but its popularity has increased immensely since the construction of the Motor Way.

The entire region is a treasure trove for archaeologists and students of ancient history. Not far from here is the ancient Shiva temple of Katas Raj. A little further east is the fort of Nandana. North of Katas Raj, located on top of a mound, is the complex of Tilla Jogian, a vast area with a pool at the centre and several smadhs around it. Since time immemorial, this has been the most important religious pilgrimage for Jogis in Punjab, abandoned at the time of Partition.

I walked on the small trail, following the board, climbing the gentle slope of the mountain. Then, almost abruptly, the trail ended and the Takht-e-Babri was in front of us. A small black monument made of rocks, it was an unimpressive structure – a staircase culminating in a small platform.

A board next to it read that Babur, the founder of the Mughal Empire, had constructed a garden here that he called Bagh-i-Safa, and in the middle of the garden this throne was constructed. Standing on it, Babur addressed his forces, the board mentioned. The garden had been taken over by the jungle.

Also read: A visit to Gujranwala's Eimanabad throws new light on Babur's legacy

Perhaps my disappointment at looking at the monument came from my heightened expectations. Babur, in his wonderful autobiography, wrote about the Takht-e-Babri. It was the first Mughal construction in India. Having grown up in Lahore, I had always been just a few kilometres away from splendid Mughal architecture.

Architectural masterpieces

As children, we had returned to the iconic Badshahi Masjid several times for our school trips. Standing on the edge of the walled city, overlooking the Lahore Fort, the smadh of Maharaja Ranjit Singh and the Minar-e-Pakistan, the mosque, summoned by Emperor Aurangzeb and constructed on the model of the Jama Masjid in Delhi, has become a symbol of the city.

Its marble dome and its sandstone tiles shine in the night as it is lit up for tourists visiting Food Street, which runs parallel to it. The sombre and graceful exterior of the mosque is in sharp contrast with the elaborate geometrical patterns on the inside, where flowers and other floral patterns sculpted on the wall hang precariously. The mosque gracefully embraces both designs – the external sobriety and the mesmerising patterns on the inside.

About a kilometre from here, deep inside the Delhi Darwaza of the walled city of Lahore, is the Wazir Khan Mosque, one of the most beautiful specimens of Mughal architecture in all of South Asia.

Constructed during the reign of Emperor Shahjahan and summoned by his governor of Punjab, Wazir Khan, this mosque has a spectacular splatter of colour all over it.

It is overwhelming, assaulting the aesthetic sensibilities of an unwary tourist. All of these colours, blue, red, yellow and green, stand distinctly, retaining their individual identity, yet they also blend together, giving the mosque its own distinct flavour.

Explore: A visual delight – Maryam Zamani and Wazir Khan Mosques

At the entrance of the mosque, on the roof, are honey-combed structures called muqarnas. Distinct to Islamic architecture, these structures are a product of complex mathematical formulas, highlighting how scientific progress goes hand in hand with artistic development.

Perhaps not as famous as the Badshahi Masjid, the mosque has recently come on the radar of tourists searching for cultural Lahore deep within its intertwining streets. It is impossible not to fall in love with this monument.

Right at the entrance of Delhi Darwaza is the newly revamped Shahi Hammam, another monument constructed by Wazir Khan. Fairies and djinns dance on the walls of this royal bath as they play heavenly instruments.

Floral and geometrical patterns merge into each other in a beautiful union of mathematics and art. The frescoes on the domes spiral, hypnotising the onlooker. The thick walls of the structure with smartly designed windows make the hammam breezy even on a hot summer day.

Humble beginnings

Unconsciously, I had expected the Takht-e-Babri to be a grand structure at par with these magnificent buildings I had grown up visiting and falling in love with. This was the throne of Babur, the first Mughal king, the founder of the Mughal Empire.

There would not have been a Badshahi Mosque or a Shahi Hammam if there was no Babur. The structure should have reflected the symbolic significance of the empire. It was to be the foundational stone of one of the world’s richest empires.

In depth: Lahore's iconic mosque stood witness to two historic moments where tolerance gave way to brutality

But it was nothing like what I had expected it to be. The first Mughal structure in India was just a small platform with a grand name.

It was the construction of a king on the run, in search of an empire, not an emperor whose family had been at the pinnacle of power for generations, controlling the destiny of millions, with unlimited wealth. The monument was an embarrassment to the splendid tradition of Mughal architectural that was to follow.

Yet, perhaps more than any of the structures mentioned above, it has the greatest symbolic value. It represented the arrival of the Mughals in India. It was a stamp of their authority.

It was to be the throne of Babur, the pauper prince who laid the foundation of one of the greatest empires the world has ever seen.

This article was originally published on Scroll and has been reproduced with permission.

I remember the day when consensus was finally reached among negotiating countries for the Paris Agreement on climate change.

I had actually left the conference centre at Le Bourget, the Parisian suburb where the negotiations were being held for the 21st Conference of Parties(COP21), for the long train ride back to my hotel in central Paris. It was late, I was tired, and it was the last day of two long weeks of negotiations.

We all knew that the historic deal would be clinched that night; the hold up was due to the American outcry over some wording in the final agreement. American delegations to international conferences are always full of lawyers who scrutinise every single word.

President Obama was frequently seen pacing the halls of the conference centre, hurrying from one meeting to another with world leaders. He had made the fight against climate change one of his 'legacies' and was determined, along with the outgoing UN chief Ban Ki Moon, to get a positive outcome in Paris. Secretary of State John Kerry was also present with his legal team, fine-tuning the American approach.

Diplomacy eventually prevailed and by the time I reached my hotel and turned on the TV, the deal was done. 197 countries agreed to finally do something about combating climate change together.

Obama was able to sign the agreement without needing Congressional approval. He could do so since the agreement was an extension of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, which the US had signed in 1992, meaning that there was no legal requirement to go through the Congress again. Remember, it was President Bill Clinton who supported the Kyoto Protocol, only to have the Congress reject it upon his return to the US.

I happened to be on my way to Marrakesh, where the COP22 was being held, when Donald Trump was elected President of the US. The Paris Agreement had by then come into law as it had been formally ratified by 110 countries. Pakistan also managed to ratify the Paris Agreement just days before sending its delegation to Marrakesh.

My colleague Kashmala Kakakhel who was already at the COP22 told me that the election results left everyone at the conference in shock and that members of the American delegation were visibly shaken. Other countries, however, were determined to reaffirm their commitment to the Paris Agreement with or without American support.

WWF-International noted that one of the most positive messages to come out of the COP22 was the “consensus to defend the Paris Agreement and push it forward”. Marrakesh was where all the nuts and bolts of the agreement were discussed, which will be formalised in the form of a rule book by 2018.

It took more than 20 years of hard negotiations to get to this point, only for President Trump to dismiss diplomacy and science by announcing last week that the US was "getting out" of the agreement.

Sunita Narain, Head of the Centre for Science and Environment in Delhi, did not hide her exasperation when she told me that with the US president’s latest assault on the global fight against climate change will create the efforts in meeting the objectives of the Paris Agreement to become an uphill task. Trump has sounded the death knell for the agreement.

Trump’s decision has come at a time when there is, in fact, little time to waste. 2016 was the warmest year on record and efforts to curb climate change have not been sufficient.

Prior to the Marrakesh conference, the United Nations Environment Programme released an Emissions Gap report, warning that countries’ climate pledges amount to less than half of the cuts needed to reach the goals they agreed to in Paris.

Sunita’s colleague, Chandra Bhushan, said to me that we are already on the path to a dangerous temperature rise of even up to 3 degrees. The only foreseeable future course would be for the remaining countries to come together to modify the Paris Agreement to make it more effective.

I interviewed senior Bangladeshi climate expert Saleem ul Haq when I was in Marrakesh, who told me that if Donald Trump takes action against the Paris Agreement, this COP will mark the transition of global leadership from the US to China.

On the last day of the conference, I visited a side exhibition where I discovered that the last time Marrakesh hosted a COP was back in 2001. That is when the US pulled out of the Kyoto Protocol. “We survived that, we will also survive their pull out from Paris” said one delegate. “Who knows how long Trump will stay in power. We should not be fixated on Trump; the momentum to build a low-emission economy and shift away from fossil fuels must not stop”.

Photos by the author.

Has climate change impacted your life? Tell us about it at blog@dawn.com

Disclaimer: This article is categorised as satire.

If you've read my previous travelogues, chances are you know that I love arts and culture. Enter Qatar, once labelled a dull Arab state and now a mighty force to reckon with in cultural initiatives.

The oil-rich state has become the world's largest buyer of contemporary arts, thanks in no small part to Sheikha Mayassa Al-Thani (the sister of the current ruling Emir of Qatar Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani), who has been declared the most powerful and influential person in the global art world. She is said to spend $1 billion annually on art works.

I had a 12-hour layover in Doha before heading to Saudi Arabia to visit family. I decided to visit the magnificent Museum of Islamic Art (MIA) during my brief transit but ended up seeing a lot more.

When the plane landed in Doha, I immediately felt like I was surrounded by luxury — a trademark of most, if not all, Arab countries.

Everything about the small, yet largely ambitious, Gulf state felt brand new and untouched. To put things into perspective for Pakistanis, Qatar is slightly smaller than the size of Azad Jammu and Kashmir (AJK).

It seemed like all the infrastructure that greeted me had popped up overnight — from the newly designed contemporary, clean cut architecture at the Hamad International Airport to the soaring skyscrapers aligned on the outstretched highways that I observed during my taxi ride.

Not to mention the giant yellow lamp bear that sits atop a raised podium at the airport. The 23 ft (7m) high giant teddy bear was designed by world-renowned Swiss sculptor Urs Fischer. It was subsequently acquired by the Qatari Royal family for $6.8 million at a Christie’s auction.

In anticipation of the 2022 FIFA World Cup that Qatar will be hosting, the entire nation is basically one giant construction site. It is well in the throes of building a new city Lusail, and an iconic 80,000 seater football stadium where matches will be held.

Additionally, 12 international standard football stadiums (six of which are located within Doha), a state-of-the-art national rail system and a 160km+ citywide metro system are under construction.

Cruising through Doha — where a majority of Qatar’s 2.5 million residents live — I found it incredulous how the city had changed so much from my previous transit about three years ago.

From a run-down shabby airport to an extravagant terminal replete with gold-plated coffee kiosks, and from a non-existent skyline to a towering Manhattan-esque one, Qatar's growth has been phenomenal.

Every second or third person in Qatar is a migrant worker, and South Asians account for 88 per cent of the population. Other than the immigration officer who stamped my entry into the country, the only other place in Qatar where I happened to come across locals was at the Souq Waqif — the main city souq-cum-marketplace — located in the district of Al Souq.

Unlike most souqs in the region, it has retained some of its yesteryear Arabian charm. I wouldn't call it authentic because a large part of it has been gentrified with the opening up of mainstream cafes and fast food outlets but compared to the rest of the country, it does have a rather raw feel to it.

My favorite spot in the district is the adjoining Falcon Souq. Inside this souq, birds are sold for thousands of dollars. But shopkeepers allow visitors to pose with the falcons and even hold them. I couldn't afford a falcon so I contended myself with just admiring them.

Given that falcon hunting is a popular sport in most Arab countries, I wasn't surprised to discover that the area also has a Falcon Hospital!

Later, we drove further into the city to the waterfront promenade of Doha Corniche, which is home to many stunning landmarks and public art displays: the dhow harbour, the pearl monument and the Orry the Oryx Statue.

Since I had arrived around sunset, I also got to witness the golden rays of the sun illuminate the West Bay, which was a magical sight to behold, juxtaposed with Doha's skyline in the background. I also indulged in some good ol' people watching.

Then, I proceeded to the much-anticipated, and most famous of all landmarks, the Museum of Islamic Arts aka (MIA). Built in 2008 on reclaimed land within Doha Bay, the cubistic building is designed by the award-winning Chinese architect I.M Pei and rises out of the turquoise blue waters of the Arabian Gulf like an iceberg.

Apparently the museum building is meant to look like a woman in a niqaab; the two windows on the top dome are meant to be her eyes peeking out from behind a veil.

I had hardly bargained on seeing such a world-class museum in Qatar. I was pleasantly surprised that entry to the museum was free.

It contains some of the largest collections of Islamic art from three continents, spanning over almost 1,400 years, containing exhibits from as far as Central Asia, Morocco and Spain.

It also offers a free shuttle service to the nearby Mathaf: Arab Museum of Contemporary Art, and to the Qatar National Museum that will reopen up later this year after renovation.

After having my fill of the museum, I decided to end my short Qatari odyssey at the Katara cultural village, a public space that is home to a photography museum, an amphitheater, some traditional buildings and multiple public art displays by famous artists from around the world.

I couldn’t help but think that if a country like Qatar, where its own citizens are a minority, could forge a strong cultural identity on the world stage, and undergo a cultural renaissance, then why can’t Pakistan?

Pakistan is home to a plethora of rich culture and traditions; there should be museums dedicated to all of them, showcasing the diversity of our communities. Investing in the arts can go a long way in the development of the nation's social fabric.

—Photos by author

If I'm being honest, the phrase “I am a heritage manager” that I have been introducing myself with for the three years I've lived in Pakistan after graduating has been consistently interpreted as “I can read and write in English”. I wish I was exaggerating.

The problem of working in the field of heritage in Pakistan – or, more specifically, the irrelevance here of a Masters in Cultural Heritage Studies and Managing Archaeological Sites – is so startlingly simple, it requires a 1000+ word explanation.

It all began one stormy night when there was negligible understanding of the merits of the humanities and social sciences in the local education system.

Thus ensued zero critical engagement with the objects, processes and environments that constitute our daily lives and the reduction of this paraphernalia of our existence to its functionality, commercial value and nothing more.

The gaping hole, where a collective cultural/historical consciousness should have developed by now, was then exploited by the select few who did get a chance to peer around the curtain into 'civilised society'.

Descend, they did, with all their knowledge gleaned from two brisk rounds of the museums in South Kensington and half a bus tour of Rome, into the barren plains of Pakistani ineptitude – on which they would build a shrine to a musealised slice of Marie Antoinette's cake, and then scoff at the public who didn't know what it was.

Despite the readily available support of international NGOs, potentially groundbreaking conservation and tourism development is being bottle-necked by ownership, administrative control and bureaucratic politics.

Needless to say, it has been a long three years. I wanted to open by blowing off some steam because underneath all the Anglophilia, antiquated bureaucracy and dregs of a colonial mindset, Pakistan's heritage is on the precipice of such a bright future.

Not only does the Indus desperately heave its silt each year to protect acres of untapped Bronze Age archaeology, but we're also standing shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the world in the digital documentation of some of our key monuments that are miraculously still standing.

World-class, carefully conceptualised museums are in the works. Not to mention that slapping a #heritage onto your Instagram post will really cash in the hearts and likes. It's amazing what having social media on your side can do for a niche profession.

We are pressing forward despite the challenges, but it doesn't hurt to know one's enemy, so I will enumerate some of these challenges based on my still brief, but nonetheless diverse experience in the field.

Related: Abandoned city: Why Mohenjodaro's heritage risks extinction

It may be useful to start with the heritage of Pakistan's heritage management system itself. While I will leave the (extremely useful) history lesson on heritage legislation in Pakistan to Dr. Rafique Mughal, it is important to note that the first piece of legislation protecting heritage in the Indian Subcontinent was the Ancient Monuments Preservation Act of 1904 (AMP).

This was enforced, of course, by the British Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) that was looking to finally gain administrative control over the archives worth the reconnaissance work it had carried out under the guise of archaeological exploration.

Like countless other government institutions, the post-Partition Federal Department of Archaeology and Museums stepped blindly into the oversized shoes of the ASI, the legal remit of which only bothered to extend to the acquisition, right of access, and 'assumed guardianship' of heritage sites.

Museums are trying to be art galleries, thereby trading in their core function as centres of generational interaction, critical engagement and learning for an attractive display designed for passive appreciation.

To make a long story short, merely domesticating the AMP (and let's be real, it really hasn't changed much since) meant that the prime focus of the only Federal heritage body was administrative control and ownership of Pakistan's heritage sites – not their conservation, interpretation, and certainly not the exploration of their research potential. And thus, the Zero Critical Engagement policy was born.

I'm only this acerbic because I can so clearly see how that one mistake set such a strong precedent for the bureaucracy that spawned around these government departments.

Despite the readily available support of international NGOs like the Aga Khan Trust for Culture, despite the strong and successful public-private partnerships these NGOs have formed with government bodies like the Walled City of Lahore Authority (WCLA), potentially groundbreaking conservation and tourism development is being bottle-necked by ownership, administrative control and bureaucratic politics.

Here, let us wipe our tears with the consolation that while heritage protection in Pakistan slowly began to resemble a period reenactment of the British Raj, the contemporary art scene was progressing in leaps and bounds.

With the refinement of Pakistani art came the refinement of the Pakistani art gallery, as did growing respect for the associated discipline of art curation. Meanwhile, museums belatedly took inspiration from these swanky, white-box galleries, and began arranging their displays to allow each object to claim a little more space and attention for itself.

However, while the proliferation of stunning contemporary art galleries grew organically out of a deepening public engagement with art, this recent attempt of museums to emulate the art gallery aesthetic is not symptomatic of a growing historical consciousness, nor a mass desire to engage with historical artefacts – these are just museums trying to be art galleries, thereby trading in their core function as centres of generational interaction, critical engagement and learning for an attractive display designed for passive appreciation.

As long as our museums confine themselves to being pretty collections of old things, clumsily taxonomised by chronology or geographical origin, we will not learn to make new connections, ask new questions or discover new things about our past and its relics. The museum then serves little purpose other than being a glorified store, or the cabinet of curiosities of a rich old man.

Read next: Karachi has lost most of its heritage: Habib Fida Ali

The last challenge I am going to present is one on which the winds of change blow strongest. Thus far, heritage and museum management – a dynamic and multidisciplinary field – has been looked after either officially by a government department of archaeology (consisting of bureaucrats and archaeologists), or privately by exclusive and isolated groups of architects and self-professed museum experts.

These efforts have naturally been very unilateral and therefore incomplete; holistic and sustainable decisions for heritage conservation and management can only be made with the collaboration of an archaeologist with a historian, social scientist, curator, architect, engineer, specialist conservator, chemist and even – in the case of glazed tile conservation in Lahore – a microbiologist.

Museums are schools, objects are teachers and dusty archives are libraries – use and appreciate them for what they have to offer, and encourage and support those who are trying to restore this status quo.

Since 2007, the conservation and rehabilitation work being carried out in the Walled City of Lahore has been increasingly mindful of the multidimensionality of the field.

In addition to architects, engineers and socio-economic analysts, specialist consultants from the aforementioned fields are engaged as and when the need arises, who are brought together on site to solve complex issues of material testing, microbial activity, structural stability etc as a team rather than in outsourced isolation.

The same is true for recent activities in museum design and management. The conceptual plan for a new museum in the Lahore Fort is being prepared from a thorough assessment of the target audience, and with the primary aim of harnessing the UNESCO World Heritage Site for its educational potential.

Just the preparatory work entails socio-economic surveys, object cataloguing, digitisation and handling, archival research – each a field in and of itself.

Overall, we can see that visitor experience, effective communication design and factual accuracy are quickly becoming top priorities for the organisations leading such projects in Pakistan.

Things are definitely moving forward, and the future holds exciting promises.

Explore: Of heritage & development

So upon this long exposition, I urge two things. Firstly, to those who manage or profess to manage heritage in Pakistan: I am not asking for you all to be on the same page, but for you to acknowledge that you are all vital chapters of the same book. Competition is fruitless and a waste of your time and expertise – share information, work together and innovate so that some net progress can be made in the field.

And to you – the passive peruser of heritage and all its trappings – please demand more from your museums. It is your active engagement with, analysis of and demand for a more thorough heritage experience that will spur the authorities into action, or at least drag our cabinets of random curiosities into the 21st century.

Museums are schools, objects are teachers and dusty archives are libraries – use and appreciate them for what they have to offer, and encourage and support those who are trying to restore this status quo.

• Mastery over both music and language
• Contributions to film music

This piece was first published in June, 2014.

It has been two years since Mehdi Hasan left this world and almost 14 since he last gave a public performance. It was so heartrending to see him suffer from different illnesses for at least a decade and to be told that there was no chance of his recovery that when he finally called it a day, one felt relieved.

Mehdi Hasan's contribution to Pakistani and North Indian music has been immense, but his admirers are all over the subcontinent. No less a person than the Academy Award winning composer A. R. Rahman, whose knowledge of Hindi, let alone Urdu, is fairly limited, said, “I have grown up with the ghazals of Mehdi Hasan.”

Coincidentally, Mehdi Hasan’s last public performance before he was afflicted with a stroke in 2000 was in Kerala, deep down in South India.

Mastery over both music and language

There can be no two opinions on the fact that in the last three decades of the 20th century Mehdi Hasan's singing was the benchmark of musical renditions of ghazals. Singers of the calibre of Jagjit Singh considered the great exponent of ghazal-gayeki (ghazal singing) his mentor.

Abida Perveen, another titanic figure in the field of music, told me when I was compiling a book on Mehdi sahib that “he has widened the horizons of ghazal gayeki immeasurably.”

Also read: '2nd death anniversary of renowned ghazal singer Mehdi Hassan Khan'

One of Mehdi Hasan's many remarkable qualities was that he did not always go for big names in Urdu poetry. More concerned with the poetic quality of the verse, he chose the finest ghazals even if their authors were lesser or barely known poets like Farhat Shahzad, Saleem Gilani and Razi Tirmizi.

This is not to say that he never rendered the ghazals of such stalwarts as Mir, Ghalib, Momin, Bahadur Shah Zafar, Dagh and among the more recent ones Faiz Ahmed Faiz, whose 'Gulon mein rung bhare', was a rage of the late 20th century.

What imparted timeless appeal to Mehdi Hasan’s ghazals was that he had based his renditions on different ragas. The ragas he selected were in accordance with the moods of the verse. Thus Mehdi Hasan the composer worked in tandem with Mehdi Hasan the singer.

What was no less remarkable was that two songs of his based on the same raga invariably sounded different.

That he was a stickler for perfection can be illustrated by one single incident: Writer-cum-broadcaster Raza Ali Abidi recalls that once when he was having lunch at the Karachi Press Club, he met Mehdi Hasan for the first time. He was to perform at the club the same evening but wasn’t sure about the pronunciation of a couple of words. For just those words, he had come looking for the singer as someone whose knowledge of language was known to be impeccable.

Contributions to film music

Mehdi Hasan’s contribution to Pakistani film music was second to none. Proof, if proof be needed, is that he won as many as eight Best Playback Singer Nigar Award trophies, a figure even Noor Jehan could not match. His solos include such immortal numbers as 'Mujhe tum nazar se gira to rahe ho', 'Ik naye mod per le ayen hai halat mujhe', 'Yoon zindagi ki rah pe takra gaya koi' and 'Pyar bharay do sharmeelay nain'.

His list of dulcet duets comprises such lilting numbers as 'Aap ko bhool jayen hum', 'Mujhe dil se na bhoolana' and 'Tere bheegay badan ki khushboo se'.

Likewise his folk songs, such as the Rajasthani number 'Kesarya balama' and 'Heer' are etched on the memory of music lovers in much the same way as the wistful 'Bulleh Shah kafi ki jaana mein kaun Bulleya' has continued to haunt music buffs for more than three decades.

Read next: 'Who killed Mehdi Hasan?'

I would like to conclude my tributes to the departed singer by recalling a semi-classical number Chedho madhur beena from the movie Geet kahan sangeet kahan. He was pitched against the exponents of two ustads, Nazakat Ali and Salamat Ali. He matched their virtuosity but the duo had no answer to the mellifluousness he imparted to the number.

Mehdi Hasan may not be with us, but his repertoire will continue to enthrall music lovers in all times to come.

“Is Bosnia dangerous? Isn’t there like a war going on there?” Our Bosnian guide frustratingly recounts the questions he is frequently asked when travelling overseas.

“Sarajevo is only known for three things abroad: triggering the First World War, 1984 Olympics, and the war (Bosnian War, 1992-1995),” he tells us.

“We need another Olympic games to balance things out,” he humorously says.

Sarajevo is an increasingly vibrant place again with a growing number of tourists each year. Rich in history and natural beauty, the country is relatively cheap to travel across by European standards.

Sarajevo, Bosnia’s capital, bears all the marks of the country’s turbulent history and blends together white Ottoman-style mosques, Serbian Orthodox and Catholic Croat churches, Austro-Hungarian 19th century architecture, Communist-era apartment blocks and modern shopping malls. A bit of Vienna, a bit of Istanbul, a bit of central Europe – and totally Sarajevan.

Sarajevo is made up of two words, ‘saray’ and ‘evo’: ‘saray’ comes from the Turkish word for palace and ‘evo’ is believed to be a Slavic derivative of the Turkish word ‘ova’ or ‘ovasi’ meaning field or valley.

The city is built inside a valley and is surrounded by the Dinaric Alps mountain range with green hills and beautiful houses with red roofs and white walls, minarets, church towers, forts, mansions and graveyards donned across it.

Walking through the streets of Sarajevo’s old town with its wooden-built Ottoman-style bazaar and smell of kebab and grilled meat being cooked, I can see that Sarajevans, despite the rise of huge shopping complexes, still retain a love for the traditional markets. Families, couples, friends and colleagues alongside tourists relax in tea houses, smoking nargila (water pipe).

Bars, pubs and nightclubs are blended in throughout the city; a tall woman wearing a hijab walks alongside her uncovered blonde-haired sister who is wearing a dress. The city still embraces its multicultural heritage, although as our guide, who has a Serbian father and a Bosniak mother, tells us – it’s not like it used to be. “Mixed marriages used to be very common in this city,” he recalls.

Bosnia was a part of Yugoslavia, which encompassed present day Macedonia, Slovenia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Kosovo, Serbia, and Montenegro.

In 1991, 49.2% of the population identified as Bosniak (Muslim), 29.8% as Serbs (Orthodox Christians), 10.7% as Yugoslavs, 6.6% Croats (Catholics) and 3.6% as others (including Jews and Roma).

The war drastically changed the demographics of the entire region. Today, Sarajevo’s population is 80.7% Bosniak, 3.7% Serb, 4.9% Croat and 10% others.

Sarajevo’s streets are littered with reminders of the war and a sense of macabre is undeniably present throughout the city. One typical mini memorial I kept coming across is the red roses of Sarajevo. Every other street has a section of the pavement that looks damaged, but upon getting closer, I realised that the damaged pavement is painted red and forms a rose-like shape.

A Sarajevan explained to me that “these damaged parts of the pavement are where artillery landed and killed someone during the war. Rather than forgetting our past, we want to remember each and every individual tragedy, each life lost. We painted a red rose as a sign of love and peace. Because this is not an official memorial, the roses sometimes disappear. If the government decides to redevelop the street, people get angry about it.”

Cemeteries play an important role within Sarajevan culture; the city has integrated graveyard space into its everyday social life. I went to a few graveyards and saw people having picnics. A local explained to me that “Bosnian Muslims have always had a very open attitude to death. It’s a part of life. Why hide away from it? Why shouldn’t graveyards also be public parks?”

Sarajevans love life. Huge developments across the city, which not only include new shopping centres but also restoration of historic sites, opening of galleries and museums, give a clear impression of a place moving on.

Hikers and trekkers will be in heaven in Sarajevo; I walked up a steep hill and reached the yellow fortress, where I saw many young and old relaxing and enjoying the stunning views of the city at sunset.

There is no shortage of places to visit, hills to hike or adventures to be had in the city. Getting lost is not an issue; the locals are warm and friendly and are willing to help you find your way. I should warn you that food portions are large here; a little salad is a mini feast. But if Sarajevo doesn’t win you over, surely Mostar will.

A two and a half hour drive from Sarajevo to Mostar has to be among the most beautiful and stunning rides of my life. Green and lush valleys, snow-peaked mountain tops, clear river, mini mosques and churches in tiny villages – it could be the description of paradise itself.

Once you enter Mostar, the city does not disappoint with its old stone streets, vibrant market place and tasty food. Undoubtedly, the main attraction is Stari Most, a 16th-century Ottoman bridge which is aesthetically pleasing but difficult to walk across. Also known as the Old Bridge, it was destroyed during the Croat–Bosniak War 427 years after it was built. It was finally rebuilt in 2004. It is a hump-back bridge; it goes up, stabilises in the middle, before going down again.

Locals look amused as tourists struggle to cross the bridge and some even hold onto the railings while crossing. It took repeated attempts before I could confidently cross it.

One local man climbed to the ledge of the bridge. As a crowd gathered, he worked them up, and when enough people had gathered, he jumped off the bridge and landed safely into the crystal-clear waters below.

From Mostar, it is easy to travel to anywhere in southern Bosnia. There are numerous towns, villages, cities, historical sites and nature reserves to visit.

A must-see is the Kravice Falls, 40 minutes away by car. The beautiful waterfalls are an ideal spot to go for a swim, take photographs, relax and eat Cevapi or grilled kebab in bread. Even on a hot day, being close to the water will keep you cool as you listen to the sounds of crashing water.

Coming to Bosnia and Herzegovina is an unforgettable experience. For many, the word ‘Europe’ conjures up images of Paris, London or Berlin, but the so-called ‘other Europe’ is as important to the identity of modern Europe.

Despite its troubled past, the importance of Bosnia – especially at a time when reductionist identity politics is sweeping the Old Continent – is about demonstrating the multiethnic and multifaceted of Europe’s past, present and future.

Beyond the history and political lessons that can be learnt in Bosnia, it is also a cool place to enjoy good food, great sights and warm people. The place is really opening up to tourists and it deserves to be on your travel checklist.

All photos by the writer.

Have you travelled to countries that are not commonly visited by tourists? Share your experience with us at blog@dawn.com

• It was all a ‘mistake’, he told me, as I wailed in his arms. He led me to the bathroom to wash my face. He hugged me after bringing me back outside, asking me to smile for him. “You only look nice when you smile”, he told me. It was all a mistake.
• I believed that if I went to my family for help, they’d cast me out, disown me, and/or kick me out of the house. I thought they’d blame me and tell me I deserved it for doing something as wrong as being involved with a man.

It was physical – he beat me. It was psychological – he manipulated me. It was verbal – to this day, I flinch at Urdu slang, because I only learned it when it was hurled at me in the form of abuses. It was emotional – he took delight in humiliating and mocking me for his enjoyment.

He was skillful at lying and exploiting my feelings, and patient in gaining my trust and developing a relationship with me, before he began causing me harm. The abuse started slowly, building up over time.

He did things like grabbing my arm too hard, pinching me ‘as a joke.’ When I complained, he told me that I was being ‘delicate’ and making a ‘big deal’ out of ‘playful teasing’.

He would tell me how his friends and everyone in his university ‘knew’ about me and how ‘loose’ I was. This was the psychological aspect of abuse; belittling me, degrading me because he could. Because he knew he had the power to affect me with just his words, and saw fit to abuse it.

Over the passage of time, the abuse increased until it could no longer be disguised as playful teasing. It became blatant, undisguised abuse to punish me for perceived transgressions.

The first time he hurt me so severely that I wept was when I grabbed his phone and wouldn’t return it. I was retaliating for him doing the same earlier, teasing that I wouldn’t return it.

He grabbed and twisted my arm, but I still didn’t return it. He twisted it more, and I whimpered. “Cry all you want,” he told me, “I’m not letting go until you return my phone.” He slowly kept twisting my arm more and more, and that made me instinctively tighten my grip on his phone.

Finally, the pain was so severe that I couldn’t keep my fist closed. Now lifeless, my hand opened of its own volition and his phone fell on the floor. He immediately let go, and the second he did, I fell apart, crying hysterically for being treated this way.

It was all a ‘mistake’, he told me, as I wailed in his arms. He led me to the bathroom to wash my face. He hugged me after bringing me back outside, asking me to smile for him. “You only look nice when you smile”, he told me. It was all a mistake.

The next ‘mistake’ I made was to teasingly poke him with my foot. Not even my whole foot, just my big toe. He responded by kicking me, hard, in the thigh. The pain was excruciating and I couldn’t stop crying.

All those times when ‘mistakes’ were made – when he slapped me for swearing at him, when he slapped me for making a comment he disliked – it was all my fault, he said. I had given him chocolate or juice that made him hyper, and he needed to let the energy out somehow.

When he pushed me down that one time and whispered to me about how easily he could rape me, how I wanted him to rape me, it was my fault for taking a harmless ‘joke’ too seriously. Because, of course, threats, specifically rape threats, are something you make in jest.

He’d forcibly take my phone or Mp3 player from me and demand me to give him money if I wanted the devices back. I couldn't really wrestle it out of him because I was all of five feet to his 6'4. I had to give him money, which was upsetting. When I called him out once, he pushed me down and wouldn’t let me go until I did what he wanted me to do: to say that I was his whore.

When his friends would call and message me to slutshame me, I was just ‘lacking a sense of humour’ and was ‘taking their jokes too seriously’. I’d cry sometimes, asking him why he was letting his friends speak to me in such a way, or why he was speaking that way himself.

He’d tell me he left his phone in a friend’s car and the friend was just fooling around, or he’d say he was with his friends and thought it would be ‘fun’ to ‘tease me’.

He’d call me and tell me his friends wanted a night with me. Multiple times. The first time he did it, he told me, “Don’t worry, X isn’t going to go all the way with you, tumharay jism par tou mein ne kal raat apna naam pher diya.”

Related: A 7-step guide for Pakistani victims of hacking and blackmail

Sometimes, I tried to get away. I tried to ignore his calls and messages. He said he’d show the texts and calls between us to my family so they’d kick me out of the house. He said he knew where I lived, that he’d come himself and tell my father who he was. This was the threat I received every time I tried to get out of the relationship.

Another threat was, “YouTube kardun?” To this day, I don’t know what he was threatening to post on YouTube, but I’d still be scared, thinking he might have a text or some photo which I didn’t know he’d taken.

I wonder, as I write this, if he will recognise himself in this story. If he truly has something to YouTube and if he’ll do so to punish me for ‘giving him a bad name.’

Reader, you’re wondering, at this point, why I didn’t run. Why I didn’t look for help. There must have been something I could have done, you’re thinking.

For six years, I have thought about those 11 months. I know that I was overprotected like many women are. Yet, that protection left me ill-equipped to experience life, to understand how cruel men can be, how entitled they feel over my body.

I had spent my life being told to protect myself, my honour; failure to do so could only be my fault. Hashtag Internalised Misogyny. But that still isn’t an answer; my naiveté might be how I fell for his lies, but it isn’t an explanation for why I stayed.

I know that I was utterly terrified of him, and what he would do if I tried to leave. I was lonely and isolated with no support system except my university friends, who were as lost as I was.

They told me to stop talking to him, that he was a typical guy trying to take advantage of me. None of us ever called him abusive, they all told me he was a typical guy trying to get in my pants.

I believed that if I went to my family for help, they’d cast me out, disown me, and/or kick me out of the house. I thought they’d blame me and tell me I deserved it for doing something as wrong as being involved with a man.

And The Boy knew this very well; he knew I was afraid of my family, he knew I came from a conservative household and hid a lot of who I was from them, and he used it to his full advantage.

I was utterly terrified of my abuser but I was more scared of what he’d do if I tried to leave. I couldn’t see a way out. It was awful, living in such helpless fear, wondering when I’d be stuck with him the next time, when he’d use fear and threats to intimidate me into meeting him.

The only adult I could speak to was a much-loved Behavioural Psychology teacher, who figured out that something was wrong.

He approached me, asked me gentle questions now and then, and never abused his authority as a teacher or passed judgment.

It’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay, but even he couldn’t help me or get through to me.

Eventually, the bruises became prominent enough that my best friend brought up the matter with my siblings. I didn’t find out until years later that she had done this. Despite how distressing the resulting confrontation with my siblings was, I am thankful to her for having done so.

My siblings didn’t fully find out until years later what really happened to me, but when my best friend initially alerted them, they imposed a restriction on me from seeing my abuser.

And then … it became permanent. Time passed. Days turned into weeks, months, years.

I learned to name what had happened to me as abuse. I learned that I was a survivor. The hardest lesson was the realisation that I had mental health issues as a result, issues that will definitely last for the remainder of my life.

But I also learned how to deal with those issues, to be strong and learn to live life. I learned that when you’ve been abused, you’re never really the same, but that it is possible to rebuild, to have a rich, fulfilling life.

Guess what, though? I was abused again, years later, but there was a big difference. My first abuser had been a violent bully, someone I mistrusted and who terrified me; this abuser was a close friend, someone I trusted and felt safe with when it was hard for me to trust men anymore.

What’s worse is that as my feelings changed for him into love, he used the depth of my feelings to be more vicious, because he believed he could get away with it. To be honest, I sometimes feel that maybe he was punishing me for loving him because he didn’t believe he was worth it.

For years, I was constantly trying to be ‘better’ for this man. The few times he was good to me, were like scraps of meat thrown to a starving animal, only to later kick the poor beast. But because the animal remembers you’ve fed it a few times, it will whimper and stay, waiting for the food again.

It went on for at least four years until I saw what he was doing to me. When I finally saw the truth and confronted him, he admitted that he had been abusive, but had crueler things to say to me.

Read next: I was sucked into my husband’s narcissistic world, but came out of it stronger

When I finally saw him for a controlling egomaniac who got off on the power he had over me, I was emotionally and psychologically broken for a very long time.

It wasn’t until I left my familiar life to study abroad that I was able to face the victim I had been even as I learned to be a survivor, and reconcile the two as one person.

I learned then that being a survivor was not a shield against more abusers. I learned that I didn’t need to be ashamed of letting this happen and not knowing better, because I didn’t let anything happen.

What I need readers to understand is that abusers can be so manipulative that their victims start internalising the abuse. They blame themselves as the cause of abuse.

For the second time in five years, I rebuilt myself. I’m a survivor. I had to be strong and whole, in order to help other women who needed me. Who needed someone to look them in the eye and say, I’m a survivor too. Other people feel this way too. You’re never alone.

I wanted to write about abuse because I have personally lived that particular hell. I could have quoted statistics, research, various sociological or psychological theories. But I chose to connect with readers more personally, not just because my story, like every survivor’s story, deserves to be told.

In our society, we are so quick to blame the women, and then by default their whole family because a woman is burdened with the family’s 'respect' and 'honour.'

So perhaps there is a chance that someone reading this thinks my experiences of abuse simply happened because I come from a 'bad' household where I was not 'taught' the right way to be 'decent.'

But what about the man who beat the living daylights out of me on a daily basis? Did you, even once, think the same thing about him? Why not? Wasn’t he raised by a family, by parents too?

Where did he learn to slap a girl because she swore at him? If I ‘brought shame’ upon my family with my actions, does that boy exist as a separate entity, that he has no family, no parents, siblings to shame?

Before asking others why they raise daughters like me, why don’t you stop raising sons that beat women? Before shaming my parents for raising a warrior, why don’t you check in with your sons to see what kind of men they’re becoming?

I don’t ask for sympathy. I ask to be heard, because I want to tell my story and own it. I ask to be heard for all the women who do not have the opportunity or means to speak up.

I ask to be heard and understood, for this painful, gut-wrenching exercise to mean more than just a cathartic rant; if I could help just one person understand how abuse works, and how victims can be helped, then that’s one person who might be able to help someone in a similar situation as mine.

So if someone who is in an abusive situation reads this, know that you are worth more than being someone’s punching bag. Know that you do not have to pay the price for someone else’s need to hurt and dominate.

Know that there is a way out, and it might take years, and it might be a lifelong process, but it is so much better than living in fear and misery. You are not alone in fighting to believe that you deserve better.

If you're in an abusive relationship and want to seek help, the following are some of the organisations you can reach out to: The Punjab Commission on the Status of Women, Citizens-Police Liaison Committee, Social Welfare, Special Education And Women Empowerment Department, Aurat Foundation, Madadgaar, Bolo Bhi, and Digital Rights Foundation.

You can also share your story with us at blog@dawn.com

Long before The Palm Island was put on the map and the Dubai Marina was dotted with upscale yachts and boats, there was one main waterway in Dubai, the Dubai Creek, joining two of the city’s oldest neighbourhoods — Deira and Bur Dubai.

In contrast to Dubai’s more recent and luxurious developments that thrive on pulling in more tourists, these areas, having escaped excessive retouching, still bear some semblance to the city’s early life.

For a change of scenery from gleaming glass high-rises to coral and mud stone houses with wind towers, my two friends and I took the squeaky-clean train heading to Al Fahidi in Bur Dubai, avoiding the usual traffic in the busy area.

We started off our tour of old Dubai with a brief history lesson at the Dubai Museum, which is housed within the walls of the restored Al Fahidi Fort, built in the late 1700s.

The museum is worth a visit for its wax statues and interactive displays that give a background into how Dubai and its six sister emirates came together to form the United Arab Emirates in 1971.

At the back of the museum is the Grand Mosque, open only to Muslims, and behind the mosque is the Hindi Lane that’s home to temples for Hindus and Sikhs, as well as numerous small shops selling garlands, bindis, and other paraphernalia used in worship.

Walking out of the alley, we knew we were approaching the Bur Dubai Souk as the crowds and number of shops started to multiply and the smell of herbs and spices became stronger.

You’ll be hard-pressed to find many locals around in the area; as is the case with most of the city, you’ll see a mix of nationalities that have influenced and shaped the Emirati culture over the years.

Most of the shopkeepers are South Asian but have picked up enough Arabic and English to market their prices as “the best you’ll get”.

We stopped at one of the tea shops, where the seller told us reassuringly that he won’t charge us “anything extra”, adding that he saves the most exorbitant prices for the foreigners.

The shops at the souk sell everything from rugs and knock-off designer wear to spices and ceramics. Pakistani and Indian snacks, such as pakoras and dosa, are popular among the locals as well as visitors, and are sold at small cafeterias along with fresh juices and the famous karak chai.

Since the souk runs parallel to the creek, we stopped at the Creekside café and found a table by the water to have a cold lemon and mint juice while taking in the view of the abras (traditional boats made of wood) against the backdrop of Deira’s old buildings.

A few steps away from the Creekside café is Bayt Al Wakeel (“Agent’s Home” in Arabic), one of the oldest houses in Dubai that was built in 1935.

Earlier a shipping office, the building now functions as a restaurant that serves Arabic food — and while the food isn’t anything exceptional, the view from the jetty that has been transformed into a dining terrace certainly is.

The manager was nice enough to let us explore the inside of the building where pictures showing the creek and Bayt Al Wakeel in their original form have been put up.

We found an abra station just a few steps away from Bayt Al Wakeel to cross over to Deira; the five-minute ride took us past the traditional houses, wind towers and minarets into the heart of Deira, where we stopped by the Spice Souk and the Gold Souk.

Tired from our souk-hopping, we called it a day, got juicy shawarmas from Ashwaq Cafeteria (one of the best in town) for dinner, and decided to return to Bur Dubai the next day.

Day two started with breakfast in the Al Fahidi Historical Neighbourhood (also known as Bastakiya); we got off at the same metro stop and walked past the Dubai Museum towards Al Fahidi street to the Arabian Tea House, where we had the Arabic breakfast tray with hummus, fried halloumi cheese, and olives —the holy trinity of local cuisine.

A number of eateries have cropped up in the neighbourhood but be wary of tourist traps (an elaborately decorated camel outside is an easy giveaway); if you don’t mind being touristy, then the Sheikh Mohammed Centre for Cultural Understanding will take you on a tour of the area and host a traditional breakfast for you, complete with Emiratis to converse with.

In contrast to the bustling and noisy souk, this preserved quarter is quiet and you don’t feel hassled to rush through the alleys. Built in the mid 1800s, Al Fahidi is one of the city’s oldest heritage sites where you can get a sense of the life of the early Emiratis.

Traditional courtyard houses made of coral or sea stone and mud are marked with the wind towers (barjeel), which allow hot air to rise out and cooler winds to flow down.

Today, the neighbourhood has become an art hub with many houses having been converted into cafés and art galleries, and it is also the venue for the annual Sikka Art Fair that usually takes place in March during Art Season.

We made our way through the labyrinth, stopping at the XVA Hotel and Gallery, Make Art Café, Coffee Museum, Art Connection, Mawaheb Art Studio (for artists with special needs), and anything else which looked remotely interesting.

All the places welcome visitors who are not necessarily customers, so you can walk in and roam about without feeling the need to buy anything.

You can also see a small portion of the Bur Dubai wall, dating back to 1800 A.D., in the area and for the history buffs, there’s a Restoration House, dedicated to preserving original architecture and artefacts, where I saw some gorgeous traditional, wooden doors.

One of the best ways to get an idea of how Dubai has changed over the years is to strike up a conversation with the shopkeepers or the abra drivers, many of whom have been in the city for decades.

In the evening, we went back to the Creekside café to watch the sun set over the abras, which went about their routes as they have been for years, taking commuters across the creek for a mere one Emirati dirham.

All photos by the author.

Have you been to any lesser-known historical places across the world? Share your experience with us at blog@dawn.com

• Current ODI All-Rounders ICC Player Rankings

“Why is Hafeez still playing for Pakistan?” my cousin messaged, as the Professor propelled Pakistan into a batting collapse against Sri Lanka in Cardiff. Three perfectly-middled and well-timed dot balls with no intentions to score. Followed by a soft dismissal. A solitary run in the space of six typically Hafeez minutes spent at the crease without much purpose.

I try not answering. I have advocated Hafeez’s selection for too many years to get into that conversation. Hafeez is currently ranked as the second best ODI all-rounder in the world.

Yes, Hafeez is a better all-rounder than Ben Stokes, ranked higher than Angelo Mathews and positioned five places above Ravindra Jadeja in ICC’s player rankings.

Current ODI All-Rounders ICC Player Rankings

There has to be something wrong with ICC calculations, and/or something a miss with the Pakistani public, a large part of which does not want Hafeez in the team. The other nine in the top ten all-rounders are heroes in their country. Why is Hafeez then demonised in his?

Is there sound reason to this notion?

My brother responds to my cousin, “We need Hafeez’s bowling. It’s usually very good. He refuses to bat lower. It’s been a problem for a long time. He still wants to open. They moved him to three after many failures, and now to four after failing many times at three. At this rate he will move to number six by 2020.”

I laugh at the truth behind this comment, more though in disgust. Pakistan has made a mess of a modest chase of 236 runs on a pitch devoid of spitting cobras.

I can’t take it anymore. I reply, “You cannot expect bowling all-rounders to bat in the top order”. Pakistan has suffered from the batting all-rounder delusion for so long, and has yet not been able to get its balance right.

Also read: The 'batting' all-rounder delusion

Pakistan is playing with only three specialist batsmen, Azhar, Fakhar, and Babar. Hafeez, Malik, Sarfraz, Imad, Fahim, Amir, Hasan, and Junaid are the other eight players. We need more specialist batsmen I insist.

Why is Haris Sohail sitting out? He averages 52.01 in First Class cricket and 43.00 in ODIs. In comparison, Hafeez averages: 34.91 and 32.69, Malik: 37.09 and 35.35, and Imad: 41.59 and 35.00.

Imad and Hafeez play a similar bowling role with startling economy rates of 4.63 and 4.13 respectively. These numbers in this day and age are like that of Joel Garner’s of its time.

Imad bats low down the order with a strike rate of 100.26. And Hafeez bats with a horrendous modern day strike rate of 75.21 up the order, like he is batting in the time of Joel Garner.

By now, Pakistan is 137-6 with Imad also returning to the pavilion. I have had it. It is not about individuals, I say. Teams are built on combinations and balance. Please play proper batsmen in the top order, and either play Hafeez or Imad for the all-rounder’s slot. I am fuming.

After the next 80 minutes of miracle, Pakistani batting and morbid Sri Lankan fielding, Pakistan crossed the finish line, and went into the semis.

The conversation is halted by celebrations.

“They should play Shahdab, England is suspect against spin, and Shahdab is a wicket taker,” says my father–in–law before the semi-final. But whom would you drop? I ask. Imad, he suggests.

Shadab could be a good option, but dropping Imad would make the frail Pakistani batting line even more fragile, I reason.

The team against England is announced.

Amir is unfit, replaced by debutant Rumman Raees. Shadab is in, replacing Fahim Ashraf.

Fahim? The 23-year-old who kick-started Pakistan’s fight-back against Sri Lanka by hooking Malinga out of the ground? The debutant who took 2/37? Who chased 342 in the warm up game against Bangladesh? After being unlikely run-out on debut and then being dropped in the next game must have hurt the kid.

Well, horses for courses. Pakistan has probably picked their best XI, I thought.

And the best XI, performed at its best – crushing England with an eight-wicket win, in 37.1 overs.

In depth: India to face Pakistan in Champions Trophy final after comfortably beating Bangladesh

Within seconds of Pakistan winning the semi-final, I receive another group message from my other brother. “What a great win, comprehensive! No place for Amir in this XI.” I chuckle, shake my head, and resist to respond.

Amir is still almost always the first bowler the Pakistani captain picks, I say to myself. He is still the man the skipper turns to most on the field.

Amir has bowled 697 overs in the last 12 months, Wahab is number two with 443 overs, and Hasan third with 229 overs. Amir is the only regular bowler across all three formats. He is the first bowler that is picked in the Pakistani team, in any format.

Yet, my brother’s point holds weight. Rumman bowled his heart out on debut and returned with figures of 2/44 in the semi-final win against England. Amir has taken 2/135 in the three games in the tournament.

In Pakistan, we are all selectors. No captain knows how to select a playing XI better than any of us commoners. And the PCB and its selection committee over the years? Biased, corrupt, inept; the lesser said, the better. They have done well to earn a reputation usually reserved for the politicians of the country.

The Pakistani public knows better. It knows how Fawad Alam is the highest averaging (56.51), run-hungry giant on Pakistan’s domestic circuit and averaging 41.66 in Test cricket and 40.25 in ODIs. Ignored by the selectors for so long that his only solace today is the example of Misbah–ul–Haq, who has redefined the cricketing age-cycle in the country. But lets keep that for another day.

Debutants Fahim and Raees have performed well, while Junaid and Hasan (who has a niggle in his shin) seem automatic selections. And Amir should be fit by Sunday. Pakistani captains face many problems. But the difficulty of selecting from a bunch of performing bowlers is perhaps one of the few good problems Sarfraz will ever face.

Amir is likely to return in place of Raees, and Fahim might get the nod ahead of Shahdab considering how well India plays spin.

Expected team for the final: Azhar Ali, Fakhar Zaman, Babar Azam, Mohammad Hafeez, Shaoib Malik, *Sarfraz Ahmed, Imad Wasim, Fahim Ashraf, Mohammad Amir, Hasan Ali and Junaid Khan

• Behind this surge is the rise in the scores of these two batsmen. Zaman has struck 31, 50, and 57 and Azhar has made 9, 34, 76. The two, however, will be up against the most potent pace attack in the history of Indian cricket.
• Pakistan have beaten India twice in ICC tournaments, both times in the Champions Trophy in 2004 and 2009. They have met India six times across limited-overs formats in ICC tournaments since their 2009 triumph, losing every time.

London will be painted green and blue come Sunday in anticipation for one of the biggest games in cricket history. Pakistan play India in a 50-over ICC tournament final for the first time.

It cannot get bigger than this in the game of cricket, barring a world cup final between the two South Asian giants. But for now, the India-Pakistan final is the event and has already brought the cricketing world to a standstill.

Just a few weeks back, any notion hinting at Pakistan making it to the final of the prestigious ICC Champions Trophy would have induced laughter. After all, the Sarfraz-led unit entered the tournament as underdogs. The top eight teams in the ICC’s ODI rankings compete in this tournament – and Pakistan stood eighth.

But the Men in Green surprised everyone by becoming the first side to secure a berth in the final.

With a resurgent Pakistan, it is difficult to predict the outcome of the contest. One can never be sure which Pakistan will turn up to play this Sunday. Whether it would be the one that got humiliated against India exactly two weeks ago or the one that thrashed the best one-day side two days later.

Just two Sundays ago, India thrashed Pakistan by 124 runs. Virat Kohli’s men have an edge over their rivals this Sunday as well because of the latter’s fragile middle order batting.

Pakistan’s middle order (from number three till number seven) have scored 300 runs in the tournament at just 30 runs per wicket. The Indian middle order, on the other hand, have added nearly 500 runs at a staggering rate of 90.6 runs per wicket.

Four out of five in the middle order are right-handed batsmen and the only left-handed batsman of the order, Imad Wasim, comes in at the end, at number seven. This is an area that India will be targeting.

Left-arm orthodox Ravindra Jadeja averages 29 against right-handed batsmen as compared to 60 against the left-handed in the ODI format. However, after the match against Pakistan, in which he removed Azhar Ali and Mohammad Hafeez, Jadeja seems to have lost his lustre, bagging just two wickets for 140 runs in the following three matches.

Pakistan will be heavily reliant on their openers to get them a steady start. Since the introduction of 27-year-old Fakhar Zaman at the top of the order, Pakistan has seen a surge in the opening stands.

Pakistan’s first wicket posted 40 against South Africa. In the next match against Sri Lanka, the Azhar-Zaman duo put up 74 runs. During the semi-final against hosts England, they struck Pakistan’s first 100-plus opening partnership since May 2015.

Behind this surge is the rise in the scores of these two batsmen. Zaman has struck 31, 50, and 57 and Azhar has made 9, 34, 76. The two, however, will be up against the most potent pace attack in the history of Indian cricket.

Both Bhuvneshwar Kumar, who entered the tournament at the back of a fruitful IPL, and Jaspreet Bumrah, have been bowling at meticulous lengths. In a must-win game against South Africa, they choked Hashim Amla and Quinton de Kock in the first power play, leading to a disastrous batting collapse for the best-ranked ODI side.

India will approach Pakistan’s opening pair in a similar manner, especially Zaman, who looked uncomfortable against English pacer Mark Wood in the semi-final, when he was being cramped for room.

After their loss against India, Pakistan resorted to their old tactics of unleashing their pacers on the opposition. Their spinners prepared the ball for reverse swing (legally) on an abrasive Edgbaston wicket in the match against South Africa. Hasan Ali, with his scorching reverse swingers, did the job in the middle overs.

This has been the pattern ever since.

23-year-old Hasan tops the tournament’s most-wicket column with 10 scalps in four matches. Left-arm fast bowler Junaid Khan stands at number four on the list with seven wickets.

Mohammad Amir has picked up only two wickets in the tournament from the three matches he has played. He missed the last contest due to a back spasm, but his impeccable bowling throughout the tournament keeps him in contention for the final. He will undertake a fitness test before the final and if deemed fit, will have a daunting task ahead.

Indian openers Shikhar Dhawan and Rohit Sharma top the most-runs-of-the-tournament section with 317 and 304 in four matches apiece. In their journey to the final, the pair have struck two 100-plus opening partnerships, the first one coming against Pakistan.

Indian captain Kohli, who bats at one-drop, has struck three 50-plus scores, with his best score of 96* coming in the last match.

Pakistan have beaten India twice in ICC tournaments, both times in the Champions Trophy in 2004 and 2009. They have met India six times across limited-overs formats in ICC tournaments since their 2009 triumph, losing every time.

With a resurgent Pakistan, it is difficult to predict the outcome of the contest. One can never be sure which Pakistan will turn up to play this Sunday. Whether it would be the one that got humiliated against India exactly two weeks ago, or the one that thrashed the best one-day side two days later.

But unlike the Sunday when they were drubbed by India, Pakistan have a side full of self-belief this time. A side that has picked itself up. A side where juniors stepped up when seniors faltered.

From being beyond abysmal, this Sunday the Pakistani team will enter the Oval with a shot at the championship.

This is certainly a contest that promises to live up to its expectations.

The stage is set: Pakistan vs India in the final of the Champions Trophy. Mother of all contests. For the Indian captain Virat Kohli,“it is just another game”. According to Wasim Akram, it is poised to be a “battle of nerves” between two countries that were once one.

Ex-Indian captain Saurav Ganguly gives India a 73% winning chance. The bookies somewhat agree and give 1/3 for betting on Pakistan. India are clear favourites.

Meanwhile, the Pakistani public, the social media, and the entire nation do what they know best. They pray a little harder.

First conundrum of the morning: win the toss and bat? Or bowl?

Pakistan cannot chase well, and well, India can chase anything. Looks like a flat pitch, but a fresh one. For Virat, it is simple: win the toss, bowl first. For Sarfraz, probably a good toss to lose. He could have very easily fallen into the death trap of chasing a big total in a massive final against India.

Pakistani openers Azhar Ali and Fakhar Zaman start the proceedings. First over is a maiden by Bhuvneshwar Kumar. India have done their homework. They bowl a tight line to Fakhar and give him no width. India are prepared. They are wired to win. They are facing Fakhar for the first time, but they know he likes width. They give him none.

Fakhar has been pegged on the stumps for eight deliveries and then Bumrah floats one outside off. Fakhar follows it and edges to Dhoni behind the stumps. But Pakistani prayers intervene and the first signs of magic appear. Bumrah has overstepped, it’s a No Ball. Fakhar gets a life.

It is the start of lady luck playing in Pakistan’s favour. Inside edge goes for four, outside edges go for four, and it even races off the helmet for four. India miss clear run out chances against both Pakistani openers. And luck continues favouring the brave.

Fakhar and Azhar take their chances, keep stealing quick singles and flash their bats at anything on offer. But it is not just boom-boom, bam-bam Pakistani batting. They have a plan too. They have targeted men in their minds. They know whom they are going after today.

Ashwin, who was not picked for the first game against Pakistan, bowls the eighth over. And Azhar charges down the ground and smashes Ashwin out of the park for a six.

The tone is set. Pakistan will attack Indian spin.

Pakistan blow punches, but are also circumspect. India feel the heat, and their fielding standards drop a notch. Fakhar hits straight to Yuvraj Singh but it goes through him to the boundary for four as Fakhar gets to his third consecutive fifty.

Is Fakhar the opener Pakistan has been searching for? Three fifties in four games with a career strike rate of 113 – so far, so good. Keep going, lad.

They run hard and take risks, till they are caught ball watching. Azhar is finally run out and is visibly upset. Some of the blame for the blunder is on Fakhar, but most of it is on lack of communication.

Azhar had taken the initiative in the partnership and was surprisingly scoring faster than Fakhar.

But this is where Fakhar changes gear and scores 58 off the next 37 deliveries, smashing three sixes and five fours. Reaching his first maiden hundred in style, but holding out in the deep not much after.

It was not the classiest hundred that one would see, but it was as important as any.

Babar Azam and Shoaib Malik tick the scoreboard but are not able to really explode.

Then walks in Mohammad Hafeez. The first ball he steps out of the crease and hammers it down the fence. For once, Hafeez is not given the liberty to play himself in. He does not have to rotate strike cause he’s striking so clean.

We know that Hafeez can time the ball as good as anyone in Pakistan. Maybe coming in at number five is more suited for his game play. Maybe when the professor has fewer options, perhaps when the game dictates play, he will not need to complicate things, like he so often does.

India are on the back-foot and feeling the pressure of a big game. They give away 25 extras. In their first game against Pakistan, they had given eight.

With runs on the board, Pakistan is in command.

But this is India. If there is anyone in the world who can chase down a mammoth total, it is Kohli and his men.

However, they are up against the most potent bowling attack of the tournament. In the last three games, Pakistan restricted South Africa to 219/8, bowled Sri Lanka out for 235 and bundled England for 211.

The new ball is in the hand of Pakistan’s ace fast bowler, Mohammad Amir. He angles two of them out and brings the third one back in – truly reminiscent of Pakistani left-arm god, Wasim Akram. The ball is too good for Rohit Sharma, who has scored 301 runs in the week with an average of 101. But he now returns to the pavilion with a duck.

Fast bowlers hunt in pairs. And Junaid Khan is steaming in from the other end. The last time Kohli had to walk in this early was in June, 2015. He is not used to this, and he is up against Pakistani fast bowlers who have their tails up.

Amir bowls another jaffa that catches the outside edge and flies straight into the hands of Azhar Ali at first slip, and then falls out of it. Kohli is dropped on five. Kohli, who has 17 hundreds when batting second. The 23-year-old Kohli had clobbered Pakistan for 183 not out and chased 330 runs in less than 48 overs.

Now he is 28, Indian captain and the number one batsman in the world.

Amir is livid, and rightly so.

Then something very Pakistani happens. Amir gets Virat twice in two balls. Pure Pakistani magic!

Amir is on fire, so is Junaid. Both have bowled maidens. But it is Amir who strikes again. This time, his victim is Shikhar Dhawan, the holder of the Golden Bat, the leading run scorer of the tournament.

India are reeling at 33-3 in nine overs, and Amir has taken 16-3 in five.

Amir has stream-rolled through Rohit, Virat, and Shikar; the top three Indian batsmen who had contributed 82% of the runs (894 out of 1094) that India had scored in the championship, before the final.

Yuvraj Singh and MS Dhoni stand as the last ray of hope for India. They stand between Green Glory and Bleeding Blue. But there is little respite.

Fast bowlers hunt in pairs, but Pakistani fast bowlers are known to hunt in packs. And they are deadlier when they have a leg-spinner in their ranks.

Sarfraz soon unleashes his second line of attack. Hasan Ali is bowling from one end, and Shadab Khan from the other.

The 19-year-old Pakistani leg spinner was two years old when Yuvraj made his international debut. But Shadab has the zest of youth and tosses one up to lure Yuvraj into a cover drive. It is from the back of Shadab’s hand. Shadab’s wrong’un is not easy to read as it goes past Yuvraj’s outside edge. Yuvraj is half out.

And then the second half is out on the next ball, one that pitches on a similar length but turns back in. Yuvraj tries to jam his bat, and the umpire adjudges it not out. Shadab thinks otherwise, he knows better and directs his captain into taking a review. He is right.

Shadab is sure he has got his man, Yuvraj Singh.

Technology confirms that Yuvraj was plumb.

Hasan Ali sets his field against Dhoni. Deep square leg in place. It is an obvious trap. The ball is short and climbing into Dhoni’s ribcage. He takes a dab at it and puts it straight down the trap, where Imad completes a fine diving effort.

Hasan starts the generator and opens his arms in trademark celebrations. He is already the highest wicket taker in the tournament, but this moment is more important to him. He has come, he has planned and he has conquered the Indians.

In the space of four balls, both Yuvraj and Dhoni are parcelled back to the pavilion. India are 54/5, with the top five back in the hut. That’s game, set and match for Pakistan.

Hardik Pandya later launches himself into Shadab, but it is too late. A lot of the Indian crowd is leaving the stadium and the writing is on the scorecard.

India are eventually bundled out for 158 runs. Pakistan win the match by 180 runs and are crowned as the champions. They received white jackets that are two sizes bigger, perhaps tailored better to fit the English team.

Sarfraz and his boys celebrate.

The entire team goes down in prostration.

The streets of London turn into Lahore. And celebrating fans surround Sarfraz’s house in Karachi. Television sets break across India, and Rishi Kapoor’s twitter account is painted with green graffiti.

Almost every Pakistani player who comes for an interview starts by first thanking Allah. It is as if Pakistan believes that they play with supernatural support from a superior being. As if they have a team of twelve instead of eleven on the field.

Pakistan’s performance is paranormal, it is pure magic and it is almost unfair.