Just as I’m about to enter Shah Hussain’s 16th-century shrine in Baghbanpura, Lahore, I scan for a lone tomb to offer a prayer, only to find a pair next to each other — one of Shah Hussain and one of Madhu Laal — and both marked with a single emblem reading, "Sakhi Sarkar Madhu Laal Hussain."

Baffled at the sight, I had to halt and contemplate over this rather odd finding, reminiscing about Shah Hussain’s own words on the trials of love and separation:

Man atkeya beparwah de nal
Us deen duni de shah de nal

My soul is entangled with the indifferent one
Lord of all things visible and invisible

For many, these words denote one’s infatuation with God, but on a second thought, I think about how these verses might have been a double entendre, encapsulating the love of two human beings, Madhu Laal and Shah Hussain.

The two conflicting personalities, both socially and economically, later combined into one singular being, defying all social statures and norms — Madhu Laal Hussain.

In another instance, I hear some familiar verses being sung from a distance:

Maye ni main kinnu aakhan
Dard vichoray da haal ni
Dukhan di roti, soolan da saalan
Aahein da baalan baal ni
Jungle belay phirann dhoondandi
Ajjey na payonn laal ni

Oh my Mother, whom shall I tell my torments of separation?
Bread of despair, with a curry of thorns
Kindles a fire of cries in me
I have wandered forests and deserts
But not found that ruby stone [the Beloved]

Lamenting his mother's early demise and the separation in meticulously chosen words is not a task undertaken by some ordinary man.

These are the heart-wrenching texts of Shah Hussain, who neither belonged to a direct lineage of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) nor a wealthy merchant household, but to a low caste Muslim weaver family.

He was endowed with two highly proclaimed names in Islam, Shah and Hussain — Shah referring to a ruler, and Hussain, to the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, but these "given" names had little significance for the poet himself. He preferred to be called a fakir — shunning all worldly possessions.

Kahe Hussain faqeer numanha, theewan khaak daware di

Says Hussain the worthless fakir, I am the dust on your doorstep

After spending years learning the teachings of the Holy Quran and what his sheikh would refer to as the "true path" towards salvation, Shah Hussain was quick to realise that mere rituals do not reveal the true essence of God.

Attaining a state of ecstasy was a lifelong pursuit of the Divine truth and could not be salvaged through a mullah’s orthodoxy. In his own words, he once said:

Qazi mullah matti dainde, kharay siyyane rah dasende, ishq kee lagay rah de nal

Judges and clerics are full of advice, the righteous and wise show you the path, but love itself needs no guidance

Shah Hussain’s life took a turn when he came across a Brahmin Hindu boy, Madhu Laal, riding a horse from Shahdara, across the river Ravi. Shah Hussain followed the boy back to his town, overwhelmed by the feeling of love and enchantment. The locals started to refer them both as one entity.

The bond between the two went so deep that Shah Hussain put his name after his beloved's, becoming Madhu Laal Hussain. Beyond the personal bonding of the two, Shah Hussain's union with Madhu was a metaphor for the people's unity in South Asia — negating all religious and social institutions through their mode of life.

Shah Hussain spent the second half of his life under Akbar’s rule, during which, the Mughal capital was moved to Lahore (1584-1599). According to historical accounts, Prince Saleem, who later ruled under the name of Jahangir, ordered one of his officials to write a diary of whatever Shah Hussain did or said every day.

Some argue this was done due to reverence while others claim that it was to keep an eye on him because of Hussain’s large following and outright denial of religious orthodoxy.

Today, the death anniversary (urs) of Hazrat Madhu Laal Hussain is celebrated with full fervour at his shrine, adjacent to the Shalimar Gardens.

The urs and the mela (festival) were two separate events, one carried out at the shrine and the other in the Shalimar Gardens, until they were both combined into one, Mela Chiraghan (Festival of Lamps), by Ranjit Singh.

The spring mela, revered by the Hindus, and the urs, celebrated by the Muslims, signified union and harmony among the two faiths when combined into one celebration — remembering the bond of Shah Hussain and Madhu Laal.

The shrine is marked by a massive "fire well" which is lit throughout the urs by the devotees using wax, oil, wood and cotton. Visitors mark their presence by adding to the already lit fire or by igniting cotton lamps decorated all over the shrine complex.

The massive fire from the well keeps most of the devotees at a distance except for the few devout dervishes that perform dhamaal next to it. The dervishes refer to the fire of devotion ignited in their hearts by the sufi saint that shields their inner self from the exterior distractions, the literal fire.

The festival, much like the fire, has been a continuous affair for centuries. During Ranjit Singh’s rule in 18th century, the emperor would lead a procession from his palace to the shrine barefoot, accompanied by thousands of Sikhs, Muslims, and Hindus.

Held on March 24 this year, Mela Chiraghan is still regarded as the biggest festival of Punjab, both east and west, and has been a symbol of love, devotion, harmony and defiance of social customs.

Even though the Mela holds immense significance for Lahoris, the teachings of Madhu Laal Hussain continue to spread throughout South Asia, especially over the last four decades through the saint’s kafi form of Punjabi poetry, featuring four to five stanzas.

These kafis have been popularised by a diverse set of musicians, including Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Abida Parveen, Hamid Ali Bela, Noor Jehan and Junoon.

Recalling the story of these two lovers at their shrine, I start to realise the immense significance of this revered sufi. His poetry on love and devotion speaks to millions, but what about the relationship between Shah Hussain and Madhu Laal?

Since Partition, the religious plurality of the two has become a far-fetched idea in Pakistan today, something deemed too elusive at a time when Islam in Pakistan is not only at crossroads within itself, but in conflict with monotheism in South Asia as well.

Apart from learning devotion and losing of "self" to attain a path towards God, Madhu Laal Hussain, shows us that, perhaps, Muslims and Hindus can live — and thrive — in complete harmony, as they have for many centuries.

Have you experienced places or events of religious or cultural significance? Share your experience with us at blog@dawn.com

• A city transformed
• Ganga Ram and Lahore

As I entered the samadhi of Sir Ganga Ram in Lahore, I took out my phone to photograph the small yellow, domed structure standing on one side of a vast enclosure.

I managed to sneak in a couple of photographs before a middle-aged man jumped up from his chair under the shade of a tree near the building, wagged his finger, and asked me to stop.

He was a government official posted here to look after the memorial where the ashes of the philanthropist who designed and built several of Lahore’s landmarks are interred.

Indeed, his tenure as the executive engineer of Lahore towards the end of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th century, is now referred to as the "Ganga Ram architectural period".

Traveling around Pakistan, I have become accustomed to the attitude of government officials at historical structures. I have often been barred from photographing these buildings.

Sometimes, the officials relent when I tell them I need the photographs for a journalistic assignment, but even that does not always work.

This official was adamant. He told me to go to the office of the Evacuee Trust Property Board, the department responsible for looking after the abandoned properties of non-Muslims in Pakistan, including temples and gurdwaras, and return with permission to take photographs. I did not do so as I already had a few pictures of the samadhi from one of my earlier visits.

But I continue to be baffled by the government’s policy of not allowing people to photograph some historical structures that it is in charge of.

An old man who lives in a hut behind the samadhi, within its enclosure, walked up to me and gave me a guided a tour. He told me how the entire enclosure had been encroached upon.

It had housed several refugees of Partition till the 1980s, when the government decided to take charge and renovate the structure. Only one house was permitted — that of the old man, as he was given the responsibility of guarding the building.

He told me how, in the name of renovation, a pool that was constructed along with the samadhi, was also filled with earth, becoming the courtyard upon which we now stood. The walls outside were painted, while marble was laid on the floor and on the building’s interior walls.

The samadhi stood at the centre of a hall. It was a little platform tiled with marble, one side of which bore a brief history of Ganga Ram, along with his photograph in which he wore a suit and a hat. He died in London in 1927.

A city transformed

Lahore, in the middle of the 19th century, was not the city we know today. For almost half a century it had served as the political capital of the Khalsa empire, but it was far from the provincial capital it was under the Mughals.

Its dilapidated Mughal mausoleums and remains of the vast Mughal gardens that were unkempt and encroached upon reflected a lost glory.

Under Maharaja Ranjit Singh, Lahore’s neighbouring city, Amritsar, had emerged as the economic hub of the empire. In the first comprehensive census of British India in 1881, the population of Lahore was 149,000 compared to 152,000 of Amritsar.

The city transformed under the colonial state that used it as a symbol of its imperial power. A narrative was crafted, of a city rising from the ashes of its Mughal past. After the turn of the century, Lahore became one of the largest cities of the Indian subcontinent.

It became a city of migrants. According to the 1911 census, 46.3 percent of its residents were those who were not born in the district.

Ganga Ram and Lahore

In many ways, the story of Ganga Ram is the story of Lahore, a city that he helped transform into the symbol of the colonial state. He too was a migrant who, after acquiring a degree in engineering, migrated to the city for better economic opportunities.

This is a time when the colonial state, in the aftermath of the war of 1857, was redefining itself. The British increasingly began appropriating indigenous Indian symbols of authority to present continuity between former empires of India and the new British Empire.

Architecture played a pivotal role in this depiction, and led to the emergence of the Indo- Saracenic tradition. In this architectural approach, an effort was made by the colonial state to incorporate traditional structural techniques with colonial architecture.

This was a conscious effort to depict British symbols of authority in traditional visual forms for the local populace to marvel at.

Architecture was a powerful propaganda tool at the hands of the colonial state.

Lahore, along with other major cities of British India, served as the canvas upon which this narrative was painted.

The Lahore High Court, the museum, Post Office Building, Aitchison College, the Anglican Cathedral, and National College of Arts are a few of the several examples constructed following this hybrid tradition.

In these structures, balconies, columns and watchtowers, interact with domes, chattris (canopies), arches and screens.

In Lahore, all of these iconic structures were raised by Ganga Ram. Working with the colonial state, he transformed the landscape of the city to reflect the glory of this new empire.

A new city, even more glorious than the former, had been raised from the debris of its Mughal past. Lahore had a new master and its architecture was a testimony to this fact.

In many ways, the Lahore of today is a continuation of this colonial city. It continues to serve as a symbol of the state. Its Metro Bus and now the Orange Line projects are meant to be stamps of authority.

Ganga Ram helped build this narrative. He transformed the city into a proverb that it continues to be. The Lahore of today owes much more to Ganga Ram than it would care to admit.

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

• Rising debt
• Rigid tax structure
• Trade and deficit
• Agriculture sector and policies

Since the restoration of democracy in 2008, Pakistan has witnessed extensive constitutional and economic reforms, the main ones being the 18th Amendment, National Financial Commission (NFC) 2010, Benazir Income Support Program (BISP), Kisaan Package and of course the China Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC).

While the 18th Amendment and the BISP were feathers in the Pakistan People’s Party’s cap despite their turbulent five years in government from 2008-13, the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz has never shied from brandishing their credentials when it comes to megaprojects.

As the outgoing government presents its budget on April 27, 2018, it’s pertinent to survey Pakistan’s economic performance in the last 10 years and see some of the most persistent trends in the country’s economy, no matter the party in charge.

This is part 1 of a two-part series looking back at the last 10 years of Pakistan's economic performance. Read part 2 here.

Rising debt

Domestic debt increased by five times and external debt by 1.4 times in between 2009 and 2018

Servicing of debt is an overarching theme of the Pakistani economy. Despite the government’s self-congratulatory claims, the fact remains that the entire paradigm of economic development continues to be underpinned by debts and subsidies.

CPEC is very much going to perpetuate the paradigm, as well as the defence budget, which weighs heavily as ever on the public exchequer.

Rigid tax structure

Pakistan’s taxation system continues to be rigid and reliant on indirect taxes. The ratio of direct versus indirect taxes remained around 38:62 in last 10 years.

Of those direct taxes, more than 60 percent are collected as withholding taxes, which are easy to collect and monitor and therefore betray government inaction when it comes to diversifying the tax net.

Finance Minister Ishaq Dar has been generous in relaxing the tax rate for direct taxation. While corporate tax rates and salaried tax rate were reduced, and exemption limits were raised at the same time, indirect taxes were increased. Most indirect taxes were added to the goods and services with inelastic demands such as electricity and gas.

The main issue with indirect taxes is that they lead to higher inflation as they are added to the cost of a product.

One of Dar's most contentious decisions was the imposition of withholding tax on withdrawal of cash from bank accounts. It led to a crisis of deposits and the percentage of total deposits declined from 27.6 to 25 percent right after it was introduced.

As for the provinces, the service sector makes up around 55 percent of the economy. With the General Sales Tax (GST) devolved to the provinces after the 18th Amendment, taxation on services had increased scope. Unsurprisingly, GST on services constitutes major chunk of provincial revenue.

But with majority of tax revenue dependent on a single source, the provinces are not making significant effort to reform and expand the tax net.

The tax mix of the provinces shows an overriding reliance on indirect taxes, which leads to inflation, and the same is likely to continue in future.

Agriculture tax can be one of the most significant sources of tax revenue for the provinces, but remains untapped — as it has been since the Government of India Act of both 1919 and 1935.

In fact, the agriculture sector is heavily subsidised and more so when the PPP comes to power, which helps the landed elite. The subsidies are 20-25 times higher than the income tax collected from this sector.

Trade and deficit

Pakistan’s exports are constrained by product and market non-diversification. 60-70 percent of the country's exports come from a handful of products. With the passage of time, Pakistani products have also lost their competitiveness.

Pakistan was in a serious balance of payments crisis in 2009 when the current account deficit was as high as 5.5 percent of GDP.

But the PML-N was fortunate to get Generalised Scheme of Preferences Plus status in 2013 and managed to bring down the trade and current account deficits.

Agriculture sector and policies

During the PPP government, the price of wheat doubled due to its insistence on increasing the support price for wheat. This resulted in overall food inflation and increased hardship for the poorer segments of the society.

Support price is an incentive given to producers or growers that the government guarantees to purchase their output at a price set by the state.

The PML-N, on the other hand, did not allow the level of support price to fluctuate. It also directed the subsidies to tubewells, electricity, fertilisers, seeds, etc.

In September 2015, the prime minister announced the Kisaan Package worth Rs341 billion, which included benefits in terms of tax reduction on agriculture machinery from 45 percent to nine percent, reduction in sales tax from 17 percent to seven percent on cold chain machinery, tax holidays and mark up-free loans for farmers with less than 12.5 acres of land holding.

Due to input subsidies instead of support price subsidies, the PML-N managed to control food price inflation. Nonetheless, the overall structure of agriculture subsidies in Pakistan is inefficient and does not work to reduce inequality and support poor farmers.

Subsidies are based on number of units consumed, which implies marginal piece of the pie for small farmers, as their consumption of electricity, fertilisers and seeds is very little.

Large farmers, on the other hand, use more fertilisers, tubewells, electricity and machinery imports and therefore enjoy larger subsidies.

• Subsidies
• Restructuring the National Finance Commission
• Welfare and safety nets

Since the restoration of democracy in 2008, Pakistan has witnessed extensive constitutional and economic reforms, the main ones being the 18th Amendment, National Financial Commission (NFC) 2010, Benazir Income Support Program (BISP), Kisaan Package and of course the China Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC).

While the 18th Amendment and the BISP were feathers in the Pakistan People’s Party’s cap despite their turbulent five years in government from 2008-13, the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz has never shied from brandishing their credentials when it comes to megaprojects.

As the outgoing government presents its budget today, it’s pertinent to survey Pakistan’s economic performance in the last 10 years and see some of the most persistent trends in the country’s economy, no matter the party in charge.

This piece concludes a two-part series looking back at the last 10 years of Pakistan's economic performance. Read part 1 here.

Subsidies

The power sector continued to enjoy heavy subsidies throughout the tenures of both the PPP and the PML-N. This was by far the most subsidised sector of all, receiving 96 percent of total subsidies provided by the government at one point.

Given the pattern, it is unlikely that the support to the power sector will waver any time soon. Fewer funds, therefore, would be available for other areas.

Restructuring the National Finance Commission

In 2010, the PPP government brought landmark changes to the NFC award in order to address grievances and the pervading sense of deprivation among the smaller provinces of Pakistan.

The most important move in this direction was the structural shift towards multiple criteria of distribution of finances, rather than just population alone, which formed the basis of previous awards.

Poverty, area, and revenue collection and generation were added to the mix, which benefits provinces other than Punjab.

Punjab’s share will further decline after the results of the 2017 census, while funds for the other provinces will increase further.

However, provinces are not bound to allocate money for social welfare programmes. Even though poverty is one criteria of distribution of the NFC award, social welfare expenditures by the provinces have been unimpressive.

Karachi continues to be a contentious point. Despite being the biggest contributor to taxes at both the provincial and federal level, as well as the country's most populous city, Karachi’s share in allocated funds is negligible, which does little to ease political, social and ethnic tensions in the metropolis.

Welfare and safety nets

In 2009, the PPP government announced a well-acknowledged framework of social welfare for the country’s poor in the form of the Benazir Income Support Program (BISP).

Initially a monthly cash grant of Rs1,000, the amount given out under the programme was increased in subsequent budgets to Rs1,200 and then Rs1,500.

The system of payments has been computerised and transactions are facilitated through the BISP card, which works just like an ATM card.

Though the BISP should remain in place, it has a few loose ends that need to be tied up.

For one, the BISP has no graduation strategy. A beneficiary in 2009 is still a beneficiary today, likely to be one in 2030, and will remain in poverty.

This is because the grants are inadequate if we are to lift its beneficiaries out of poverty. The main reason is that the grants are worth less and less every year because they do not keep pace with inflation.

Continuous resource allocation for the same person for years on end also constrains the government’s ability to widen the scope of the grant for others. This calls for an objective reconsideration of the programme.

For example, the transfers under the BISP are unconditional at the moment but, in future, they can easily be linked with some conditions such as health vaccination from government hospitals and sending children to government schools, as is the case with a social programme in Mexico called PROGRESA.

• Cyber security
• Why is data important?
• Data security is personal security
• Need for laws
• Next steps

The recent notification from Careem to its customers regarding the hacking of its database of users and Captains raises various concerns about how much we can trust technology companies with our critical personal information, and what the next steps should be.

Careem is a ride-hailing mobile phone app that makes moving around urban areas convenient in cars owned and often driven by contractors or individuals that share the profit with the company. The company is based in Dubai, UAE and was founded by two former McKinsey consultants, one of whom is Pakistani.

In order to register as a Captain or a customer of Careem, one has to share details such as full name, telephone number, email address, and by virtue of using the app, addresses of all the locations one frequents regularly. The application also supports adding a credit card as an alternative to cash payments.

On April 23, 2018, Careem in an "Important security announcement" via email and its website informed customers that "on January 14th of this year, we became aware that online criminals gained access to our computer systems which hold customer and Captain account data".

The hack affected user data of over 14 million users and 558,880 Captains in the 13 countries and 90 cities that Careem operates in.

According to Careem’s announcement, the data acquired by hackers includes names, email addresses, phone numbers and trip data of customers.

They have stated that credit card information on the app is secured by "an external third-party PCI-compliant server" that "uses highly secure protocols".

Perhaps similar protocols should be implemented for the rest of the data at Careem as well.

Cyber security

Careem acknowledged in its announcement that no company is completely immune from cyber attacks, and that is true as far as the evolving nature of technology that enables these attacks is concerned.

It is, however, concerning that Careem announced this data hack more than three months after it had been intercepted, apparently because the company "wanted to make sure they are providing the most accurate information before notifying people."

But the company has provided very little specific information other than the type of data that was breached and when it happened.

Perhaps Careem had learnt from the backlash its rival Uber faced last year after it was exposed for hiding a breach of data of over 57 million users and drivers and paying hackers $100,000 to delete data and to keep silent about it. The Chief Security Officer of the company was also fired.

Careem only asked customers to reset passwords, monitor their credit card activity, and not click on links in emails they do not recognise three months later.

This is key advice that the company should have given their customers as soon as they discovered the hack.

The risk the company put its customers through during this time merits scrutiny and calls for corporate accountability.

Why is data important?

Data is now being tipped as “the new gold”, as companies pay millions to acquire it from those that have access to it.

It is data that forms the backbone of the most profitable companies in the world such as Facebook and Google which rely on analysis of users' personal data that companies then use to target advertisements.

The hackers who attacked the Careem data server are likely to have the objective of selling this data to other companies interested in data.

The company has so far not identified the hackers, or informed users if the hacked data has been deleted, so it can be assumed that the data of 14 million Careem users is currently in the data black market.

Data security is personal security

The hacked data could be misused in several ways, and further threatens the safety of Careem users, because it includes critical information on the movement patterns of its users, including home and work addresses and other regularly visited locations.

Access to such information can expose users to risks of criminal threats such as burglary, mugging and kidnapping, as well as potentially endanger activists, journalists and political workers.

Further, it has the potential to make women in particular more vulnerable.

Need for laws

Careem has promised to continue to strengthen its information systems, but customers and governments both need to hold the company accountable to higher standards of information security as any breach in information systems impacts us.

Whereas the data hack took place on Careem servers based at its headquarters in Dubai, the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act 2016 criminalises interference with information systems and data under sections 3 to 8 in Pakistan.

However, there are currently no laws in Pakistan that protect individuals' data, despite Article 14 of the Constitution guaranteeing that "dignity of man, and subject to law, the privacy of home, shall be inviolable".

There is a need for legislators and courts to consider the right to privacy in the realm of the internet where vast amounts of data on each citizen is stored.

A recommendation for the federal government to make regulations to provide for “privacy and protection of data of subscribers” exists in Article 43 (2)(e) of the Electronic Transactions Ordinance 2002, but little has been done in this regard.

The current IT ministry has talked about a prospective data protection bill, but none has been introduced in parliament, and Pakistan does not have a privacy commission so far.

Next steps

On an individual level, it is important for users to be aware of the associated risks of using technologies that make our life more convenient, and the ways in which our personal data can be misused for profits and ulterior motives.

Hence, steps must be taken to secure our information as much as possible by setting strong passwords, ensuring that a different password is used for each account, two-step verification enabled for all accounts that offer the option, screen locks turned on for phones, and minimal information shared on social media.

Additionally, if one uses the Careem app regularly, it would be helpful for safety reasons to change frequent routes from time to time so no single easily traceable pattern is identifiable, and changing drop off and pick up locations to walkable distances rather than the exact location of residence or work.

On a corporate level, Careem should, as promised, implement stricter cyber security protocols, similar to those used by financial companies, in order to value and protect personal information of customers and Captains.

Companies should inform customers of data breaches in time in order to protect them rather than waiting for investigations as that can tarnish the credibility of the company.

On an official level, the government must ensure that data protection and privacy laws are put in place to provide legal relief to citizens whose personal information is misused or breached not only by technology companies, but also mobile phone service providers, hospitals, schools, banks, public relations companies and so on.

Further, the government should set standards and protocols of cyber security for all corporations and organisations without which they should not be allowed to deal with personal information of citizens.

A privacy commission should be set up that citizens can access easily in the event of breach of data.

Whereas customers will continue to use services that make life convenient, they should at the very least be making an informed decision when divulging personal information to companies, and at the same time, both citizens and the government should hold these companies accountable to higher standards of safety when dealing with private information.

Are you an information security expert working in Pakistan? Share your insights with us at blog@dawn.com

From where I sit in my wheelchair, the world seems a pretty insensitive place to a differently-abled person’s plight.

I became paralysed from the neck down following a car accident in 2002 on the Lahore-Islamabad motorway. My sister, who was in the car with me, lost her life on that fateful day.

The subsequent professional nursing care that I received was severely inadequate. Sandbags and neck collars to stabilise the neck were unavailable at hospitals.

Unable to talk after a badly done operation, my main way of communication was by blinking. To get the attention of sleeping nurses, I would often bite on my ventilator tube to stop the oxygen supply and set off the alarm.

Lack of proper paramedic care left me with little chance of any substantial recovery. But subsequent rehab treatment in Aylesbury, England provided me with a ray of hope, with excellent nursing care and accessibility of wheelchair users to all socioeconomic backgrounds helping in my rehabilitation.

Editorial: Rights of the disabled

I came back to Pakistan with a renewed sense of hope and determination, and tried to not let circumstances dictate my life.

However, it soon became apparent that I would not be able to enjoy the basic comforts of life due to lack of access to buildings for wheelchair users.

I was routinely inconvenienced in going to school, clinics, weddings, movies, restaurants, stores, banks etc. due to the lack of ramps and lifts for those in a wheelchair.

Far too often, my access was dependent on whether good Samaritans and/or staff would help carry me up the steps.

Never mind the fact that being physically lifted each time created a health hazard for me, as I was exposed to further injuries and paralysis.

I spoke out on print and digital media about my story, and the importance of making sure access for the differently-abled was included in building plans.

However, without tangible ways to effectuate my goals, the media and the public’s initial enthusiasm naturally waned with time.

My impatience grew, and recently, I engaged with a civil advocacy law firm to explore this subject.

Much to my surprise, I discovered that the Lahore Development Authority (LDA) had mandatory tailor-made provisions for differently-abled persons in public buildings.

Regulation 6.2.3 of the LDA Building and Zoning Regulations 2007 states that:

In all commercial buildings, public buildings and apartments a ramp of minimum 6-feet width and having maximum gradient of 1:6 should be provided. In case of non-provisions of lifts, each floor should be accessible through this ramp. A toilet for disabled must also be provided.

Needless to say, this provision has not been implemented by the LDA, nor has it been adopted by commercial/public buildings and apartments.

Most places do not have ramps for wheelchair users. The seldom presence of wheelchair ramps is often an afterthought and, as a result, poorly designed and promoted.

Read next: This child with a learning disability was expelled from school

I have yet to see a single toilet within the LDA’s jurisdiction (or otherwise) that accommodates “disabled” persons.

A few restaurants in recent times have been generous to build ramps (or have portable ramps) after I highlighted the issue to them.

I authored letters to the LDA on behalf of the marginalised wheelchair community, imploring them to implement their own regulations.

After the initial forwarding of my letter to the concerned department for action, there was the predictable lack of correspondence afterwards.

My impatience reached fever pitch, and I was constrained to personally visit the LDA head office in Johar Town, Lahore.

Upon entering the head office (through a ramp), I was directed to go to the first floor to meet the concerned LDA officials.

There was only one problem: there was no functioning lift to take me to the first floor. The irony was not lost on me.

Upstairs, my colleagues had to speak on my behalf to the officials, and I was left out of meaningful discourse (barring one official coming down to see me later).

While the officials acknowledged the legitimate grievances to my colleagues, they used insubstantial reasons to justify the lack of past and current enforcement.

This included stating that the regulations did not apply to buildings that were made before 2008 (notwithstanding the fact that the regulations were written as applicable to all buildings irrespective of construction date) and that the enforcement required a lot of surveying man-power, which required extensive preparation and time (notwithstanding the fact that the regulations have existed for 10 years).

Also read: Angels in adversity

We exited the building with a semblance of hope and expectation. However, recent communications with the LDA have been met with muffled concern, as they have showcased lack of urgency on their part.

Apart from sending notices to the buildings identified by us, no documentary evidence has been shared to demonstrate substantial overhaul.

This is notwithstanding the fact that it is an open secret that LDA regulations have been violated for the past decade with impunity, with little to no action taken.

I am cautiously optimistic that the LDA will take concrete action in the near future on my rather simple demands.

Access to buildings in a safe and secure manner is a gateway for wheelchair users in their pursuit of life, liberty and happiness.

This does not just impact quadriplegic wheelchair users such as myself, but also other people having to use wheelchairs, such as persons suffering from amputation, arthritis, cerebral palsy, multiple-sclerosis, post-polio syndrome, back disorders and old-age weaknesses.

The state has systematically made wheelchair users feel invisible, unwanted and unwelcome as a part of its fabric.

With the continual lack of facilities for wheelchair users to access buildings, we as a marginalised community have been systematically deprived of meaningful access to basic healthcare, education, employment and enjoyment of life.

With lack of enforcement by bodies regulating buildings over the past decade, one would think that the courts of law would be a decent avenue for enforcement of rights.

However, far too often, public interest petitions seeking for enforcement of differently-abled persons’ rights become muddled with various state entities seeking time to respond.

This ultimately leads to a slow decay of interest in such cases, with little to no progress.

The last ray of hope, for better or worse, is the LDA developing a conscience and acting on its own volition. We, the wheelchair users, are at the LDA’s mercy.

Access for us is not just about putting in ramps, but without ramps, we have no gateway to a meaningful life.

Have you ever felt marginalised by society owing to your disabilities? Share your experiences with us at blog@dawn.com

I’ve always been fascinated by the desert. The idea of a giant land of distant horizons, framed by a flawless canopy of blue sky, and complete silence.

In my mind, being in a desert is like existing in a vacuum — no beginning, no end, and nothing around but space.

A perfect, silent void.

Few people appreciate the sheer beauty of a desert — far from the barren wastelands that we imagine them to be, they are dramatic, almost spiritual places, filled with life.

Being from Australia, I had experienced deserts long before visiting Pakistan. My native country, an entire continent, is filled with deserts which in some cases stretch thousands of kilometres to the seashore.

I’ve flown over them countless times, and even driven through them. But I had never stayed any length of time in a desert — until now.

It was a few weeks ago that I received an invitation to stay on a friend’s relative’s farm in Hyderabad Thal, the desert west of Jhang in western Punjab.

My friend Ali and I left Lahore in the middle of the night, and arrived at the desert just after the ringing of the Fajr call to prayer — a perfect time to witness the sunrise.

A giant tangerine sphere rose in the distance, bathing the surroundings in an atomic crimson hue — an otherworldly spectacle which seemed to greet us to the place which would be our home for the next few days.

Far from being desolate, the desert in Hyderabad Thal is lush green in February and March — this land is used for the cultivation of green chickpeas (hara choliyan), and the squat plants' elastic branches and chubby little fruits jiggle in the desert breeze as far as the eye can see.

The sea of green is interrupted only by the odd sand dune, where the faded yellow sand occasionally rises up in undulating waves, reminding us of what lies beneath.

When the harvest is picked, the roots die off and the desert returns to its usual naked emptiness.

However the desert is far from dead; as we walked from the drop-off point towards the farmhouse, we spotted tracks in the sand; tiny scoop shapes that stood as evidence to the existence of insects and birds in the vicinity.

My friend, a local, and I tried to imagine what could have produced the footprints; a sparrow, a small lizard, a scorpion, perhaps?

What was clear was that while the animals that made it were long gone, the desert around us was teeming with life.

The days we spent at the dera were long, dry, sweet and mesmeric. In March, the heat hadn’t yet built, and respite from the sun’s rays could be found under the boughs of a grand old banyan tree.

We spent hours lolling about on charpoys, eating ber picked straight off a tree across the yard.

Lying on the string beds with only the sun’s position to indicate time, I felt that my life itself was slowing down.

With no cellphone signal, no internet, little electricity to speak of, and no form of entertainment besides our own creative minds, I detected a gentle yet pleasant decalibrating of my sense of time.

With the sun’s migration from one side of the sky to the other, we moved the charpoys to follow the shade.

At one point, we ended up at a roll of sand next to a row of chickpea plants. A few small birds darted about in the greenery just metres away, diving and swooping at breakneck speed.

The slightest movement by either of us would send them shooting off in a different direction, only to flitter back moments later.

Laying on my stomach, I dragged myself lazily to the edge of the charpoy and stretched my chin over the edge. I was now looking straight down at the powdery, sandy earth, and was amazed by what I saw.

Scores of insects were marching beneath the charpoy into the field of crops, each leaving behind their distinctive footprints.

Ants, both tiny and large, something which resembled a crab in its sideways gait, tiny spiders... they were all on the move to the shady green microforest, possibly in the hope of finding cover from the birds above.

The other thing that strikes you about the desert is the sense of sheer quiet. Nowhere is the phrase 'deafening silence' more apt.

So expansive is the sky, so distant the edge of the earth, so clear the visage, and so subtly alive the surroundings that it’s almost overwhelming.

In such a situation one is forced to appreciate the humbling truth of how small one truly is in the grand scheme of things; for the thoughtful, it could inspire them to inner dialogue; for the uninitiated it could be simply terrifying.

To get some groceries for dinner, we would ride a motorbike 10 kilometres to the nearest town. The trail through the desert was lonely — the whole time we didn’t pass another soul, bar the odd snake which slithered across the path, or guard dog from a nearby farm which would bark at us until we were out of sight.

Somewhere out there, in the middle of nowhere, we saw what looked like a mud brick building in the sand hills. Ali rode towards it to investigate; upon closer inspection it was a tiny mosque.

"Why would they build a mosque out here?" I asked.

"For travellers. People travelling on foot," he replied.

In all my hours indulgently lost on the charpoy, wondering dreamily about the enormity of it all, I had forgotten that, in fact, humans had, for millennia, conquered the desert by foot.

Once again, but in a very different sense, I was struck by how small I was in this land of might and extreme. I kicked off my Peshawari chappals and sank my feet into the soft, soft sand.

Beneath, the surface was cold, a sea of cool earth that hadn’t seen the heat of the day. The tiny grains trickled in between my toes, sensually massaging the soles of my feet, and I lay back in the field, staring at the milky blue sky.

The sun was getting low in the sky, and I was partially shielded from its rays by a sand dune. An ethereal glow enveloped the remains of the day.

Turning around, we traced our tyre marks back through the sand to the main trail. We had just made it back to the trail when day began to turn to night, and as luck would have it, our bike suffered a punctured tyre.

We parked the bike for a bit, and sat down to watch the sunset. The blazing sun, so blindingly white hot just a few hours earlier, had once again turned an inflamed red, before sinking behind the sand hills.

The day’s azure canopy above was flushed with an iridescent indigo, shimmering with the lights of a thousand stars.

With no other option, we walked back the last few kilometres to the farm, pushing the bike as we went.

It was tough, the sand slipping beneath our feet and the bike’s wheels, but nothing compared to the feat of crossing the desert by day; the thought of thirsty nomads arriving at the mosque, parking their droves outside and taking refuge kept recurring in my mind.

We arrived at the dera, and our charpoys had been dragged to the top of the nearest sand hill. Shaking the dust off our feet, we reclined on the beds and stared at the universe above.

This time, however, the desert wasn’t silent, but alive with the sound of a million beings which had come back to life, singing back to us the stories of the day which we had witnessed.

Later still, we slept, our thick blankets wrapping us away from the cold of the night, and as we dreamt beneath the heavens, the theatre of the desert unfolded around us.

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• Courtly origins
• Onset of modernity
• Modernity and its discontents
• Natives are restless
• Constant vigilance
• In fact, the history of Pakistani journalism is the history of a format and a technique of articulating and disseminating information — the history of the production and dissemination of newsprint, along with the emergence of news-reading publics.
• It is a common misapprehension of colonial times that the British brought along with their rule a modern, liberal understanding to the subcontinent. The history of colonial journalism in India would in fact have it the other way.
• As the events of the ‘mutiny’ unfolded, the native language press became active and issued statements about freedom that the colonial authorities found deplorable.

In the 21st century, we can note that Pakistani journalism has experienced an organic development of professionalism, periods of draconian suppression and frequently innovated new modes of resisting extraneous control.

Journalism in Pakistan has indeed progressed over the past decades in discursive, technological and institutional terms.

With the dissemination and subsequent regulation of satellite and broadcast technologies, journalism has morphed into a form characterised by 24-hour "breaking" news, colloquially referred to as "the media".

At the same time, virtual spaces on the internet, driven by social media sites, have opened up new spheres of debate and discussion.

It would, however, be a misnomer to conflate these forms of progress with the attainment of "Freedom".

As long as it remains true that there is a fine line demarcating what can and cannot be said in public discourse, journalistic or expressive freedom, in a political sense, in fact, is never truly attained.

It can only be strived towards — that in itself is a constant struggle.

While it is important to look to the future for advances in expressive freedoms and journalistic liberties, it is equally important to look at the struggles of the past.

Pakistan’s history is peppered with incidents of centralised control, repression and censorship that have left their marks on the character of this emergent 21st century news media.

At the same time, the fact that the struggle for attaining Pakistan, the anti-colonial freedom struggle of Muslims in the subcontinent, was catalysed by newsprint, continues to stand as a source of inspiration and vitalisation to continuing strands of serious journalism and news reporting in Pakistan.

It is paradoxical, then, that the very medium which took on the struggle for freedom of expression and self-determination of Muslims in British India is the same format that is most hotly contested in our country today.

How can the state, or the powers that be, ever see it justifiable to repress that very mode of expression which breathed life into the struggle for this country?

Courtly origins

The history of Pakistani journalism undoubtedly stretches further back than the birth of Pakistan. Two of the largest print and electronic media houses in this country — Dawn and Jang — were formed well before Partition.

However, the roots of Pakistani journalism cannot be confined within the chronological bounds of 1947-present, nor can it be simply tied to the anti-colonial movement of Muslims in the subcontinent, which eventually spawned Pakistan.

The pre-history of Pakistani journalism actually stretches further back than the 1940s, before the journalistic interventions of Sir Syed Ahmed Khan for a Muslim identity, even prior to the closure of Muslim periodicals such as Sultan-ul-Akhbar, Gulshan-i-Nowbahar and Siraj-ul-Akhbar through the Indian Press Laws promulgated by the British authorities in the aftermath of the 1857 War of Independence.

In fact, the history of Pakistani journalism is the history of a format and a technique of articulating and disseminating information — the history of the production and dissemination of newsprint, along with the emergence of news-reading publics.

Even prior to the rise of the printing press and mass production, historian C. A. Bayly has traced a subcontinental tradition of newswriting and political reporting enshrined in the tradition of akhbar-nafeesi.

These early-modern akhbar-nafees or newswriters in Bayly’s account were neither journalists nor public intellectuals, but closer to information runners who used to report on matters of different princely courts for the benefit of the sovereign who commissioned them. Their activities comprised an admixture of diplomacy, espionage and reportage.

It is no wonder that the honourific title of the Mughal sovereign included the terms hoshyar and khabardar, for he would be alert and aware of developments in his own and surrounding territories and the affairs of his subjects, thanks to briefings delivered by the akhbar-nafees.

The arrival of the printing press at the dawn of modernity and the emergence of a new colonial public abruptly pulled this pre-modern informational membrane inside out:

With the rise of commercial and political newsprint, a newly emergent newsreading public now demanded to know more about the affairs of the sovereign, about politics, commerce and war.

Onset of modernity

Soon after the East India Company (EIC) set up dominions in their presidencies of Bengal, Madras and Bombay, the first printing presses and typesets also arrived in the subcontinent.

The earlier uses of the press included printing calendars, bibles and almanacs by the missionaries, and this technology was not utilised for news reporting until the end of the 18th century.

It is James Augustus Hicky who is widely attributed by historians to be the founder of modern print journalism in the subcontinent. As noted by Graham Shaw in Printing in Calcutta to 1800:

"It remains an interesting fact that printing was introduced into Calcutta in 1777 only on the whim of a bankrupt businessman who whilst in prison resorted to his former calling of printing simply as a convenient means of paying off some of his debts!"

The Company’s government was not thrilled by the prospect of privately published newsprint broadsheets circulating in its territories, where its rule over the populous native inhabitants was held together by only a fragile veneer of appearances and illusions.

Hence, the first governor general of India Warren Hastings pursued a gruelling extra-legal strangulation of Hicky’s Gazette by instructing postmasters to suppress its distribution in the dawk.

Hicky is now granted accolades for maintaining a stringently critical editorial line against Hastings and the Company’s arbitrary rule in his Gazette, and consistently lampooning powerful colonialists in his signature satirical style.

In fact, Hicky spent much of his days as a printer indebted and in prison. After being forcibly deported from India, the ill-fated founder of modern news-media in the subcontinent died penniless on a boat to China.

Modernity and its discontents

It would appear that modern journalism in colonial India was born in a prison. Since then, journalism in the subcontinent has scarcely, if ever, escaped these incarcerating walls of fear and coercion.

Colonial documents from the early 19th century on the topic are ripe with the "fear" or "dangers of a free press in India".

The EIC’s administrators and shareholders were constantly anxious about the potential of the new medium of the press to disrupt their colonial rule and depriving Britain of its bejeweled possessions.

It is a common misapprehension of colonial times that the British brought along with their rule a modern, liberal understanding to the subcontinent. The history of colonial journalism in India would in fact have it the other way.

The East India Company actively tried to suppress this new medium, as it drew adventurers and private profiteers to the lucrative market of selling newsprint commodities to European inhabitants of the three presidency towns of Calcutta, Madras and Bombay.

The repression employed by the Company was neither liberal, nor was it progressive. From 1780 onwards, the Company carefully monitored each piece of newsprint that was being circulated within its territories.

The first infraction in the press recorded by the Company was of Irish-American William Duane, proprietor of a Calcutta paper called The Indian World, where he published reports with an American revolutionary flair considered damaging by the Company.

Having no legal mechanism to apprehend such infractions, Governor General John Shore retorted to brute force against Duane.

On a number of occasions, peons and domestic servants were sent to rough up and forcibly abduct Duane and hold him without warrant.

In the meantime, the Company contrived a way to get rid of Duane by rescinding his license to reside in their colonial territory, and effectively deported him.

Soon after Duane’s extralegal deportation, the EIC, under Governor General Cornwallis, enacted the first printing press regulations in India with the following five precepts:

1stly — Every Printer of a Newspaper to print his name at the bottom of the Paper.
2ndly — Every Editor and Proprietor of a Paper to deliver his Name and place of abode to the Secretary to Government.
3rdly — No Paper to be published on a Sunday.
4thly — No Paper to be published at all until it shall have been previously inspected by the Secretary to the Government; or by a Person authorised by him for that purpose.
5thly — The penalty for offending against any of the above Regulations to be immediate embarkation for Europe.

With these five simple but comprehensive draconian maxims, the EIC formally enacted censorship in early 19th century India.

A government censor would scrutinise the proofs, prior to the publication or distribution of any printed matter.

The only printers and publishers in India at the time were of European descent, hence the threat of deportation to Europe was a formidable threat.

The Company’s anxieties with print stemmed from the fear that the Europeans would discuss the news amongst themselves, and this news would spread to the natives, who would soon come to know the truth and ultimately overthrow the yoke of European domination.

Some liberal proponents of the press as a means of delivering enlightenment to the natives also became vocal about the positive aspects of a press in India.

One such man was an adventurer and mariner by the name of James Silk Buckingham, who arrived in Calcutta in 1818 and soon bought The Calcutta Journal.

Prior to this, the liberal-minded Marquis Rawdon had relaxed the censorship regulations to a set of rules for editors by which they may regulate themselves.

J.S. Buckingham took advantage of this regulatory lapse in order to publish articles critical of the colonial authorities.

As the government lacked the authority to deport Buckingham at the time, it attempted various strategies to strangle The Calcutta Journal, until finally his enterprise was suppressed and he was shipped back to England.

The fear that Buckingham's Journal aroused in the Company administrators had little to do with his liberal-minded critique.

Rather, it stemmed from the fact that the natives had begun setting up their own printing enterprises in local languages, and that they would take inspiration from Buckingham and criticise government policy in public discourse.

These native printers and publishers, as the administrators would note, could also not be deported to Europe as they didn’t require a license to reside in their own territories.

Hence a new regime of press regulations was swiftly put in place in 1823. Writing against the colonial government would be penalised by revoking the license to print — and printing without a license would result in jail time.

Natives are restless

Ram Mohan Roy, an influential scholar and reformer, set up one of the first local language printing presses in Calcutta. He began issuing two newsprint broadsheets, Meerat-ul-Akhbar in Persian and Sambad Kaumudi in Bengali.

After these regulations were put in place, Roy travelled to London to pursue a legal case against the Company and publicly voiced his disapproval, eventually shutting down his paper in protest.

The first ever Urdu language newspaper Jam-i-Jahan Numa (Mirror of the World) was also published in Calcutta during this time by a Hindu proprietor.

Innovations in typefaces for local languages spurred local publishing in the early 19th century, mushrooming towards the middle.

This was the time of the great rebellion of 1857, in which the printing presses played an important part in disseminating information about the conflict throughout the territories.

As the events of the ‘mutiny’ unfolded, the native language press became active and issued statements about freedom that the colonial authorities found deplorable.

In the June of 1857, a new press regulation limiting the circulation of books, pamphlets and printed matter was put into force, which later came to be known as the Gagging Act.

This is also the period when Muslim news periodicals began to formulate critiques of colonial rule. However, as Margarita Barns notes in The Indian Press, a majority of the Urdu newspapers in this time were edited by Hindus.

Through the aftermath and brutal repression of 1857, a Muslim identity began emerging through the press, and it was through the press that they voiced their earliest calls for freedom.

In the 20th century, newspaper editors and journalists greatly aided the birth of a new political consciousness in the colonial subcontinent.

Political parties such as the Congress and the All India Muslim League were sustained and supported by affiliated print organs, which voiced their concerns and reservations to negotiations with the British authorities.

Since the first decade of the 20th century, the British Raj enforced a draconian regime of press censorship fueled by the same anxieties about the dangers of a free press and free-thinking public opinion.

The origins of the printing press, and along with it the history of Pakistani journalism, lie in the dawn of colonial modernity.

In this colonial realm, the freedom to discuss collective issues has always been a contested space, freedom to print and publish was a constant struggle, and there is scarcely a period where this was completely attained.

Even if this freedom is attained on one occasion, it could be easily yield to forms of constraint.

As Margarita Barns concludes about freedom of expression in her own monograph on the press written a few years before the creation of Pakistan:

"World conditions today have jeopardised this supreme ideal. Experience of totalitarianism leaves no doubt that once liberty is lost, nothing short of a revolutionary situation would seem to hold out any prospect of its return… Above all, there is the persistent danger that, because the times are critical, emergency powers devised to meet the needs of the moment may have the effect of permanently restricting the freedom which has been so dearly won."

Indeed, when Barns was about to publish her history of Indian journalism in 1939, war broke out which imposed a new strict regime banning the publication and distribution of anything "to influence public opinion in a manner likely to be prejudicial to the defence of the realm or the efficient prosecution of war."

These measures only convinced her to rush the publication of her monograph, as "never was there a more opportune moment to recall phases of the struggle for the liberty of expression."

Constant vigilance

Today, as World Press Freedom Day encourages us to think about the current state and future of the freedom to print and publish without constraints, we must, at the same time, also recall the continued struggles fought over two centuries for the ever-fleeting right to print and publish freely.

It is paradoxical to think that any Pakistani policy maker would have ever felt justified in curtailing the use of the very press that has been so instrumental in making Pakistan into a realistic outcome through the constant labour and advocacy of journalists, editors, printers, publishers and hawkers.

The freedom of expression is a delicate yet important right, generations have fought for it — it should always be cherished when one has it, and it should be constantly struggled for when one doesn’t.

• No plan, no leader
• The conspiracy trials
• An inspiration to others

A special tribunal was set up to hear what eventually came to be known as the First Lahore Conspiracy Trial. Under it, multiple cases were heard, the first batch of which began on April 26, 1915.

The judgement was read on September 13 — 24 of the accused were sentenced to death and 27 to transportation for life, while the others received varying sentences.

One of those sentenced to death was 19-year-old Kartar Singh Sarabha, who had returned to Punjab from San Francisco to take up arms against the colonial state. During his trial, he spoke eloquently and passionately about the injustices committed by the colonial state.

Sarabha had been associated with the revolutionary Ghadar magazine in San Francisco since it was founded in October, 1913. The magazine was published in several languages and distributed to Indian expatriates all over the world.

Sarabha had taken up responsibility for the Gurmukhi edition, even contributing poetry and articles to it.

With the onset of the First World War in 1914 and the decision of the committee responsible for the magazine’s publication to wage war against the British state in India, Sarabha headed home along with thousands of others, convinced that their heroism would inspire the local population to rise against their colonial rulers.

They could not have been more wrong.

The majority of the revolutionaries were originally from Punjab, having been inspired by the Ghadar magazine. But on their return, they found Punjab firmly within the embrace of the colonial empire.

Most of the villagers had benefited from the agricultural policies of the state while the recruits to the army were pro-empire.

Thus, upon landing in the various cities of British India, many of the revolutionaries were betrayed by their fellow villagers and arrested. Those who escaped were forced to go underground.

What also did not help was the lack of discretion shown by the revolutionaries. Infused with an inspiring patriotism, many preached on their ships in an attempt to recruit more to their cause. To keep the passion alive, many sang patriotic songs on the way.

Thus, even before the first boat had landed on the shores of British India, the colonial state, through its network of spies and the vocal proselytising of the Ghadari revolutionaries, was prepared.

No plan, no leader

There was also never a particular plan of action or a central revolutionary party organising the movement. It was entirely centred on a magazine published in San Francisco.

While the articles that appeared in the magazine were high on rhetoric and passion, it never offered any concrete plan of action for the imminent revolution.

Perhaps Hardayal, Sohan Singh Bakhna and Pandit Kanshi Ram, the founders of the committee that published the magazine, had anticipated that revolution was a distant reality.

Hardayal, particularly, the intellectual inspiration behind the magazine, was more inspired by Russian anarchist political thinkers than Marxist literature. For him, revolution was spontaneous individualistic acts of bravery against an oppressive regime.

The anarchists, unlike the Marxists, did not believe in one party guiding the revolution, for they believed that, eventually, even this party would form the ruling class.

People needed to be prepared for this eventual uprising. Hence, the need to set up a magazine to create an environment conducive to a revolution.

While the magazine romanticised arms, bombs and violence and promoted their use, it never set out to plan the course of action to be taken.

The situation, however, changed drastically after the First World War broke. With multiple powerful forces joining hands against the British, it was felt the opportunity was ripe for an armed revolt against the colonial state.

Indian migrants all over the world were exhorted to return to the motherland to free her from the shackles of slavery. Thousands responded to the call, embarking on boats from various ports of the world.

But there was no clear plan as to what was to be done when they reached home. It was imagined that individual acts of bravery would inspire the entire country to rise against the colonial state.

The conspiracy trials

Those who managed to avoid arrest returned to their home towns and villages, forming little groups, each one working on its own, independently. Many of these groups began reaching out to Indians within the army.

The plan was to instigate a rebellion similar to the war of 1857 — when Indian sepoys at the Meerut cantonment had rebelled against their British officers, starting a year-long struggle for freedom.

Other groups continued with their own efforts to collect arms, raise funds through armed dacoities and manufacture bombs.

A semblance of a central leadership was given to the movement in January, 1915 when Rash Behari Bose was convinced to take up the mantle.

Bose was a revolutionary nationalist from Bengal who had gained popularity in radical circles because of his involvement in a plan to assassinate Lord Hardinge, the viceroy, in 1912.

Connections were established within several army units, including Lahore, Ferozepur, Meerut, Agra, Benares and Lucknow, who gave assurances that they would defect when called upon by the leadership. February 21, 1915 was fixed as the day the general revolt would start.

The British, however, had already learned of this plan and before the date, many of these army units were either moved or disarmed, while several leaders of the movement were arrested.

Bose managed to escape to Japan. He later set up the Indian Independence League in exile, a precursor to Subhas Chandra Bose’s Indian National Army.

Others who were caught were tried in the First Lahore Conspiracy Trial.

An inspiration to others

For all practical purposes, the Ghadar Movement failed to achieve its political goals. The colonial state remained deeply entrenched in Punjab. However, something had changed.

The spontaneous acts of bravery of these revolutionaries became part of folklore. While in their lifetimes they failed to see the fruits of the seeds they had sown, for generations to come after them, tales of their bravery were recalled to instill nationalist fervour in people.

Bhagat Singh was one such young man who was moved by the passion of these revolutionaries. It is believed he always carried a picture of Kartar Singh Sarabha in his pocket. And that all the meetings of the Naujawan Bharat Sabha, the party he founded, had a picture of the young revolutionary as well.

16 years after the First Lahore Conspiracy Trial, a second Lahore Conspiracy Case was heard against Bhagat Singh, which he — taking a leaf out of Sarabha’s book — used to promote his ideas of revolution.

Like Sarabha, he became another young intellectual-revolutionary, whose sacrifice was meant to prick the conscience of the people.

Many other revolutionaries of the Ghadar Movement who escaped the wrath of the empire eventually formed other political organisations, the most prominent of which was the Kirti Kissan Sabha, a Marxist party particularly popular in the rural areas of Punjab. In 1928, they formed a crucial alliance with the Naujawan Bharat Sabha.

Thus, while the Ghadar Movement failed to achieve its revolutionary purpose, it managed to set into motion a series of important events — Jallianwala Bagh, the Non-Cooperation Movement of the 1920s, the demand for Purna Swaraj or complete self-rule — and inspired key figures in history such as Bhagat Singh, Subhas Chandra Bose and the Kirti Kissan Sabha.

Through their heroism, it may be said the Ghadaris managed to spark a revolution.

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

• Lahore Qalandars (Team grade: F)
• Multan Sultans (Team grade: C)
• Quetta Gladiators (Team grade: B)
• Karachi Kings (Team grade: B)
• Peshawar Zalmi (Team grade: A)
• Islamabad United (Team grade: A+)
• Pakistan Super League 2018 (Grade: A++)

The curtains fell on the third edition of the Pakistan Super League (PSL) with a spectacular final in front of a capacity crowd at the National Stadium in Karachi last Sunday.

As the month-long tournament — contested by six teams with games played in Dubai, Sharjah, Lahore and Karachi — comes to a close, let's look at how each team fared.

Lahore Qalandars (Team grade: F)

What can be said about the Qalandars that hasn't already been said. The Lahore-based franchise, for the third straight year, was a mess. Messier, in fact.

After finishing at the bottom of the table in the inaugural tournament, the Qalandars had shown some improvement in their second season — although they finished last that year as well.

It was expected of them to build on that this time around but it didn't happen. The Qalandars regressed. So much so that they lost all six of their opening matches.

They did win three of their final four matches and briefly threatened to not finish last but those wins were mere consolations and came too little too late.

Their main problem was not having a middle-order batsman who could just stay at the crease, not lose his head, and keep the scoreboard ticking. Think of a Babar Azam type.

T20 is about hitting the ball out of the park as often as possible but it is also about maintaining a level of calm and not panicking every time a few wickets fall.

Sadly, the Qalandars did not have a single player cut out for that role. They chopped, they changed, they tried everything but nothing worked.

It's highly unlikely they will retain captain Brendon McCullum, for they need to go back to the drawing board and reboot.

Multan Sultans (Team grade: C)

The league's newest franchise played safe during player recruitment, stockpiling veterans rather than youth. And their strategy reflected in the kind of debut season they had.

The Sultans started off brilliantly, winning four of their opening six games before their challenge fizzled out. Halfway through their campaign, the same experience that was considered their strength turned into a weakness.

A side chock-full of 30-something veterans and devoid of any notable young blood had fatigued. They lost each of their last four league games, eventually settling for second-last in the league standings.

The Sultans' campaign wasn't a complete failure but they must learn that T20, unlike the other two formats of the game, is more about raw talent rather than technique. Next time, they recruit, they must take risks and accommodate a few youngsters as well rather than opting for safe options with known ceilings.

Quetta Gladiators (Team grade: B)

Like the Qalandars, the Gladiators too were plagued by the same problems. They were impressive during the league stage but what's new there.

They always do well in the games held in the UAE. It's the Pakistan leg where their inability to convince their foreign talent to travel leaves them exposed.

So, like the year before, the Gladiators were without Kevin Pietersen, Shane Watson and several others as the PSL 2018 moved to Pakistan for final two play-off matches and the final.

On paper and with their international stars, the Gladiators were clearly the better side than Peshawar Zalmi. Even without key players, they lost to Zalmi by just one run.

Had they had the players who had no qualms in travelling to Pakistan, it would almost certainly have been the Gladiators playing Islamabad United in the final. This team had all the talent and grit but no luck.

Karachi Kings (Team grade: B)

The Kings were the team to beat at the start of this year's PSL, winning three straight matches and soaring to the top of the table.

They eventually finished the league stage in second spot before being knocked out by Zalmi in the second eliminator.

They were unlucky with ill-timed injuries to their captain Imad Wasim and star man Shahid Afridi, and their stand-in captain Mohammad Amir perhaps didn't have the experience to make the right calls during that high-pressure chase.

With the final held in the City of Lights, Kings' fans would have loved to see their home team play at the National Stadium. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.

The Kings, disappointing in the first two PSLs, were much better this time around but were found wanting during the play-offs, losing both their games.

A bit more composure in crucial games will help them take that final leap next year.

Peshawar Zalmi (Team grade: A)

The 2017 champions were clearly not themselves in the 2018 campaign. They lost Shahid Afridi to Karachi Kings during off-season and were troubled by injuries to star players when the tournament began.

Yet, they managed to drag themselves to the final — a testament to their luck and big-game nous.

However, had things not gone in their way, Zalmi could easily not have even qualified for the play-offs, let alone make the final.

Deep into the league stage, they were second-last in the standings and better only than the horrible Qalandars.

Had they not won their last two league matches, there was a genuine possibility that they, and not Lahore, could've finished last.

But their problems stemmed from injuries, which cannot be prevented. Even then, they made it to the finals and could've won the tourney had Kamran Akmal not pulled a classic Kamran Akmal.

In all, this was a decent campaign. Zalmi should still be proud of themselves.

Islamabad United (Team grade: A+)

The champions. Correction: two-time champions.

Islamabad United have become a benchmark and an example to follow for their PSL rivals. They're an incredibly well-run franchise that goes about its business and has quickly developed a tradition of winning, just like so many other sports franchises with United as their moniker have around the world.

They managed a perfect mixture of experience and youth, with the likes of Mohammad Sami, JP Duminy, Faheem Ashraf and Asif Ali.

They barely had a tale, thanks to a long list of all-rounders they had in their ranks. They also boasted the tournament's hottest batsman: Luke Ronchi.

United were so strong, even injuries to their captain and vice-captain couldn't derail their campaign. They were a little slow off the blocks — two of their three defeats came in their opening three matches — but once they were warmed up, they steamrolled every team that came in their way.

Barring a defeat in a dead-rubber to Karachi when they rested several key players, United won eight of their last nine matches. They were by far the best side in the competition and completely deserved their second title.

Pakistan Super League 2018 (Grade: A++)

The third edition of the tournament was thrice the fun. With the addition of a sixth team, the competition was tougher and entertainment was aplenty.

While the PSL 2018 did not see a 200-run game, it had more cliffhangers, super overs and nail-biters than we've seen any cricket league produce in recent times.

One cause of concern for the organisers could be the low attendances at the stadia in Dubai and Sharjah, but with the tournament planned to be phased out of the UAE and moved entirely to Pakistan in the next few years, that one blip will go away too.

All in all, the PSL 2018 exceeded the fans' expectations and we cannot wait for it to come back next year.

Did you attend the PSL final in Karachi? Share your experiences with us at blog@dawn.com

The American West with its wilderness, vastness and pristine beauty has always attracted the trekker and hiker in me.

Those mountains, hills, deserts, canyons, lakes and rivers present an open invitation and challenge for all those who like nature in its purest form.

Every summer, while growing up in Pakistan, I felt an insistent drive to go to the mountains — I considered these to be the best days of the year.

A decade later, a visit to Yellowstone and other national parks in the western United States sparked the same energy and enthusiasm in me.

I planned to take a road trip of about 10 days exploring as many national parks as possible.

As always, being a Pakistani citizen, I was anxious about going through the security clearance before boarding the plane at the airport. However, the flight to Salt Lake City was uneventful.

I was all prepared for travelling for a few days. I knew it would be long, physically tiring and challenging at times, but the idea of a relaxed vacation is not for me.

The journey began the next day with a short tour of Salt Lake City. Then I started north towards Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

My lungs really appreciated the cool and clear air of the mountains. It took a few more hours to get to Jackson Hole.

As soon as I entered the city, we saw a moose grazing in the bushes. There was even a ‘moose stop’ on the traffic signs.

I finally reached the house of friends in nearby Wilson, an upscale and well-maintained gated community with a golf course and indoor tennis courts.

Dick Cheney, the former US vice president, also owns a house in the community.

The house was simple but elegant with high ceilings and glass windows on two sides of the house, giving a spectacular view of the Teton Mountains.

Seated in this serene location, surrounded by wilderness, a stream running through the yard, I felt connected with nature.

The interior of the house was filled with French Impressionist-style paintings and other works of art including sculpture and glass.

The next day started with a boat tour of Jenny Lake and then a 1.5-mile steep hike in the mountains. The trail reminded me of my trekking and mountaineering in Pakistan.

Many times when our host referred to the Grand Tetons as “mountains,” I wanted to correct him; in Pakistan these would be considered foothills.

I had the same reaction on the trail. I saw hikers loaded with stuffed backpacks, a Swiss Army knife on the side, a flashlight in another pocket, two bottles of water, a bear repellent spray, hiking sticks and many other small gadgets and smartphones just to hike a trail of 1.5 miles.

A couple of women had even guns hanging at their sides.

Consumerism and capitalism really drove these tourists to prepare for every possible thing that might happen on the trail.

In Pakistan, we carried less than this to walk for days in terrain that was many times more difficult and posed very serious challenges.

It seemed excessive to see people loaded with stuff to walk an hour. But the view of the lake from the top of the hill was spectacular and worth the climb.

That night we ate around a bonfire in the backyard at the edge of the creek. While we were eating dinner, a deer and her young fawn came close.

They looked a little confused at what these humans were doing in “their” place.

For dessert, I had the most delicious raspberries that I’d ever tasted. They came fresh from bushes in the front garden from which I picked more the next morning.

The next day we started our hike at the Laurence Rockefeller Conservation Area and walked for a mile and a half along the river to Phelps Lake.

Later, I spent the afternoon in art galleries and stores in Jackson Hole. Most of the art was about the American West and was overpriced.

I did not find it exciting except for a miniature truck that was painted and decorated like a typical Pakistan truck.

The famous antler arches in the main city square attracted many tourists. We also visited a local art show and enjoyed some wood and glasswork and photographs.

In the evening, we took a gondola to the top of the hill at Teton Village, where we also had dinner. From 9,500 feet, the valley looked beautiful.

The air was cold and it was chilly on top of the hill. In winter, these slopes are used for skiing and the valley for cross-country skiing.

There were many bushes with colourful wildflowers. The valley was wide open below with a river flowing in the middle, inviting visitors to explore it.

I was very excited the next morning about going to the Yellowstone Park, the oldest and most admired national park in the US.

Before entering the park, we drove through areas where wildfires had burned thousands of acres of land.

Our first major stop was Old Faithful Inn, a gigantic structure made mostly of wood and some stone, a true work of art located right next to the famous Old Faithful geyser.

As expected, the Old Faith erupted on time. Thousands of people circle around it to observe the eruption that sends water and steam more than a hundred feet into the air. There were a few Indian and Pakistani families as well, some of whom I talked to.

The next stop was the Grand Prismatic Spring, another place of geothermal and biological activity, with different bacteria giving its water turquoise, blue, orange, yellow, green and other shades of colour.

After making short stops at several small geothermal ponds, we drove to Hayden Valley where bison sighting was expected.

Sure enough, dozens of bison appeared close to the road. I found a perfect parking place and got out of the car in excitement.

To my surprise, the herd started to walk directly towards us and soon they were only a few feet away.

One of the calves started to scratch its neck against my car. Soon a papa bison came and stood next to the car.

The bison was so huge that my rental car (a Toyota Corolla) seemed small next to him. I was sure if he got his horns under the car, he could turn it over easily.

When bison come to the road, they take their time to move across, causing mile-long traffic jams.

At a pullover spot, with guidance from fellow tourists and with the help of binoculars, I was able to see a grizzly bear sitting next to an elk on the bank of a stream.

After that excitement, I drove towards the inside-the-park hotel to spend the night. There are very few lodges inside the park and the accommodations are limited.

On the way to the hotel, all of a sudden, a small grizzly walked in front of the car. He crossed the road and then disappeared into the woods.

It a highlight of my day. He was only a few metres away yet I felt safe inside the car.

The next morning, we drove over the state line and had breakfast in Montana. The next stop was Lamar Valley, where there were hundreds, if not thousands, of bison.

I was also able to spot a few antelopes and other animals from the deer family. Someone spotted a wolf eating the carcass of a bison, but I missed it. Later in the day, I saw another big black bear and spotted other wildlife.

There are several waterfalls all along the park. We walked almost a mile to see the gigantic ‘upper falls.’ There was a huge rainbow across the valley over the falls.

Over the years, I have noticed that every South Asian resident or tourist in North America wants to visit the Niagara Falls.

Here I was more excited about the geothermal activity and seeing animals like bison, bears and antelopes.

These are things you can only experience in Yellowstone; falls and trails you can see in other places too.

I spent the night in Roosevelt Lodge in Yellowstone Park. I was able to experience a wood stove for heating for the first time; it kept the room warm for a few hours.

But around 4am the room felt ice-cold even under the layers of blankets covering the beds.

I got up and threw some chips into the stove and started the fire again. Soon after the room became cozy.

Maybe it was the sight of fire or the smell of wood or smoke, but it had a calming effect.

The scenery of the mountains was beautiful, but I started to sense some disappointment building inside me.

For me, mountains present the challenge of hiking, not seeing them from a distance. Because of park restrictions, there were only a few areas you could explore on foot.

This was not my idea of visiting mountains. I knew it was time to move on and explore the deserts of southern Utah.

Fortunately, in planning the trip I had left room for the unexpected. I am very happy I did, for it allowed an unforeseen turn of events that sent us on a new adventure.

We took the western exit of the park and entered Idaho. Soon the land became flat with miles of wheat and potato crop fields.

The scenery was very different from Yellowstone, yet both were magnificent and beautiful in their own way.

After two days — and several stops — I finally arrived in Bryce Canyon, in southern Utah. It is an impressive configuration of many rock towers standing next to each other in the desert.

We took a two-mile hike, going down to the base of the canyon from which the upward view of these amazing naturally carved stone towers was spectacular.

It is amazing how nature has carved stones into these towers. It took centuries for the wind to carve these delicate sculptures. I have not visited anything parallel to these canyons in Pakistan.

On one side of the valley, the wind and erosion have done some impressive work carving tall caves reminding me of the caves of Bamiyan in Afghanistan.

After Bryce, I headed to Waves Canyon, taking a wrong turn and spotting a wolf, the best experience of the day.

I spent the night in a Spanish villa-styled bed and breakfast in Kenab, Utah. The place was peaceful and serene.

I visited art galleries and local handicraft stores and indulged in freshly made ice cream at a food parlour.

Next door was a gallery where the owner and artist were present. They provided information about some interesting local destinations that were not listed on tourist websites or in brochures. Locals wanted to keep certain things a secret to avoid the tourist crowd.

This was very useful information and we visited several sites the next day. The walk to Toadstools, a group of balanced rock formations in Escalante National Monument, started in a dry riverbed very close to different layers of red, brown, black, white and mixed-coloured rocks.

There were no tourists in the area and the internet did not provide information about it.

The trail ends on a beautiful plateau on which there were many small rock formations shaped like mushrooms.

It was a beautiful sight, but it was not possible to stay very long due to the scorching heat. I enjoyed the walk as it was the first time I was so close to nature without crowds of tourists.

After driving for an hour, we entered Arizona for the next stop at Horseshoe Bend Canyon. The Colorado River was a few hundred feet down in the canyon, following a course shaped almost like a circle.

There were no fences at the edge of the canyon’s vertical drop, and I was amazed how many tourists were standing or sitting close to the edge to get a perfect picture, just a few inches away from certain death in case of a slip.

We drove on through Bear Ears, past several lakes and valleys, on the way to Monument Valley, a symbol of the American wilderness.

I have seen it in countless movies and advertisements. A few red flat-top or tower-like rocks standing in a flat valley, it has always fascinated me.

Moab is a cool little town that serves as a gateway to Arches National Park. It has a fine independent bookstore, local handmade craft shops, and many other boutique stores.

There was also an advertisement for an upcoming music festival. The galleries sell stunningly beautiful photographs of different landscapes of the American West.

We started hiking to visit the world-famous Delicate Arch early in the morning before the temperature got high. It was a good decision. The 1.6-mile hike was all uphill with some steep parts at the edge of the rocks.

I walked through the contrast of dusty soil and soft red clay in the middle of the sandstone rocks. Delicate Arch is a stand-alone structure, probably five stories high on top of a rock which has one flat side. The other side looks like the edge of a circular trench.

Stepping just a few feet in the wrong direction can land you in a valley hundreds of feet below. I walked very carefully to the centre of the arch, and sat down in the shade of the petrified sand dunes to rest and enjoy the beauty of the arch.

Here I caught the first glimpse of a hawk on this tour. It was exciting to be part of the beauty, feeling powerful and significant as a human being, but insignificant and small in the larger picture.

Years ago I had seen this arch from a distance. This time I was able to climb right up to it. The sandstone structure seemed a beautiful piece of art; I was stunned by its beauty.

Soon the temperature soared up to 41 C; I believe it was the highest temperature I experienced in the US.

The next and last stop was Salt Lake City. We visited the Mormon Temple Square and walked near the Tabernacle and into the Old Temple, all majestic and opulent.

At the end of the trip I felt tired, physically exhausted and worn out, but my heart was happy and my mind had stored many images of fascinating scenery and exciting experiences.

It was the right way to spend my vacation as a fond reminder of those wonderful summers in the mountains of Pakistan.

Have you ever explored well-known or off-the-beaten tracks around the world? Share your adventures with us at blog@dawn.com

• A matter of principle
• Bhagat Singh’s popularity
• The rise of Jawaharlal Nehru

The reaction to the assassination was not what Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev had anticipated. On December 17, 1927 the three freedom fighters shot dead JP Saunders, assistant superintendent of police outside the Superintendent’s Office in Lahore.

The act, originally intended for Superintendent of Police James Scott, was meant to avenge the death of freedom fighter and Congress leader Lala Lajpat Rai.

Rai had died exactly a month ago, a few days after he was thrashed by the colonial police led by Scott outside the Lahore Railway Station, where he was protesting against the Simon Commission.

The British had set up the commission to report on the progress of constitutional reforms in India, but it was criticised for not including a single Indian member.

Rai had been a mentor to Bhagat Singh. He was a former ally of Ajit Singh, Bhagat Singh’s revolutionary uncle and role model.

The young leader had also studied at Lahore’s National College, which Rai had established, and had imbibed revolutionary literature at the Dwarka Das Library that Rai had set up in the city.

A matter of principle

A committed communist, Bhagat Singh had ideological differences with Rai, who was regarded as a Hindu communalist.

Besides being a member of the Congress, Rai was also part of the Arya Samaj, an organisation that had played an important role in the communalisation of national identity in India.

However, despite his differences with Rai, Bhagat Singh and his comrades felt it was essential to avenge the death of one of the leading politicians of the country.

Rai was a former president of the Congress and he, along with Bal Gangadhar Tilak and Bipin Chandra Pal – known as the Lal-Bal-Pal trio – had been responsible for adding fervour to the Indian national struggle.

For Bhagat Singh, Rai’s death was a blow to the honour of the people of India.

However, when the honour was avenged with the death of Saunders, it failed to inspire the revolutionary reaction Bhagat Singh had anticipated.

Many prominent leaders and politicians distanced themselves from what was described as a “terrorist” act, while numbers at the regular meetings of the Naujawan Bharat Sabha, the parent organisation of Bhagat Singh and his comrades, also dwindled.

Even The People, a weekly newspaper Rai had founded in Lahore, called the assassination a desperate action.

Bhagat Singh and his comrades reasoned that a more courageous act was required to inspire the revolutionary spirit of the people – an act that would “Make the deaf hear.”

Thus it was decided that a bomb would be thrown in the Legislative Assembly in Delhi, making sure no one was harmed in the process. But Bhagat Singh realised that even that might not achieve their objective.

He then suggested that the bombers court arrest thereafter. He argued that they would use their trial to educate the people about their revolutionary ideas, thus setting up the conditions for an eventual communist revolution in the country.

However, the country’s leading politicians also condemned the bombing in the Legislative Assembly, much like they did with Saunders’ assassination.

Gandhi equated the bombing with the murder of the Hindu publisher Rajpal in Lahore for publishing a controversial pamphlet on the Prophet of Islam.

Motilal Nehru declared that the choice for the people of India lay between Gandhi (the adherent of non-violence) and “Balraj”, a pseudonym used by Bhagat Singh for the assassination.

At this stage the young revolutionary leader was far from the hero he was to become shortly after.

Bhagat Singh’s popularity

The situation began to change dramatically during the record-breaking hunger strike that Bhagat Singh and his comrades undertook in jail to protest against the deplorable conditions there.

Overnight, the public sentiment changed in their favour. Meetings arranged by the Naujawan Bharat Sabha and other organisations sympathetic to Bhagat Singh’s agenda began attracting thousands of people.

The zeal increased even further following the death of their comrade Jatin Das, who lost his life on the 63rd day of the hunger strike due to the damage to his lungs after being force-fed.

The hunger strike touched the conscience of the people, making the nationalists household names. Many argue that around this time, Bhagat Singh began rivalling the popularity of Gandhi.

In the meantime, the Indian National Congress was also experiencing a transition. A new cadre of leadership, led by Jawaharlal Nehru and Subhas Chandra Bose, was emerging.

They were both leftist in their ideology and critical of the existing leadership, which included Gandhi and Motilal Nehru.

At this point, the Congress was demanding Dominion Status from Britain, which would have allowed India autonomy within the monarchy, like Australia and Canada.

To the younger leaders, this was a compromise. Jawaharlal Nehru particularly had serious reservations about it, but eventually accepted the idea after being persuaded by Gandhi.

However, the rise of Bhagat Singh’s popularity meant that the Congress started losing its influence over the youth, who were being increasingly drawn towards his political rhetoric.

Jawaharlal Nehru was already sympathetic to the nationalist leader, whom he visited in jail. He also published the defence statement of Bhagat Singh and his comrades in the Congress bulletin, for which he was criticised by Gandhi.

The slogan of “Inquilab Zindabad” being used by Bhagat Singh and his comrades started replacing the slogan of “Vande Matram” popularised by the Congress.

Towards the end of the 1920s, it became increasingly clear to the older leadership of the Congress that they would isolate their young followers if they did not accommodate their political agenda.

The rise of Jawaharlal Nehru

On September 28, 1929 much to the surprise of everyone, Nehru, backed by his father and Gandhi, was chosen as the new Congress president. This was to mark a shift in the Congress’ policies.

A couple of months later, on New Year’s Eve, the tricolour flag of independent India was hoisted on the banks of the Ravi in Lahore, as the Congress changed its demand from Dominion Status to Purna Swaraj or complete independence.

Bhagat Singh’s popularity was at its peak in Punjab, with Lahore being his political home. He, Rajguru and Sukhdev were executed there on March 23, 1931, a little more than a year after the Congress called for Purna Swaraj.

Their last rites were performed on the banks of Ravi by Bhagat Singh’s supporters who had snatched their remains from the colonial state.

It is impossible to predict how things would have turned out had Bhagat Singh’s rhetoric from jail not captured the imagination of the people.

Would it have been possible for Jawaharlal Nehru to rise so quickly to the top in the Congress? Would the largest political organisation of the country have changed its demand from Dominion Status to Purna Swaraj so soon after first demanding Dominion Status?

There is, however, no doubting that Bhagat Singh’s popularity and rhetoric made it easier for Jawaharlal Nehru to convince the senior leadership of the Congress to revolutionise their agenda or risk losing their popular support to other more radical organisations.

This piece was originally published in Scroll and has been reproduced with permission.

We didn’t know who we were meeting until just a few hours before. All we had been told was to show up.

Perhaps that is why when 20 of us female human rights defenders found ourselves in a room waiting for her to arrive, none of us had quite calibrated what was happening.

Women, many of whom are institutions unto themselves, were teetering with excitement, joy – emotions not common in the lives of activists.

There was Syeda Ghulam Fatima, who works to liberate brick kiln slaves, Anis Haroon, a National Human Rights Commissioner, Khawer Mumtaz, Muniba Mazari, Nighat Dad, Samar Minallah, activists from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan.

We all know of each other but our schedules rarely, if ever, bring us all into the same city, let alone the same room.

We started taking pictures to commemorate this moment. It isn’t often you are in the same room as all your sheroes.

As we took our seats, the doors opened.

The first thing you notice about Malala Yousafzai is how small she is – barely clearing 5’3 ft. But her effect on the room was immediate, that suddenly seemed too little to contain our shared pride. We all jumped to our feet and burst into spontaneous applause.

That after six years, she was home. That she had survived being shot in the head. That despite all the media scrutiny, the relentless bullying, the robbed childhood, she was back.

Despite a whirlwind schedule, the world’s youngest Nobel Prize winner had made time to meet the women on the ground to inspire both the old and new generations of activists.

Malala went around the room, greeting each female activist individually by shaking their hand, sometimes leaning in for a quick hug.

Some had met her before. Some, like me, had only ever seen her on television. But the delight of both was the same.

Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy, who had organised the meeting, asked everyone to briefly introduce themselves to Malala. But this moment was about Malala, nothing else.

Some told her they had not been able to sleep the night before when they found out they would be meeting her.

Anis Haroon, who has dedicated her life to the cause of human rights in Pakistan, had flown in from Karachi just that morning. The short notice had made it difficult to get a proper token of her affection, she said.

But she had brought with her the iconic Women’s Action Forum scarf, yellow, imprinted with laws and poetry that uphold the rights of women.

Malala got up and went up to Anis Haroon, who draped the scarf around her shoulders, welcoming her into this decades-long battle.

Anis Haroon then invited present and past WAF activists to be photographed with Malala, in a moment of inclusiveness that echoed the generosity and positivity in the room. That is Malala’s power.

In-depth: Malala Yousufzai

Malala is a listener. She speaks when called upon, and when she does, her words take comfort in their wisdom. She sits up straight, she makes eye contact. Her confidence is one fostered over years of experience. Only, Malala is just 20 years old.

Her small stature emphasises this. We all know the battles she has fought. We all know the enemies she takes on. We all know the ambitions she has.

I told her, you are so young. I told her that I have two daughters and as inspirational as she was for them, I hoped that she could still find time to enjoy what is left of her childhood.

There is a collective acknowledgement of this in the room, each looking at her, aware of the normalcy she has traded in for her extraordinary life.

When the introductions are done, Malala takes a deep breath. If she is overwhelmed, she does not show it. She knows how to navigate her distinction without a trace of arrogance.

She is comfortable in a room full of Pakistan’s leading activists. And surprisingly, Pakistan’s leading activists are comfortable in a room with her.

Cover story: The daughter of the nation

Earlier in the day, I had met a fellow activist at a café who was bursting with excitement at having just met Malala at the Prime Minister’s House.

I asked him how she was, and he said she was thronged by people which seemed to overwhelm her. And yet in this room, as we bonded over her arrival, she was calm, collected and eager to listen.

Malala is thrilled to be home. She has dreamed of this moment, and like many of us, can’t bring herself to believe that her dream of returning to her country came true.

She was apprehensive about her reception in Pakistan but was glad to see that she had been welcomed with open arms.

Sure, she manages the Malala Fund for Education. But, she tells us, she has assignments due at Oxford. She worries about homework.

Her friends at university have been texting her constantly, who are in disbelief that she managed to keep her trip to Pakistan secret from them.

We are heartened to hear of these small marks of student life. It is apparent that Malala can have a life, not entirely untouched by her celebrity but still pretty close.

Malala has always been serious about her studies, we know that. Even after she was shot, her first conversation with her father from the U.K. included an impassioned plea to bring her books with him. Her Matriculation exams were right around the corner, after all.

Her father, Ziauddin Yousafzai, sits next to her. He lets her shine, and speaks with the same respect he has passed down to his daughter.

There was something personal about how we understood what his support had done for Malala.

We all know how enabling having a father-figure that supports our work can be, and the courage it gives you to embark on a path less trodden.

Malala says her home country looks the same. Only, everything is different. There is so much hope, she finds, and is deeply touched by the kindness she has found in just this room.

I have never seen activists in such a good mood.

Last month, the civil society in Pakistan lost one of its giants. There was a sense of foreboding, as if we had lost a compass in a terrain that suddenly had become unfamiliar despite years of having walked it. Even the most steadfast of us felt broken by Asma Jahangir’s death.

Being an activist in Pakistan, being an activist anywhere, is a taxing road. But when we met Malala, the work seemed validated.

That if this young woman could find her way back, after everything she had been through, with her faith and will intact, how could we not keep fighting?

The struggle is long and often a lonely one, but how were we alone if we had each other?

And make no mistake, Malala fights the good fight. She brings nuance to the narrative about Pakistan in the West.

She is accused of being a tool for this narrative, but rest assured, she is no one’s fool.

She was not yet 16 years old when she met President Obama, who had asked her to come at the White House, and raised the impact of drone warfare on her people, reminding him of their murderous consequences.

Her very existence complicates things for the very institutions that paint Pakistan with a broad brush. And she does not let them forget that.

To those who know this, her homecoming was the triumph for the years of standing up for her.

Editorial: Malala returns home

This meeting wasn’t a baton-passing ceremony. None of us marked her out to continue the journeys that many of us embarked on before Malala was even born. That is not what we were there to do.

What it was, was a moment of validation and joy, for what she meant as a global symbol of Pakistani women fighting for a just world.

It is easy to overlook how much courage it took for her to come back home, and in that room, that bravery was infectious.

The best you can do as an activist is to create a path for future activists. You are lucky if you even guide one.

And here was Malala, uniting us all to continue to march forward, demanding more, fighting back and never giving up.

When she left the room, we all looked at each other in excitement. We took some more photos, hugged each other, promising to help each other in our respective battles.

Eventually, we all got up and returned to the work that we do.

This past week, 20-year-old Malala Yousafzai made an emotional return to Pakistan. Her four-day visit included meetings with friends, family, and senior officials, including Pakistan’s prime minister.

Many Pakistanis applauded Yousafzai’s return. Some, however, did not. While she may have received a hero’s welcome, Malala is no national hero in Pakistan.

A small but vocal minority, most of them members of a growing conservative middle class, resent her. They label her as a fraud, traitor, sell-out, or American stooge.

They say that there’s nothing special about her, that many Pakistani children suffer worse fates; that she’s abandoned her nation for fame in the West. Some claim the attack on her was staged by the CIA.

This is a story about an ordinary teenager who survives an unthinkable tragedy, uses that tragedy as inspiration to become a prominent advocate, and ends up in the crosshairs of a hate campaign led by conservative compatriots.

A similar story is playing out now in the United States.

Survivors of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School gun massacre in Parkland, Florida. have launched a powerful movement for more gun control.

This campaign has elevated them to prominence and provoked a small constituency of conservative, conspiratorial, gun-loving Americans.

These haters say the grieving victims attract attention they don’t deserve, come off as sanctimonious and self-righteous, are frauds, and are “being funded” and “given scripts.”

The gun massacre survivors are branded as Nazis, targeted in doctored photo campaigns, and even mocked for college rejection letters.

Admittedly, the analogy is imperfect. Malala suffered a more serious physical injury than did most of the Parkland survivors.

Malala is an overseas-based global activist focused on the transnational issue of education, while the Parkland survivors centre their advocacy around the US domestic issue of gun control.

Malala’s advocacy is couched in the language of hope; the Parkland activists are often emotional, angry, and overtly political.

Additionally, while Pakistanis and Americans use the same tactic—character assassination—against their objects of scorn, their respective motivations are different.

For Pakistanis, Malala represents something unusual: A successful case of upward mobility. In a nation of entrenched inequality, where 40 per cent of Pakistani children in the lowest economic quantile are expected to remain there for life, Malala’s rapid transformation from schoolteacher’s daughter to embodiment of the global elite is literally unbelievable—especially for the millions of middle-class Pakistanis who know they’ll never reach such dizzying heights.

As I wrote in an essay last year, this disorienting reality provokes admiration from some—but jealousy, skepticism, suspicion, and hostility from others.

While Pakistanis feel confused, Americans feel threatened. These impassioned, articulate students—who have galvanised many Americans, including elected officials—make them worry about real threats to their cherished gun culture. So, they lash out.

Nonetheless, the same basic dynamic is at play with Malala and the Parkland survivors: Young people suffering unthinkable tragedies and then being subjected to vicious hate campaigns—simply for the sin of being well-known advocates.

There are lessons here. One is the power of conspiracy theories. They convince people that despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, children weren’t really nearly gunned down and aren’t really innocent advocates for a cause.

In Pakistan, conspiracy theories have long been ubiquitous, thanks to a troubled education system, extremist sentiment, and the state’s tendency to blame domestic problems on foreign forces.

In America, only more recently have conspiracy theories gained such widespread prominence. Formerly fringe figures like Alex Jones and Erick Erickson have become highly influential, thanks in part to social media. Even President Trump has supported conspiracy theories. In effect, fringe has gone mainstream.

The other lesson is about civility. Restraint is dead in public discourse. No one—including young people targeted by militants and school shooters—is off limits from hate campaigns.

Tragedy is not a sacrosanct shield that confers immunity from abuse—especially when, in Pakistan, America, and beyond, people are harassed or worse simply because of their religion, ethnicity, or political views. Social media, which gives haters the luxuries of anonymity and distance, compounds this incivility.

In a video message to protestors at the March for Our Lives rally on March 24, Malala explained what she and the Parkland survivors share in common: They experienced violence and injustice, and they decided to speak out.

Sadly, something else they share in common is the hate to which they have been subjected for daring to speak out.

18-year-old Sadia (all names have been changed) was brought into a clinic at a bustling tertiary care hospital by her father Noor Khan with high fever for the past three weeks.

She was diagnosed with typhoid and prescribed the standard oral antibiotics suitable to treat this disease.

The next week, Khan returned to the same clinic with his 20-year-old son Habib who had the same symptoms as his sister.

However, his condition was considerably worse and necessitated admission to hospital and intravenous antibiotics.

“Doctor sahiba, Habib has his exams in less than two weeks. Please fix him up soon,” Khan implored.

“We will try our best,” the doctor comforted him.

On the day of discharge, Khan walked into the clinic with heavy steps. Unable to see the doctor in the eyes, he said, “Doctor sahiba, the bill for the hospital admission is Rs 15,000. And the medicine that you have given now to be taken at home is also quite expensive. Can we do without this medicine?”

“If Habib is to get better, then this medicine is required,” the doctor replied.

“I know doctor sahiba, but this will be very difficult. I work in a local factory as a worker. I make Rs 15,000 per month. I have taken out a loan to pay for his treatment,” Khan said helplessly.

The doctor stepped in and arranged for part of his medical expenses to be waived by the hospital. Grateful as he was, Khan didn’t know that his ordeal was far from over.

Related: Superbug typhoid strain behind Pakistan outbreak

After a month, he was rushing his youngest child Mujeeb, 12, into emergency with high fever and convulsions.

“Since when has this been happening?” the doctor asked.

“For the past two weeks. We were giving him medicine from the local medical shop because well…” Khan replied.

“What!?” exclaimed the doctor

“Doctor sahiba, I didn’t have money to bring him to the hospital,” a dejected Khan stated, his eyes downcast.

Mujeeb was rushed to the Intensive Care Unit where he was treated with a number of very expensive intravenous antibiotics. His blood culture indicated multi-drug-resistant typhoid. He remained in the hospital for two weeks.

He was suffering, but so was his family who was now in massive debt. His elder brother Habib had left his studies to work in a motor repair shop to help pay for the household’s daily expenses.

Khan was facing problems at work because of taking leaves for his family’s illness. The mother, Bano Jee, was convinced that someone had done kala jaadoo (black magic) on her children.

Special report: The antibiotics resistance crisis: an emerging public health disaster

Unfortunately, for those within the medical profession, this story is not fiction — it represents a terrible reality, a classic example of how some infectious diseases, almost unheard of in the developed world, have not only lingered as major threats to our lives, but have actually gained in strength to wreak havoc on our populations.

This is evidenced by the fact that 40 per cent of the disease burden in Pakistan can be attributed to infectious diseases such as typhoid, tuberculosis and malaria.

Typhoid, a household term in our cities and villages, was relatively easy to treat up till recently. Two years back, multi-drug resistant typhoid was found within the localities of Hyderabad and Karachi.

According to reports, more than 800 cases of drug-resistant typhoid were found in Hyderabad alone in a 10-month period between 2016 and 2017.

This bug was sensitive to only two broad-spectrum antibiotics, the cost of which is exorbitant. Infectious disease specialists estimate the total treatment cost for 14 days to be roughly around Rs 50,000.

Broad-spectrum antibiotics are those that can kill a wide range of bugs; they are used when the bug is unknown, but these antibiotics increase resistance if used indiscriminately.

For someone who survives on daily wages, such treatment costs can put the entire household in financial catastrophe.

Read next: ‘Pakistan needs to know, tackle crisis resulting from antibiotic resistance’

What adds to the problem is that broad-spectrum antibiotics are unlikely to be found in small towns and shops, particularly in rural areas, where generic antibiotics availability ranges from 10 to 25 per cent.

Bacteria also know no boundaries — recently, the same bug was found in Swabi. The doctors in that locality reported that the patient was from Karachi.

A World Health Organization poster reads: “Our time with antibiotics is running out.” This is not a dramatic call for attention, but a tragic reality of the times that we live in.

The growing resistance among organisms to different antibiotics has developed and worsened over the course of decades due to our unfavourable systematic practices that lead to prescription of antibiotics, even when they are not medically indicated or required, such as in the case of viral infections.

Overuse of antibiotics is an increasing problem, as the recent Dawn editorial also suggests. This occurs due to the fact that patients themselves come to physicians looking for a quick fix, which they misconceive to be only through antibiotics, and demand to be prescribed antibiotics.

Alarmingly in our situation, it is easy to bypass physicians and just go to the corner store and buy any antibiotic we feel inclined to get, based on the advice of the storekeeper who may have no background even in pharmacy sciences.

A 2016 study from Peshawar demonstrated that 26 per cent of 800 respondents reported self-medication of antibiotics.

Another equally worrying factor is that many medical practitioners, amenable to the influence of pharmaceutical companies, prescribe these antibiotics in large quantities.

Such physicians accept favours and gifts — including simple office stationery, drug samples, trips to exotic destinations abroad among others — from pharmaceutical companies who, in exchange, require them to prescribe the more expensive antibiotics.

The complicity of these physicians, who are honour bound by their medical oath to put the interests of the patients above their own but fail do so, is another influencing factor within developing countries, including Pakistan.

Guidelines by the Pakistan Medical and Dental Council and the National Bioethics Committee on pharma-physician interactions exist but, to date, no physician has been held accountable or had his/her license revoked, although the practice is rampant. Since these guidelines have no teeth, it is hardly surprising that the practice continues to flourish.

Prevention works better than cure and is significantly cheaper in the long run also. This is even truer in cases of infectious diseases such as typhoid, tuberculosis, and dengue and so on.

Unhygienic food and drinking water and poor living conditions create a perfect milieu for infectious agents to thrive. The response of health authorities in such situations should not be reactive, but more efforts have to be geared towards primary prevention.

Preventive efforts include measures like vaccination, which is seriously neglected in Pakistan. A vaccination drive was conducted in Hyderabad recently only after cases of drug-resistant typhoid were found by a private university and the authorities duly alerted.

However, vaccination against the more common diseases in Pakistan should become part of the Expanded Program on Immunization (EPI), which itself faces a number of challenges, including limited resources and inadequate coverage.

General lack of awareness among public with respect to vaccination, along with limited effort by public health authorities, has relegated the importance of vaccination. These need to be revitalised in order to tackle this menace.

Also read: How Pakistan turned around its vaccination programme using technology

Serious efforts by the authorities to provide clean sanitation and provision of hygienic food should be done. With sewerage spilling over streets and vendors selling pakoras to eager buyers right next to a tertiary care hospital is a common site for all Pakistanis that does not even merit raising eyebrows.

While our chemists merrily dispense antibiotics to eager customers, our food stalls dispense fortified salmonella, the bacteria that causes typhoid. If we are serious in stopping infections short in their tracks, we need to get serious in preventing conditions that foster them.

The dangers of antimicrobial resistance are real with significant impacts. To combat this, the medical community has an essential role to play in limiting their prescriptions of antibiotics and raising awareness among public about dangers of self-medication and antibiotic overuse.

Health authorities also have to wake up from their restful slumber and focus their energies on preventive mechanisms as opposed to occasional stirrings when water is already under the bridge.

Are you a medical practitioner working on community and public health issues? Share your insights with us at blog@dawn.com

• Devotion towards fire

I have been to Sargodha many times. In fact multiple times in a year, throughout my childhood. This is where my family comes from — both maternal and paternal.

Despite all my trips, however, I have never visited the shrine of Naghyana in a village called Dharema, about 10-odd km from the city.

Composed of two graves, it is an extraordinary shrine, dating back to the 17th century. The first grave is said to belong to Prince Murad Baksh, the youngest son of Emperor Shah Jahan, who had joined hands with his older brother Aurangzeb to take on their brother, Prince Dara Shikoh.

However, after Aurangzeb defeated Dara Shikoh, he put Murad Baksh to death, clearing the way for him to become the emperor. The story of his grave being at this site, though, is unlikely as Prince Murad Baksh was put to death in Gwalior.

The second grave is said to belong to the saint Naghyana, who is believed to have given refuge to Murad Baksh. The progeny of the saint eventually came to be known as Naghyana.

The word 'naghyana' is believed to have been derived from 'naghe,' an epithet used for nanga sadhus, the naked ascetic devotees of the Hindu deity Shiva.

Covered in ash dust, sporting long untrimmed hair, and known to consume hashish incessantly, these sadhus defy all societal norms and prefer to live in seclusion.

There is also a long established tradition of naked Sufi ascetics, connecting all the way back to udasi sadhus, followers of Shri Chand, the eldest son of Guru Nanak.

In devotional art, Shri Chand is usually depicted almost naked sitting in a yogic position next to a fire. He has long, ragged hair, just like a nanga sadhu.

Like these sadhus, the Sufi dervishes too let their hair grow long, and believe that hair is the source of life-energy.

It seemed that the udasi, as devotees of Shri Chand later came to be known, also borrowed heavily from the Shaivite sadhus, just as the Sufi ascetics or dervishes did. Perhaps Naghyana was one such Sufi ascetic.

There is another legend at the Naghyana shrine about the fire that the saint lit. Fire acquires a particular symbolic and religious significance in ascetic Sufi tradition.

Many popular Sufis are believed to have their dhuan (smoke), which, in this case, specifically refers to the place where they lit their fire and sat.

For many such Sufis, their dhuan became a place of veneration after their death. The situation at the shrine is quite similar.

At the shrine, it is narrated that the fire has remained alive ever since the death of the saint in the 17th century. His devotees have made sure that his dhuan survives.

I am told the fire simmers — emitting more smoke than fire — at the centre of a room that is blackened by this centuries’ old smoke.

Perhaps the fire comes to life during the annual urs celebration, the death anniversary of the saint, the day he is believed to have become One with the Divine.

I saw another similar situation at the shrine of Shah Hussain, the 16th century mystic poet, who is believed to have fallen in love with the Hindu boy, Madhu Lal. They are buried in Lahore together, in a union that signifies the Oneness of the world — Monism.

There is a fire just outside the shrine to Madho Lal Hussain in Lahore, which is lit throughout the year by the lamps of his devotees. Much like the fire at the Naghyana shrine, this one too was simmering when I visited a few months ago.

The situation at the shrine this past week, however, was different as thousands of devotees of the saint converged there to celebrate his urs, also known as Mela Chiraghan or the Festival of Lamps, one of the greatest festivals of the city of Lahore.

The fire must have been alive, thriving, whirling and swinging, imitating the dhamaal of the dervishes around it.

Devotion towards fire

Fire has long been held sacred in the indigenous religious traditions of South Asia. The Zoroastrians are popularly and falsely referred to as fire worshippers. Their religious shrines are known as fire temples, with fire forming a central feature in their religious rituals.

At a fire temple, the fire never dies. The original fire (other traditions assert it was ash from the fire) that was brought from Persia by the fleeing Zoroastrians was set up in a temple off the coast of Mumbai, the oldest fire temple in the world.

There is a deeper connection between the Zoroastrians and the Sufi ascetic tradition of South Asia. The term 'dervish,' popularly used to describe ascetic Sufis, is derived from the Persian word 'daryosh,' which is derived from the word 'drigu,' for devotees of Zarathustra.

While there is an etymological connection between the drigu and dervish, there also seems to be a religious continuity between the two, with fire joining the knot of these two traditions.

For many dervishes, it is not just fire — the ash from the fire of a Sufi saint is also significant. Just like the Shaivite sadhus, they believe ash from this sacred fire has magical properties and use it frequently for healing purposes.

It is around these fires that different dervishes gather and engage in hashish consumption, another connection that binds them with the Shaivite sadhus. In both of these traditions, the consumption of hashish or other forms of cannabis enjoys religious approval.

Sometimes Sufi ascetics perform zikr around the fire — this involves the invocation of God in a liturgical manner, using a breathing technique in a particular rhythm.

Jurgen Wasim Frembgen, a German anthropologist who has worked extensively on the Sufi culture of Islam, finds the origin of this form of zikr — a particular feature of South Asian Sufism — in the yogic tradition.

While fire is important in their religious asceticism, so is the tong or chimta, which is used to maintain the fire.

The chimta is an essential possession of a Sufi dervish. It is used to announce the arrival of a dervish into a village. It is used by him for rhythm when he sings Sufi songs. Often, it is the only instrument a Sufi dervish possesses.

The chimta is also kept by sadhus who not only use it to maintain fire but as a percussion instrument when need be. It is also part of the Sikh tradition where it is used as an instrument to perform religious music, following a trajectory that has its origin in the Shaivite sadhu tradition and their fire-tending necessities.

Scratching beneath the surface, one would find similar traditions of fire veneration in Buddhist and Jain traditions. Moving beyond the demarcations that divide these religions, it becomes impossible to maintain these boundaries in the ascetic realm.

Where does the Shaivite sadhu tradition end and Sufi dervish tradition begin? How does one begin to differentiate between the dervish and the udasi devotees of Shri Chand?

While there are several traditions that join together the threads of these indigenous religious practices, one of those traditions is their communal devotion towards fire, perhaps a tradition all of them borrow from Zoroastrianism.

The article was first published in Scroll and has been reproduced with permission.

• Which countries have had some success in broadening the tax base?
• Which countries have not had much success in this endeavour?
• What are the key lessons in tax reforms attempting to broaden the tax base?
• Any lessons on why and how some countries have been able to address corruption in the tax administration?
• Is it necessarily politically harmful for an elected government to attempt to broaden the tax base?
• Is there a significant role for information technology here?
• How would you summarise your views on success stories in broadening the tax base?

Broadening its tax base is perhaps the most significant economic challenge facing Pakistan. After 70 years of existence, the country has less than two million income tax filers, one of the lowest tax-to-GDP ratios in the world, and a tax system which riddled with inequity and corruption.

But we are not the only country struggling with tax reforms; other have faced this challenge too. The question is what can we learn from them.

To answer this question, I reached out to Dr Mark Gallagher, an economist who has spent three decades in dealing with tax reforms in developing countries.

He has served as a consultant for different organisations, including the World Bank, Asian Development Bank, Inter American Development Bank, USAID, US Treasury, German GIZ, and the European Commission. Here is how Dr Gallagher responded via email to my questions.

Which countries have had some success in broadening the tax base?

Many countries have had success in broadening the tax base. But first, it is important to understand that there are basically three ways to do so:

One is to get people into the tax system who have been outside of it but are supposed to, by law, be paying taxes.

Two, reduce tax incentives that allow businesses that are economically active to not pay taxes. These tax breaks or reliefs include measures such as tax holidays that say that, if you invest in such and such area, industry or for export only, you don’t have to pay tax or you can pay a reduced amount.

And three, reduce the number of goods and services that are not taxed or are taxed at a lower rate than others. For instance, basic foodstuffs in some countries are exempt from value-added tax.

In Bosnia and Herzegovina in the early 2000s, a big push was made to get businesses to register. This worked and revenues rose quite quickly. Later, they reduced tax holidays for corporations and lowered the corporate income tax rate from 30% to 10% and revenues increased.

In Rwanda over the years, the tax administration broadened the tax base by getting more and more people and companies registered, but they did not reduce exemptions and exoneration; revenue rose steadily for a decade.

In Georgia, the government issued a new tax code, I think in 2009, which lowered the corporate tax rate, but also applied the tax rate to all companies in all industries.

This broadening the tax base by eliminating preferential rates coupled with a lower headline rate for all resulted in considerable revenue increases over the subsequent years.

Which countries have not had much success in this endeavour?

I would say the Philippines. There, tax revenues reached their pinnacle (in relation to the overall economy) in 1997, then dropped for the better part of two decades.

Tax revenue has only recently begun to increase, but remains below the 1997 level. Tax incentives run rampant, as does complexity, and some complain of corruption and evasion.

Afghanistan is another country that has not made much effort in broadening the legal tax base, actually since 1965.

Of course, the tax administration was rebuilt over the past 15 years, but other than reaching out to taxpayers around the country, tax law has remained fundamentally unchanged.

What are the key lessons in tax reforms attempting to broaden the tax base?

I would say:

• Improve the taxpayer registry to make sure it works well. Make special efforts to identify people who are not registered or paying taxes, including identifying companies hiding in the so-called informal sector.

• Take a careful look at all the tax incentives, centralise tax incentive authority in the hands of the Ministry of Finance, but impose a rigorous mechanism for their authorisation.

• Report every year on tax expenditures (the revenue lost to these incentives) to add transparency to the system and help build support for reducing tax expenditures and thereby broaden the tax base.

Any lessons on why and how some countries have been able to address corruption in the tax administration?

This is hard to respond to, but there are some cases and some inklings. Perhaps one of the most successful cases is that of the Georgia, where after the overthrow of a sclerotic, corrupt, long-entrenched regime, the country implemented revolutionary change throughout, including cleaning up its tax administration.

Crooked tax officials were either tossed or prosecuted. Most tax officials were fired and replaced with new professionals. Systems of internal control in the tax administration were strengthened.

In El Salvador, in the 1990s, just after the end of the long civil war, the tax administration and other parts of government took pains to root out corruption.

Similarly, in Rwanda, after their terrible genocide of the early 1990s, top to bottom reform of most public institutions included deep anti-corruption measures.

This is how the tax systems in both these countries were able to produce more and more revenue without raising tax rates.

I don’t want to say a country needs to have a revolution to address its corruption problems, but in these cases, it seems to have set the stage for broad reforms.

That said, from my experience of 30 years, all real efforts to fix the tax system also include efforts to impede corruption.

Is it necessarily politically harmful for an elected government to attempt to broaden the tax base?

No, but it is not easy. Strengthening taxpayer registration can be done without any real political push back, but it is not likely to have great financial return, though in Bosnia and Herzegovina it did.

Reducing tax incentives is very difficult politically. Usually the people who benefit from these so-called incentives are very well placed and wield considerable power.

Going after these tax incentives is very important and needs to be done. But it needs to be done very carefully, with full consideration of who loses, how much, and what will be the force of their opposition and how can this be overcome.

Is there a significant role for information technology here?

Yes, but this depends upon the country. The more backward the country, the less scope there is.

On the other hand, IT systems, and especially linking the taxpayer registry to other information sources, such as vehicle registration, air traveller information, real estate or property registration and transfer systems, can help a savvy tax administration identify people who are likely under-reporting income as well as identify people and activities that should clearly be in the tax system but are not.

I explore this a bit in my article Big Data and Domestic Resource Mobilization: How Donors Can Help Developing Countries Increase Revenue.

How would you summarise your views on success stories in broadening the tax base?

Broadening the tax base is the best way to reform a tax system and to increase domestic revenue mobilisation, which is needed to fund our governments and to invest in the future.

Base broadening allows us to raise more revenue without raising tax rates and without harming the economy and national competitiveness.

Broadening the tax base increases the fairness of the tax system, since it shares the tax burden with more people in the economy. It reduces the distortions caused by tax and investment policy that seek to favour one investment or industry over another.

It's something righteous, but tough. The most powerful interests in any economy tend to be those who benefit from tax incentives and they are not going to release their grip from the throat of the political system easily.

Are you an expert working on policy reforms? Share your insights with us at blog@dawn.com

A significant portion of cricket viewers have the perception that roughening the ball on one side and shinning it on the other will inevitably lead to reverse swing. Herein lies the problem: It's not true. Not even partially true.

It's true that aerodynamics explain why the ball will reverse towards the shiny side, but this doesn't mean that any person who can hurl a ball at the batsman can make it reverse too. Bowlers need to master the art of reverse swing just as they have to perfect it for conventional swing.

The pace must be quick enough, the wrist must be at an angle between 20-30 degrees, and the length the ball pitches at should be full enough to allow the ball maximum time in air. Only then can physics take over.

Not to mention that the ball must be taken care of by the entire team to make sure that one side of it retains some shine while the other one is roughed up, as the ball gets older.

If the skills required to make the ball reverse is as hard to master as conventional swing — if not more — then it begs the question as to why tampering the ball to prepare it for reverse swing is illegal.

As long as no foreign object is used, such as the piece of sandpaper that has put the career of three Australian players into jeopardy, altering the ball otherwise shouldn’t be a problem.

Just like reverse swing, maybe all we need is to re-brand ball-tampering for it to become acceptable by the cricketing fraternity.

When Pakistani fast bowlers wreaked havoc by inventing the art to make the old ball swing, it was labelled as cheating by the English players — only to re-name it as reverse swing when they finally learned how it's done. No surprises there.

I understand that it's extremely difficult for the International Cricket Council (ICC) to draw the line between what are 'natural' means of ball-tampering and what aren't.

Players use all sorts of methods to alter the ball. Some are more subtle about it, such as when Faf Du Plessis had mint in his mouth and he used his saliva to shine the ball, while others like Shahid Afridi prefer to do it more brazenly on TV by sinking their teeth into a leather hardball.

The blurriness between acceptable and unacceptable means of altering the ball is probably what has kept the ICC adamant on not allowing any sort of ball-tampering whatsoever.

I, however, argue that the ball is the bowler’s property and that he should be allowed to tamper it with at least some 'natural' means.

This may spur another debate on why foreign objects shouldn't be allowed if altering the ball isn’t cheating. But in the case of foreign objects, it's important to understand that it takes away hard work from the players because countless tools can help prepare a ball within minutes.

The beauty of reverse swing lies in the fact that it must be earned with whatever is available on the field and watching teams work in sync to reinvent swing from a dead old ball is part of the magic of this dark art.

While the ICC takes a firm stance on zero tolerance over ball-tampering, the game is losing its balance between the bat and the ball, especially due to a surge in flat pitches around the world.

The Test format certainly is in dire need of attracting bigger crowds to keep its relevance alive. Just like T20s are inherently designed for batsmen to entertain the crowd, Test matches can only penetrate the market for viewership if bowlers have the liberty to experiment with the ball.

If tampering the ball can lead to more thrilling Test matches then I am all for it because I will never sign up for watching a five-day run fest on a flat deck that eventually leads to a draw.

Why does the ICC need to go into unknown territory by introducing four-day Test matches to revive Test cricket? Why can't it allow bowlers to have the tools they need to produce exciting bowling? It’s not cheating; it’s a skill to make use of a tampered ball. Know the difference between the two.

To add more flavour, taking a new ball after the 80-over mark could be made mandatory and not optional for the bowling side. This would add new dynamics to the game where the captain would have to decide whether to use his fast bowlers with a reversing ball or keep them fresh for a new one depending on which skills his bowlers bank more on.

The batsman that survives this battle on the other hand will become highly valued. It would take a fighting spirit and immense skill for the batsman to stand his ground while the opposition works on the ball to take him down.

A hard-fought 50 from the batsman will bring more life to Test cricket than a double-hundred on a flat deck in front of empty stands.

To put everything in context, reverse swing is an art and a tampered ball is just a tool that can only do as much as the person using it can make out of it.

Owning a bow and an arrow doesn’t make one a hunter; a tampered ball served on a platter won't make an ordinary bowler extraordinary.

Let bowlers tamper the ball with 'natural' means so that we can get some excitement, balance and fairness back into the game.

• Electable needed
• Why Aamir Liaquat
• But … Aamir Liaquat! Why!?

I have said many things in the past about the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) and its politics. However today, instead of taking apart the PTI, I will try to do something different: I will explain why the party is opening the floodgates to let the likes of Aamir Liaquat in.

The not doctor, Aamir Liaquat, recently joined the PTI flanked by Imran Khan and other senior leaders. Unlike other instances of people joining the party, this time around the reaction was completely different.

Instead of latching on to whoever was joining the Tehreek, PTI supporters spoke out against Aamir Liaquat jumping ship.

The resentment against allowing the not doctor to join was real and people even pulled old tweets of his against the PTI to explain why they were not in favour of the move.

And while eventually, like good partisan folk, the PTI cadre online accepted Imran Khan's decision, this whole exercise highlighted two things.

Firstly, the PTI's vocal support base, at least the one online, is idealistic and still sees the party as something unique and different.

Secondly, the PTI leadership is acting like a political party and focusing on trying to win elections in real life rather than Facebook. This is progress for the PTI and future elections in Pakistan.

As we transform Pakistan into a stable democracy with two potent parties at least at the provincial level, a strong PTI with actual seats in assemblies is a good thing.

You might ask why I say that? Well, a strong opposition is the best check on the government.

Op-ed: PTI’s Punjab dilemma

Take for instance every single province in Pakistan at this point. The reason the provincial governments get away with doing whatever they want is because there is practically no opposition to them.

In Punjab, the opposition is negligible. In Sindh, the Pakistan People's Party (PPP) is so well entrenched that there is hardly an opposition to push back. Balochistan has a negligible opposition and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa's (KP) opposition is too splintered to do anything.

In such a scenario, at the national and provincial levels, a strong PTI in Punjab and Sindh would be a good thing for the country because we can have a real opposition that can force the government to think twice before underperforming.

PTI winning votes would make it a credible opposition and that is a good thing for Pakistan.

So, to get to that point, the PTI is finally making peace with the fact that they will have to take people in no matter who they are and do what needs to be done.

Even if those people include Aamir Liaquat, the PTI has an incentive to have them in the party because they can contribute in one way or another.

We might not like their contributions, but let’s not pretend that Aamir Liaquat's Ramzan transmission is not watched by a massive audience across the country.

Electable needed

To contest elections and give the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N) a tough time in Punjab, PPP/Awami National Party in KP and Muttahida Qaumi Movement/Pak Sarzameen Party/Musharraf in Karachi, the PTI needs electable candidates: people who have their own vote bank and can realistically utilise the PTI vote to win a seat. This is not really rocket science.

Idealists believe that somehow if the PTI gives a ticket to its loyal workers, they will magically win a seat or keep integrity even if they lose.

Related: What's behind the rift?

The thing about this myth is that loyal workers, unless they are Jahangir Tareen or Aleem Khan (technically, ‘loyal’ is a stretch for both), lack the financial resources and the political capital required to successfully contest elections.

I am not talking about winning, I am talking about contesting elections only. Let me explain this claim in detail.

A National Assembly (NA) constituency has anywhere between 300 to 400 polling stations in it. For instance, NA-154 had 338 polling stations.

For a candidate to successfully even contest elections, they need hundreds of polling agents. Polling agents do not work for free and do not just pop up on the day of elections. They need to be paid, trained and need transport for their services.

Similarly, at every polling station the candidate needs some sort of a setup: a tent and some staff to help prospective voters cast their ballot or choose.

With an average of 300 plus polling stations, it is not exactly a middle-class person’s game to play. So, while we all enjoy bashing the PTI for welcoming every Tom, Dick and Harry, they are simply doing what reality dictates.

The PTI is trying to win elections, if they happen, this year. The idealistic delusions and moral high ground are finally getting pushed aside in favour of winning seats in assemblies.

In such circumstances, even if Bilawal Bhutto wanted to join the PTI, they will welcome him with open arms.

Why Aamir Liaquat

Simply put, it's cheap publicity. The not doctor is not going to contest and win elections on his own. But what he does bring to the PTI is a foul mouth that can go toe to toe with the new breed of rabid partisanship popularised by the PML-N courtesy of Talal Chaudhry and Daaniyal Aziz.

In a political culture like Pakistan where dignity and decency have nearly been wiped out in favour fanatical cult-like partisanship, the PTI needs someone like Aamir Liaquat to fight back.

Aamir Liaquat might not have a steady vote bank or even a constituency, but what he does have is celebrity. And that has been a permanent fixture for the PTI not only for fund raising purposes but also publicity.

The decision might look wrong on the face of it, but think of it this way: the PTI gets front and centre coverage during Ramzan simply because one of its leaders is on TV every day for four to five hours.

Every single time people look at Aamir Liaquat, they will associate the PTI with him. That association helps. Not as much as a steady vote bank, but it does make a difference.

Secondly, he opens an audience to the PTI message that is currently closed off to them. I am not saying he will put the mohajir vote in play; I am saying he at least gives the PTI a window into that audience that so far has refused to even hear them out.

Given Karachi’s current political engineering work, that kind of window could make a difference between zero seats from Karachi to three seats from Pakistan's largest city for the PTI.

Satire: Diary of Aamir Liaquat

As I mentioned earlier, the news focus may be Aamir Liaquat, the real story here is the flood of potent candidates joining the PTI. Within the last quarter, Saleem Shehzad of the MQM (Karachi), Mian Tariq of the PML-N (Gujranwala), Malik Shakoor of the Jamiat Ulema-e Islam-Fazal (Charsaddah) and Malik Aftab of ANP (Nowshera) are just some of the seasoned politicians who have joined the PTI.

They are doing so because of their own reasons in each case but they are being taken in by the PTI because the party needs a stable of candidates that can realistically push its seats count up in the Parliament.

And yes, by doing all this, the PTI is moving past its naïve approach to politics that existed pre-2013.

They are trying to recruit across the country and most of what they are getting are second-string or third-string candidates, but that is still better than no candidates at all.

But … Aamir Liaquat! Why!?

As I often mention, elections are not won based on how nice and well spoken a candidate is or how good they make you feel. The PTI is doing its job as a political party preparing for the next elections.

Be it Zaid Hamid or Aamir Liaquat, if the party can get any publicity and opening into a new voter segment, they will take them in.

The problem is not the PTI accepting people like Aamir Liaquat; the issue is the delusional understanding of what elections and democracy should look like held by a clear majority of people on social media and in expat communities.

Elections are ugly and ruthless. You cannot expect to stay clean while you dig for coal. And that is the dilemma the PTI’s base needs to get over.

Democracy is a coal mine and you are wearing white; either stop digging or get used to soot.

Sher Muhammad is Kanizan Bibi’s father, a Pakistani woman who has been on death row since 1989. He wrote this letter to the president of Pakistan in 2016, translated here by Rimmel Mohydin of Justice Project Pakistan.

Dear Mr President,

I’m a poor man. I don’t have much. But what I do have is a daughter. Kanizan is my only child. Even when she could talk, she wouldn’t speak much.

She was a timid child, who never talked back. She would do as she was told, and never say no. She would cry easily, as fragile as her little wrists.

Because Kanizan was so delicate, she was very attached to her mother, often seeking shelter in her arms. She looked just like her mother, the same complexion, the same round face.

But this comfort was taken away from her all too quickly. My wife died very suddenly, leaving Kanizan and me completely alone in the world.

I was a farmer, but money had become tough. What little I had eventually turned to nothing. Luckily, I still had Kanizan.

She used to help me around the house but when she saw how difficult it had become to put food on the table, she told me she wanted to work. I hesitated at first. I had been unable to put Kanizan in school. What would she do?

Kanizan began working as a housemaid for a rich, landowning family. She was little more than a child herself.

It is no wonder that she quickly befriended the very children she was charged with taking care of, the children of Muhammad Khan.

Their mother would often admonish her for not being more responsible with them, considering she would play with them more.

She began contributing what little she could. It was not much, but it was a helping hand. I could not be more grateful for this lifeline.

But Sir, this did not last.

The murder took place not too far from where we lived in Kamaliya. I will never forget the way Muhammad Khan screamed when he saw his wife and children murdered.

Muhammad Khan and his family had been involved in a property dispute that had started to get uglier by the day. The police had asked him at the scene of the crime if he had any enemies. He had named four of them, all his cousins. The police registered a case against them.

They were in jail for about two days. Bail is easy to come by when money is not a concern.

One night, Kanizan and I were about to have dinner when there was a knock on our door. Our village elder, Allah Yar, was at the door. He looked solemn, but determined.

He told me that people had started to talk, that someone had to be punished. He looked at Kanizan, who was sitting in the corner of the room.

Allah Yar looked me in the eye, put his hand on his heart, and said, “I swear by the Quran, I know your daughter is innocent, but let me take her to the police station.” They’ll question her, and she’ll be home in the morning, he promised.

She never came back.

Kanizan had played with those children, loved them, cared for them. She would tell me all about them. When she heard of their killing, she was utterly distraught. Naively, she thought she would be helping the police find their killer. She agreed to go.

Allah Yar took her to the police station, and left her there. Kanizan was 16 years old. The police recorded her age as 25.

My nephew lived very close to the police station. He trembles when he tells me of what he heard they did to her.

Women in our village, never interact with men outside of our immediate family. But Kanizan spent nights trapped in a jail cell with strangers. When I went to see her, they didn't let me meet her.

They hung her from a fan with ropes thicker than her tiny wrists, beating her small frame with all their might. They let mice loose in her pants, which they tied from the ankles so that they could not escape. Kanizan had been terrified of mice her whole life.

They electrocuted her repeatedly. I can only hope that she fainted during this ordeal. This is how I comfort myself as a father, forcing myself to believe that my daughter was not conscious during this abuse.

When they had broken her, they forced her to sign a confession. It’s not difficult to see how her mind gave up on her.

I didn’t have the money to go see her for her trial. I did not even know that she had been sentenced to death until much later. I borrowed money from everywhere. Whenever I would have enough, I would try to find my way to her.

But every time I met her, Kanizan was a little bit less. Soon after, her mental state began to deteriorate. Even the jailers were concerned, so much so that, in 2006, she was transferred to the Punjab Institute of Mental Health.

Today I'm told she hears voices, trembles, can’t clothe or feed herself. The hospital wrote a letter in 2015 to the Superintendent of Lahore Central Jail saying she was not fit to be executed.

Mr President, my daughter hasn’t said a word for years. She is terrified, and cries all the time, and needs me and her family to take care of her. She is an unwell woman who does not belong on death row.

I'm a poor man. I can’t do anything in return. But I humbly beg you to find it in your heart to grant mercy to a poor woman who has spent almost her life in jail. Her silence shouldn’t silence what you can do for her.

I know that if this letter reaches you, your good heart will follow.

Yours Humbly,

Sher Muhammad

Sher Muhammad died in 2016. Kanizan continues to languish on death row, despite her diagnosis, strong evidence of innocence, and nearly 29 years behind bars.

The president of Pakistan has not granted mercy in a single clemency appeal since the uplifting of the moratorium on the death penalty in December 2014, as documented by Justice Project Pakistan in their new report, No mercy: A report on clemency for death row prisoners in Pakistan.

Addendum: Chief Justice Saqib Nisar approved Kanizan’s transfer to a secure mental health facility on April 21, 2018, urging the Punjab Mental Health Institute to ensure she receives medical treatment.