My great grandfather used to narrate to me tales of a valley which was nothing short of paradise on earth. He spoke of its clear waters and chilly summers; its orange autumns and snowy winters; its beautiful people and blood stained history; but mostly, of the urge to cross the river and unite with his people.

I believe there is only one such place in this land that would fit the narrative and knows of the heart’s desire to be united with those who live in the land so close and yet so far – Kashmir.

The destination for our annual company trip this year was set to Neelum Valley. Situated in the Azad Kashmir region, the valley stretches from 50 kilometers north of Muzaffarabad to the existing LoC between Azad Kashmir and Indian-held Kashmir.

En Route Keran. —Marvi Soomro

Kundal Shahi en route Keran. —Marvi Soomro

Nearly 120 colleagues from Lahore and Islamabad set forth for a weekend getaway. As we ascended, the lush green mountains and gushing rivers of Neelum accompanied us. The breeze turned chilly and the sunlight shone on the valley like a million little glittery specks.

Our first stop after some 10 hours of travelling was the dense green village of Keran.

This is the closest you can get to Indian-held Kashmir today, which runs just across the River. The Keran View Hotel has a spectacular backyard that touches the Neelum River; its clear blue waters separating you from the banned side.

The Keran View Resort. —Marvi Soomro

At the banks of the Neelum River in Keran. —Marvi Soomro

Standing by the riverside and looking across, you realise life is not so different on the other side; the neatly aligned wooden houses are exact replicas of the ones where I stood, among women working in the fields and children playing by the banks of Neelum.

The absence of mobile signals/internet services is a strange and wonderful liberation. The focus is no longer on a social network check-in, instead it is on the serenity of this place, sinking in until you are separated from the rest of the noisy world.

For adventure-seekers, Keran is usually a mid-stop before ascending further up, and so was the case for us. After a round of garma garamchai and pakoray from a roadside shack, we were all set to travel to our next destination.

Chai at Keran. —Marvi Soomro

On a 3.5 hour travel from Keran is the quiet village of Shardha, said to be named after a legendary princess. Just off the main road and connected by a suspension bridge, the village is an epitome of serenity.

As we set camp, the night awed us by an unadulterated blackness, the twinkling skies, and the reflections in the river; the morning too, stunned us with a view of the snow-covered Noorinar peak, standing tall in the background.

Contrary to when travelling in Gilgit Baltistan, the Neelum Valley does not offer you many options in terms of where you can stay and what you can eat. This part of Pakistan lags behind not just in tourism facilities, but also in the number of tourists it receives each year.

A desi breakfast of omelettes and parathas with cups of tea to wash it down is all you will find around this area, but it’s enough to fill your stomach and charge you up for the adventures ahead.

Locals en route Keran. —Marvi Soomro

Locals at Shardha. —Marvi Soomro

The Neelum River. —Marvi Sirmed

Starry skies in Shardha. —Asif Mahmood

A trip to Neelum is incomplete without taking up on at least one of the adventurous hikes the region offers. From Shardha, we began a two-hour bumpy jeep ride to the Kel Village.

The road to Kel, wide enough for one vehicle to pass at a time, often experiences landslides. The majestic views of the valley can be best seen on the way to Kel, with the noisy blue waters of the Neelum River flowing on one side, and crystal clear waterfalls on the other.

You'll see glaciers camouflaged as muddy mountains melting and merging with the torrential waves of Neelum. And the scattered local houses and people working in their terraced farms going about daily affairs.

Locals at Kel. —Asif Mahmood

The village of Kel is located near the Line of Control, so you will see a lot of Pakistan Army commuters on this path. Sitting on top of the jeep watching a military truck pass by, the “jazba junoon” that Ali Azmat sang of could not be restrained, we crossed by shouting slogans and saluting the jawaans and received warm smiles and waves in return.

From Kel, a two-kilometer trek through the mountains to a hilltop takes you to the village of Arang Kel, the last mountain in this area, beyond which lies Indian-held Kashmir. The trail is followed by the blue waters of Neelum before it is enveloped by dense forest growth.

The trek to Arangkel. —Asif Mahmood

Trekking in Kel. —Marvi Soomro

Shaista, a grade-5 student at Kel. —Marvi Soomro

The beauty who gifted me her Kashmiri cap. —Marvi Soomro

With the local schoolgirls. —Marvi Soomro

The trek is strenuous, but not too difficult on normal days. However, if it rains, the story is entirely different as the trail turns muddy and slippery.

The universe had conspired to give us the adventure that we had asked for and we got the latter. Wet and mud-caked, we made our way to the top of the mountain and what we saw left us speechless.

Lush green meadows spread out as far as the eye could see. Small but neatly constructed wooden houses standing out in contrast to the greens of the village. Snow-covered mountain peaks laying a siege all around us. The tussle between the sun and clouds giving the meadows a dreamy look and a chilly breeze to complement it all – this is the village of Arang Kel.

The picturesque Arang Kel village. —Asif Mahmood

Huts in Arang Kel village. —Asif Mahmood

Farmland, houses and mountains. —Asif Mahmood

Waterfalls in Arang Kel. —Asif Mahmood

Some stone, some wood: A house in Arang Kel. —Asif Mahmood

The return hike from Arang Kel was everything an adventure junkie dreams of. By the time we began the descent the sun had set, the post rain trek was the kind that sucks your feet in. Each step was a fight against the grubby and grimy ground to be taken with caution.

Walking through the trek in daylight gives you picturesque views of the peaks, waterfalls and the Neelum River. Walking through it at night with torches as the only source of light, leaves you mesmerised. The ginormous trees give off a mythical feel, casting spooky shadows. With the sky a black canvas of glittery specks, the torrential voice of the Neelum River is your only guide to how far you are from the finish point.

More wooden huts at Arang Kel. —Asif Mahmood

Sun and shadows. —Asif Mahmood

Snowy tops, wooden huts and green meadows in Arang Kel. —Asif Mahmood

Starting the journey back from Arang Kel. —Asif Mahmood

In today’s fast-paced world of commercialism and perpetual digital connectivity, Neelum Valley is the perfect getaway. Stand by the banks of the noisy River and let the silence fill you with peace.

Life is simple here. And magnificent. It pleases the heart to see the smiles and experience the cordiality of people who have lived here, on the brink of war for all these years.

This 200-kilometer-long bow-shaped valley sings songs of pain which yearn in unison with songs of splendour. This 200-kilometer long valley is, as my great grandfather would say, truly paradise on earth.

Marvi Soomro is an IT consultant, who survives corporate monotony by travelling the world and capturing its words and pictures.

She is a patriotic at heart who is passionate about travelling across Pakistan and bringing to light the rich natural and cultural heritage of the country.

Not more than a month ago, my colleagues and I were discussing the possibility of us fasting in Ramazan. April was ending and the heat was already fast on the up. We were rather apprehensive about getting through 30 days of fasting in this year's summer. Nevertheless, the first roza came and passed last week, and it turned out it wasn’t that bad till news about a heatwave broke.

At first, it was six people, by the next morning it came to 80, then 150 and now the official figures cite over 782 lives in a mere three days!

Karachiites die from bullets and bombs, now the heat was preying upon them.

I watched the television in utter shock as Edhi’s morgue representative came on stating,

"We have been telling people not to bring in bodies since last night, but they keep coming in. We cannot accommodate more dead bodies.”

The gravity of the situation struck me where I stood; there was no place left in the city for the dead anymore, dead who could have been saved had they been warned, had someone ensured the implementation of basic precautionary measures.

Our most authoritative Chief Minister Syed Qaim Ali Shah led by example as he did not 'lose his cool' amidst the heat and mounting death toll. Then, when he finally found some, a good three days later, he passed an official statement in the Session.

And even when he stood in ‘solidarity’ with the families of the deceased, he just couldn't help it:

"There have been deaths before, during everyone's time. Whose names should I take? I don't want to get into a controversy."

Also read: Qaim dismisses child deaths from Thar famine

Before the Minister raised the issue in the Assembly, people from different corners of Karachi had already reached government hospitals to distribute cold water bottles to the affected. Now, their unity will be applauded as usual. The Rangers will also be commended for setting up makeshift camps for the heat-stricken.

How many times will we see this? It was neither the civil society's job nor that of the Rangers personnel to help people stay alive; it is the job of the state to look after its people or at least do enough to halt the every day mounting death toll.

It was in the first week of this very month when 18 people died in Sehwan from unbearable heat; the Karachi heatwave should not have caught the authorities off-guard.

Also read: Political inertia in heat crisis

In New Delhi, where scorching heat even melted the roads besides taking away at least 1000 lives, at least the roads were deserted as soon as the first warnings were issued. Here in Karachi, lives went on, until they no longer could.

Thanks to the onslaught of his paid adverts, I have now learnt by heart the Prime Minister’s endless services to the nation. But it would have been nice to hear a word of warning on the incoming heatwave, too. I’ll be honest: I didn’t know about the effects of heatstroke until Saturday because like a lot of people in the city by the sea, I trusted Karachi for being forever temperate, forgetting that even this city – especially with climate change – has its extremes.

Also read: Is Karachi experiencing climate change?

I was greatly perturbed when I looked at the figures and wondered why the dead were not from every corner of the city; why they belonged to some particular classes; why they couldn't fight the heat by air conditioners, chilled water bottles, and cool running showers.

And yes, I will not dismiss the fact that fasting in this extreme weather is certainly not helping. Staying dehydrated in this weather is like calling out to the grim reaper, but how many of our scholars have come out to tell people that no religious obligation is compulsory at the cost of life? Clerics who rant and rave about persecutions need to step up here and have the decency to announce that skipping a few fasts is better than death.

Sooner or later, I'm going to be hearing how blaming the government or K-Electric or clerics is not the solution, rather I should be helping all those who are suffering from heatstroke. Aptly so, perhaps, because we, Karachiites, are so used to silently carrying corpses on our shoulders, pretending to be resilient, that we have forgotten to accuse those who are killing us.

The tragedy that has befallen us is because of those ruling us; be it terrorism or natural calamities, one thing is certain: our governments keep failing us over and over again.

My beloved Karachiites, instead of looking for hope, do what you do best, keep picking up those corpses, carry them to where they will finally find some rest.

A new batch of documents released by Wikileaks exposes the agreement between Marvel and Sony Pictures on mandatory traits for the Spider-man character, including the requirement for him to be “Caucasian and heterosexual”.

With Hollywood trapped in a web of its own making, the social media has rightly crawled in to feast.

Let’s be clear: Filmmakers have a right to make their characters any colour they want. Creating a Caucasian Spider-man doesn’t make one racist, but making his ‘whiteness’ mandatory, as if the plot is somehow hinged on his skin colour, is quite disturbing.

The reason for that is something I can safely illustrate with a personal example.

I’ve been an impassioned writer and storyteller as far as my memory serves me, and in all my earliest stories and unpublished short novels, I recall almost exclusively using white characters. One might ask why a 12-year old Pindi boy, born and raised in a distinctly Punjabi household, miles away from the nearest “Kevin” or “Jane”, would rely so heavily on white characters living in predominantly white countries.

The answer is obvious.

The children of Pakistani upper-middle class and elite families are drip-fed American movies, cartoons, and imagery of white superheroes. The influx of Japanese anime is barely half a generation old, which much more often than not, is reliant on stereotypical portrayals of Japanese people for the interest and amusement of mostly Western audiences.

While the generous infusion of Western arts into global media has helped normalise white people for people of colour in most parts of the world, the inverse has not happened.

People nearly everywhere would be shocked if I admitted that I don’t know what ‘Christmas’ is, but a white American would be easily excused for not knowing ‘Eid’ and what it represents.

From an early age, I had submitted to a Eurocentric, heteronormative view of the world, realising that to optimise my chances of global success, my protagonists would have to conform to the same character traits made mandatory by Hollywood: white, preferably male, and living in a predominantly white city.

Characters of other ethnicities, "exotic" geographical locations, "odd" gender types, or "questionable" sexual orientations, would serve as interesting side-stories at best.

Also read: Muslim superhero series 'Buraaq' aims to dispel myths about Islam

Being white, cis-gender and straight is relatable. Any other trait on the main character would be too distracting. After all, we’ve witnessed a similar kerfuffle when Idris Elba, a black British actor, was rumoured to have been chosen to play the next James Bond.

Many Spider-man fans have scoffed at my indignation, citing ‘authenticity’ as the reason for why Spider-man must remain white and straight. After all, how ridiculous would it be if someone remade ‘Blade’ with the Daywalker being played by a white actor?

‘Authenticity’ buffs are perhaps not aware that almost every character detail and plot element in the Spider-man franchise has evolved remarkably from how it was originally portrayed in the comic book.

The previous Gwen Stacey, played by Mary Jane Watson, was a redhead, as opposed to the comic book blonde. And Peter Parker meets her at the university, unlike in the movie where they meet in high school. Even the fundamental plot details surrounding the death of Uncle Ben, and the nature of the spider that bites Peter Parker, have all been changed in the latest Spider-man movies.

Also read: Bloody Nasreen – the anti-hero you’re not supposed to like

While all these changes, and many more, have unfolded before the public’s eye without controversy, a change in Peter Parker’s skin colour wouldn’t; possibly because people continue to see race as such a massive divide, that changing a protagonist’s race would wholly transform the franchise.

A white boy getting bit by a radioactive spider = ‘The Amazing Spider-man’.
A brown, Pakistani boy getting bit by a radioactive spider = A childhood ruined.

Doing the opposite, as in the case of a white Daywalker, would count as cultural appropriation. It would mean whitewashing the precious few superheroes of colour that we actually have, which would further alienate people of colour.

While I’m certainly not proposing a forced remake of our beloved superhero characters, I won’t pretend that comics and movies have no influence on the way we see the world. Or that they have no power to change our perception towards people who weren’t born with the popular, Hollywood-approved traits.

It’s a silent killer that does not make waves like floods and earthquakes. Globally, heatwaves kill thousands but the media and governments often ignore their humongous death toll.

The tragic loss of life in Karachi has finally alerted the news media and, to some extent, the governments in Pakistan to the harmful impacts of heatwaves. With the death toll reaching 830, the State’s impotence lays bare.

The lack of emergency shelters, water supply, and inadequate medical treatment of those suffering heatstroke yet again shows the inability of Pakistan’s civil administration to cope with the frequently occurring natural and man-made disasters.

Also read: Political inertia in heat crisis

The belated response to the crisis by Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif leaves much to be desired. Mr. Sharif directed the National Disaster Management Agency (NDMA) to offer relief. The NDMA responded by asking the Core Commander Karachi for assistance. That the civilian authorities cannot cope with the aftermath of heatwaves and need the army’s assistance shows how little progress Pakistan has made in developing civilian institutions for disaster management.

The lessons learnt from similar disasters in France, the United States, and Russia reveal that the deaths from heatwaves do not occur until the second, third, or the fourth day of the heatwave. This delay in excess mortality allows the authorities to respond in time and prevent a larger death toll. This may be true elsewhere, but not in Pakistan.

Syed Qaim Ali Shah, the chief minister of the province, had been missing in action since the crisis unfolded. Even when he graced the provincial legislature days later, the chief minister pleaded ignorance. Karachiites are doomed with such leadership.

Heatwaves in Europe and North America

The worst recent incidence of heatwave related mortality occurred in France in 2003. Almost 15,000 people, mostly seniors living in urban centres, died in a matter of two weeks in August 2003 (Poumad`ere and others, 2005).

The United Nations Environmental Programme declared the 2003 European heatwave the costliest weather-related disaster of the year.

Excess mortality in August 2003 in France. —Source: Poumad`ere and others, 2005.

But France is not alone to experience the catastrophic impact of heatwaves.

As recently as July-August 2010, the heatwave and air pollution killed 11,000 individuals in Moscow (Shaposhnikov and others, 2014). The wildfires worsened air pollution and a 44-day sustained heatwave left a disastrous impact on Moscow’s elderly.

Even large cities in the United States suffered huge death tolls from heatwaves. Chicago, Illinois, reported 700 excess deaths in July 1995 where the heatwave lasted for four days. A sophisticated city like Chicago experienced a massive loss of life (Semenza and others, 1996). Earlier in July 1966, the City of New York reported 1,181 excess deaths because of heatwaves. At the same time in St. Louis, a much smaller city than New York, the heatwave killed an additional 618 individuals (Schuman, 1972).

The heatwave not only increased the mortality rates for frail and elderly cohorts, it also caused an increase in other social problems. The crime rate increased during the two-week heatwave with a sudden and significant increase in the homicide rate.

What Pakistan can learn from others’ experience

The experiences in Western Europe suggest that even developed economies in relatively colder climates are not exempt from the adverse and disastrous impacts of extreme weather episodes. Pakistan, being a less developed economy with severe income disparities, is increasingly ill-prepared to cope with such disasters, notwithstanding the extreme hot weather conditions during the summer months.

The experience with heatwaves in Western European countries offers valuable insights to developing economies with hot climates. First, it shows the need to have an adequate definition of heatwaves so that such events are catalogued appropriately.

Second, the epidemiologists have to develop an adequate definition for excess mortality so that the deaths are correctly categorised. This will also require proper registering of all deaths in urban and rural areas.

Third, before (if possible) and after studies of heatwaves should be conducted to determine the at-risk cohorts, the need for emergency response logistics, and long-term care of those who survive the heatwave.

Also read: Is Karachi experiencing climate change?

Ad hoc definitions of heatwave or excess mortality restrict the ability of the State and society to act in time to prevent disastrous outcomes. In worst-case scenarios, the public and the State may fail even to register the disastrous impact of a heatwave because of it being a silent killer. In France, for instance, the heatwave caused 6,000 excess deaths in 1976. However, the epidemiologists noticed the excess deaths 27 years later.

In Moscow, the heatwave was defined as the temperature rising above the 98-percentile of the daily mean temperature for the same time period in the past and lasting for at least three straight days. The heatwave there lasted for 44 days.

The European experience with heatwaves reveals that the elderly, i.e., those over 65 years of age, are the most likely victims. Also, older women are more susceptible than older men. This does not mean that younger cohorts are not at risk. The French heatwave recorded a 23 per cent increase in the mortality rate of men between the ages of 35 and 44.

Urban living, poverty, poor health (especially cardiovascular ailments and diabetes), isolation, and homebound individuals are more likely to succumb to heatwaves than the rest. These characteristics of at-risk populations were common in the European heatwave episodes.

In the absence of verified statistics, one has to rely on media reports about the heatwave victims in Karachi who are overwhelming low-income individuals living in crowded environments and are already infirmed.

Younger children and the elderly constitute a large proportion of the currently hospitalised population in Karachi.

Also read: After bombs and bullets, heat preys on Karachi

It is unfortunate to see that not much published research is available about the disastrous impact of heatwaves in Pakistan. Even after suffering the worst possible natural disasters, i.e., the earthquake in 2005 and the floods in 2010, only a handful of quality research reports are available about natural disasters in Pakistan.

The epidemiological studies of natural disasters are urgently needed in Pakistan. The lax rules about registering deaths and the refusal by the deceased’s kin to perform autopsies are partially responsible for the failure to determine excess deaths in Pakistan.

The influenza epidemic in the 1920’s motivated epidemiologists to develop methods to determine excess mortality. Pakistan must not stay a hundred years behind the rest of the world, it needs to catch up fast.

One can only hope that the exceptional academics and researchers at the Aga Khan University in Karachi act fast to collect the epidemiological data from the field to produce research that may help the State and society to better cope with similar disasters in the future. Colleagues at the Aga Khan University can consult researchers in France and the United States to get the ball rolling.

On my visits to Paris in the past, I learnt a great deal from Marc Poumad`ere and Claire Mays, the coauthors of the French study, about the French experience with the disastrous heatwave in 2003. Marc and Claire are exceptional researchers and dedicated humanists whose experience and knowledge can help Pakistan respond to natural disasters.

References:

• Poumadère, M., Mays, C., Le Mer, S., & Blong, R. (2005). The 2003 heat wave in France: dangerous climate change here and now. Risk Analysis: An Official Publication of the Society for Risk Analysis, 25(6), 1483–1494.

• Schuman, S. H. (1972). Patterns of urban heat-wave deaths and implications for prevention: Data from New York and St. Louis during July, 1966. Environmental Research, 5(1), 59–75.

• Shaposhnikov, D., Revich, B., Bellander, T., Bedada, G. B., Bottai, M., Kharkova, T., … Pershagen, G. (2014). Mortality related to air pollution with the Moscow heat wave and wildfire of 2010. Epidemiology , 25(3), 359–364.

• Semenza, J. C., Rubin, C. H., Falter, K. H., Selanikio, J. D., Flanders, W. D., Howe, H. L., & Wilhelm, J. L. (1996). Heat-related deaths during the July 1995 heat wave in Chicago. The New England Journal of Medicine, 335(2), 84–90.

Mardeela (aka Man Pulp) is a hybrid vegetable/fruit that is becoming popular among the middle-class men of our faithful republic.

The medical benefits of Mardeela have been known since ancient times. The Neanderthals are known to have used it to treat everything from general boredom to ideological indigestion.

In his book, Mardeela: The Natural Secret for a Vigorous Jaw & a Full Fat Moustache, Hakeem Shahid Masood states that Mardeela has been used as a medicine in Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Gujranwala and Planet Zion for at least 14 million years.

His proof? Harun Yahya. And Harun Yahya's proof? 'Star Wars III: Return of the Jedi.'

Dr. Masood speaking on the medicinal benefits of Mardeela. He said, 'this fruit will grow till the End of Times.'

Today, scientific research in Pakistan is providing hard evidence for the health benefits long associated with Mardeela. For example, in 2007 the Journal of the National Institute of Manic-Depression published the results of an epidemiological study indicating that Mardeela reduced the risk of sensibility in men by nearly 80 per cent.

Also, researchers at the University of Chakwal in Switzerland recently concluded that Mardeela inhibits and impedes the growth of brain cells, thus greatly reducing the chances of dangerous conditions such as Rational Thought that might lead to deadly diseases such as Common Sense. They warn that this grave disease may make you start looking and sounding like an intellectual, when, instead, one should always look like 'Mardeela taqat ka shahkaar', Atlas-e-Hind, Hamid Gul. Yea.

Hamid Gul saying, 'yea'.

Mardeela is also reputed to be helpful in regulating the levels of good cholesterol (HDL-[N]) – that can give you a glowing, charming, charismatic and rosy complexion like the one enjoyed by men such as Atlas-e-Punjab, Pa Nawaz, Pa Nawaz!

Nawaz imparting his Mardeela-induced charisma.

New evidence is emerging that Mardeela can also help dieters. The Punjab Journal of Nutrition & Schizophrenia published the results of a study at Lahore’s prestigious National University of Managerial & Botanical Sciences (NUMBS), in which researchers suggest that men who were given a combined extract of hyper rhetoric mixed with Mardeela burned more brain cells and calories than those who were given a mild amphetamine called Democraffeine.

The study said that Democraffeine led to an unhealthy medical condition called Khapay-ache — a hyper compulsive-obsessive disorder in which the patient keeps saying ‘khapay, khapay, khapay’ over and over again just for the heck of it.

This condition's remedy is only available in select hospitals of the Peoples Democratic Republic of Dubai.

A cat suffering from Khapay-ache, a painful cheek-to-cheek condition.

However, on the other end, the consumption of Mardeela led to a healthier and energetic condition called Oye Tsunami (OT).

OT is a robust state of mind and body that can be enjoyed during ‘Go Nawaz Go’ marathons from Westminster in London to the city of Lal-Masjidabad that replaced Islamabad as Pakistan's capital when Islamabad was destroyed in an earthquake brought upon by sin and debauchery in Kashmir, Karachi and Toba Tek Singh.

What's more, OT can help slow down the aging process in men and lead to an accelerated growth of facial hair (under the skin), and better prostrate performance.

OT can also eliminate the harmful bacteria that causes lethargic medical illnesses such as Patience and Logic.

Sir Imran is a good example of OT: Safe from harmful bacterial infections such as Logic.

Mardeela also contains a naturally-produced laxative called Altafatamine which guarantees long flowing tirades breaking the wind out of an airy-fairy neurotic state called Sensibility.

Mardeela also cures constitutional constipation usually brought upon by assorted Zardari-vascular ailments, especially in the 18th amended artery.

Chemicals like Orya-phosphate in Mardeela break down useless tissues such as Malala-ites thus making hearty reactionary pulp more digestible. Furthermore, Orya-phosphate along with enzymes like Media-zymes help protect the glands from unwanted bacterial viruses such as Objectivity and Sanity.

These are but only a few medicinal benefits of Mardeela. For a more expert and detailed list of these benefits, I recommend the famous book, 'Better Bowel Movement through Mardeela' by the renowned Greek homeopath, Dr. Hamza Ali Abbasi (MBBS/LLB/DDT).

'Wow, amazing!' A female admirer expressing her admiration for Dr. Hamza Ali Abbasi's book on Mardeela.

Five days of hell, of death.

As I write this, I can say with assurance that at least 950 people in Karachi alone have died in the past five days due to heat-related medical complications. And with equal assurance I can tell you that this number is the minimum possible, since hundreds of dead brought directly to the Edhi morgue have not been accounted for, as it cannot be ascertained right now whether they were victims of heat. But given the unusually high number of dead bodies coming in each passing day, we all have a fair idea of who the killer is.

In these five days, I have observed absolute apathy from all those who matter: Sindh government, federal government, local political parties.

With power cuts exacerbating the situation, the provincial government appears to be nonexistent. Not a single measure of substance from the government to mitigate the situation has been reported in the media even after five days have passed. They all sit watching silently from their cool, comfortable shelters.

Also read: After bombs and bullets, heat preys on Karachi

There is no official death toll, no official call centres have been established, no one knows who to talk to in order to confirm the number of dead. Everyone is relying on announcements made by hospital representatives to know what is happening on the ground.

The government’s inefficiency is clear in that a large number of people are not dying inside hospitals, they were brought to the hospital dead, which means that declaring emergency in hospitals is not going to be very effective because the hospitals are not where the people are dying.

Any official ground help that has come has been from the army and the Rangers, which is of course not to be credited to the provincial government. It is a pity, really, that those who claim to be the upholders of democracy have to rely every now and then on the very institution they claim is a threat to democracy.

This practice – of the army filling in for the government – has become so usual in Pakistan, especially in Sindh, that it does not even seem odd; army camps in times like these are a given.

Yet, this practice is never labelled as “interference” in fiery speeches at local party events by our political elite. I ask them, is the army not overstepping its domain to help you in times of disaster because you are inefficient, because in all these decades of rule you have been unable to put in place a basic response mechanism as your duty was?

See: Heatwaves: What Pakistan can learn from developed economies

To me, it seems you call it “interference” only when it pinches you, but gladly welcome it when it veils your inaction.

As the country’s biggest city suffers a crisis, the federal government is blaming the shortage on the provincial government, the provincial government is blaming it on the federal government half the time and on K-electric the other half (the Chief Minister actually led a dharna against the company yesterday), while the army has set up relief centres across the city, trying to help people beat the extreme weather and power outages.

What can you call it but a disgusting show of incompetence on part of the governments?

Finally, on the fourth day, the Chief Minister called a meeting and took measures to manage loadshedding by saving power in government offices and markets. Better late than never, I suppose.

As far as the local political parties are concerned, I saw no mobilisation among their ranks to help people when they needed it most. And I say this because we all know that the worst-hit strata in this tragedy is the city’s poorest.

Also read: Is Karachi experiencing climate change?

Those living in bungalows hardly ever die of heatstroke or heat exhaustion. Telling people to drink more water on air is not going to help them, neither are emotional speeches in the National Assembly.

We’re not asking you to beat nature. We’re asking you to at least try to neutralise the damage by using your position, by taking extraordinary measures, by doing what you are supposed to do because – as big a cliché as it may be – actions do speak louder than words.

Where else can you take a peek into history and set foot on the honeycombed network of an underground city, complete with sleeping chambers; kitchens (even granaries with grindstones); air shafts; chutes; stables (there are handles that used to tether the animals) and storehouses?

Where else can you clamber the rocky cliffs that have been carved out by humans, or venture into the cool interior of a monastery or a church dug in a mountain eons ago (with altars and baptism pools) and decorated with colourful frescoes (actually 'seccos' – a type of mural painting where paint is applied to dry plaster on the wall)?

Where else can you see the famous hot air balloons rise just before sunrise or explore these stunning valleys on a rented bike or on foot?

Where else but in Cappadocia, Turkey? It is a holiday destination like no other!

Cave dwellings.

Love valley with its phallic rock formations.

Pyramid shaped rocks strew the landscape.

Uchisar castle from a distance.

View from Uchisar castle.

The first thought to cross my mind after I saw the huge, 100-feet or so, phallic-shaped rock formations popularly known as the "fairy chimneys", was: what would our mullah brigade make of this hilarious feat of Nature? The landscape of Cappadocia, in Turkey's eastern Anatolia is literally littered with these rocks. There is just no escaping them.

Called hoodoo (a thin spire of rock that protrudes from the bottom), these formations range anywhere from 1.5 to 45 metres (4.9 – 147 feet). It is said these spires are made of a light, porous rock, and are a result of consolidation of volcanic eruptions. Later, the wind and rain chiselled them into sculpted valleys with sinuous cliffs and pointy fairy chimneys.

These rock formations are drawing hordes of tourists from all corners of the world, armed with nothing more than a hat, a cell phone and a selfie stick. According to news reports, a record one million people visited the region in 2013.

Atop Uchisar castle.

Bird's eye view of Goreme from Uchisar Castle.

Fairy chimneys.

Tourism, in Turkey, is the third biggest earner in the $820 billion economy, generating $35 billion annually.

So, if you're heading for Cappadocia, make sure you have a good pair of walking shoes for that is all you will be doing for most of your stay.

From the Uchisar castle, the highest point in the region and from where you can get a 360 degree view of the Nevsehir province, to the Rose (at sunset, the rocks take on a pinkish hue, thus the name), Pigeon (hundreds of pigeon houses riddling the cliffs) and the lush riverside Ihlara Valleys (boasting the deepest gorge in Asia Minor), to Goreme and Zelve open air museums, to the Byzantine-era monastries and churches, nestled in the cliffs – it is walk, walk and walk. By evening, you'd be aching everywhere, but it will be a good ache, trust me and it is not a difficult trudge.

Rose Valley.

Cave dwellings in Rose valley.

Homes of the elves.

Ihlara Valley with monastries.

Goreme open air museum.

If you're not with a tour group, you can do Cappadocia in three to four days, but if you have a car, you can cover a lot of ground much quicker.

There are around 30 to 40 or so underground cities (when the Christians were persecuted, first by the Romans and then raiding Muslims, they often went into hiding here) and more coming up as we speak, but not all are open to visitors.

We visited the almost 3,000 year-old labyrinthine city at Derinkuyu, also the deepest. Extending to a depth of approximately 60 meters, experts say, it could have sheltered approximately 20,000 people at any given time, together with their livestock, water and food stores.

Derinkuyu, the underground city.

Ceiling of a church in Ihlara Valley.

Wild flowers abound on the Rose valley trail.

Farming in the Rose Valley.

A local family.

Handmade dolls made by local women.

While snaking your way through a web of tunnels and stairways, it may get frustrating and you may feel trapped if there are big tour groups at the same time. A note of warning for those who are over six feet tall: you will be ducking at several places where the rock ceiling gets shallow and walk bent in tunnels or on stairways.

The pièce de résistance of your trip will be the hour-long hot air balloon ride.

It is truly a mind-blowing experience. Try to book the 'before sunrise' slot, which means you will be picked up at an ungodly hour of 4:00 am and it will still be dark when you get to the site, but it is well worth it.

More than looking down at the province that comes alive in all its splendour and colour, people end up looking at some hundred or so colourful balloons dotting the sky that fly all at the same time. The whole process of how the balloons are readied and then let out is another fascinating experience.

Caves carved out in Rose Valley.

When the sunrises.

Hundreds of hot air balloons dot the skies as they take off at the same time.

How to get there:

Cappadocia is just over an hour away from Istanbul by air. The airport to land at is Nevsehir, that is what we did. But if you're in Ankara, you can travel by bus, train or car. A bus to Nevsehir departs from Ankara's main bus terminal, ASTI, every two hours. It is a 4.5 hours (with a 25 minute stop) journey.

When to go:

Because there is a lot of walking to do, make sure the weather is pleasant. April to June and September to November are ideal for pleasant temperatures.

What to wear:

Comfortable clothing, a hat and closed, hard-soled shoes.

Tourists enjoying the backdrop.

School children at Rose Valley.

Tours vs. Exploring Cappadocia on your own

Once you start looking online, you will find tons of information on organised tours. But, if that does not sound exciting, and you do not want to stick to a schedule, the best way to see the region is by driving around on your own.

It is best to book a car in advance and get it at the airport. You will never get lost, it is easy enough, the traffic is thin, roads are smooth and you will have the freedom to stop wherever and whenever you want to.

Roses grew everywhere.

Rings galore.

Rugs sold on the roadside.

Where to stay

Most people want to stay in boutique fairy-chimney or cave hotels as did we initially, as it is a unique experience. The decor is regal (at times opulent) and the rooms huge but in the end, we decided to opt for a hotel, one in Avanos (a chain of modern hotels) and were glad we did. But, this is an entirely personal choice.

While cave hotels have all the modern amenities, not all rooms are alike and what you may see on the internet and like, is not what you may get. The windows may be small and one may feel claustrophobic. So when booking, make sure to ask if the room has a few windows, direct sunlight, and the air is not too musty and how much you'd have to climb every day to get to your room after a long and tiring day of walking.

—All photos by author.

Zofeen T. Ebrahim is an independent journalist based in Karachi.

She tweets at @zofeen28.

Nadia Nazeer, from Punjab’s Sahiwal, holds the distinction of winning five bronze medals in international 400 metre sprints. A mother of one, Nadia continues to chase her dream of becoming an internationally acclaimed sprinter.

Nadia belongs to a middle-class family of Mohollah Farid Ganj in Sahiwal, and has eight siblings. Talking about her passion, she recounted the occasion when her sixth grade teacher asked all the girls to go on a sprint.

In the first race of her life, Nadia won. That day gave birth to a passion which continues to draw her out to the track today.

She particularly enjoys hurdling, and has participated in hurdle races across eight countries, including India, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Hong Kong, and Iran. She won her five bronze medals in 400 metre sprints in these countries.

In the year 2007, Nadia Nazeer made a national record by jumping 10 obstacles in 1:10 minutes in a national competition in Karachi. She broke her own record a year later in 2008.

A multiple award-winning athlete from Sahiwal, Nadia says much needs to be done to support women athletes in Pakistan.

In 2011, the athlete got married in Bahawalnagar, but, thankfully, her dream did not die there.

“Seeing my love for athletics,” she says, “my husband has allowed me to continue. Now, I race and also play football.”

Also see: India's women athletes box, shoot, wrestle for recognition

After her marriage, she participated in a national competition in 2013, where she stood first in the 100 metre sprint, and was awarded best player in football. She has also been playing for Wapda since 2002.

“My parents supported me a lot. No matter how far a training camp was set up, my father would take me there.”

Talking about the problems that women athletes face, Nadia said that for Pakistani girls, practicing is a task next to impossible.

“People stare at us like we are committing a huge crime. Even the women of my community tell me that I am wasting my time in useless things.”

Also read: Jumping hurdles, leaping fences and smashing through ceilings

She credits her father and her husband wholly for the way they have supported her, and says that it would have been impossible to keep her passion alive for so long in this patriarchal society. It is not easy for Pakistani women to step into the sports arena, she says. Attempts are being made to include more women, but a lot is left to be done still. She adds,

Those girls who do manage to tackle societal problems, have to confront the absence of quality coaching and training at the next step. There is no system for it in educational institutes, and there are no grounds where women can be trained.

Nadia, whose favourite Pakistani women athletes are Seemi Rizvan, Sairah Fazal, and Bushra Perveen, emphasised on the need for large-scale measures to pave the way for aspiring sportswomen.

In a message to girls aspiring to be athletes, Nadia says, “Nothing can be achieved without passion. And, hard work and dedication will give you the strength to keep trying until you succeed.”

This article originally appeared on Punajb Lok Sujag, Sahiwal.

—Translated by Bilal Karim Mughal.

Originally, the term dhaba was used for restaurants on the highway, which serve local food dishes. These roadside shacks were basically mud structures with charpaais, for mostly truck drivers going to and fro, to sit upon and have food.

With time, the charpaais were replaced by wooden tables and chairs. Still, the food at any dhaba has a homemade desi feel to it.

Now, the word dhaba has come to represent desi cuisine so much that many Indian/Pakistani restaurants in Europe and America have adopted it as a part of the name.

I frequently pass by one such dhaba in the Malir District near the Malir Cantonment Area. Like a compelling story which grabs the reader, I am drawn to the wonderful sights and sounds of the place.

One day I decided to pay it a visit. Run by two Pakhtun brothers, this dhaba has been shifted to Karachi all the way from Peshawar.

When I approached them, seeking permission to portray their workplace, they were surprisingly welcome to the idea. I say 'surprisingly' because I’ve oft been shooed away every time I have tried to cover any small restaurant or dhaba, owing perhaps, to the secrecy of the recipes or ingredients that they use and are careful not to reveal.

Sur Gul, the owner of this dhaba, did not hide behind any refusals or excuses. He is exceptionally proud of his little dhaba and everything he serves there.

Dhaba owner Sur Gul cooking lunch.

In the chai corner inside, Gul's brother, Ali Sher Khan stands making tea. For breakfast, they serve rusks, bread, cakes, cake rusks and parathay.

Tea being prepared on the stove.

Power-packed chai.

Expert tea maker, Ali Sher Khan preparing tea.

Finally, ready to be served!

The young helpers serve food to customers, cut vegetables, prepare spices, wash utensils and clean the dhaba. All of them appear to be happy; joking, laughing, living like brothers.

Cutting green chillies.

Cups and saucers.

Whisking yogurt to make raita.

A happy customer having chai and cake.

Chenaks hanging in the dhaba.

A customer having tea.

While we were talking about food and his business, Gul said: “You can see all the stuff here: vegetables, meat, utensils and spices – nothing is unclean or of poor quality. We are honest with our customers and provide what we ourselves eat, you can clear all your doubts when you enter Khan's dhaba.”

I spent a good long time at the dhaba, taking pictures of everything and not once did Gul appear to run out of patience. Instead, he offered me food and tea. I have to admit to being oddly disconcerted that Gul didn't even bother to ask me who I was and why I was here.

The only time he did interrupt me once was to say:

“Take a good picture of me and get it printed, I will keep it here in the dhaba.”

Khan's dhaba.

Ali Anas is a media student at IoBM.

Last year, I went to visit the Shaikh Bhirkio shrine in a town by the same name some 30 kilometres from Hyderabad in Sindh. This was my fifth trip to the shrine, which I made for my book Sufis, Saints and Shrines: A Journey into the Sufi landscape of Sindh.

When I entered the tomb of the saint, an elderly woman yelled at me, telling me to first seek permission to enter. She asked me to wait until she had cleaned the floor of the shrine. Then with a watery smile, she said:

This saint is only mine, you need to seek my permission first.

I waited at the door for her approval. She turned back to cleaning the floor. I wondered why she was cleaning the already sparkling floor of the marble courtyard.

After she had finished and allowed me in, I asked her why she was doing it. “I know that it’s clean,” but it gives me sukoon (relief) when I come to pay homage and brush the grave and floor with peacock feathers.”

At almost every shrine in Sindh, one is bound to find elderly people like her, either leaning against the walls, reciting the Holy Quran or sleeping on the floor of the shrine; these shrines are source of solace for them.

The Shaikh Birkhio shrine complex.

The tomb of Shaikh Birkhio.

Spires on the domes.

The facade of Shaikh Birkhio's tomb, covered with glazed tiles.

Located 25 kilometers southwest of the Tando Allahyar town, the shrine complex of Shaikh Bhirkio is one of the important Suharwardi (a sufi order) centers in Sindh.

I have always been greatly mystified by the dual identities of shrines. The Sajjada Nasheen of this shrine told me that Shaikh Birkhio was also venerated by the Hindus as Raja Veer.

Before the partition, Hindus swarmed the shrine during the mela. Now, only a few families visit the shrine, a majority of them belonging to lower Hindu castes.

This is not the only shrine in Sindh which carries dual identities. There are over a dozen such shrines in lower Sindh. For instance, Shaikh Tahir is also called Uderolal by his Hindu devotees, Pir Patho is called Makhdoom Naimatullah by his Muslim followers, Mangho Pir was Lala Jasraj for Hindu Nath yogis, Ram Jago in Samaro (Umerkot) is venerated as Makhdoom Shafique-ur-Rahman.

Shaikh Bhirkhio was a sufi saint who belonged to the Suharwardi order of Sufism. He lived in the 16th century and travelled to many parts of Sindh, Punjab, Kutch and Gujarat to convert a large number of locals.

The shrine as seen from the nearby mosque.

A distant view of the entire complex.

One of the distinctive features of the Suharwardi shrine complex in Sindh are the grand mosques and tombs there, all adorned with ceramics and paintings. At the Shaikh Bhirkio complex, there are two mosques in addition to the tomb of the saint.

The tomb is decorated with enameled Hala tiles. The interior of the tomb is painted in fine taste, but recently whitewashed, thus wreaking havoc on the murals. Sadly, the interior of a nearby three-domed mosque has also been whitewashed.

The mehrab of the mosque has the painted names of Allah.

A view of the shrine and the mosques.

The three-domed mosque adjacent to the tomb.

A closer look at the painted names of Allah.

Luckily, another nearby mosque stands with its original beauty intact. The wall of the mosque is painted upon and the ceiling decorated with ceramics. The wooden pillars and fretted panels are a peculiarity of almost all the mosques built by the Suharwardi sufis of Sindh.

Suharwardi shrine complexes like these can also be seen in Bukera Sharif and Kamaro Sharif in the Tando Allahyar district.

The other mosque.

A closer look at the paintings.

The beautiful interior of the mosque.

Artwork on the walls.

The mehrab.

Another view of the exquisitely designed walls.

Painted ceiling.

Calligraphy.

A painted panel.

Intricate designs on recesses in the wall.

Each time that I have visited the shrine, I have seen both Hindu and Muslim men and women at the shrine of Shaikh Bhirkio — an equal source of succour for them all.

When I was leaving the shrine, I heard a Hindu woman murmuring,

Yeh pir sirf mera hai.

—All photos by author

—Photo by author.

Over the deafening roar of the Shiraz coach, my headphones comfort me with Slipknot, as I sit in a corner women's seat aligned with the chassis of the bus. It isn't my first time on this bus, but every time I climb aboard it I need a moment to brace myself for the hour-long ride ahead, all the way from Tower to Jauhar — which is rarely ever trouble-free.

As I get on the bus, the biggest struggle is to find a place first. Offices around my destination all close around the same time, so the 6 o'clock evening bus never fails to carry more than double its capacity.

Now, the bigger concern: a bus full of men exploding out of the men's section and spilling all over the women's section, which has just three females (including myself), to fix their eyes upon. As the impulsive Pathan bhai speeds across Burns Road, every time he jolts the breaks, a few men will occasionally lose control and tumble forward.

Plus, as we all know, Karachi temperature is insufferable (39°C on this particular day) and the air unbearably humid. And that causes almost every other breathing being to sweat out raindrops and generate the most unbecoming of fragrances.

—Photo by author.

The NGOs and all the artsy, cultural types like to talk about the rich and colourful atmosphere of Karachi's public buses. But wait till they cross over the galleries and exhibitions into the inside of an everyday public bus, to really see how suffocating the beautifully embroidered curtains are and how utterly irritating the symmetrically hanging beads are, forever dangling over your head!

Tiny windows are present, but mostly in an invisible corner far from where you're sitting, and beyond the wall of a million cramped men, squirming against each other for one whiff of freshly polluted air from the outside.

Also see: Karachi’s public transport on the verge of collapse: report

But, it’s not all bad, you know. We've covered half of our route now and a lady sitting next to me, gets off, leaving the oxygen struggle between a total of two less lungs. Now I'm silently singing the happiest songs in my head, easing out my stiff tendons, moving sideways, trying to get closer to the window.

I get a chance to look at the men now, who are all ages and staring right back at me throughout the entire journey. How flattering. I clutch my dupatta to cover any small part of exposed skin.

Actually, some of them might not be ogling me but the woman sitting next to me, who was about 50 to 60 years of age and wrapped up in a huge chaadar.

—Photo by author.

My phone beeps to remind me that its battery is running low. With a heavy heart, I unplug my headphones and place them safely in my bag. Suddenly, the bus stops with a jerk. A very pleasant-smelling young girl enters the bus and I inwardly thank her for the shampoo she had used that afternoon.

She places herself between me and the old woman, quickly takes out a hundred rupee note from her bag and hands it over to the conductor. The conductor returns her five rupees less than the balance for the her route's fare. She looks at the money and indulges in an exchange of adjectives regarding the extra fair he had deducted.

As things cool down, a fare is agreed upon with mutual consent. She takes her phone out of the bag and calls someone. It isn't the 60-second call, but the half-an-hour-tele-reunion or I-missed-the-gossip-so-tell-me-everything call.

On approaching Sabzi Mandi, the bus gets into a fierce-looking acceleration competition with every possible car around in the least amount of space available – I mean a traffic jam, obviously.

Read on: Karachi gets advice from Colombia to improve traffic system

We suddenly stop near the Edhi Morgue. Amidst the traffic jam, the cars, the buses, the qinqis, the motorcycles; all honking their way out, our driver peeks outside the bus door, shoots a stern look at the qinqi-driver on the side, pulls his head back, spins around to face the conductor and orders him to bring his naswaar.

As I observe all this, I have decided upon the worst part of this journey: The impulsive brakes.

—Photo by author.

Just as we cross Hassan Square, our driver suddenly stops the bus in the centre of a road and under a bridge, to get some passengers on. Now, not only are the seats full, there are more men in the women's section, but the driver appears to be convinced that at least 20 more can be stuffed in.

Also read: PM announces Rs15bn transport project for Karachi

As we cross the gates of the Karachi University, the routine continues: jolting brakes and passengers falling over each other. Excited about my home drawing closer, I try to tightly wrap my dupatta around me, so as to decrease my chances of tripping over it as I get off.

Finally, the long awaited moment arrives and the mighty Shiraz stops for just a millisecond to allow me to disembark. I have barely managed to plant my feet on the ground when off it goes, jerking and tumbling onward on its unending cycle of journeys across the metropolis; seemingly indifferent to all that it has just put me through.

Tomorrow, I will see it again.

Related:

• Story time: An unforgettable bus ride
  
• Wandering in wonder: A new way to visit Karachi
  
• SKE: Adventures into the unexplored corners of Karachi
  

Ramazan is a month for reflection and peace; however, more often than not in the rush to get home to have Iftar with the family or to hasten to cook as many dishes as one can in a limited time, people tend to take shortcuts that can sometimes lead to disaster.

Here are some tips to keep you safe:

Kitchen safety (Fire safety)

• If deep frying, fill only a third of the pan with oil.

Don’t let your guard down and take all possible measures to keep safe.

• If the pan is smoking excessively then turn off the flame and let the pan cool for a bit.

• Never throw water on a burning pan, cover it with a damp towel or a fire blanket and switch off the flame.

• Be extremely careful of the clothes you are wearing; loose ends could snag and cause spills or catch fire if they get too close to a flame. (It's a leading cause of burns).

• Never leave the cooking unattended, especially with children in the home.

Using candles (Fire safety)

• If you need to use a candle in case of power breakdown: Place the candle on a firm base which is preferably not of plastic or metal.

• Light the candle where it is to be placed instead of walking through other rooms with a lit candle, especially if you have carpeted floors.

• Keep them away from the reach of children.

• Don`t leave them burning in a room unattended.

• Scented candles turn to liquid to release their fragrance, so do ensure they're in a container that can prevent spillage.

Using generators (Avoiding accidents)

• Placement of the equipment is essential to keep it cool and ensure proper ventilation for exhaust fumes.

• Never refuel the generator when it is on or when it is overheated. Allow it to cool before refuelling as this can cause fires.

• Have a torch handy when going to start up a generator; always check for leakages.

• If storing fuel on site, ensure an appropriate fire extinguisher is readily available, as well as a sand bucket.

Staying cool during a heat wave

• Wear light clothing, including light colours.

• Sponge the nape of the neck, feet, hands, ears and head regularly with a towel dipped in normal tap water.

• Stay indoors as much as possible and keep the house ventilated (when hot breeze is blowing).

• Identify a cool room, usually an inner room (no direct sunlight on the walls). If power is not an issue keep the fan on and keep the doors closed. Go to the room and take a breather if you feel exhausted.

• Avoid consumption of hot drinks all day, even at night.

• When heading out, coveryour head, neck and arms.

• Plan to carry out activities that involve exertion or extraordinary effort in the cooler periods of the day.

Monsoon rains

• Ensure that all drains are unclogged to allow smooth flow of water.

• Cover up exposed wiring or electrical equipment.

• Keep sufficient supplies of potable water for your consumption, line water or sourced through bowsers in the immediate aftermath of rains may not be good for (gargling, wuzu, etc.) Never operate electrical appliances if your clothing is wet or if you need to stand in water to do so.

Road travel

• Store a couple of water botties in the car; the water can be used to cool an overheating radiator or yourself if stranded in a traffic jam during hot days. Know the peak hours for travel and plan to leave either before or after to avoid traffic congestion.

• Though shortcuts are tempting, if you`re not familiar with them they could prolong the agony.

• Use the middle lanes as far as possible as outer ones are a muggers' delight.

• Avoid road rage whether you`re dishing it out or on the receiving end.

• Always carry your valid vehicle documents.

• Before heading out check media, traffic police helplines, etc. for known bottlenecks and traffic jams.

• Be prepared to abandon your vehicle in case of flooding,protests or other blockades of long durations

• Grab your vehicle documents and valuables.

• Lock the car and park it to a side if possible.

Shopping

• Especially at Iftar time and in the pre-eid rush many unscrupulous elements are out to make an easy buck...by stealing your bucks.

• The theft of belongings, vehicle parts or even the entire vehicle can occur during rush hours jams and crowds, therefore always keep a watch.

• Park in regular parking zones; makeshift parking areas, while convenient, have little or no safety.

• Male and female pickpockets are very active during this period.

• Men should put their wallets in the front pockets.

• Women should carry their bag cross shoulder across their front.

• Split your cash and cards and only carry enough for the shopping you intend to do.

• Report loss of cards to the banks immediately as the thieves tend to use them instantly and all expenses before the loss is reported are your responsibility.

• Children should be kept close at all times; if they stray from your line of sight, stop what you are doing and bring them back.

• Shop at odd hours to avoid crowds.

The hustle and bustle of Karachi often overshadows its historical significance, but amidst its smog-filled dingy streets and crumbling edifices lies a city full of intriguing stories.

The construction of a port and other infrastructure fueled Karachi’s growth, which attracted not only businessmen but scholars, artists and educationists, who found it an ideal setting to pursue their dreams.

Some of them moved on, while some stayed back and were buried in its sandy soil, but not before leaving their mark on the city's landscape.

Sometimes, street names, plaques and nameplates are the only reminder of the acts they did for the city and its denizens.

Finding Maulvi Abdul Haq’s eternal abode

The big black gate was shut. The grim afternoon heat was unforgiving and I was drowning in my own sweat. My friend told me that the gatekeeper might have gone for afternoon prayers and suggested that we take refuge under a nearby tree.

A few people were already sitting there on a bench. A mechanic was taking dents out of a vintage jeep. I took a tissue paper out of my pocket and wiped the sweat off my forehead.

Anjuman-e-Taraqi-e-Urdu.

Anjuman-e-Taraqi-e-Urdu.

Anjuman-e-Taraqi-e-Urdu.

“So is this where Maulvi Abdul Haq lived and was buried?” I asked.

“Yes. I was brought up in this area and have been seeing his grave and this building since forever,” my friend told me.

I found it very intriguing that Maulvi Abdul Haq, popularly known as Baba-e-Urdu, was buried in the same compound where he lived and worked after migrating to Karachi. Therefore, when I had heard of it, I instantly arranged for a visit.

We saw the gatekeeper slowly moving towards the gate. We exchanged greetings and he happily let us inside. Over the entrance of the building hung a board that said, ‘Anjuman-e-Taraqi-e-Urdu’.

Anjuman-e-Taraqi-e-Urdu.

At once, I spotted the grave on my left and walked towards it to offer fateha. The gravestone read: Baba-e-Urdu, born on 20th August 1870, died 6th August 1961.

A couple of plaques were lying by the entrance of the building, one a replica of the gravestone and another one which bore Hindi inscription and looked much older. I asked the gatekeeper what was written on the second tablet, but he was unaware.

After taking a few photos, I asked him if I could go upstairs, but he said it was locked and asked me to come back another day.

The temple of the goddess of wisdom

The next day, I showed a photo of the second plaque to a friend who could read the Hindi script. He started reading it slowly:

“Shri Bharat Sarswata Mandir ki yeh Adharshila (Foundation Stone) Poj. Mahatma Mohan Das Karm Chand Gandhi ke pawitar kar kamloon duara…”

“Gandhi? Did you just say Mohan Das Karm Chand Gandhi?” I inquired.

“Yes, it clearly states that but I can’t read the dates,” my friend replied.

The foundation stone.

As it turned out later, that very building was a Gujarati school founded in 1921 by Mahatama Gandhi himself. The school was named after Shri Sharda Devi Mata, the goddess of wisdom in Hindu mythology. Jamshedji Mehta, the founder of modern Karachi and its mayor, was chosen as president of the school.

Gradually, the school turned into one of the finest institutions not only in Karachi but the entire region. Mahatma Gandhi had laid the foundation stone of the school and also took a keen interest in its management, visiting whenever he came to Karachi.

Other notables visiting the institute included Jawaharlal Nehru and Sardar Patel. There were around 1200 students in the school at the time of the partition. After the great divide, the school management decided to shift their focus towards India, and the first school was founded near Mangrol (in the Junagadh district of Gujarat).

Second floor book storage.

Molvi Abdul Haq and Anjuman-e-Taraqi-e-Urdu

The next day, a political party had called a strike and the city was shut. So it was the day after that I drove to the building again, where a different caretaker was waiting for me. He opened the gate and we stepped in. Both plaques were lying near the door, relics from a different time – a story left untold due to sheer negligence.

The caretaker was rather young and had never met Baba-e-Urdu in his lifetime, but spoke affectionately of him, almost as if he were a dear family member.

Molvi Abdul Haq was born on November 16, 1872 in Uttar Pradesh in India. He was a graduate of the famous Aligarh University, where he spent time in the company of imminent scholars, but it was in Hyderabad where he earned his merit as the foremost scholar of Urdu language.

He served as a translator at the Home Department, Provincial Inspector and was also elected as Secretary, Department for the Promotion of Urdu at the Delhi All-India Muslim Educational Conference.

He founded the Anjuman Taraqi-e-Urdu in Aligarh in 1903 and later became the Principal of Osmania College Aurangabad, from where he retired in 1930. His later achievements included the compilation of a comprehensive English-Urdu dictionary.

He championed Urdu’s cause and resisted the Indian Nationalist Campaign for making Hindi the national language of undivided India.

Second floor book storage.

Second floor book storage.

Second floor book storage.

In 1947, he migrated to Karachi and was allotted the school building which had been abandoned by then. Working from this building, Haq spearheaded Urdu’s cause as a lingua franca, launching several literary magazines, publishing books and establishing libraries. Although most of his personal collection was left behind in India, several manuscripts found refuge in the Urdu Dictionary Board and Anjuman’s archives. On August 16, 1961, Maulvi Abdul Haq passed away after prolonged illness in Karachi.

According to Jamiluddin Aali, whom Haq donned the responsibility of Anjuman’s affairs on his deathbed, he did not leave behind any will. Jamiluddin Aali sahab found it befitting to bury him on the same premises.

It was not considered legal and even the property was not transferred in his name. A large crowd gathered for the funeral and despite resistance from the then commissioner, Maulvi Abdul Haq was buried under the shadow of the building of Anjuman which he nurtured with undying passion.

The building

The gatekeeper told me that the first floor was used by the office bearers of Anjuman but have been closed for a long time now. The second floor was used as storage space. The rest of the Anjuman’s operations had been shifted to a new facility in Gulshan-e-Iqbal, but they still used it as a storage space. A small bookshop had also been setup inside the building, which made it easier for bookshops across the city to procure books published by Anjuman.

Inside Anjuman's bookshop.

Inside Anjuman's bookshop.

We strolled through the first and second floor. I saw the name plates of Jameel Jalbi, Noorul Hassan and Jameeluddin Aali’s offices, which were closed. In a large hall on the second floor, dozens of books were lying on the floor. The ceilings were high and the corridors were airy. We walked outside through the same staircase.

First floor offices.

First floor offices.

Second floor book storage.

The caretaker also told me that the compound used to have a few trees planted there by Gandhi, Nehru and other dignitaries, which could not survive the brunt of times.

Perhaps, the building, completely neglected by the government and in dire need of restoration, will join the fate of the trees once planted here by Gandhi and Nehru.

—All photos by author

Farooq Soomro is a quintessential Karachi denizen who likes to document life (or the lack of it) in Karachi and elsewhere. He likes to collect vinyl records and books.

Follow him on Facebook and his blog, The Karachi Walla.

When in 1997 my uncle pinned the 'diya' on my shirt, my joy knew no bounds. The diya was Imran Khan's party symbol at that time. In a very PML-N-leaning locality, I wore it around proudly all day.

Even when the shopkeeper told me that the ‘lion’ will decimate the diya, I was having none of it. I wanted Khan to lead my country because he was the hero, the new challenger on the proverbial block.

I was around eight at that time and of course hadn't a clue about politics. Besides I – like everybody who has grown up playing cricket and listening to the anecdotes of the 1992 World Cup – wanted to 'be' Imran Khan.

The legendary PTI jalsa of 2011 rekindled my earnest desire of seeing Khan as a front-runner in the race. Everyone saw how he came into his element at that time, the massive response from the masses and how the promise of a new future took shape.

Also read: Imran Khan: the myth and the reality

From that moment on, a new and reorganised PTI emerged. Not even political giants like Javed Hashmi could resist gravitating towards this new movement. A new chapter in the history of Pakistan had begun – a chapter of assurance of redress for the troubled public, of a chance for educated, informed and sincere people acquiring a role in shaping their country’s future.

Of course, the more astute of us knew it was not going to be a sweeping victory for PTI. Still, it now felt that we finally had a voice. The PTI lost on the national front but went on to form the provincial government in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa.

Broken promises

We already knew the party had many shortcomings. The PTI is still young, we told ourselves. Most of us were willing, nay eager, to look the other way with regards to the party’s various failings.

However, when the project of setting up an innovative, progressive and judicious model of governance went horribly wrong, even the most loyal of us could not find enough excuses to hide behind.

How wrong did it go? The best way to find out is to examine the evidence of PTI's performance in the last two years.

Police and education reforms were the two flagship projects that PTI undertook as the government in KP.

Read on: Less than 25% of KP development budget utilised

The former were widely touted to be ‘revolutionary’ and one-of-their-kind in Pakistan. Time and again, it was claimed that KP police was completely depoliticised and had been turned into one of the most professional departments in Pakistan.

But when push came to shove, the blinders came off quickly enough.

Tear gas, baton charges, arrests, rubber bullets, you name it and the police did it. The recent local body elections also laid bare just how depoliticised the police force really is and it is now evident that the KP police erred on the side of those with political clout.

In the name of education reforms, what KP received was a sharp move backwards. The portfolio of education, which belongs to PTI, has been completely at the disposal of PTI’s coalition partner Jamaat-i-Islami – so much for a ‘changed’ education system.

Another promising education-based project was ‘Taleem ka Insaaf’. However, it was tackled so poorly by the government that it lost almost all financial backing and eventually had to be scrapped.

See: KP to remove ‘objectionable’ material from textbooks

One of the most startling examples of just how much PTI has lost its course occurred during the dharna, when our resolute leaders almost wholly shunned their provincial responsibilities. We saw them stoop to the level of those brutish and selfish politicians that we wanted PTI members to replace.

During the dharna, they employed every tactic in the book of street-politics, to a point where not just local but international news publications ran accounts of the destabilisation caused by the party. Even the Financial Times and Washington Post speculated about the threat to democracy and a looming Martial Law in the country.

From thuggery to outright vandalism and hate speech to the harassment of journalists, from incitement and violence to destruction and arson, PTI appears to have committed everything.

All these antics of PTI have left many like myself dazed and confused. Where is the explanation for all these escapades?

The PTI of today is a party I, and many like myself, cannot recognise. A ghastly shadow of its former self, the party now seems completely like the polity of a very ‘purana’ and retrogressive Pakistan.

Making sense

It is an oft-repeated truism that a politician or a party is not what sustains a movement, rather it is the people who do so.

The desire of a people for the better is what sustains a movement and hence a politician. There is nothing wrong with that picture except that too often the populous then bring in blind faith and enjoin all hope unconditionally with the politician, putting the actual purpose on the back-burner.

Such an effort for change then becomes a falsely contested and selfish agenda – a movement not for the better but for the worse.

That is exactly what happened with PTI.

In other words, the disappointment is not completely to be blamed on Khan or his party but on our own insistence of believing in them blindly, ignoring realities (and denouncing those who point our eyes towards it) and cheering PTI into believing its own myth as an infallible entity that could never fall prey to entrenched interests.

See: Why is it wrong to praise Imran Khan?

Let’s be honest with ourselves, we have mostly been at the losing end of the bargain in the power-play of the ruling classes. Granted we are desperate, but that is no excuse to swallow whatever revolutionary snakeskin oil anybody is selling.

Going forward

There is no black-and-white in most worldly affairs, least of all in politics. We have to abolish this make-believe world where only one party, one man, one saviour stands for impeccable good and is incapable of error.

The fanatic emotional attachment with PTI will have to be treated with a heavy dose of rationality and supporters will have to quit being perpetual apologists for the party’s grand blunders.

I am not suggesting that we give up all hope for change or completely turn our backs on PTI; rather, just that we should honestly re-evaluate our beliefs in the holiness accorded by to it by its supporters and pay more attention to the good and evil of party policies and agendas instead of Good and Evil itself.

We don't want any more sentimental abracadabra chants of revolution and change because what we really need is reform, no matter which party brings that about.

Next time let us vote on the basis of whoever performed better, even marginally, from the rest.

Related:

• Imagine a different Imran
  
• What is 'naya' in Naya Pakistan?
  
• Open letter to Imran Khan, from a PTI voter

If you went around in Karachi asking various students which education institutes they studied in, most would reply in acronyms like NED, DJ, DCTO and so on. Recently, just before summer break, my nephew and I happened to visit one such institute, the NJV School in Karachi.

We arrived at the school to find it largely empty of students. There were a few children playing cricket in the playground, but all the classrooms were empty.

I approached a young boy and asked what NJV meant.

“NJV means NJV, what else?” he replied.

I realised it would be pointless to ask him any further questions about the history of the institution.

If one is not aware of the history of their academic institute, does it not hamper the process of being educated? However, and unfortunately so, the bond that should exist between a student and the institution is mostly absent. I thought it worthwhile, therefore, to learn something about this famous school of Karachi.

The NJV School is named after Maharaj Jagan Nath Vidya. According to the Gazetteer of the Province Sind, Karachi District (compiled by J.W. Smith, published by Indus Publications), Narain Jagan Nath High School was the first public school to be opened in Sindh. It was inaugurated in October, 1855. The first batch had 68 students.

The building was located where the Bandar Road and the Mission Road met. The map was made by a Lieutenant Chapman and paid for by the Karachi Municipality and the government.

In 1876, the school was relocated to its current location. The new building had 17 classrooms. There were a total of 477 students in the school. Out of them, 350 were Hindu, 32 were Brahmans, 10 were Jains, 12 were Muslim, 66 were from the Parsi community and seven were Indian Jews.

Narain Jagan Nath was an educated resident of Mumbai. He is said to be a well-known educationist of his days. That, too, at a time when books and teachers were a rarity in Sindh.

In 1910, another high school was established in Sindh. It accommodated 250 students. The school received a monthly grant of 4,020 rupees.

On November 16, 1987, Department of Education, Government of Sindh received a letter. It had recommendations for improvement of the educational facilities in the NJV Government Higher Secondary School (Sindhi Medium) Karachi. Following are the contents of that letter:

“NJV Government Higher Secondary School (Sindhi Medium) is the first and oldest public educational institute in the province. It was founded in 1855 with only 68 students. In 1945-46, the school was shifted to the kotwaal building for some time. It was finally moved to its current building, the previous Sindh Assembly building.

“Being the first educational institute of the province, the school has certainly played a vital role in providing the people of Sindh with the services of education. It has remained a centre of learning and curricular activities. The school has seen its days of glory and fame. Many renowned and successful politicians and scholars have acquired their higher secondary education from this school. No doubt that the school has lost its charm due to encroachments. Its front yard houses government offices. The time will come when the school will regain its lost glory and recognition. What is needed is the education department’s attention.”

Read on: As a piece of Karachi’s academic history falls apart, officials look away

It was also mentioned in this letter that if the government offices located in the school premises were moved elsewhere, the school's strength could exceed 300.

The school also has historical importance owing to the fact that after partition, the Sindh provincial assembly convened in its building. Syed Mustafa Barelvi writes about the NJV School on page 105 of his book Musalmaanan-e-Karachi-o-Sindh Kee Taalem (Az Ahd-e-Qadeem Taa Qayaam-e-Pakistan):

“In March 1917, 477 students were receiving an education in this school. The number of Muslim students was only 12. The number highlights the weak situation of the Muslims of Karachi and Sindh in higher education.”

The division of the number of Hindu students into Brahmins and non-Brahmins clearly tells a discriminative tale.

Zulfiqar Wahucho, a journalist who put a lot of effort into revamping the NJV School, acquired a school bus for the students commuting from afar. It wasn’t an easy acquisition. And it was followed by the problem of arranging fuel for the bus. According to him, even today, the number of students is around 300.

It is a matter of grave concern why the number of students has not exceeded 300 even after more than a century and a half.

Some of the well-known students of the school include Amar Jaleel (a famous Sindhi literato), Pir Mazharul Haq (the former provincial education minister), Shafi Muhammad Jamot (current provincial legislator), and Hassan Mansoor (a renowned journalist). Hashmat Tehelram Keval Ramani, a famous personality in Sindh, also studied here once.

See: Hashmat Kevalramani: Pakistan's first exiled man

Up until 1946, all the headmasters of the school were non-Muslims, whereas afterwards, it has only been Muslims.

To repeat a clichéd statement, other societies preserve such historical institutions and establish chairs in the name of the renowned scholars who graduate from those institutions. They also take pains to develop such institutions with time. Although the provincial authorities are working on renovating and developing some old institutions in Karachi, no such thing is happening for the NJV School.

—All photos by author

Translated by Aadarsh Ayaz Laghari from the original in Urdu here.

Hyderabad, one of Pakistan's most historic cities, has sadly not received the recognition it deserves. The history of this land on the Ganju Takkar hillock can be traced back to the Mauryan era (322-185 BC). The heritage and culture has been overlooked to an extent where even the city’s own residents, in general, are not aware of its significance.

To connect the people of the city, and especially its youth, with its history and culture, the “Hyderabad Photo-Walk” was organised on May 30, 2015. I was a part of the initiative, which was backed by Pakistan-US Alumni Network and Lahooti Live Sessions, and led by Sana Khoja, a Hyderabad-based youth activist. Our team comprised of Ahsan Abro, Asif Ansari, Omar Qureshi, Muazam Memon and Furqan Buriro.

Enthusiasm was the keyword on the day of the Photo-walk. —HPW

Participants being told briefly about the history of Hyderabad before the start of the walk. —HPW

Sana Khoja, who led the event. —HPW

The main event was preceded by a photography talk a few weeks before, by renowned Pakistani photographer Danial Shah. Danial guided the participants and shared his experiences with them, along with photography tips and tricks.

The session on photography. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

Renowned photographer Danial Shah answered questions during the session. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

On the day of the main event, over 100 participants gathered, along with the team of the photo-walk. The participants belonged mainly to Hyderabad, while a few were from places such as Nawabshah, Karachi, etc.

The participants were taken to different spots of historic, cultural and social significance, facing the scorching sun throughout the course of the event.

The first spot was the set of the Kalhora tombs, including the tomb of Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhora, who laid the foundation of modern-day Hyderabad in the late 1760s, and gave the city the name it has today. He built it over the ruins of an old fishing village called Neroon or Neroonkot.

Traditional buses were used as transport. —HPW

Team Hyderabad Photo-walk posing with the participants. —HPW

The wall around Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhora's tomb. —Rahul P Maheshwari

Participants at the Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhora tomb complex. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

The participants were then taken to Hirabad, one of the oldest parts of the city. Hirabad is filled with buildings built during British Raj by Sindhi Hindus. Participants photographed the old buildings, including a Shiv temple which was first built in 1895 and then rebuilt in 1945.

Next up was Rani Bagh, a botanical and zoological garden in Hyderabad where we all had lunch. Then came Niaz Stadium, a historic stadium where the first ever hat-trick in One Day Internationals happened in 1982. The bowler was Pakistani right-arm seamer Jalal-ud-Din, and the opposition was Australia. Pakistan has never lost a Test or ODI on this ground.

The Shiv temple in Hirabad. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

A house in Hirabad built in 1923. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

Participants interacted with the people too. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

Niaz Stadium, Hyderabad. —Furqan Buriro

The final spot of the photo-walk was none other than the historic Pakka Qila, built in 1768 by Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhora. Participants photographed the crumbling remains of the once-majestic monument.

One of the most wonderful things about the photo-walk was the participation of girls and women, whose enthusiasm knew no bounds.

Pakka Qila ruins. —Rahul P Maheshwari

On June 14, a one-day exhibition titled “Tale of Hyderabad” was organised at the Sindh Museum (Hyderabad), where the photos submitted by participants were showcased. The 57 entries (chosen from a pool of over 150 photos) were judged by artists, photographers, teachers and intellectuals.

Khudeija Ansari’s photograph of a group of children wearing traditional prayer caps was judged as the best of the lot. The one that came in second was taken by Fazila Amber, of a ladder inside the temple.

Khudeija Ansari with her prize-winning photo. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

Runner-up Fazila Amber with her photo. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

The exhibition featured over 50 photos taken at different places throughout the city in a day. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

The exhibition was visited by over 200 people. It also included the session “From Neroonkot to Hyderabad”. I headed this session as the photo-walk’s guide, and used it to discuss the history of Hyderabad.

The participants shared their experiences of the photo-walk, followed by a folk-music performance by Faqir Zulfiqar, who sang the poetry of Shah Latif Bhitai. Another highlight of the event was musician Saif Samejo (of the band Sketches, and the mind behind Lahooti Live Sessions), who has been backing the event since the very start.

The music session was one of the highlights of the exhibition. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

Fakir Zulfiqar performed Sindhi folk songs, which included renditions of Shah Latif Bhitai's poetry. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

Halar Khoso, one of the participants, said,

In such a congested society, where people are fighting for their basic rights and everyone has the fear of going out on streets, an initiative like Hyderabad Photo-walk is a breath of much needed fresh air for youngsters who love history and want to explore it through photography.

Another participant, Ali Raza Soomro said, "It (Hyderabad Photo-walk) provided a platform for newcomers like me, and I felt like writing a story while capturing the photos. I never knew Hyderabad had so much to tell."

The Hyderabad Photo-walk team were also made a cake by Hira Brohi, one of the participants who also happens to own a small baking company.

The Hyderabad Photo-walk cake, made by one of the participants, Hira Brohi. —Syed Zeeshan Ahmed

Group photo taken at Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhora's tomb. —HPW

It was quite admirable that the enthusiasm of participants showed no signs of letting up even in the face of intense heat during the photo-walk. By all accounts, the walk was a success and ended up as the grandest event of its kind in the city's history.

Most of all, it succeeded in its prime motive: Connecting youth with the history and culture of this glorious city.

To know more about the Hyderabad Photo-walk, you can visit their Facebook page or find them on Twitter.

Chana chaat, a sub-continental favourite, transcends borders, ethnicities, religion, caste and colour. Come Ramazan, tea time, dinners, and even at breakfast, the chana chaat is ever present.

One of my favourite things about the chana chaat is that all cooks make and serve it a little differently, giving it their own personal twist. The garnishes are always different, the chutney and masalas served on the side can be of any variety, ranging from the hot haree and lalchutney to sweet and tarter imli, amchur and nembochutney.

Fundamentally, chana chaat is a simple salad, loaded with carbohydrates and an explosion of flavour.

The base could be just chickpeas, boiled potatoes, fried fritters or papri (crackers), dahi bara, samosa, and/or a variety of puffed rice, legume or chickpea snacks, served with chutney, sauces and dahi (yogurt), topped with chopped vegetables such as tomatoes, onions, green chillie and boiled potatoes, and garnished with cilantro, mint and a kick of chaat masala.

According to food historian Lizzie Collingham,

In 16th and 17th century Hindustan, the staple food of the rural pheasant and also of the urban artisans and labourers was kitchri, a simple dish of two grains, usually rice and lentils, cooked in water. Every region had a variation on the recipe according to which crop they grew as a staple crop. This millet sometimes replaced the rice and the chickpeas replaced the lentils. Tavernier, the 17th century French traveller, wrote that the soldiers dipped their fingers in pickles and butter while eating kitchri, and various other spices and peppers.

Perhaps, chana chaat is a variation of the same.

Chaat is topped with chopped tomatoes, onions, green chillie and boiled potatoes. —Creative commons

Chanay (chickpea or garbanzo), is a Ramazan staple. The mothers in the desi realm mostly serve chana chaat come iftar during the blessed month. And there is variety to choose from, namely kala chana, kabuli chana and the list of legumes goes on.

Chanay is a legume, and when legumes are hulled and split it is observed that they make for easy cooking and digestion. The subcontinent is known for innovatively cooking chanay in a variety of ways. We serve spicy packaged chanay snacks and chana choor garam sold by the wandering neighbourhood vendour, chana chaat, chanay key daal ka halwa and the ever favourite chikaar choolay, a Punjabi delight.

The interesting thing about chickpeas is that it may be eaten as a whole or as a split pulse; and it is the grains that are used as cholay chana.

Chickpea has been known to Asia and Europe for over ten thousand years and was cultivated in both continents. Archeologists claim that its earliest cultivation may have been in the regions encompassing the Mediterranean, Persia, Afghanistan and the lands surrounding it.

History suggests that the subcontinent may also have been its place of birth; hence the wide use of chickpea in Pakistan, India and the Mediterranean ranging from hummus, pakora, puri chana, dal ka halwa and the list goes on.

Chaat is mostly preferred with a side of papri and chutney. —Creative commons

Max Falkowitz, the national editor at Serious Eats, in his article titled Top Chaat best describes it saying the following;

Chaat isn't a single dish; it's a category of astonishingly diverse preparations. Even in a culture that loves its snack food, chaat stands out in the [subcontinent] India as one of the few universals. Every region has their own chaat, and every cook does their own spin.

On the beaches of Mumbai [and the streets of Karachi], you might find bhelpuri, a chaat made from puffed rice and other crispy bits; in Bengal, the same rice is dosed with a sinus-clearing kick of mustard oil for a dish called jaal muri.

Bhelpuri, also a type of chaat, is made out of puffed rice, vegetables and a tangy tamarind sauce. —Creative commons

Chaat isn't generally part of a meal; it's a snack eaten in between: after school or work, in the lingering hours before dinner. In a culture that doesn't go wild over alcohol, meeting for chaat can replace meeting for drinks or coffee.

The recipe I share with you today is my dear friend Shehla’s. The chana chaat she makes is legendary; a great hit among our group of friends. Here it is from my kitchen to yours.

Ingredients

2 cups chanay (soak overnight in five cups of water and 1/3 tsp. soda)
¼ to ½ cup ghur (jaggery), optional
½ to 1 tsp. black salt, or to taste
½ tsp. cumin seeds, roasted and ground
¼ to ½ cup tamarind chutney
1 to 2 potatoes (boiled (in water with yellow food colouring) and chopped in small squares
2 to 3 tbsp. finely chopped onions

Be sure to soak the chana overnight. —Photo by author

Method

Boil chana until completely tender, once boiled set aside and add jaggery, let cool and add all other ingredients.

Garnish with chopped green chillie, cilantro, sliced round onions, sliced tomatoes and serve with a side of chutney, yogurt, chaat masala, papri or any other desired side.

Although date palm is a developing industry in Pakistan, the country is already one of the largest producers of this fruit crop in the world. And in the business of producing dates, the city of Khairpur holds a very significant place.

Khairpur’s village economy is based on date palm processing and export; this is a source of employment not only for the villagers in Khairpur but also residents of nearby cities, who migrate to the district to work during the crop harvest season. Most of the workers are men, though, with only a small number of women seen working in farms, and that too, the more aged ones.

A majority of Khairpur's dates are exported to India, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh.

The total annual production of dates in Pakistan is about 0.54 million tons with contribution from Sindh at 0.28 million tonnes.

The date variety predominantly found in Khairpur is called Aseel. 85 per cent of these dates are dried and turned into choharas.

The dates are boiled in water mixed with yellow colour for some time before being taken out to dry.

A large number of men in the villages do not have regular employment and rely on the date palm business.

The dates are boiled in water mixed with yellow colour for about 20 minutes before being taken out to dry.

As in other parts of Pakistan, young women’s economic independence in this region is also subject to patriarchal authority; their access to the public sphere is strictly controlled and they are mostly restricted to the private sphere. Young women, therefore, cannot carry out income-generating activities by directly working in the fields. There is a stigma attached to their mobility.

But Khairpur's young women still do not sit idle and participate in this business indirectly.

They use the date palm by-products to make handicrafts such as mats (tado), baskets (tokri), pots (pindi) and hand fans, besides processing the dates and choharas (dried dates) at their homes. The date palm leaves are utilised to make hand fans, while the mats are used to sun dry the fruit.

The mats are the hardest to make as the work involves sophistication and its straws can damage the hands.

A half woven Tado.

Weaving a Tado can severely hurt the hand.

Tados are used to dry out the dates.

Khairpur’s date palm business is hugely dependent on these women’s work who due to their controlled mobility cannot join the industry directly and are forced to work from home. Since there is lack of any formal industry to supply the date palm trade with these handicrafts, women’s informal work becomes increasingly important to keep this business running.

In many parts of the patriarchal and patrilineal South Asia, women suffer from payment inequality and the case in Khairpur is no different. The absence of proper market opportunities and lack of resources make it harder for women to sell their products and on top of it cultural restrictions make it almost impossible for them to get some good return of their labour.

The dates are spread out in the sun for at least a week to dry.

After they have been dried, the dates are put into gunny bags to be sold.

Ultimately, they have to rely on the middlemen, who frequently visit them to buy their products and sell them in other markets. Buying the handicrafts for a pittance, the middleman sells it for twice or thrice the rate and makes considerable profits.

One pindi (pot) for approximately 10 rupees but sells it for 25-30 rupees. The women in the villages of Khairpur are well aware of this exploitation but are helpless in this regard – if the middleman does not buy their product, they will end up earning no money at all.

Khairpur's golden harvest.

Khairpur's golden harvest.

After they have been dried, the dates are put into gunny bags to be sold.

Khairpur's golden harvest.

These women's produce contribute a great deal to their family’s savings who otherwise would have to spend on these items; so even the low wages means a lot. A large number of men in the villages do not have regular employment and rely on farming and temporary employment from the date palm business. The majority of women spend this money on their children’s clothing and healthcare while others share this money with their husbands in time of need.

“I earn from making pots, mats and containers. This money matters a lot for me and my family; my husband does not do any work, so my family survives on the money I earn,” says 18-year-old Asiya.

Quite sadly though, the hands that are always busy in making ends meet, ultimately stay invisible.

Due to cultural sensitivities, the photographer was not given permission to take pictures of all the women. All photos by author.

Nadia Agha is an academic and is currently pursuing her PhD in Women's Studies from the University of York, England.

She tweets @Aghanadia.

When you are a young university student, every evening spent at the university has a charm, but my evenings at the University of Agriculture, Faisalabad, are unforgettable for a special reason.

I can never forget the way the flowers of Alstonia would fill the air with a magical fragrance. Just as Bano Qudsia’s “Raja Gidh” would go ecstatic on full moon nights, the fragrance of these flowers in the late summers would refresh us everyday.

The university is still there, and the Alstonia plants on its U-Road are there too. In just 2-3 months, the nights will once again be filled with fragrance. The only thing needed now to enjoy these nights is time.

As I read the news of the heat-induced deaths of at least 1000 people in Karachi, I recalled the University’s 'thandi sarrak', a street dubbed so for the cool breeze that was peculiar to it. The thandi sarrak was lined with trees on both sides, and countless bird nests embedded inside.

When, in the summers, our hostel rooms felt like ovens, we would find solace in the refreshing shade of the trees on this street. We’d recount stories from the day, all the while saving ourselves from bird droppings.

People residing near the university, too, would reach out to the gardens here. It was perceptible that the temperature within the university was usually a degree or two lesser than the rest of the city, thanks to the infinite number of trees and shrubs.

Also see: Deforestation a threat to agriculture

We have heard that folklore several times, in which a king asks an elderly man why he's planting trees, and the man responds saying the trees planted by his forefathers benefited him, and the trees planted by him would benefit his offspring.

It was in this same spirit, that two years ago, my friends and I launched a project, “Fruit for Life”, under which we are now planting fruit trees in Pakistan.

Our aim is to bring back these fruit-bearing trees back to their habitat, where they had lived since forever until recently. In Punjab, the fields and farms were lined with trees of mulberry, plum, guava, blackberries, pomegranates and oranges. All of the locals had rights over the fruit of these trees.

One more tree planted.

And another.

The project will give away these plants for free.

I remember, there was a pomegranate tree in our courtyard. And as soon as its season arrived, we would distribute all of the fruit among our friends and family. That memory was the inspiration behind this project.

Our method is simple. We ask people if they can take the responsibility of one plant, and we provide them with a free plant if they are willing. They regularly inform us of its growth, and we try to assist them in whatever way possible.

Take a look: Shortage of funds, saplings hit PTI’s afforestation drive

Under this project, we have planted over 3,000 fruit plants through the students and teachers of the Bahauddin Zakaria University in Multan, the Government College University and the University of Agriculture in Faisalabad. This year in March, I have personally planted 90 orange trees in different schools in my hometown Chicha Watni, Punjab.

The author with school students at a plantation drive.

Several organisations work for plantation in Pakistan. In Sindh, there is the Rafiq Soomro Trust, and in Punjab, Dr Shahzad Basra’s 'Moringa for Life' projects are both doing great service to the cause. The Forest Department often launches plantation drives too.

The Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Government’s resolve to plant a billion trees is a welcome sign, but, and strictly speaking from personal experience, without public initiative, these projects will not work. For this, we all need to work together.

Just a few days ago, my friend Muhammad Asad Aslam proposed that if the approximately 15 million Facebook users of Pakistan resolved to plant just one tree, we would be able to bring a significant change in the environment.

Ahmed Faraz had said,

Shikwah-e-zulmat-e-shab se to kahin behtar tha,
Apne hissey ki koi shamma jalaate jaate.

[Rather than lamenting the darkness of night,
It’d have been better had you lit a candle yourself.]

Also read: Where have the fruit trees gone?

Today, we blame the timber mafia and the builder mafia for the ruthless deforestation. But are we personally willing to act against the negative effects of tree-cutting?

Are we lighting up candles, or just whining about the darkness? Are we giving something back to the environment?

We may not be able to effect large-scale changes, but taking one small step towards a greater cause is always possible. So get up, come forward, and plant one tree to save countless lives.

Click here to support Fruit for Life.

—Photos by author.

Translated by Bilal Karim Mughal from the original in Urdu here.

Name one industry in Pakistan that is thriving against all odds? Try music.

We are blessed to have quite a rich culture of music even though the much reviled Zia era didn’t do it any favours. It could be because music is the one thing that gets through to entire nations when nothing else does. Maybe our musicians are just too brave. Or perhaps, it is merely a case of numerous rare probabilities falling in line at the same time.

Whatever the reason, our music is good, and it always has been, in some form or the other. Every generation has had a current trend, an emerging trend and an experimental underground scene that goes on to become the defining sound of future generations.

My focus here is on the music that was unlikely in its era in the country.

Back in the 1930s, the underground scene of the time was ruled by jazz, especially in Karachi. The voices of that era included Lionel Pinto, Joe ‘Bill’ Soares, Ivo D’Souza and Willie Lewis, Carol & Winnie Lobo (Winnie referred to as the 'nightingale of Karachi').

This trend carried through partition up to the '50s. Exact dates are hard to get a hold of (I’ve yet to meet someone who still owns working records), but you can find a detailed history of Pakistan’s jazz roots on this site.

By this time, Pakistani musicians had started participating in non-traditional music. It was mostly underground, not because there was a cultural conflict (we were very open back then, just look at the fashion of the time), but simply because there wasn’t a massive audience for it – just enough to keep the musicians interested, but not enough to garner mass appeal.

We all know that Ko Ko Koreena is considered Pakistan’s first pop song. More than a mere hit, it helped open audiences’ minds to music outside movie soundtracks. This was the '60s, the name Tafo Brothers had grown in popularity since then. Have you heard the track Black Tequila by Wu Tang Clan feat. Ghostface Killah? It was sampled from Tafo Brothers’ Karye Pyar feat. Naheed Akhtar. They have a bunch of albums available on digital media, definitely worth a listen. They alone were not exactly trendsetters, but they created an alternate genre.

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In the '60s, there were The Panthers, comprising of Norman Braganza (lead guitar and vocals), Fasahat Husain Syed (keyboard, sitar and tabla), Eric Fernandes (bass guitar) and Syed Ahsan Sajjad (drums and vocals). You could even call this the first popular form of Pakistan’s fusion music.

They had released two albums (that we know of), named Folk Tunes of Pakistan on Electric Sitar and Western Instruments and East Goes West. Some of the tracks, though 50 years old now, continue to hold up today.

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In the '70s, some of the names might sound more familiar. For example, the Aay Jays, who were more famous because of their concerts than their albums. They were notably featured in two of PIA’s inflight albums.

If you listen to their instrumental version of Dachi Waliya Mor Mohar, you will get a sense of where they were headed. In fact, the grandson of one of the Aay Jays band member, Jamshed Attre, is an active musician currently working in Pakistan.

A cornucopia of information on music from the '60s-'70s can be found here, thanks to the efforts of Stuart, who has put in tremendous effort collecting information on music from all over the world in amazing detail.

If you want to hear a “best-of” collection from the decade of '66-'76 in Pakistan, there is an album called Sublime Frequencies, featuring the Aay Jays, another band called The Abstracts, The Blue Birds, The Bugs, The Fore Thoughts, The Mods, the aforementioned Panthers, Nisar Bazmi and Sohail Rana – it is a piece of living history.

From the decade of 1977-1988, music did not see much progress. In fact, during Zia’s reign, music was all but outlawed. Concerts were a rare occurrence and there was no incentive to create music, which sent a lot of our experimental music deep underground, the details of which are conflicting. We know that the popular music still continued, but even that grew stagnant over time.

No discussion of the '70s and '80s is complete without mentioning Alamgir. His mainstream songs took attention away from his musical genius, which has not yet been fully expressed. Alamgir started off as guitarist with Sohail Rana, where he’d provide background sound for the kids’ music show “Sung Sung Chaltay Rehna”.

It isn’t until you hear his complete performance on the Bengali TV version of “Keh Dena” (not the new one) that you realise that this man had weapons-grade talent on the guitar that went unnoticed until the advent of YouTube.

The band Livewires was not exactly mainstream, but they had quite a few memorable tracks such as Nayi Umangain in the late '80s. They later moved to the US and have not been a prominent feature in Pakistan’s music since, but they did have some great solos.

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Speaking of the '80s, what is the first song that comes to your mind when I say Musarrat Nazeer? Long Gawacha? Chalay to kat hi jaega safar? Those were basically the “gangnam style” of their time, but did you know she actually released an album called Musarrat Nazeer Sings Disco that came out in 1984?

Now, disco was the defining sound of the '80s, which explains the title, but if you listen to it, it is actually more rock than disco. In fact, some of those tracks feature solos that sound like they should be on a Deep Purple track. Sure, there is a track called Galay Se Laga Lo that sounds exactly like One Is The Loneliest Number by Three Dog Night, but we will let that one slide.

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After the advent of Music '89, the music scene was back up and running, and the underground bands of then (especially the late '90s) went on to become popular bands, as is the case with this particular band. And so, Pakistani music stayed alive and kicking and moving forward one way or the other.

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