It was a beautiful evening when I arrived; silent, with the sun about to set, birds wandering in the sky, and the presence of just a few visitors. The carpeted road and the greenery around reminded me of the song “Dharti sunheri ambar neela”.

I was in Thatta’s Shahjahan Mosque, an enormous, beautiful structure which bespeaks the glory of its era.

Crossing the passage that leads to the courtyard, I passed by a number of stalls selling gola gandas and chaat. The garden tells a sad story of ignorance. But when I entered the mosque, I was hypnotised.

The mosque's main entrance.

Archways in the courtyard.

The unique artwork known as Kashee is popular in Hala and Multan.

What a breathtaking building. I sat down in the main courtyard and just looked at it, its walls telling me stories of another time – the good times; and also the ruthlessness of time.

Located in Sindh's historic town, Thatta, the Shahjahan Mosque is nearly 100km from Karachi and around the same distance from Hyderabad as well. Thatta has a large number of monuments that are among the UNESCO world heritage sites, including this mosque.

The mosque's history.

The mosque was built, of course, during the reign of Mughal emperor Shahjahan as a gift to the people of Sindh for their hospitality. The foundation of the mosque was laid in the year 1644, and the construction was completed within three years.

The combination of red bricks and blue-colored tiles – imported from Hala, another town in Sindh – adds flavour to the walls. In all, the mosque has 93 domes (the largest number in Pakistan) and 33 arches.

However, here is a fascinating detail: It does not have a single minaret.

Artwork on the mehraabs.

Domed chambers and archways.

It was built with acoustic needs in mind, and a person speaking on one end of the mosque can be heard on the other end when the amplitude tops 100 decibels.

I wonder how, centuries ago, people managed to make such amazing architecture with such little access to technology and resources. From the ventilation system to the sound and the lighting, everything was so mindfully well-crafted.

The asha'ar in Farsi took me back to the time of Mughals. I was imagining the first visit of Shahjahan to this mosque along with his squad. How splendid it would have been; people chanting slogans and welcoming the king; the first azaan in the mosque.

In spite of the ravages of time and the utter neglect, the mosque still manages to retain most of the magnificence of its time.

Courtyard walls.

Engraved stone pillars like these are also seen at many historical sites in Makli.

However, comparing Thatta's Shahjahan Mosque with the emperor's other constructions – Taj Mahal in Agra, Red Fort/Delhi Fort/Lal Qila, the large section of Agra Fort, Jamia Masjid Delhi, Wazir Khan Mosque, Moti Masjid, Shalimar gardens, sections of Lahore Fort and the Jahangir Mausoleum – I felt sorry for its condition.

Intricate stone carvings that have survived the test of time.

Tiles and brickwork: A brilliant combination of blue and red.

There is barely any maintenance being done. The broken tiles hosted sparrow nests inside them and were a source of amusement for the kids. The domes were covered in spider webs. The maintenance work which does seem to be happening is not of the best standards. The material being used for reconstruction is poor. At night, the artificial lights (just a few green-coloured zero bulbs) paint a horrible picture, unlike the tremendous lighting system of Lahore’s Badshahi Mosque.

Ensuring maintenance and cleanliness should not be that difficult for the authorities. The wazu khana at least should be maintained in its original condition. The stalls in the garden need to be housed in a proper canteen. There should be a shop for handicrafts – Sindh's specialty. Officials must make regular visits to oversee the protection of this heritage. As should the media highlight it. All of these things are bound to lead to an increase in the number of tourists.

With the beautiful Kheenjhar Lake a few minutes away, a visit to the Shahjahan Mosque is well worth one's while.

I was born in Saudi Arabia but raised in Karachi, Pakistan most of my life. Growing up, my education comprised of multiple facets involving extracurricular activities. Being consistently active, and maintaining physical endurance was always something I excelled at. Throughout my high school years, I was captain of both the volleyball and cricket teams.

After high school, I moved to the US in 2002, coping with the typical struggles of fitting into a new world and the challenges of getting accustomed to a different society and lifestyle. My typical work day comprised of working two jobs and attending college. Throughout my years at the university, I was strongly focused on graduating and starting a career.

I graduated college in 2007 and started my career with a business process outsourcing company. I've been with the company for the past 13 years, and have progressed within the organisation; currently, I hold a senior level leadership position in I.T. and infrastructure.

My career took a great turn after college, but my health not so much.

Everyday, I found myself fatigued, restless and panicking, to a point where I didn't feel comfortable leaving my home. In fact, I was getting chest pains and several panic attacks, and they gradually became unbearable. Over the course of a year, I was diagnosed with anxiety.

Also read: A page from the diary of a job hopper

Moments of anxiety would really take a toll on me: I would experience flashes of immense muscle tensions, fatigue, and shortness of breath. At the time, I didn’t realise the seriousness of these day-to-day occurrences. What finally triggered me to seek help was the new and uneasy sensation of my heart palpitating rapidly.

I sought professional help through counseling with physicians. Unfortunately, even with their assistance, I was not able to overcome it. In one such instance during my counseling, I was on the treadmill at the local gym, doing my usual five-mile pace, when I realised I had to immediately stop. This routine was very normal for me, but something inside felt very wrong.

Though I read literature, and talked about my condition with others (which did help), nothing seemed to fully heal me. I spent time researching online, reading journals, and browsed hundreds of articles on the internet for similar stories, to see if my situation was out of the ordinary. And that was when I understood that the antidote was not medication or the frequent visits to my doctor, I knew at that point that I had to take control and make a conscious mental change within myself.

That is when I started keeping myself occupied with my ambitions and hobbies, which primarily involved working out and weight lifting.

The change seemed to work. I started to develop a new form of interest: a passion for being highly active and physically fit, more than I ever thought I was before. With this newly acquired focus, I took up bodybuilding. Over the next few years, I sought mentorship and competed in a national championship in 2011, ranking third overall in the middleweight division. Later, I aimed to achieve additional nutritional excellence and was certified as a Personal Fitness Instructor.

During this period in my life, I noticed a big change in my health, and gradually, my anxiety subsided.

See: I'm not going to let my disorder define me

In the summer of 2014, I was strolling through the streets when I stumbled upon signage for the Ironman Triathlon. After looking into the competition and what it entailed, I decided participate, train hard and dedicate everything to it.

For those not familiar, the Ironman Triathlon is one of the most well-respected physical and mental endurance competitions in the world. To put it into perspective, less than one per cent of the total world population that competes in the elusive three-sport challenge, actually completes it successfully. It comprises of a 3.86 km swim, 180.24 km bike ride, and a blistering 42.16 km final run.

On May 16, 2015 with a 15:39:41 completion time, I achieved what was an incredible feat for me. With a dual Pakistan/USA flag across my back, I was the first Pakistani American to do it at the Ironman North American Championship Texas 2015.

When I first thought about participating in this race, I most dreaded the swimming challenge. 'It's going to be a nightmare,' I thought, as I’ve never really swam much over the years. Running was another obstacle, as I had never ran more than five km at a stretch either. My strength, however was biking, and I knew that as my strongest leg in the contest, this would be my anchor to gain valuable time.

With only three hours of sleep the night before, and the countless struggles and emotional heartaches that I had endured, and above all, in loud response to my anxiety disorder, I couldn’t be prouder to bear the title of Ironman.

As Thomas Edison once said,

Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time.

Some people are born selfless; having little or no concern for their own self is an intrinsic part of their existence.

I have often wondered about this, committing to a life that only serves others, only giving and never taking; and I understand now how difficult it is to truly act in someone else's interest. With no worldly return, just the spirit to keep doing good and more importantly, to never stop.

Everyday on a pavement at the centre of a road under an old giant tree in Gulistan-e-Jauhar, Karachi, 66-year-old Mohammad Shaukat Niaz Siddiqui gathers children of ages 6-10 around him to teach them for free.

Now referred to as Ustaad jee by his disciples, the elderly fragile man has dedicated his life to the underprivileged for the past six years.

Ustaad jee with his students.

The students force their parents to take them to Ustaad jee everyday.

Ustaad jee teaching mathematics.

He teaches everyday from 3pm to 6pm, excluding Sundays. And he is loved. So much that many of his students who weren’t allowed to study, forced their parents to send them to Ustaad jee.

“Ustaad jee kay paas parhnay main buhat maaza ata hai, main zidd karti hoon toh Abu anay daitay hain,” said Ruksana.

Shaukat softly tells me how sad it makes him to think about the children in Pakistan who are incredibly talented, but sadly their talents, creativity and thirst for knowledge has been suppressed because they are forced to work; to be victims of child labour.

He teaches subjects like Urdu, English, Mathematics and Religion. Once an avid writer of drama scripts in his younger days, he now finds bliss in teaching the needy.

He gives equal attention to every child.

He also teaches ethics.

A student takes leave after the lesson.

Ustaad jee is now a cardiac patient, but he does not miss a single day of teaching.

“Due to my heart problem, I face a lot of trouble and unease when I walk on my own to get here everyday, so I take lifts from my friends here. But I cannot quit my mission just because of my health issues. I’ll teach to them as long as I physically can,” says Shaukat.

His journey as a teacher and as a human being is truly enlightening. His simple daily endeavour is a reminder of just how far simple goodwill can go towards healing a fractured society. In spite of the difficulties, his spirit has not once wavered.

A student holds up a picture of Ustaad jee from his younger days.

Teaching the Quran.

His soft voice spoke volumes about his character, while his firm conviction to serve others utterly restored my faith in humanity.

When asked whom he would credit for his selfless will to educate others, he replied,

“My mother, she always taught me to serve others even if there were no resources. She said that there was no greater pleasure other than serving someone who would not promise you anything in return.”

—Photos by author

How is one to capture the essence of a samosa through the written word?

Growing up my favourite samosa had to be the one sold at my school tuck shop owned by Mr. Wellows. Anyone who went to the missionary schools in Karachi has had to have tasted the legendary alloo ka samosa sold at their canteens.

It was golden brown, crisp, flaky, delicious all at 40 paisas only! And if the school samosa wasn’t enough our chowkidar used to make the best homemade samosas, hence I’ve literally grown up on samosas.

But does the samosa really belong to the subcontinent?

No, it does not, to our utmost chagrin it migrated from Central Asia. Yes, yet another immigrant food on the desi plate that has adjusted so well to its adoptive land.

The immigrant samosa travelled the length and breath of the region and came to the subcontinent along the ancient trade routes of Central Asia.

The Oxford Companion To Food by Alan Davidson says;

The Indian [subcontinent] samosa is merely the best known of an entire family of stuffed pastries or dumplings popular from Egypt and Zanzibar to Central Asia and West China. Arab cookery books of the 10th and 13th centuries refer to the pastries as sanbusak (the pronunciation still current in Egypt, Syria and Lebanon), sanbusaq or sanbusaj, all reflecting the early medieval form of the Persian word sanbosag, though originally it was named samsa, after the triangular pyramids of Central Asia.

Like the Egyptian falafel, the samsa was also a travellers snack.

Also read: Food Stories: Falafel

The wanderers and travellers of ancient days cooked the keema stuffed samsas, roasted it on open flames and enjoyed it as a travel snack, and a long way it has come.

From travel snack to chai time, king of the iftar table and more importantly, an ever present item in almost all refrigerators in desi households.

So what happened after and how did the favourite desi snack evolve in the ancient days of Delhi?

It is said that the snack became such an intrinsic and favoured menu item in the royal kitchens of the 14th century dynasty of Muhammad Tughlaq, that he often requested for them to be made with onions, ghee and meat.

The poet Amir Khusrao wrote that the Delhi royalty enjoyed the snack immensely, and that tradition continues today from Delhi to Lahore and Karachi to Mumbai.

My wonderfully delicious samosa food journey took me to the days of the travelling Ibn Battuta who famously quoted the following about the sambusak, another name for the samosa; a near perfect description:

Minced meat cooked with almonds, pistachios, onions and spices placed inside a thin envelop of wheat and deep-fried in ghee and was served before the third course of pulao in the royal house of Tughluq.

A few hundred years after the honourable mention by Ibn Battuta, the sanbusa was mentioned by Abul Fazl in the famed Akbarnama also known as the Ain-e-Akbari. Abul Fazl said that a “wheat dish qutab is also something the royals love, which the people of Hind call the sanbusah. That which we call a samosa, by any other name would taste as delicious”.

In Spanish a similar kind of pastry is called empanadas, and initially when I moved away from Pakistan and craved the samosa I would happily settle for these, the stepbrother of the samosa.

When it was time for me to make samosas I turned to Shazli Auntie's recipe. The end result: heavenly. Here it is from my kitchen to yours.

Ingredients (for 12 pieces)

2 cups flour
4 tbsp. oil
12 to 14 tbsp. water
1 tsp. carom seeds
Salt to taste
Oil for frying

Potato Stuffing: Boil 3 medium sized potatoes. Once boiled, peel, add salt to taste, ½ tsp cumin, ¼ tsp red chillie powder, 1 tsp chopped cilantro, ¼ tsp chopped green chillie, fried onions, ½ tsp carom seeds, ½ tsp crushed coriander seeds, mash together and fry on high heat in 4 tbsp. oil for a few minutes.

Keema Stuffing: Brown ½ medium sized onion in 2 to 3 tbsp oil, once golden brown add 1 lbs ground meat, ½ tsp cumin, ½ tsp chillie powder, ½ tsp garam masala, ½ tsp ginger and garlic paste and salt to taste. Cook on medium heat for 15 to 20 minutes, raising the heat to high and stirring constantly for another 5 minutes or until the oil separates from the meat.

Method

Mix all ingredients for shell, and then knead for 10 minutes forming dough, cover with damp cloth and set aside for an hour in room temperature.

Divide into 6 equal dough balls, make 6 round rotis, cut into semi circle and on the straight edge of the sliced roti apply some water and fold to form a seal.

Stuff the prepared samosa cone with the potato, or mince stuffing and apply water on the round samosa cone circumference and pinch edges to seal.

Slide samosa in hot oil (at full heat), and turning heat to low after dropping samosa in fryer and until it turns golden brown. Increase heat to hot again and remove from fryer. Drain and enjoy.

—Photos by Fawad Ahmed

Kolachi's Story is a stop motion animation film, produced at Matteela Studio in Karachi, Pakistan.

The idea behind the short film, Kolachi's Story is to develop an understanding of Karachi's history through stop motion animation films.

People should know that Kolachi is much much more than just the name of the city’s by-pass road.

I believe with such work one can at least attempt to look at the myths about Mai Kolachi that are so central to this city’s history, yet most under-represented.

The fact that this city is named after a brave woman who was head of her tribe is something that should be celebrated, and that is precisely why we decided to base this short film on one of the folk tales about Mai Kolachi.

The author with his team at Matteela Studio.

Stop motion animations have never been done in Pakistan at this level so it was very hard to put together a team and evolve a process. But, for the same reason, everyone was extremely excited to take on this project.

We experimented initially and then finally developed a workflow. We manufactured everything for this film locally. We started by getting steel armatures made from Lalu Khet; then we would sculpt the characters in plasticine and take out moulds in Plaster of Paris, and then finally cast the characters in silicon with the steel armatures delicately placed inside.

The steel armature helped with body movement, while the silicon held the characters firmly in place.

Behind the scenes of Kolachi's Story.

Behind the scenes of Kolachi's Story.

Over the past few months, the entire Matteela team has learnt so much from the entire process of these short films that we now feel we should utilise this amazing experience and perhaps attempt a longer film.

The author with the characters of Kolachi's Story.

Do leave your feedback in the comments section below

I prefer my holy wars to be honest and straightforward, delivered as a press release, informing us why it is being waged and against whom.

In the middle of our workday, an unannounced jihad crept up: Komal Rizvi had apparently sinned, there was a holy war against her on social media, and she wasn’t even being hunted by regular Shia-hunting folk. It was normal, ordinary people who were baying for blood.

It was the educated middle-class that sought to fix this problem — a hero had been wronged, because people believe that Abdul Sattar Edhi had a gun held to his head when agreeing to be part of Komal Rizvi’s selfie.

How could she do that to him?

Thus began the ire, the mindless moralising, and all the gushing aspirations for “revenge” — she was India, Israel and the Taliban all rolled up into one big smile.

Also read: Bad timing? Social media slams Komal Rizvi's selfie with Edhi

When Komal Rizvi first updated her Facebook status, I was grateful. It had been some time since I had enquired about Edhi saheb’s health from colleagues who keep a keener eye out. Nor had health reporters said anything about it; perhaps there was nothing to say, since all is as well as it can be.

There was much to be grateful about Komal’s selfie with Edhi saheb, the least of which is knowing, with pictorial evidence, that the great man is alive and kicking, and that he had a good time with the guests who had come to enquire about his health.

As with other great campaigners, the Edhis were savvy enough to enlist the support of another celebrity for their events — sometimes, the cause is great enough for anyone to say yes without a second thought.

Somehow, the outrage at Komal found news value and not the idea that the Edhis had secured another celebrity endorsement.

Outrage is not news, it is a reaction

Outrage has little news value, unless threats for physical or sexual harm are issued, or unless it is channelled into a protest demonstration of sorts. Outrage over something that does not concern you is simply psychosis, reflective of one’s inner anxieties and inadequacies but not of reality.

In the real world, Komal Rizvi is a campaigner for the Edhis, while many of us are not.

Outrage cannot be the default national imagination either, neither socially nor politically — how long before we find turning our social media outrage inwards, at ourselves and our loved ones? Outrage finds space in the media because it is an associated peril of constant connectivity – to react is very human, but so is to err.

Nor can outrage define the moral fibre of a people: the reaction to Komal’s selfie is not normal, in part because it just did not concern us. It was someone else’s moment of pride and euphoria. It did not matter what anyone else thought, because Komal Rizvi did not seek our validation either.

Growing up, having a picture taken with Javed Miandad at an event or meeting Wasim Akram at a wedding were always stories to tell in school. These were our heroes, those we looked up to for national pride and personal inspiration.

Those were the times of landlines – even if you knew Wasim Akram’s residential number, you wouldn’t always be able to reach him. There was a healthy distance between the celebrity and the fan. Not anymore.

This is perhaps also why public figures inevitably find the need to be conservative in what they put out, in fear of being judged harshly or even misquoted.

If you don’t speak, what will people criticise you for?

If nobody is around to police your thoughts or tone, what harm can they possibly bring?

If nobody knows what you are up to, how will they threaten you?

In the age of social media, being a celebrity must be a curse simply because the distance between a celebrity and their fan has decreased, and there are no filters to keep the conversation civil.

It is these attitudes that are sending our superstars, particularly the women in our showbiz industry, into silence.

Komal’s response to the selfie was to warn her followers that she’d be blocking them — more power to her for standing up for what she believes in, and for speaking her mind. But, what if a lesser star were to face the same prospect?

What if someone complained of sexual harassment at the workplace, would we be kind enough to give them their space or would we let our morbid curiosity take over?

In the aftermath, some introspection is in order:

Was the Komal Rizvi issue real or constructed?

Were our reactions angry because fasting in the summers can be very testing?

Is it simply passion bubbling over, misused and misdirected as it might be?

Or, have we just become an angry, bitter people, chomping at the chance to tear down anyone deemed out of line?

On the flip side, how about helping the Edhis improve what already exists?

We can only ask these questions if our vision for national debate moves beyond the person of celebrities, men or women. A photo captured by one celebrity of another, an image of a man still alive and kicking, is not cause for national ire.

But in our country, even perceived blunder gets “revenge” threats, disagreement gets death threats, and blasphemy allegations get death.

This moral crusade is not televised, but it is already affecting us in very savage ways. Hate is a very strong word and a stronger sentiment; use it with caution before it consumes you.

There was a flurry of sound and activity: the insistent banter of children forcing parents to have another round on the horse carriage; running to catch the next amusement ride; the crescendo of screams as pirate ships reach the peak of their pendulum swing; teen-aged kids rushing together to buy some time on the jumping castle; makeshift stalls selling ice-cream, kulfis, lemonades and barbecue to children and families. It was mela time in a small locality in Ranchore Lines.

I found myself in this part of the city only by chance, when I took out my bike for an evening ride through the old parts of downtown Karachi. In a city unbearably short of cheap and accessible entertainment, a mela in this space acts as a much-needed liberation for the working classes.

An attendant adds force to increase the swing of the pirate ship.

Customers scream in excitement as they reach the peak swing of the pirate ship.

Brothers and sisters enjoy a ride on a swing.

Ahmed Hussain sells lemonade to thirsty customers.

“This mela is held every year during Ramazan,” says Ahmed Hussain, one of the organisers of the mela. “Together with the representative of our area, we arrange for the rides. It is open for all after Iftar till Sehri,” he adds, quickly pouring out another glass of lemonade for a customer.

“We organise this for the people as there is very little to do during these short working days of Ramazan. And it is a great business opportunity for both the ride-owners and the stall-owners. It's a win-win. Many of the ride-owners come here from the interior of Punjab and Sindh, earn money during this period and then return.”

A young girl gets ready for a ride on a wooden Ferris wheel.

A happy boy slides down a bounce slide.

Mohammad Shareer mans a merry-go-round at the mela.

Walking through the street, one cannot help but absorb the feelings of joy, mixed with fear as children try the more thrilling rides. I ask Sajid, father of two sons, how he felt about such a mela.

He replies, “It is a good way to spend time with my sons. There is no electricity at home, so we come every day in the evening and stay around till midnight before heading back home.”

Sajid with his son, Sohan.

A horse rider takes his customers for a round.

A customer takes his younger brother for a horse ride.

The aroma of barbecuing meat draws me over to a food stall. Muhammad Ismail fans the coals vigorously, trying to keep up with customer demands and making sure the meat on the skewers does not get overcooked and burnt.

“I come here every year, just to set up this stall,” Ismail tells me.

He sells each skewer for as low as Rs 5, but the mela is still a means of livelihood for him. I ask him where he'd go once the mela ends. He says, “Wherever the Creator decides to take me,” and continues fanning and sending mouthwatering whiffs of smokey barbecue meat cooking over coal and marinated with spicy masala.

Muhammad Ismail manning his food stall.

Skewers with meat cooking as Ismail fans them.

With a shortage of parks and a mushrooming of shopping malls all over the city that cater to a certain class of citizens, a space such as this acts as the binding force between families, communities and individuals who have survived the psychological trauma of living with crime and terrorism.

As I left the area, I only hoped that the local administration would support and promote this healthy activity on a weekly basis once Ramazan ends.

—Photos by author

When it comes to growth slaying austerity measures, the Greek offered an unequivocal response: No means no.

The Sunday referendum in Greece overwhelmingly rejected the austerity measures proposed by the European creditors to whom the Greek owe loads of debt. The youthful political Greek leadership, Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras is just 40-years old, demonstrated the courage and tenacity needed to stand up to the troika: the IMF, the European Central Bank (ECB), and the European Commission (EC).

Also read: Greece on the brink

As Greece negotiates with the troika about its financial obligations, other heavily indebted countries maintain a close watch on how this dispute is settled. The IMF believes the Greek debt is insolvable. This puts debt relief on the table, which has piqued the attention of others who also owe billions in external debt. However, such countries, including Pakistan, must know that the Greek crisis is unique and regardless of how it is settled, it may not generate precedents for others.

—Source: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-33406001

The global response to the Greek debt crisis gives the impression that it may plunge all of Europe, some think even the entire world, into an economic crisis. This seems rather exaggerated. With roughly 11 million people supporting a $240 billion economy, Greece is a very small economic player, not large enough to cause a European, let alone a global, economic meltdown.

Yet, celebrated economists, finance ministers, and bank executives are all fixated on the Greek debt crisis (aka Grisis) and wagering on Greece’s possible exit from Europe (aka Grexit).

Greece is fortunate to have celebrity economists speak in favour of debt relief and reforms. From Nobel laureates, such as Joseph Stiglitz and Paul Krugman, to celebrated authors, Jeffrey Sachs and Thomas Piketty, all have spoken against the troika-dictated structural adjustment programs (SAP) that have contributed to chocking the Greek economy and creating high unemployment, which currently stands at 25 per cent. The situation is even worse for the Greek youth of whom one in two is unemployed.

Also read: Europe’s dream is dying in Greece

Paul Krugman, Jeffrey Sachs, and Joseph Stiglitz have urged the Greek voters to vote ‘No’ in the referendum and reject the terms set by the creditors asking for even more austerity measures. These economists are of the view that austerity failed to deliver the expected economic growth. In fact, they believe that austerity is the very reason why the Greek economy failed to grow. Professor Stiglitz, for instance, warned, “A yes vote would mean depression almost without end.”

The 'Yes' side is not without supporters. The European finance ministers, creditors (IMF, EC, and ECB), and the Greek and other European media have been busy painting a doomsday scenario for the Greeks. They insinuated that if Greece were to decline the creditors’ terms, it would mean an automatic expulsion from the EU. The pollsters, before the referendum, spoke of a very narrow margin separating the yes and no sides, suggesting a confused electorate.

The reality was starkly different; the Greeks were not confused. Instead, they were poised to take control of their destiny. In the end, the Greeks followed their young leaders and over 61 per cent returned a convincing no to the creditors’ terms.

Also read: Greece faces last chance to stay in euro as cash runs out

Since 2009, the Greeks have been subjected to a series of austerity measures that have contributed to choking the economic engine. In February 2010, the Greek Parliament passed the first austerity package that froze salaries of government employees, cut bonuses and overtime workers. In less than a month, the Parliament passed the second austerity package freezing pensions, increasing sales and fuel taxes, and further wage cuts for public sector employees. The Parliament passed the third austerity package in May 2010. Later in July 2010, the government implemented pension reforms that increased the retirement age from 60 to 65 for women. Further cuts were passed in December 2010.

The Greek government continued with introducing wage cuts and imposing new taxes in June 2011. By the time the fifth austerity package was passed by the Parliament in October 2011, violent riots broke out outside the Parliament building. As a condition to receive the bailout package from the IMF and other creditors, the Greek government in November 2012 continued to cut wages of public sector employees and pensions. The retirement age was extended to 67 years.

It does not require one to have a PhD in economics to realise that wage cuts and reduction in benefits, such as pensions, reduce the buying power in the economy, resulting in slowing down of the economic engine. As the government passed more stringent austerity measures, the economy choked even further, thus prompting the former Greek finance minister, Yanis Varoufakis, to quip: “Austerity is like trying to extract milk from a sick cow by whipping it.”

As the Greek economy choked, the credit rating agencies did their part to make matters worse by continuing to downgrade Greece’s credit rating. Being caught sleeping at the wheel during the Great Recession in 2008, when the credit rating agencies awarded the highest rating to toxic debt made up of subprime mortgages, the rating agencies were quick to pounce on the same Greek economy that they had earlier ranked favourably to have received huge amounts of debt from the lenders.

Also read: 'Europe without Greece? Joke,' says Greek foreign minister

But what about the economic Armageddon that may follow if the Greeks are forced to abandon the Euro?

Wolfgang Munchau in the Financial Times challenges the scare tactics and points out that the Greeks have already experienced the worst financial effects of the austerity measures and the debate about the choice of currency is rather farcical. He wrote:

What I found most galling was the argument that Grexit would bring about an economic catastrophe, as though the catastrophe had not already happened. If you have been unemployed for five years, with no prospect of a job, it makes no difference whether the money you do not get is denominated in Euros, or in Drachma.

Paul Krugman and others believe that had Greece been able to manipulate its own currency, it would have devalued it to generate economic growth and increase exports. This is not possible today because Greece is part of the EU. If it were to leave Euro, it would then have the opportunity to engineer its economy.

Should the Greek be wary of the economic disasters associated with an exit from Euro? Not really, says Paul Krugman. “[A]t this point that financial crisis has already happened, so that the biggest costs of euro exit have been paid. Why, then, not go for the benefits?”

Anacharsis, the philosopher from 6th century BC, while discussing the possibility of a written legal system with Solon, had famously observed: “Laws are like spiders’ webs; they will catch, it is true, the weak and poor, but would be torn in pieces by the rich and powerful.”

And so it is, and so it remains.

More than 2,500 years later, who could have imagined that there would be parts in the world still fighting the same dilemma, still entrenched in the same quandary.

Walk in to a magistrate’s court in one of the Pakistani metropolises around midday on any given day and you will find dozens of chained individuals standing on the side, waiting to be rapidly dispensed by the court, one after the other.

Their crimes are as big as those committed everyday in the secluded corners of most colleges and in the safety of many farmhouses – doing drugs.

Some of these would be languishing behind bars for three months, some five and some more than seven. Occasionally, there would be a few upon whom a fine had been imposed but they were unable to pay the paltry amount (not exceeding a few thousand rupees) and had stayed incarcerated. These people would thus become a constant burden on the state exchequer and filling up the space that could have held extremists of all kinds.

Also read: ‘Overcrowding in prisons leading to growing radicalisation’

Leo Tolstoy wrote: “All happy families are alike, all unhappy families are unhappy in their own different way”. Here, on the contrary, when I looked at all of these unhappy felons, I saw more commonalities in them than in the country's happy families. Poverty, dysfunctional families, little or no education and an unbearable amount of stress – few people are able to break free of these shackles. The rest seek deliverance even if it comes in the form of becoming a drug addict.

Their pleadings are similar, their plight the same and their punishment excessive. Seven months of lives spent behind bars for being caught using a drug which is now legal in much of the western world.

My contention, however, is not with the ‘up to 2 years’ imprisonment stipulated for minimal possession in Article 9A of the Control of Narcotics Substances Act, 1997. It is with the hypocrisy of the legal system and with the misery that the impoverished of this nation have to bear for the smallest wrongdoings when the affluent get away with committing murders and frauds.

In an environment like this, any talks of justice are pointless and discussions of progress superfluous.

Read on: A pie for an eye

The most deplorable commentary on the state of affairs in Pakistan had come from a serving Additional Inspector General of police, who had told me a couple of years ago: “I know exactly which houses on the Margalla Road (Islamabad) deal in alcohol. But if I were to order a raid, I would immediately start getting calls from the top bosses, telling me to keep my hands off their favourites. If not heeded, I would be transferred, and might even be made an OSD. The system roots out the non-compromising. So better do something while being a part of the system, instead of doing nothing after direct confrontation.”

Then, if asking for an overhauling of the entire system is a quixotic notion – one entertained only by the most idealistic minds – can we not even ask for lax punishments for the wretched of the country?

See: Punjab suggests legal reforms in criminal justice system

How about introducing a system of community laws, that which is already in vogue in much of the first world? The perpetrators of small crimes could then be asked to broom the streets, serve time teaching children about the dangers of drugs or work as volunteers in the capacity-building exercises undertaken by the government.

This would serve two purposes: It would assist in reforming these outlaws without having to keep them in the factories of crime that our jails have become. And it would also save the expenditure incurred in keeping these people locked up.

Our legal system is wholly based on the principles of retribution and deterrence. It is time to shift the balance in favour of reformation now, especially since retribution is not equal for all.

As the sweltering heat wave in Karachi subsided, and Mother Nature decided to bless us with days of sea breeze, Eid preparations are back on track. Eid-ul-Fitr is the busiest time of the year for the shopkeepers of Meena Bazaar.

Long forgotten in the news, Meena Bazaar manages to hold a lively amount of devoted customers who do not prefer to go to any other marketplaces in Karachi.

In the Mughal Era, during the days of Nauroze, special bazaars would be set up only for women. These women came to prepare for the 5 to 8 day festivities and the Mughal Kings and Princes were the only men allowed.

It was usually famous among the women of the Harem (Mughal Concubines) and the wives and daughters of Rajput noblemen who put up stalls and sell expensive items.

Following the legacy, Meena Bazaar, located in Karimabad, is known to be one of the most famous bazaar among the local women. It was inaugurated in 1974, and since then it has been one of the most culturally rich and female-centric markets. Items such as jewelry, dupattas, bangles, cosmetics, kolapuris, khussas are some of the popular attractions.

The main entrance to the Bazaar.

Unlike the Mughal era Meena Bazaar, this one started as a marketplace which was reasonable and had a vast variety of ladies tailors and beauty parlours. But it was for it stalls of mehndi application that it quickly gained name as the word spread, women came from far off areas like DHA and Saddar. It is still said that wedding preparations are never complete without a visit to Meena Bazaar.

Taking a stroll through the small lanes of Meena Bazaar with my camera, I saw a variety of shopkeepers. Some gazed at me, puzzled, while I crossed a dozen shops without stopping, without bargaining.

Never in my entire life had I seen such a loud cluster of colours, shouting out of its skin to be photographed, to be preserved. It took a while before my eyes got accustomed to the hues of the brilliant yellow.

The hustle and bustle of visitors keeps this place alive till after midnight.

A quintessential street at Meena Bazaar.

Across the lanes full of colourful dupattas and khussay, flat sandals and chunris.

The vibrant chunri dupattas.

Scarves displayed on unique mannequins.

Meena Bazaar is famous for its crafty dupatta corners. This trio of son, father and grandfather have worked here since 17 years.

A small shop at the corner fumes the lane up with heat, I draw closer to discover that they dye dupattas. The boy in the grey shirt in the below photograph tells me his father owned this shop and gave it to his brother on his death. Now, he is just an employee.

Skilled men dying dupattas into different shades.

Some of the most traditionally designed choorian can also be purchased from Meena Bazaar.

Also, how can there not be a chai wala at a place where Karachiites work from morn till midnight?

Shabran Ibrahim has been serving tea at Meena Bazaar for the last three years. He gets a commission of Rs.100 on selling 22 cups of tea. Once we were done conversing, he offered me a cup of tea as a gesture of goodwill, saying, "Baji aap thak gai ho geen camera pakre huay".

Shabran Ibrahim at work.

I was surprised to suddenly come across a bookstore here. A man from inside, wearing a white t-shirt poked his head out of the shop to ask what type of books I was interested in. Zaheer, at Siddique Book Store works with his brother and owns the one and only book and magazine store in Meena Bazaar. He has been here for 20 years now and mentioned sadly how his customers had dwindled over the years, "Nobody reads anymore".

"Aap ko harr kitaab mangwa kay de sakte hain, publisher se," Zaheer.

Once I step out, I see an array of accessory stalls. Younger girls never return empty-handed from here. Amidst these, stands a tall Fahad at his stall. He has been working here for five years. He expresses how thankful he is to God and says, "Thori halal kamai ziada haram se behtar hai". He also happily adds how his sales have peaked due to Eid.

Fahad, 25.

I think my most favorite person in Meena Bazaar was the amrood wala, Sabir chacha. Sabir and I had a detailed discussion about his time spent at the footpath of this very bazaar. He has been sitting at the same place for 35 years, and has developed a sense of home among the younger shopkeepers with time. They often approach him for advice and take care of him by carrying his basket of amroods.

Sabir Chacha guides a boy about keeping change.

It makes me sad to look around at the old and crumbling Meena Bazaar, dilapidated among all the air-conditioned expensive malls in Karachi; brands appear to have blinded us to soul and history.

Meena Bazar from the top.

Outside the fort-like mausoleum of Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhoro, street dogs roam around piles of rubbish, relentlessly barking. I had heard that this mausoleum of the founder of Hyderabad – also known as the 'Shahjahan of Sindh' – was in a state of decay, but I was not prepared for the extent of neglect I saw upon reaching it.

We had turned into a narrow lane with cars parked on either side, when our coach driver turned to inform that he was pulling up here, as attempting to go any further would risk the vehicle getting stuck and unable to turn around.

'Is it far from here?' I asked, while stepping towards the coach exit and he gestured ahead to say that it was right here.

Then, why couldn't I see it?

Well, that was because of the heavy encroachment in the surrounding land. The extent of vandalism and illegal construction all over the place could be judged by the fact that some uncaring souls had even broken down one side of its outer fortified walls – made of mud, covered by baked bricks – to build their houses there.

Yes, Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhoro's mausoleum was right there. The oldest building in Hyderabad is in desperate need of conservation and restoration, or it will soon disappear from the face of the earth.

Main entance to the fortified mausoleum.

Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhoro's tomb.

Main entrance from inside.

One of the most powerful rulers of the Kalhora Dynasty in Sindh, Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhoro's rule began in 1757, when the Kalhoro chiefs appointed him ruler of Sindh in place of his older brother Mian Murayab Kalhoro. He ruled this region when it was a part of Ahmed Shah Durrani's Afghan empire.

Besides dealing with internal tugs-of-war over his throne, Mian Ghulam Shah's rule was characterised by strategically crafted military victories that resulted in the expansion of Sindh.

Also see: A photowalk through historic Hyderabad

Between 1762 and 1765, he led three decisive campaigns against the Maratha Rao of Kutch, which earned him the title of 'Samsamuddaolah' (sword of state). He was also entrusted to pacify various rebellions in the derahs of the north, for which he was rewarded with a portion of Dera Ghazi Khan, along with the subordination of its governor. He was also given the title of 'Shah Wardi Khan' by Ahmed Shah Durrani.

Seen as a visionary, Mian Ghulam Shah was responsible for the construction of several great monuments throughout Sindh. Two of these architectural marvels are the Sufi poet Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai's mausoleum, built in 1762, and of course the second being the establishment of the city of Hyderabad, which he built on the ancient foundations of Nerunkot, and made the new capital of the Kalhoro Dynasty. This is marked by the construction of the massive Pacco Qillo (strong fort), the largest military garrison in the region, in 1768.

Side view of mausoleum.

Gold inlay in the stacco work.

The tomb of Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhoro.

The third architectural endeavor also sadly turned out to be his last. This was in 1772, when he ordered the foundations of the mud fort to be laid on a hillock in Hyderabad. But that hillock was sacred to the saint Haji Mohammad Makai.

The construction required a number of graves of Makai's followers to be destroyed. People say that this is what earned him the wrath of the saint. That very year, Ghulam Shah was struck with a severe paralysis attack, which eventually led to his demise.

Shah's own mausoleum has had plenty of bad luck thus far. Trustee and Secretary of the Endowment Fund Trust (EFT) for the Preservation of the Heritage of Sindh, Mr Hamid Akhund, who is looking to restore it and has already started some work there, said that as a child, when he used to play cricket nearby with his friends, they could see from afar that the mausoleum was missing its roof.

“The roof, in fact, had collapsed sometime in the 1890s and was not even repaired by the British,” he informed.

Explore: The crumbling tombs of Talpur Mirs

With no picture or drawing available of the mausoleum in its complete form, its repair and restoration brings up plenty of challenges. Therefore restoration is only possible after a thorough study of the contemporary tombs of the area and the material used in building them.

Repair work going on on the ceiling above the tomb.

Outside gate.

Earlier, restoration attempts had done more damage than good. The now non-functional Federal Department of Archeology and Museums tried its hand at some kind of repairs, but the work was carried out in cement, which instead of arresting the decaying process, it accelerated the pace of deterioration.

What the EFT, in collaboration with the Department of Culture of the Government of Sindh, intends to do now is consolidate the mausoleum's areas threatened with unrecoverable loss, waterproofing the structure, restoring the deteriorating exterior and interior kashi tile work, flaking the interior frescoes and damaged white marble tombstone, along with its railing and giving the building its missing dome.

In this regard, they held an open house discussion at the site recently, where various conservationists, art historians, architects, engineers, artisans, students and thinkers were invited to give their input on how to go about the conservation work in a way that does not harm the monument.

EFT's plan of the conservation and restoration work.

Mr Hamid Akhund sharing his plans of renovation.

Many useful suggestions came up. Some also pointed out that encroachments had left the monument so hidden that most people from even Hyderabad had not visited it yet. Some suggested starting study tours for school children here, some hoped for the involvement of local students of architecture in the project. Mr Akhund agreed that this was a good idea and said that if any students wished to help in the project, he would arrange for them to receive a stipend from EFT.

On display on the floor outside the tomb lay some pieces of kashi work from the walls.

“We picked up these pieces of fallen off broken tiles from here and there and tried putting them back on the walls but it's all like a puzzle. It cannot be conserved, obviously. It is just too old so there is a need for reconstruction,” Mr Akhund pointed out.

Broken pieces of tiles from the mausoleum walls.

Other graves in the outside courtyard.

Inside the burial chamber are two graves. The big one in the centre is that of Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhoro. It is erected over a marble platform measuring 14'-4” in length and 11'-6” in width.

The other, rather small grave erected over a low platform near the western wall is that of Fazal Ali, his grandson. Inscribed on it is the year 1764, when Mian Ghulam Ali was still alive. Actually, he died in 1772. Either the date has been wrongly inscribed or he was buried later, beside his young grandson. Therefore, either the mausoleum was erected during his lifetime after the untimely death of his grandson, or it was constructed later after his death and burial next to the child.

The interior also has paintings, glazed tiles and Quranic calligraphy. The murals adorning the interior of the mausoleum are lined with pure gold, which became evident during a recent process of cleansing with mild beauty soap.

The marble cenotaph of Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhoro's tomb was damaged when the dome above it fell down. The height of the present flat roof of the mausoleum is around 44'-4” from floor level.

Outside in the courtyard there are a few more graves, all in need of repair and where no one comes to offer fateha anymore.

—Photos by author

Can one imagine a modern-day Football World Cup in which there is no Brazil, Argentina or Germany? It’s almost unthinkable, in fact absurd.

The same way it once was to imagine a Hockey World Cup without Pakistan. And yet, last year this is exactly what happened. What’s more, this year the Pakistan hockey side even failed to qualify for the next Summer Olympics!

Pakistan hockey’s slump is not quite as dramatic or sudden as it now seems to be. It’s been a slow and painful decline that began when Pakistan not only lost the World Cup title in the 1986 World Cup in England, but also came 11th in the 12-team-event.

Yet, it managed to bounce back a bit in the 1990s but by then the game was already vanishing from schools and colleges and it failed to get the kind of media and corporate attention that cricket had begun to attract.

So now if only a few school kids were playing hockey, from where did one expect new talent to emerge? It didn’t.

Whatever little that did was either not suited to quickly adopt the rapidly changing ways and pace of the game; or wasn’t given the kind of incentives to keep it interested in the game as a profession and not just a low-paying hobby or even national duty.

Pakistan hockey’s slow fall now seems complete. The game could just fade away (and it has), but the problem is, it is still officially Pakistan’s national sport.

Early this year the popular military chief, General Raheel Sharif, vowed to help revive the game, and this month when Pakistan failed to qualify for the Summer Olympics, the Prime Minister ordered an inquiry into the team’s latest debacle.

Inquiries are only bound to discover what most hockey fans already are well aware of i.e. ever since the early 1990s, Pakistan’s national sport has not been given the kind of attention, resources and respect by those who matter.

And one of the most intriguing reasons behind this may also be about how cricket instead of hockey became the sport for many a ruler to exploit its triumphs as a way to express the success of his or her government.

This is an important consideration because the rise of Pakistan hockey too, had its roots in how this sport was elevated by various governments in the past to express and manifest these governments’ robust and winning ways.

But the exercise was not always so cynical. For example, when a highly inexperienced and under-resourced Pakistan hockey side managed to make its way into the hockey finals of the 1956 Melbourne Olympics, it was hailed at home for mirroring the fighting spirit and determination of a struggling new nation that had emerged on the map just 9 years ago.

The Pakistan team on the attack against England during the 1956 Melbourne Olympics. The Pakistan side at the time was extremely low on resources. Notice how one of its players is playing barefooted! Pakistan managed to reach the final where it was beaten by India.

Contrary to popular belief, hockey was not always the country’s national sport. Actually till the late 1950s, no sport was. In fact when the Pakistan cricket team under its first Test captain, AH Kardar, was producing impressive results, some even suggested that cricket be named as Pakistan’s national sport.

But three occurrences jettisoned not only the widespread popularity of hockey in the country, but also make the state finally declare it to be Pakistan’s national sport.

Kardar’s retirement in 1958 saw the fortunes of the national cricket side plummet (across the 1960s). This gave hockey space to grow more rapidly than cricket.

Front page of DAWN announcing Pakistan’s victory in Rome (1960). In the absence of a Hockey World Cup at the time, Olympic champions were hailed as ‘world champions.’

Also, the arrival of the military regime of Field Martial Ayub Khan in 1958 helped the game because at the time sports such as hockey and football were encouraged more in the Pakistan armed forces than cricket. In fact, Ayub is said to have quite a disliking for cricket.

Lastly, the main catalyst in this respect was the way the Pakistan side stormed into the hockey finals of the 1960 Rome Olympics and defeated India to win its first ever Olympic hockey title.

Ayub was firmly at the helm of power and much of Pakistan was basking in the feel-good environment that the regime was radiating at the time. Ayub took the victory and expressed it as a sign of Pakistan’s progress and growth as a society and polity (due to the policies of his regime).

Pakistan hockey players are received by a huge crowd at the Karachi Airport on their triumphant return from Rome.

The fame of hockey in Pakistan sky-rocketed and western hockey observers intriguingly noticed how Pakistani (and Indian) players had (from the late 1950s onwards) introduced a dexterous skill that soon became to be known as ‘dribbling.’

It was this skill that bamboozled many hockey sides in Rome and was in full display (to the awe of onlookers) during the Pakistan-India final.

In the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, Pakistan and India managed to make their way in to their third consecutive Olympic hockey finals, but this time Pakistan went down 1-0 in a closely fought match.

Pakistan and India had become the world’s leading hockey sides, producing the most skilful set of players. Hockey in both the countries had also become expressions of passionate patriotism in which hockey players were expected to play the game as a foremost national duty and not as a cold profession.

During the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City, the Pakistan side dribbled its way into its fourth consecutive Olympic hockey final where it defeated Australia 2-1 and in the process lifted its second Olympic hockey title. Pakistan had become the world’s number one hockey team and the most attractive in style and skill.

Special stamps issued by the government to celebrate Pakistan’s triumph in Mexico.

Hockey had thrived and grown under the ‘liberal’ Ayub dictatorship, but ironically, when the team lifted its second Olympic title in Mexico City, the regime was being cornered by a concentrated left-wing student and workers movement.

The movement forced Ayub to resign in early 1969 and hand over power to another military man, General Yahya Khan, who promised to hold the country’s first general election based on adult franchise.

But Pakistan hockey marched on, unscathed by the turmoil. Or was it?

In 1970, the Pakistan hockey chief, Nur Khan, floated the idea of launching a Hockey World Cup. The sport’s international body immediately agreed and aptly offered Pakistan to hold the first ever Hockey World Cup (in 1971).

But by mid-1971, the political situation in the eastern wing of the country (East Pakistan) was rapidly deteriorating. During the 1970 election, the Bengali nationalist party, the Awami League (AL), had swept the election in East Pakistan, whereas two left-wing parties, the populist Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP) and the Baloch-Pukhtun nationalist outfit, the National Awami Party (NAP), had won the majority of the seats in West Pakistan.

AL became the largest party in the parliament, but when a three-way struggle for power ensued between AL, PPP and the Yahya regime, civil war erupted in East Pakistan between militant Bengali nationalists and the Pakistan military.

The bloody commotion forced the international hockey federation to shift the event to Spain. Here, Pakistan won its way into the final (after defeating India in the semi-final) and then defeated a resilient Spain 1-0 to lift hockey’s first ever World Cup.

Pakistan wins hockey’s first World Cup (1971).

Three months later (in December 1971), Pakistan broke up when East Pakistan became the independent republic of Bangladesh. Yahya was forced to quit by a group of angry officers and PPP’s ZA Bhutto was invited to form a new government.

Bhutto had constantly accused the international community (except China) of undermining Pakistan’s position in the East Pakistan conflict and siding with Bengali nationalists and their main backers, India.

An edgy Pakistan hockey team arrived to participate in the 1972 Munich Olympics. It fought its way to enter the semi-finals where it was to face a resurgent Indian side. A siege mentality had gripped the country and it also made its way into the hockey squad.

The evening before the match, the Pakistan squad began to play (on an LP player) famous patriotic songs sung by Pakistani diva, Noor Jehan, that she had sung during the Pak-India wars of 1965 and 1971.

The idea was to not only play the songs to inspire the Pakistani players (against arch-rivals India), but to also unnerve the Indian players who were lodged in the same building.

In a tough, tight game, Pakistan managed to down India 2-0 and the millions in Pakistan listening to the commentary on their radio sets, erupted, pouring out on to the streets and shouting patriotic slogans. Bhutto immediately dispatched a passionate congratulatory message to the team.

A Pakistani player about to smash his team’s winning goal against India in Munich (1972).

After defeating India, Pakistan entered its fifth consecutive Olympic hockey final. Its opponents this time were the Germans, who unlike the Pakistanis, relied more on power than skill.

This final turned out to be (and still is) perhaps the most controversial game ever witnessed in the international hockey arena. To begin with both the teams played rough and the referees had to continuously issue warnings and cards.

After the sides had blunted each other’s attacks, the Germans finally managed to score in the 60th minute of the turbulent game.

The Pakistanis cried foul and accused the Belgian referee of cheating. At the final whistle, scores of Pakistani fans rushed into the ground and poured buckets of water over the referee.

Then during the awards ceremony, Pakistani player ripped off their silver medals, and some even began swinging them with their hockey sticks and shoes. The spectacle was captured by German TV and relayed across the world (including Pakistan).

Video:

Though the team was greeted by a wave of sympathy by the fans back home, the international hockey federation banned 11 Pakistani players for life! The Pakistan government appealed and eventually the ban was reduced to 3 years.

Thus an inexperienced Pakistani side travelled to Amstelveen in the Netherlands in 1973 to defend its World Cup title. It managed to top its pool but went down 1-0 in its semi-final against India.

Two years later in Malaysia (1975), Pakistan and India met for the first time in a Hockey World Cup final. This was Pakistan’s second World Cup final and India’s first. The match was beamed live by Pakistan Television (PTV), and millions watched as Pakistan went down 1-0 to a renascent Indian side.

Newspaper reports claimed that many Pakistanis smashed their TV screens and accused the Pakistani players of ‘being drunk’ and ‘complacent.’

The Bhutto regime stepped in and neutralised the charged atmosphere by congratulating the team for making it to the finals, even though it did ask the Pakistan hockey board to begin infusing new blood into the side.

A TV grab of Indian players celebrating their first Hockey World Cup win in 1975.

During the 1976 Montreal Olympics, Pakistan for the first time (after 1956) failed to make it to an Olympic hockey final. Though it topped its pool, it went down 2-1 against Australia in the semi-final.

Pakistan had failed to win a major hockey event for more than 3 years (though it did win the 1974 Asian Games hockey final), the team that was emerging was a lot more dashing. It coupled its traditional skills with a new emphasis on speed.

By the time the team reached Argentina for the 1978 World Cup, it had in its ranks two of the quickest movers on a hockey field: Islahuddin and Samiullah.

Thus began a most remarkable era in Pakistan hockey. It won its second World Cup title in 1978 (defeating the Netherlands in the finals), and then launched the Champions Trophy in Lahore that consisted of top 8 hockey teams of the world. It won this too (defeating Australia in the finals).

The Bhutto regime had been toppled in a reactionary military coup in July 1977. The new ruler, General Ziaul Haq, first basked in Pakistan cricket team’s victory against India in 1978 and then in the hockey team’s two world titles the same year.

The squad that won the 1978 World Cup. It had players that were considered to be some of the most skilful ever seen in field hockey.

Video:

Pakistan had risen to become a formidable force in world hockey. In Pakistan, pictures, posters and interviews of the Pakistan hockey players outnumbered those of the cricketers.

Though at its peak, the team did not participate in the 1980 Moscow Olympics that was boycotted by countries opposed to the Soviet Union’s invasion of Afghanistan. However, Pakistan did win the 1980 Champions Trophy held in Karachi.

This was also Pakistan’s first major victory on AstroTurf that was coming into use a lot more after it was first introduced in 1976 during the Montreal Olympics.

But, despite the fact that Pakistan had been the number one side in international hockey since 1978, the players were still not receiving even half of what the country’s cricketers were making.

Pakistani cricketers had managed to get their fees increased considerably during Mushtaq Mohammad’s captaincy (1976-79). The hockey players were rewarded with positions in various government departments and organisations, but their playing fee remained incredibly low. Players were still expected to play for Pakistan as a selfless national duty because hockey at the time had also become Pakistan’s most recognisable facet and face in the world.

The team did not disappoint when in 1982 it won its second consecutive (and it’s third) Hockey World Cup title. It routed Germany 3-1 in Mumbai, India, in front of a packed stadium and millions of TV viewers.

Zia, whose government was facing stiff resistance from the opposition, explained the victory as a reflection of Pakistan’s prowess as a country (under his regime) and the team’s return to Pakistan was given extensive coverage on state-owned media.

Pakistan hockey squad brings home its third World Cup title (1982).

Though the team had boycotted the 1980 Olympics, it revived its Olympic triumphs by reaching its 7th hockey Olympic finals, this time at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics. It then went on to win its 3rd hockey Olympic title, defeating West Germany 2-1.

Pakistan hockey had reached dizzying heights, winning two World Cups, two Champions Trophy titles and one Olympic gold within a span of just six years (1978-84).

Though cricket and squash too, were enjoying a rise in fame and success, hockey remained to be the country’s most popular and fruitful sport.

But trouble was brewing.

Cricket (with its promise of better financial rewards and glamour) was slowly replacing hockey in schools and colleges. And since much of the hockey was now being played on AstroTurf, Pakistan oddly had just two AstroTurf stadiums, despite the fact that it was the world’s number one side.

Hockey clubs in the country still played and trained their players on grass and these players struggled when they graduated to playing top level local tournaments on AstroTurf.

The problem burst out into the open when hockey maestro, Hassan Sardar, led a young Pakistan hockey squad to the 1986 World Cup in England. Pakistan was routed in almost every game that it played!

The nation was shocked. The government ordered an immediate inquiry and the media quoted top players bemoaning the fact that they were paid peanuts (compared to the cricketers), and were admonished by the hockey federation and the government for requesting an even nominal pay increase.

Shahid Ali Khan who was at the time the country’s top goalkeeper told the media that players received just Rs.27 per match (!) and that they had been made to feel like traitors by the government whenever they asked for an increase.

Hassan Sardar dribbling past a Russian player during the 1986 World Cup in England. His team went down in a heap in the tournament.

Zia passed away in 1988 and fresh elections were held. Pakistan hockey entered a regenerative and rebuilding process, as cricket and squash continued to overtake it in popularity.

The first Nawaz Sharif and the two Benazir Bhutto regimes encouraged corporate sponsors to invest in hockey. They also slightly raised the players’ fees, and ordered the laying down of more AstroTurfs.

This did help Pakistan hockey witness a mini-revival, starting in 1990 when the 7th Hockey World Cup was held in Lahore. Pakistan galloped its way into the final where it lost to Holland in front of a packed stadium.

Then, in 1991, it managed to make it to the finals of the Champions Trophy too (in Germany), but lost the game.

Despite the losses, Pakistan was once again rising in world rankings and finally in 1994, it managed to bag its 4th World Cup title (in Sydney, Australia). Pakistan hockey was back on track.

Pakistan, hockey world champions again (1994).

But despite becoming world champions (for a record 4th time), the players’ fees remained low and so did corporate interest. All attention in this regard was being shifted towards cricket.

A decade later, hockey had begun to simply disappear from schools and the country’s hockey board kept going bankrupt, so much so, that in the last few years, the board often requests private parties to fund the team’s foreign tours.

After the 1994 triumph, and a few Asian tittles, the Pakistan hockey team hasn’t won a single major hockey tournament.

Hockey as a national sport has become a game of which the current cricket-crazy generation has very little knowledge of or interest in. In fact, most young Pakistanis today know the names of European club football players than they do of the current Pakistani hockey players!

A sport in which so much pride and passion was once invested and which became the honoured expression of a resilient nation, has sadly been allowed to just wither away.

Perhaps, it was laziness stopping me from searching for proper housing, or perhaps it was the idea of freedom which played with my mind. In fact, it was probably both. I don't recollect putting much prior thought into it, but one day, I found myself without an apartment, a room, or even a roof over my head, in Groningen, an old city in the Netherlands.

I recall vividly the first night I lay wide-eyed in the grass outside my tent. It was a clear night and you could see the stars above. I was in the outskirts of the city; a small forest, where the city lights could not taint the night sky.

I remember looking up as though I was looking at the stars for the first time. It is difficult to explain, but it was an almost childish wonder that grabbed my senses; I was looking at everything anew. The trees and the grass around had me tightly bound in some kind of a spell. The way the leaves shuffled ... even the sound of crickets seemed mesmerising.

Being homeless is not as bad when you have things to do, places to be, deadlines to meet. For me, it was a double Masters degree in science that kept me occupied. The walk from my tent to the research institute, which lay at the far end of the city, took well over an hour. It was sometimes pleasant and sunny, sometimes rainy and sometimes it had just become routine and mundane as I walked across the cobbled town.

I would usually spend quite a few many hours at the institute. In any case, there wouldn't be much to do back where I was camped. I felt unfettered, free from the modern shackles of life; no phone calls, no TV shows, no movies, no other burdens disguising themselves as a blessing.

Also read: Turning 30, ripping up the bucket list

Having said that, you always find yourself with a lot of extra time at hand. To solve that problem, I would go on long walks, whistling away through the streets. Quite often, I would sit with my sketchbook and draw or paint different parts of the town. Alternatively, you would have found me huddled over a novel with a cup of coffee at some local café.

And yet, somehow, I still always seemed to have a little bit extra time.

There was a camping site nearby, where I could shower. Passing travellers would often stop by the site. Sometimes I would join them for a barbecue over a campfire in the evening, or just sit and chat with them.

I met all kinds of folks. From circus people to gypsies, from hippies to travelling businessmen. It was stimulating and always fascinating to listen to the different stories people had to tell. Everyone had something unique to say. Not having the means to cook, I became accustomed to eating ready-made food, so these barbecue occasions would be a welcome change.

In the mornings, I would go to the Vismarkt to buy a muffin for breakfast from a particular vendor. He would always smile at me. Sometimes, he would say 'You look a bit thin today', and then he would offer me an extra muffin. It warmed my heart.

Vismarkt, Groningen. —Photo by author

A painting of Vismarkt by the author.

When it rained, I would lie in my camp, just staring at the patterns that the drops would make on the tent. The ground beneath would grow softer and colder. It was disconcerting to know that I would later have to step out into a puddle of mud. And even if it wasn't raining, somehow, my shoes were always covered with mud and grass.

What struck me most was the difference that having an apartment can have on keeping your body warm, and just how cold a person feels when they have nowhere indoors to go. If you are spending entire nights out, the cold somehow seeps into your bones, and remains there. On my days out on the street, I would be wearing a jacket, even after I had gone inside, since the chill from the night before lingered on.

Eventually, I had to find proper housing when winter began to roll around, the cold was becoming unbearable.

Also read: He looked closely at his dirty clothes and drove away

There are many things you don't realise until you have given up everything. My 'homelessness' was not real homelessness, you could say, and I certainly didn't have it as hard as most people do.

But, I like to think that I learned a few things from my minor odyssey out on the streets. I certainly got a different perspective on life. I was taught, for instance, that aggressiveness exists sometimes where there is no need for it. I learned a bit about social hierarchies and how our perceptions change when treating someone of a 'lesser rank', as though they deserve less, or are less human.

Most importantly, it taught me that the smallest act of kindness can make a big difference to someone else, even if it is meant to be nothing more than just a fleeting gesture.

She had a name befitting of a Mughal princess. A young photographer, she had arrived in the city on a yearlong assignment. She wrote to me saying that she wanted to see colonial Karachi and was interested in joining me on my trips to the city. I was working on an assignment to document the Empress Market with a couple of architects and so, I took her along.

Up close with Sadequain

Possibly the easiest destination to show anyone visiting Karachi, we start our journey from the Frere Hall. This photographer is not amused with the idea and tells me that she’s been there many times with her family and knows every possible thing there is to know about the Hall. I ask her if she has been to the wooden platform inside the main hall and seen the famous mural by Sadequain up close; in response, her face lights up with excitement.

We negotiate our way to the top and make a brief stop at the wooden platform to celebrate Sadequain’s genius.

Frere Hall – Sadequain's mural on the ceiling.

The photographer looks outside from the main tower.

Taking measurements at the Empress Market

I always wondered why an ordinary Karachi walla should long for colonial structures such as the Empress Market. I could never come up with an extempore answer but the question remained stuck in my head. It was only when I read the prolific Intizar Hussain that I realised that people connect with these buildings because they play a great role in the social scene.

Slowly and gradually, they become a part of our lives, our stories and our folklore; as Intezar sahab puts it, these buildings become trees with their roots within the people. Therefore, a Karachi walla feels compassion for the Empress Market even if it is named after the queen of a usurper nation.

Empress Market – In all its majesty.

All the gates have a KMC seal in the centre.

People start the day by reading the newspaper at the meat section.

We step out of our car and meet the architects at the front of the gate. It is still early in the day and shopkeepers are setting up their stalls and opening their shops. We walk through the aisles, taking photos of every nook and cranny. The architects specialise in conservation and have picked up their thesis on the Empress Market.

We take special note of all the encroachments which have deformed the original structure of the bazaar. In one of the lanes, we see a grocery store which is closed. There is a board hanging on one of the doors, which reads 'Paradise Store'. Someone tells me that it is the original Paradise Store, which was later shifted close to Schön Circle in Clifton.

The narrow aisles are stocked with different merchandise.

The original Paradise Store.

The hustle bustle of the vegetable section.

We walk past the vegetable section which is crowded even for an early hour. The architects are interested in documenting the fish and meat section. They tell me that the Empress Market was one of the earliest hyper-marts in the region, with exceptionally well-planned sections consisting of all the basic amenities.

We walk towards the end of the vegetable section and turn right towards the fish section. Abandoned a long time ago, I put my head inside a window and see a few drug addicts inside. I am hesitant but my entourage does not mind and gets busy taking measurement of the windows.

We step out of the fish mart and enter the meat section, which is bustling with activity. Freshly skinned calves are dangling from the chains and butchers are converting them into neatly cut pieces. There are bikes parked inside and a few people are reading the newspaper. They look at our group curiously, and thinking we belong to the media, they start telling us about the issues around the place. I am disinterested and turn to look at the photographer, who is taking photos of the trail of the blood flowing from the chains into the drain.

The fish section which has been abandoned and has become home to drug addicts.

The Meat Section with designated space for butchers.

A butcher cuts meat into pieces.

We climb the narrow staircase to the clock tower. I am uber excited as I have never been up there. We enter the first floor, which is empty, but gives an aerial view of the Empress Market. A narrow staircase leads us to the clock tower. The ancient machinery stands in the middle with a pipe going out in all four directions. It is not functioning anymore but still looks elegant.

Another narrow staircase takes one to the top, where political daredevils have put up flags of their respective parties. The photographer wants to climb it, but the staircase looks shaky and we decide to go back.

The way to the top of Empress Market tower.

View from the staircase leading to the clock tower.

View from the staircase inside the clock tower.

The dysfunctional clock.

The machinery inside the clock tower compound.

The shaky staircase to the empress market clock tower.

Stepping out of the Empress Market, the architects want an all-encompassing shot of the façade but we can’t capture it in all its length. The photographer suggests that we take the picture from one of the buildings opposite the road. There are shops on the ground floor and residential quarters above them. I am a little apprehensive but the photographer is gung-ho about it.

We cross the busy road with the photographer leading the way. We enter the building right opposite the Empress Market and climb the staircase to the top. It is in a dire condition and there is garbage everywhere. We climb to the top floor and knock on the door of the quarter which faces the market, without knowing who will appear.

The house opposite Empress Market.

The house opposite Empress Market.

It turns out that that particular quarter is occupied by a Pukhtun family who happily volunteer to help us. The elder of the family only allow the lady architect and the photographer into their premises, since his family is inside. I get a little apprehensive but hand over my camera to the architect and tell her and the photographer to finish the job quickly. Both of them disappear inside the door.

I strike up a conversation with one of the kids from the family. He tells me that they have come to Karachi from Peshawar and are very happy here, that there are no electricity breakdowns and water is available all the time. He offers me tea and tells me that all his family members work in different businesses set up around the Empress Market.

View from the house opposite Empress Market.

View from the top.

The architect and photographer appear from the door and I take a sigh of relief. The architect tells me that she was able to take photos of the Empress Market’s facade from the balcony. As we step down from the staircase, the photographer tells me that the quarter was cramped up with a number of families living inside the tiny flat.

Getting a traffic challaan

We say goodbye to the architects and sit back in our car. As I listen to the photographer telling me of her adventures in Rome and Florence, I take a left from Empress Market and immediately get a ticket from the traffic warden. It turns out that the road is one-way and I entered it from the wrong direction. I pledge my ignorance with the warden, while the photographer looks at us with a smirk on her face. She tells me that I am an awful driver and she expects another ticket during our journey.

The churches around Regal Chowk

We make a brief stop at St. Brookes, which is adjacent to the Gulbai Maternity Home. It was set up by an American soldier D.O. Fox, who accompanied the 56th Regiment of the British soldiers along with other American soldiers in 1873.

It is rather humble in comparison to the mighty St. Andrews opposite the street. The glass and woodwork, however, is as intricate as the one found in other churches around Saddar. The church premises have offices and some residential quarters; the compound is used for hosting events during festivities.

St. Brookes – The initial structure was built in 1873.

The main building.

The wooden roof was replaced in 1988.

Intricate glass work.

We walk across the road and step inside the mighty walls of St. Andrews. The photographer tells me that she has seen some of the most wonderful churches in Italy, but the context makes Karachi’s churches more intriguing.

St. Andrews – It is also known as the Scottish Church.

The imposing structure is known for its arches.

St. Andrews is an Anglican church which was built in 1868. It was designed by T.G. Newnham, who was a resident engineer for the Sindh Railway and was later associated with the Indus Flotilla, a steamship company which was used in conjunction with Sindh Railway to transport goods downstream to the port.

My partner tells me that the building is designed in a gothic style and she has seen a similar style in Scotland. We walk around the building, a few pigeons fly off the arches. We capture the moment instantly. We step inside the church and it takes our breath away.

Pigeons fly as we walk past them.

The interior makes you forget that you are standing in the heart of busy Saddar.

Both sides of the main hall have large windows.

The arches which are a prominent feature of the church distinguish it from rest of the churches in the city. We walk towards the rostrum to see that there is intricate glass work on either end. The light filters through it and leaves a colorful spectrum on the floor.

There are balloons hanging from the pillars, presumably for an event that must have been recently organised. Someone tells me that the wooden musical instrument on the left of the rostrum is one of its kind. Sadly, it has not been functioning for some time now.

Balloons hang from the pillars in the hall.

Intricate glass work.

The musical instrument which is not functional anymore.

Radio Pakistan

Next, we negotiate our way inside the Radio Pakistan building which was home to the Pakistan Broadcasting Corporation since 1949. This is where eminent media personalities such as Z.A. Bukhari worked and laid the basis of a successful entertainment institution.

Radio Pakistan – one of the most iconic buildings of the era.

The iconic cupola catches your eye while driving on MA Jinnah road.

On October 2007, a fire had broken out on the first floor of the building, possibly due to an electrical short-circuit which burnt down the entire first floor along with archives and equipment of historical significance.

We walk aimlessly around the compound, absorbing the surreal scene. In these very studios, some of the most famous music shows and dramas were recorded, which inspired and entertained entire generations of our nation. They stand abandoned today, and perhaps, for a very long time.

Short-circuit caused fire on the first floor.

View of a burnt room on first floor.

View of an abandoned room.

Another abandoned room.

View from the backyard.

Café Mubarak

We take a break and stop at Café Mubarak. The waiter asks us if we want to go to the family section upstairs, but the photographer insists that we sit in the main area. She is amused with the cutlery on display and orders tea.

She tells me that she moved to Karachi a few months back and wishes she could walk its streets freely. The idea of self-restrain is already putting her off. I tell her that I sometimes wish that I was somewhere else reconstructing the city in my imagination without all its imperfections, but it is a good idea to be a little apprehensive while walking its streets. She tells me that I sound old and wise but she does not agree with my assessment.

We finish our tea and step outside to resume our journey.

Old and wise, young and reckless, but somehow we were still the same.

—All photos by author

“Darling, just today, I have recorded three songs at the Karachi radio station. Tune in at eight o’clock to listen to them.”

It was the Queen of Melody, Noor Jehan, on the phone with then President of Pakistan, General Yahya Khan. Her informal tone was not out of place – the two maintained some level of intimacy.

Veteran broadcaster Jamil Zubairi, recounting his 25 years with Radio Pakistan, narrates this exchange between the president and the legendary female singer of country on page 222 of his book Yaad-i-Khazana: Radio Pakistan mein 25 saal (Treasure of Memories: 25 Years with Radio Pakistan).

The front-cover of Zubairi’s book.

He also provides background to the conversation:

“As the [1971 Indo-Pak] war raged on, we were busy recording patriotic songs. One day, Madam Noor Jehan landed in Karachi from London and arrived at Radio Pakistan's Karachi station for recording. Seizing the opportunity, the radio hastily made some arrangements and recorded three tracks by her.

“After the recording, she stepped out of the studio and joined the Station Director Tahir Shah in his room. She asked him to ring up Yahya Khan for her. Now, whatever the situation was, Yahya Khan was the president of the country. The Station Director hesitated. Noor Jehan told him not to worry. She suggested he only dial the phone number and hand over the receiver to her. When she pressed hard, Tahir Shah gave in. I was in the same room, an eyewitness to the whole episode. The call was made; perhaps first the secretary took it and then the president came on line. Madam Noor Jehan then spoke those words to the president.

“We were flabbergasted. Madam Noor Jehan had not only picked the time for her songs to go on air, but she had also communicated that to the president. Our only concern: at 8 o’clock, Radio Pakistan used to air a news bulletin, which was very important for the general public in the days of the war. The scheduled bulletin could not be delayed. Madam Noor Jehan was sent to another room for dinner and an irritated Tahir Shah made a telephone call to the Director General Radio Pakistan, who was based in Islamabad, to explain the rocky situation. The DG reassured him that he would talk to the secretary to the president. He ordered the songs to be aired after the news broadcast.”

Right from its inception, Radio Pakistan has been the government's mouthpiece – though in the early years, Z.A. Bukhari, the first director-general of Radio Pakistan, and others had tried to cater to the public’s taste, and were quite successful. Gradually, though, things changed. The officials tasked with running the radio were handpicked by the rulers, who detested the well-educated and confident lot of candidates who could think for themselves.

Z.A. Bukhari was the first one to fall prey to their whims. Burhanuddin Hassan, on page 38 of his book Pas-i-Pardah (Behind the Scene) writes:

“When Ayub Khan arrived at the broadcasting house for his first address to the nation, he immediately showed his disapproval for Z.A. Bukhari. Perhaps, he had found Bukhari overconfident or perhaps the latter had unwittingly offended him. Soon afterwards, Bukhari was sent into forced early retirement. His old friend, Syed Rashid Ahmed, who had succeeded him, could not survive either. Radio Pakistan was soon controlled by a bunch of civil servants who could live up to government’s expectation in running its affairs.

“Thus, Radio Pakistan, hitherto a centre for excellence of art and culture, was reduced to a subsidiary division of the information ministry. The news bulletins carried speeches and statements by government officials, and press notes from the PID (Press Information Department).”

Back then, the future of radio employees constantly hung in the balance, particularly when the country was ruled by dictators. Radio officials ran the risk of offending the ruler or his henchmen. A single misplaced word could warrant censures and show-cause notices to the employees. And if the offenders happened to be writers or intellectuals – rather than permanent employees – they would be blacklisted and barred from entering radio stations.

Many a times, these drastic measures created faux pas, one of which is narrated by Jamil Zubairi on page 287 of his book:

“We used to broadcast a programme 'Kalaam-i-Shair Ba Zaban-i-Shair' (Poetry as recited by the poet) from our World Service. One day, a poet showed up at my office with his work. His name was Ziaul Haq.

“I read his ghazal. It was good enough for the radio. I directed him to go upstairs, where the studios were located. By my sheer luck, on that particular day, Agha Jan, a very discreet man, was acting as duty officer. He telephoned me to say that the poet wished his ghazal must go on air with his name, as well as nom de plume, both of which combined read: Ziaul Haq fitna (Ziaul Haq the troublemaker)!

“I was horrified. Such a thing, if broadcasted, could have ended my career and that of the duty officer. I asked Agha Jan to send the poet downstairs where we had another studio. His ghazal was recorded, and he was asked not to recite the last two lines, one of which carried his troublemaking nom de plume.”

With the advent of FM radio stations in Pakistan, the traditionalism at the AM radio stations was threatened. The FM radios attracted audiences by speaking to them in their language and then the Pakistan Broadcasting Corporation (PBC) followed suit by setting up FM radio stations across the country. One of them was established in Hyderabad.

My friends Ahmed Raza and Junaid Naseer Faruqi were selected to host some programmes. FM101 earned them not only recognition but also lasting fame. Now, Raza is a producer with the BBC and Faruqi hosts shows on various FM radio stations in Karachi.

The duo had coaxed me into an audition for the post of radio presenter. Thanks to their mentorship, I was among the three people selected for the job from the original 45 who had shown up for the auditions.

The romance did not last long though.

Pervez Musharraf was the ruler then. On International Women's Day, I played a track, “hum mayein, hum behnein, hum betian, qaumon ki izzat hum se hey” (we mothers, we sisters, we daughters; it is we who build nations). The song, both a tribute to women and a battle cry for their rights, was still on air when duty officer Mujahid Aziz ran into the studio, out of breath. He made strange signs to the sound engineer.

The signs were strange to me, not to the sound engineer. Suddenly the song was replaced by background music. I was dumbfounded. Aziz asked me to play another track. I followed his instruction by going on air, apologising for the “technical fault” and offering a new song. Later, I came to know that the manager of the FM radio station declared the song objectionable. He believed it had a strong association with the government of Benazir Bhutto who was living in exile at the time and Musharraf’s government, I was told, monitored all radio programmes.

Speaking to some radio workers, the radio station's manager had predicted my downfall. The prophecy was soon fulfilled. Ever since, I came to believe that the so-called song debacle was a mere pretext to get rid of me, until I read Jamil Zubairi’s book in the year 2015. Now, it appears that the panic at FM101 Hyderabad was not unfounded.

Zubairi recounts a similar incident (from General Ziaul Haq's era) on page 287 of his book:

“Next year, the Pakistan Peoples Party was to celebrate the birth anniversary of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. The World Service [of Radio Pakistan], in one of its programmes, used to play tracks requested by its listeners. It’s a coincidence that on Bhutto’s birthday, the same programme went on air and a movie song, *“Salgirah ka din aya hay” (It is the return of the birthday), hit the waves. Dozens of listeners had sent in letters requesting the song to be aired and we happened to respond to those requests on the day of Bhutto’s birth anniversary! I too was caught off-guard.*

“To compound the situation, as the song was in high demand, an announcer at the Karachi station also copied it from the World Service and aired the song. A catastrophe ensued: Telephones rang from Karachi to Islamabad and an inquiry was ordered. It focused on the question as to how and why the song was aired on Bhutto’s birthday.”

Zubairi, in his book, says that the next day Daily Jasarat, a mouthpiece of Jamat-i-Islami, carried the news of the infamous birthday song underneath a bold headline. It also spiced up things a bit, claiming that the World Service’s employees had celebrated Bhutto’s birthday in one of the rooms at the radio station.

Zubairi and two other radio employees were reprimanded and punished. He was given a written warning, a producer was declared ineligible for promotion and an announcer/presenter was suspended. Thought they were later pardoned.

Radio Pakistan has a rich history of similar episodes that span over seven decades. The few narrated here can vouchsafe that if the institution were allowed to function independently, it would have undoubtedly ranked amongst the top radio services of the world.

Notwithstanding the political manhandling, Radio Pakistan has managed to set its own standards of professional excellence. Its presenters are able to deliver their content with the correct pronunciation of Urdu, something wanting in many media outlets of the country. Several bigwigs of journalism owe much to Radio Pakistan, where they had begun their careers and learnt their craft.

Translated by Arif Anjum from the original in Urdu here.

Related:

• Radio Pakistan woes
  
• Saving Radio Pakistan
  
• Flashback: Voices from the past

The KP provincial government’s ambitious Green Growth Ini­tiative plans to harness the environment for development and uplift.

A few years ago, as we drove up to Besham on the Karakoram Highway, I was horrified to see piles upon piles of timber lining the road in Kohistan. They must have slaughtered an entire forest to get so many tree trunks, which appeared to be Deodar wood — it takes almost 100 years for a Deodar tree to mature, so the carnage was outrageous.

There must have been over 100,000 felled trees lined up along the road. The locals claimed that these trees were cut back in the 1990s, before the ban on logging was enforced in Khyber Pakthunkhwa (KP). The good news is that the KP government has now taken over all this wood lying on the Karakoram Highway. They have apparently also moved against the timber mafia in KP, restricting their movement and catching hold of a lot of illicit timber (mostly from Kohistan). The timber, valued at Rs7 or 8 billion, will be sold by the KP government and the funds will be invested into forestry.

See: Govt plans to bring 6pc more area under forest cover

“Imran Khan himself visited these areas in a helicopter. In Mansehra, where many trees have also been illegally cut, he fired officials in the forest department from the conservator of forests down to the lower staff and filed cases against them,” explains Malik Amin Aslam, the architect of the PTI’s Green Growth Initiative and global vice-president of the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN).

The provincial government’s ambitious Green Growth Initiative plans to harness the environment for development and uplift

Aslam, who was also recently appointed an advisor on environment to the PTI chief, claims that timber permits cannot be acquired in KP anymore.

“We have a two-pronged strategy in KP now — the timber mafia won’t be tolerated and we will plant more trees and send a positive message to our youth,” he says.

Spearheaded by the current KP government, the Green Growth Initiative is a unique endeavour in Pakistan and has given birth to a stream of projects, which include the “Billion Tree Tsunami,” the installation of small hydel projects in the province, and an overhaul of its national parks. Later, the initiative plans to tackle rivers by cleaning them up.

The “Billion Tree Tsunami” got off to a slow start, as there were not enough nurseries in place to produce the tree saplings. Today, the nurseries are doing well — they are privately owned, mostly by women at the village level who are growing nurseries of around 25,000 plants, from which they earn around Rs10,000 to 18,000 per month.

“Last year, around 20 million saplings were planted and we monitored them for their survival rates. We have found a 90 per cent survival rate from last year. With the monsoon coming now, our targets are higher; this winter’s target is six times more than last winter,” explains Malik Amin.

Look through: Shortage of funds, saplings hit PTI’s afforestation drive

The model has been so successful that they have got it registered under the international Bonn challenge, which is a global voluntary agreement by various countries to set forestry targets for themselves under the United National Framework Convention on Climate Change.

Countries like Brazil, USA and Peru are all part of this challenge and now KP has become the first sub-national entity to enter into this agreement. The IUCN President visited Pakistan two weeks ago to give a letter of acceptance to the KP government for being part of the Bonn challenge.

“This is exactly what needs to happen — by planting trees in Mardan, we are getting global recognition and potential funding in the future. Right now the Billion Tree Tsunami is funded by the KP government,” says Malik Amin.

Under the Green Growth Initiative, 256 small hydel projects of various sizes are also being built — 50 projects are at the commissioning stage, others still at the bidding stage. The goal is to complete them all in two years time; they are mostly off-grid and the electricity is to be used in the local areas.

The Green Growth Initiative also focuses on national parks; the KP government has passed new legislation, which hands over the six national parks in KP to public-private boards.

“Now, the parks’ management can directly access funds and doesn’t have to go through government machinery; every national park will have its own community conservation board. The local wildlife head will be on this board along with local NGOs and the district administration. The conservation boards will be given funds and the authority to spend on the parks.”

Also read: How many of Pakistan's 15 million Facebook users will plant a tree?

The KP government also wants to increase the number of national parks to 12 and studies are in process. They hope to include the Pallas Valley in Kohistan, which is a thickly forested area of the country from where the timber on the Karakoram Highway was cut.

By 2018, Malik Amin claims KP can potentially achieve zero carbon growth — “Most of our electricity will come from hydro projects; we also have the largest forests in Pakistan and we plan on increasing the forest cover.”

This is not just talk, he argues, as they have already started action on their Green Growth Initiative and have self-financed it (without help from donors).

“If there was green thinking amongst the other parties and if it would get embedded in the political movement, then there would be a strong impetus to get these things done,” he says.

With a forest cover of less than four per cent in Pakistan, it is heartening to learn that at least one province is taking action to green itself; let’s see some green thinking in the other provincial governments as well. With everyone in the world now talking about a “sustainable future,” it is time they also got with the programme.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, July 12th, 2015

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Eidul Fitr celebrations come in a multitude of unique forms in our society. As the month of Ramazan approaches its last leg, markets all across the country are glittered with Eid paraphernalia: confectionery, clothes, bangles, mehendi– all typical associations with this festive occasion.

However, one particular trend has dwindled over the years: the practice of sending out Eid cards.

It was once a routine for most families to spend time appropriately selecting, purchasing, writing and posting Eid greeting cards to friends and families. But now, it has become a rarity.

Salutation of a young girl to her elder sister. Eid card printed by Eastern Commercial Agency, Bombay.

Especially for children. Eid card produced by Shabbar T. Corp. Bombay.

Especially for children. Eid card produced by Shabbar T. Corp. Bombay.

While the custom of Eid greetings has not entirely vanished, the mode has changed. People neither get the time to visit card stalls like before, nor line up for the postage. On the eve and day of Eid, mobile phones services, however, do experience a sudden onslaught of heavy traffic owing to a blitz of Eid wishes being SMSed back and forth.

Read on: Eid cards, not e-cards

In this era of mobile and social media connectivity, where handwritten letters have lost their utility, it is be interesting to revisit the trend of Eid cards, particularly in its early days, when the practice was first introduced to our region.

For that purpose, we have selected some unique examples from the collections of Yousuf Saeed, a filmmaker, author and archivist based in Delhi; Ally Adnan, a Dallas, USA-based engineer; writer and antique collector and Omar Khan who is running Imagesofasia.com, a collection of vintage postcards and lithographs.

In the Indian subcontinent, the tradition of sending greeting cards on Eid started in the late 19th century. Although many well-off Muslim families were, since centuries, accustomed to sending calligraphic and artistically decorated greeting messages on Eid, the mass availability of Eid cards and its mailing by post originated only by the late decades of 19th century.

We presume there are two reasons behind that: the expansion of the railway network and the advent of new printing facilities.

Eid card distributed by Hafiz Qamruddin & Sons, Lahore.

The railway network had increased to 25000 km in 1880 from just 34 km in 1853, when the first passenger train service was inaugurated in India. With the expansion of railway, people began travelling far away from their homes, for employment and business. It also improved the postal service. And the relatively advanced printing facilities revolutionised the trend of Eid cards in terms of quality of production and availability.

Also read: A fading tradition

From the examples available, we can see that the early cards were basically European-made Christmas cards which were being modified and used as Eid cards after the requisite stamping, printing or handwriting.

Eid greetings stamped on an image printed in Europe. Basically it was European-made Christmas cards which were modified and used as Eid cards.

Eid cards with Indian-specific images and illustrations began being produced in the early years of the 20th century. Hafiz Qammaruddin & Sons, H. Ghulam Muhammad & Sons and Muhammad Hussain & Brothers in Lahore, Mahboob Al Matabah in Delhi and Eastern Commercial Agency Shabbar T Corporation and Bolton Fine Art Lithographers in Bombay were amongst the earliest companies that came into the business of printing Eid cards in India. Although the postcards with Indian Muslim architecture, produced by Raphael Tuck in London were also used for Eid.

A floral Eid card. Published by Hafiz Qamruddin & Sons, Lahore and posted from Lahore on 24 December 1935.

A post card originally produced by Raphael Tuck, London.

No discussion of these vintage Eid cards would be complete without a note on the specific type of Urdu poetry that is found on them, which was clearly penned especially for the occasion of Eid.

میرے یاروں کو مبارک عید ہو غمگساروں کو مبارک عید ہو عاشق و معشوق رندو پارسا آج چاروں کو مبارک عید ہو

Eid greetings to my friends,
Eid greetings to my sympathisers,
Eid greetings to the lovers and the beloveds, the drunks and the pious,
Eid greetings to all four of them today.

ہماری عید تو جب ہے کہ دیکھیں تیرے آبرو کو ہلال عید کو اے مہ جبیں دیکھا تو کیا دیکھا

Eid is when I see your eyebrows
Just seeing the crescent, my dear, is no Eid.

سب لوگ تو دیکھتے ہیں کھڑے چاند عید کا مشتاق ہوں میں رشک قمر تیری دید کا

While everyone is interested in sighting the moon,
I only desire to see your face.

یہ شام عید ہے اے میرے ناقہ محمل چمک کے چل کہ دیار حبیب تک پہنچیں

It is the eve of Eid, o my camel,
Run fast and take me to the city of my beloved.

Also read: Musharraf’s quote makes way into Eid cards

The tradition of Eid cards remained at its peak till the end of the previous century, and diminished with the surge of mobile and online communication. Obviously, technology had made it more affordable, convenient and maybe even attractive for people to share their greetings.

Yet, those of us who have lived the joy of handpicking, writing, sending and receiving Eid cards cannot find its substitute in the click of buttons.

An Eid card illustration by Mustafa. Published by H. Ghulam Mohd & Sons, Lahore.

Urdu couplets on the message side of an Eid card published in Lahore.

Postcard with the image of CROTONE – Piazza Umberto I War Memorial. Printed in Italy, distributed by Hafiz Qamruddin & Sons, Lahore with adaptation of Eid greetings and Urdu couplet on the address side.

Eid card featuring celebrated sub-continental singer Kajjan Begum. Distributed by Sultan Husen Bookseller, Bombay.

Eid Mubarak card distributed by Sultan Husen Bookseller, Bombay, featuring an unidentified Indian actress.

"Guldasta-e Eid" – title of the chapbook published by Rashid ul Khairi in Mahboob Al Matabah, Delhi.

A handcrafted Eid greeting for a family of Avadh, Uttar Pradesh. Many well-off Muslim families were accustomed to sending calligraphic and artistically decorated greeting messages on Eid.

One of the more popular Eid greeting cards.

One of the more popular Eid greeting cards.

One of the more popular Eid greeting cards.

The whole Centaurus mall entry fee saga and the ensuing debate on the internet was a pleasant surprise for me. If memory serves me right, the mall in question made a similar move over a year ago, except that no corollary was issued last time.

Although I don't live in Pindi or Islamabad and am not likely to be visiting soon either, I was happy to find that as a 'journalist', I was on the list of the chosen ones who had the privilege of entering the mall without paying a hundred rupees. Nevertheless, in spite of that, I have my doubts on whether I will be allowed to go in if I am accompanied by a couple of male friends.

Which brings me to my point, about another mall in my own city. Despite being a 26-year-old journalist living in Pakistan’s largest city, I cannot enter Dolmen Mall/Hyperstar in Karachi, alone on the weekend – I have to have a 'female' accompanying me, which would put me in the kosher 'family category' – because on weekends, entry is permitted to 'families' only.

So if I want to go shopping on a Sunday with a male friend or even alone, I will be denied entry because I would fall under the 'rowdy boys' category. I often wonder if there’s a cut-off age in our society, after which boys are not seen as 'rowdy'.

Also see: Islamabad's phobia of Pindi boys

This is not where it ends. When I first came to Karachi early last year, I remember trying to go to an antique cars show at The Forum with my male friend. We were denied entry. I can recount dozens of other instances, where I have been denied entry to a public venue just for being a young male adult and therefore being categorised as 'rowdy'.

And even that is not where it ends. I have been living and working in Karachi for a year-and-a-half now. When I moved here, finding suitable accommodation was naturally at the top of my to-do list. During my hunt for shelter, I discovered it was almost impossible for a 'rowdy boy' like myself to rent a place in several areas of the city.

Why?

Because I was young, single, male and by default, all of these attributes combined, make for some sort of an unspeakable horror.

“Sir maalik makaan keh rahe hain bachelor ko nahi dena.”

I’ve heard this reply from countless estate agents in areas such as PECHS, Sindhi Muslim, Quaidabad, Delhi Colony, Clifton, Boat Basin and the list goes on.

This discrimination is so prevalent now that most think it’s natural. Whenever you discuss it socially, there is bound to be laughter, even among the 'rowdy boys' who are its victims; everyone has their own wild idea of what the banned 'rowdy boys' could have done to justify the preemptive safety measure of being denied residence/entry.

For me, it is not about preemption. I see it as outright classification based on demography, which is principally as wrong and disgusting as discrimination on the basis of race or ethnicity.

There can be a million explanations that can be ostensible justifications for these preemptive actions – The Centaurus administration, for instance, cites the mall as the only big mall in the twin cities, and claims the measure was necessary to ensure capacity was not exceeded, especially with Eid around the corner.

Know more: Mall relaxes Rs100 entry fee stipulation after online criticism

But whichever way you look at it, it is always the 'rowdy boys' demographic that bears the brunt. That is plain discrimination.

Selective entry to public places such as restaurants, shops and bars in the past, is today seen with judgment and as part of systemic racial/ethnic discrimination, whether it be the case of 19th century United States or pre-partition India.

We all know about the signs outside entrances, which read, “Coloured folk and dogs not allowed”. In 2015 and in a so-called 'male-dominated' society, an invisible placard still stands tall outside several public venues in Pakistan, even those located in somewhat progressive urban centers; I don’t know if they mention dogs, but I’m confident they do have 'rowdy boys' written on them, somewhere.

“The next time you face unscheduled power cuts, the Delhi government will ensure you are adequately compensated,” an excerpt from the Times of India’s June 18, 2015 story reads.

But wait, that's not all.

“If Discom (local power distributors) fails to restore power in an hour, it will have to pay a penalty of Rs50 per hour to every consumer for the first two hours, followed by Rs100 for each consecutive hour,” the Times of India story further said.

I sit in darkness with an Edge connection on my dying mobile phone, reading about compensation for power cuts. I have to delay writing this piece, sitting in Karachi — ‘formerly’ the city of lights — plunged in absolute darkness. All thanks to our “biggest power utility”, K-Electric (this is how they describe themselves on their official Twitter account).

Also read: Karachiites suffer due to fourth blackout in a week

At 4am, a ticker on a news channel read, “Power supply in all areas of Karachi has been restored: KE spokesperson.”

Ironically, that was the last thing I saw on the television right before an 8-hour long blackout. Soon, my Twitter feed exploded with condemnations of power outages which, in some areas, lasted for over 10 hours.

KE has diligently stuck to the same explanation time and time again: The tripping of ‘so and so’ feeder, with a note saying their team is “working on restoration”.

Can or will the Sindh government regulate KE to pay consumers for unlisted outages?

Actually, how are scheduled outages even justified?

Since the beginning of Ramazan this year, this has been the fourth instance where a metropolis of 20 million people has suffered the worst power cuts, all within one week. And each time we have been told the “feeder is tripping”.

If this is the case, there are only two possibilities that come to my mind:

- KE is not competent enough to fix the issue

- And/Or thinks Karachiites are fools

In order to justify every breakdown, KE comes up with a list of defaulters in the government who owe the private limited millions of rupees. Although, being a private limited company, it is beyond belief that they have been tolerating losses for this long anyway.

A good solution to Karachi’s woes may be to end KE’s monopoly in the power sector.

Being consumers of a private limited company, who wouldn't want uninterrupted services for their money?

By creating competition in Karachi's power sector, not only will it improve the state of services, it would also provide alternatives to the people who are not currently satisfied with the utility.

Mumbai — estimated population of 19 million (as of 2013) — is often compared to Karachi in many ways. Unlike Karachi, however, the production, transmission and distribution of power in Mumbai is strategically divided into three separate units: The Brihan Mumbai Electricity Board (state owned), Tata Power (private) and Reliance Power (private).

A Times of India news report (June 18, 2015): Next time you face unscheduled power cuts, the Delhi government will ensure you are adequately compensated.

With public-private partnerships in the power sector, all the electricity produced goes to the common government-operated grid from where it is distributed to the consumers (Note: Rita Dey, an expert on the Indian power sector, who also runs her own firm: Development Management Consultancy, was my source of getting a hold of the above information.)

With the presence of multiple power companies in the city, each provider is responsible for looking into the losses of their respective locality, which directly results in more efficient recovery.

Like in Pakistan, the major defaulters of electricity payment in India are also government departments. But due to private distributions, they ensure the government pays up and promptly. Hence, the overall efficiency of the power system too, has increased manifold.

This model has proven to be beneficial so much so that India is now investing in countries like Bhutan which have an excess supply of electricity. They are now harnessing the same, as well as creating both hydro and thermal power plants.

Unfortunately, Pakistanis seem to have become desensitised, immune to exploitation. Despite paying our bills and taxes on time, we continue to further pay an exorbitant price for buying and maintaining generators and UPS'.

Instead of just waiting it out yet again, isn't it time we explored the option of going off grid?

Every year, the month of Ramazan brings out hordes of young boys for night cricket tournaments on streets across the country. As the lights turn on, the makeshift wickets are arranged and the frenzy begins, bowlers are seen running in and once again rekindling an old national romance that keeps on giving: Pakistanis and fast bowling.

There is a strange, beautiful connection between Pakistan and fast bowling.

For decades, the country mesmerised the world with its pacers. From Fazal Mehmood to Junaid Khan, generation after generation, Pakistan stamped its authority in the field of cricket via its speedsters.

During the '50s, the trio of Fazal-Kardar-Khan Mohammad demolished the best of the batting lineups. In the following years, Sarfraz Nawaz revolutionised death-overs bowling with his reverse swing. Imran Khan in the '80s, championed the art of reverse swing bowling, and sent plenty of stumps cartwheeling in the death-overs.

Yet, there was a basic ingredient of fast bowling that was missing in this era, barring Imran – genuine pace.

Nonetheless, by the late '80s, Pakistan had championed in this department as well, and from then onwards, it produced some serious pace generators.

This was the same time when Pakistan’s school cricket was taking a fall and tape-ball cricket was on the rise. The origins of tape-ball cricket are unclear, however, a large proportion concludes that it initiated from Karachi’s densely populated area of Nazimabad.

Also read: Revive school cricket to rescue Pakistan

In the '70s, Karachi’s street-cricket became so popular that street cricketers got the same level of respect as Test cricketers. Nadeem Moosa was one such celebrated street-cricket legend. The left-arm spinner played First-class cricket for four years, from 1983 to 1987. His ordinary 29-match stint bagged him just 30 wickets before he permanently settled for tennis ball street-cricket.

Soon, the average First-class cricketer caused havoc in the street circuit after he found his lethal weapon, the ‘finger spin’. Moosa, a left-arm tennis ball quickie, discovered the spin as he and his friends tested each other’s ability to spin the tennis ball. Moosa squeezed the ball between his middle-finger and thumb and flicked, upon release, the ball generated a sharp turn with bounce and pace.

“It used to land well outside off-stump and then come in very sharply,” says Moosa in Osman Samiuddin's 'The Unquiet Ones'.

With his innovation, Moosa became the most fearsome bowler in the city and the reason for tape-ball cricket invention. He claims, “It used to break so much you couldn’t even try to play it.”

In Nazimabad Three, a frustrated opposition came up with the idea of wrapping electrical tape on the tennis ball to make it difficult for Moosa to squeeze the ball.

“I think, in an attempt to stop our team, they said, let’s put some tape on to counter his finger,” he says.

Moosa’s art died a sorrowful death. However, the notion of wrapping tennis balls with electrical tape spread throughout the country like wildfire.

Explore | Street cricket in Pakistan: A personal history

The idea gained popularity among fast bowlers and batsmen, as taped tennis balls faced less air resistance and travelled quickly. This allowed pacers to bowl faster and batsmen to hit massive hits.

By the start of the last decade of the 20th century, tape-ball cricket had spread throughout the country. The absence of cricket at school attracted young cricket frenzies towards parks for tape-ball matches. These parks wore the look of Lahore’s famous Race Course Park on the occasion of Basant (during the good old days) every evening except, kites were replaced with tape-balls.

This blissful eruption of a new form of cricket gave rise to fast bowling in muhallas (neighbourhoods), since bowling quick used to be the only way of escaping the batsman’s wrath. “Jarr mein maar” (‘hit the base of the stumps’) became the most usual order, which helped the bowlers to master yorkers, as there used to be no margin for error. Every missed yorker was hit many a mile.

However, the most fun development was that the smallest scratch on the tape provided the ball with miles of lateral movement in the air, which allowed cricket frenzies to try and emulate their heroes’ reverse swinging yorkers.

Fast bowling is all about the quick contraction and relaxation of the muscles.

The tape-ball, which weighs much lighter than a cricket ball, allows rapid muscle movements. The quicker the arm rotates, the faster the ball travels. Thus, bowling with the tape-ball in their muhallas enables young cricket enthusiasts to develop fast-bowling muscles from a very early age. That is why bowlers who emerged after the mid-80s were pacier than their predecessors.

Wasim Akram, Shoaib Akhtar, Mohammad Sami, Umar Gul, Sohail Tanvir, Mohammad Amir, Junaid Khan, are products of tape-ball cricket. All of these bowlers have impressed the cricket fraternity with their extraordinary pace (okay, maybe everyone except Tanvir).

Also see: Trending Pakistan's street cricket

Back in the day, Wasim Akram's weapon in knocking stumps out of the ground all over Lahore, was the tape-ball. He continued to do so till 1983, two years before his Test debut in New Zealand.

Umar Gul, who is said to have played tape-ball cricket for the longest of all, proved to be one of the best death-overs bowlers. His sharp full length in-dippers in the latter part of the innings made him stand out in the 2009 World T20, which Pakistan went on to win. Gul once revealed that he had not held the cricket ball until as late as the age of 16.

Ace bowler Mohammad Amir was scouted at the age of 13 during a tape-ball tournament.

All in all, tape-ball cricket certainly benefited Pakistan’s fast bowling, though it has had an equally negative impact on the batting department. It has destroyed our batsmen’s feet-movement and their wrist-work. But, more on that some other day.

For now, let us take a look around us at all the Ramazan night-cricket tournaments happening these days, and thank street cricket for adding genuine pace to Pakistan's fast bowling arsenal.