Matteela Films presents a short film in stop motion based on the letters of TE Lawrence that he wrote during his stay in Karachi in early 20th century.

We had set out to make three short films based on different narratives from the history of Karachi (watch the first one here), and plenty of heated discussions were had between the scriptwriter/researcher Irfan Khan and myself the producer/director as to what we would cover.

The story of TE Lawrence is quite unique and fascinating in many respects. As my scriptwriter put it, Lawrence is a very enigmatic character not only for his almost legendary role in the 1916 Arab Revolt but also the later period of his life which is relatively less scrutinised.

Most of the Raj narratives we hear about are of British administrators and their development projects in Karachi. Unfortunately, this type of narrative takes away the human element that brings history alive. There are only a few intimate, personal accounts of the city that can be found in the form of diaries, letters, etc.

In the case of Lawrence, we are lucky that a large number of letters that he wrote to friends and family have been collected. His biographers mention that he was stationed in Karachi between January 1927 and May 1928.

His letters from Karachi reveal the human side of a person running away from fame; his literary pursuits; and a life full of melancholy and solitude that he chose himself.

Behind the scenes of Lawrence of Drigh Road.

Behind the scenes of Lawrence of Drigh Road.

Behind the scenes of Lawrence of Drigh Road.

Behind the scenes of Lawrence of Drigh Road.

Do leave your feedback in the comments section below.

Our annual love affair with mango is fervent, albeit short. Mirza Ghalib best understood our relationship with the mango, and William Dalrymple in his book The Last Mughal quoted the following, defining it aptly;

For Ghalib, the late evening was also the time for indulging in mango-related pleasures, especially the exquisitely small, sweet chausa mango, a taste he shared with many other discerning Delhiwallahs, past and present. At one gathering, a group of Dehliwallahs were discussing what qualities a good mango should have: 'In my view,' said Ghalib, 'there are only two essential points about mangoes – they should be sweet and they should be plentiful.'

Mango, the reigning emperor of fruits, was first eaten some four thousand years ago. Ain-Akbari, the life chronicles of Akbar the great, wonderfully states the taste of that perfect mango as;

The Persians call this fruit Naghzak, as it appears from a verse of Khusrau. This fruit is unrivalled in colour, smell, and taste; and some of the gourmands of Turan and Iran place it above muskmelons and grapes. There are green, yellow, red, variegated, sweet, and sub acid mangoes. The flower opens in spring, resembles that of the vine, has a good smell and looks very curious.

About a month after the leaves have made their appearance, the fruit is sour, and is used for preserves and pickle. The fruit is generally taken down when unripe and kept in a particular manner. Mangoes ripened in this manner are much finer. They are fit to be eaten during the rains. Some trees bloom and yield fruit the whole year; but this is rare.

Mangoes are to be found everywhere in India, especially in Bengal, Gujrat, Malwah, Khandesh, and the Dekhan. They are rarer in Punjab, where their cultivation has, however, increased since his Majesty made Lahore his capital. A young tree will bear fruit after four years. They put also milk and treacle round about the trees, which makes the fruits sweeter.

The Chinese traveller Hsuan-tsang is thought to be the first who traveled outside of ancient India with the mango; and brought it to the notice of the ancient world a millennium and a half ago.

A fruit resembling the mango was unearthed at Harappa and Mohenjo-daro during excavation, and the mango tree and fruits are referred to in the travelogues of travellers like Ibn Batuta and Ibn Hankal.

The Mughal emperors yearned for the fruit they had left behind in central Asia, and foreigners were astounded to observe the large proportion of wealth the emperors were spending on fruit; the entire court was well versed in the political language of fruit.

Akbar the great ordered the planting of 1 lakh mango trees in Darbhanga, eastern India. It is said that Shah Jahan loved the Indian mango dearly too, and Jahangir famously said, ‘notwithstanding the sweetness of the Kabul fruits, not one of them has, to my taste, the flavour of the mango.’

Shah Jahan’s passion for the fruit was so intense and it is believed that he once accused his son of eating mangoes from the emperor’s favourite tree in Deccan, hence wiping out the entire tree harvest for that season.

Mango sharbat.

Pakistan, Bangladesh and India grow the most succulent, delicious and delightfully sweet mangoes, and I can rightly claim that no other region in the world harvests a better mango fruit than the subcontinent.

Yes, other regions grow pretty looking mangoes, but none come close in taste to the desi aam (mango from the subcontinent). Sometimes, a great motivation for the trip back home in July is to get a taste of the langra, sindhre, anwar ratol, chaunsa, desheri, himsager, sammar bahist; namely just a few of the aams available in Pakistan.

Today, I share with you three mango recipes from the days of the Mughals. I came upon these recipes in the book Curry by Lizzie Collingham and tried them out for iftaar. The mango lassi, I modified adding 1 cup of milk, but the base recipe is from Curry. Here is it from my kitchen to yours.

Mango Sharbat

This modification of a Mughlai recipe serves 3-4.

For a long time the Moghul emperors mourned their lost homeland in central Asia and pined for the melons of the area. But, by the time the fourth emperor, Jahangir, came to the throne he had switched his allegiance and thought Indian mangoes sweeter and better than any other central Asian fruit.

Roasted mango.

Ingredients:

2 raw green mangoes
6 tbsp. of sugar
1 tbsp. of salt
½ tsp. freshly roasted and grounded, cumin seeds
Sprig of fresh mint
1 cup cold water

Procedure:

Roast the mangoes in a 400 degree F. (pre-heated) oven until they are soft.

Allow them to cool, make a hole in the skin and squeeze out the pulp.

Put the pulp in a blender and process with sugar, cumin, salt, and mint. Add cold water and pour into chilled glasses.

Mango sharbat.

Mango Buttermilk Lassi

Originally, Punjabis made their lassi with buttermilk, (a by-product of manufacturing ghee).

Mango lassi.

Ingredients:

1 cup mango puree (or pulp of 2 ripe mangoes)
1 ¾ cups buttermilk (I used yogurt instead)
1 cup whole milk
1 tsp. lemon juice (optional)
½ tsp. salt (optional)
1 tbsp. honey
3 tbsp. sugar (optional)
Pinch of nutmeg
10 crushed ice cubes

Procedure:

Put the ingredients in a blender and blend until the contents become foamy. Serves 3-4

Mango Popsicles

Ingredients:

6 cups slightly thawed frozen mango
1/4 cup light coconut milk
2 tbsp. orange juice
2 tbsp. honey
1 tsp. vanilla extract

Mango popsicles.

Procedure:

Put in a blender, pour in popsicle mold and freeze.

—Photos by Fawad Ahmed

In the small suburban town of Rodala, located in Jaranwala, Faisalabad, there sits a cobbler in the main bazaar, Munawar Shakeel, who has been repairing the shoes of the villagers for three decades now.

But in recent years, his customers are less interested in getting their shoes repaired and more interested in listening to his verses on the sweet and bitter realities of life.

Munawar is a poet.

He is the author of five Punjabi poetry books, and with the poor and downtrodden as the subject of his poetry, he is considered a major voice of people living in suburban areas.

Born in 1969, Munawar lost his father during his childhood, and he was unable to receive any sort of formal education. Even then, he started composing verses as early as the age of 13. Ultimately, his first book Soch Samandar was published in 2004.

Munawar tells me that cobbling is his family profession. He says: “I make Rs250 to Rs300 daily by selling newspapers at local shops, and repairing shoes. From this money, I set aside Rs10 daily for getting my books published.”

His second book Pardes Di Sangat was published in 2005; third book Saddiyan De Bhait in 2009; fourth book Jhora Dhap Gawachi Da in 2011; and fifth Akhaan Mitti Ho Gaiyaan was published in 2013.

They are all award-winning books.

Munawar is a member of literary groups like the Royal Adabi Academy, Jaranwala and the Naqeebi Karvan-e-Adab. He has also received awards from organisations such as Ashna-e-Saandal Bar, Pakistan Writers’ Guild, and Punjabi Sevak.

“I make Rs250 to Rs300 daily by selling newspapers at local shops and repairing shoes.”—Photo by author

Talking about his poetry, he said that the elite and middle classes of the society have always subjected the lower classes to discrimination, and there is no one to raise a voice against the miseries and discrimination they face.

“I want to speak for the lower classes through my poetry, and those things which cannot be said directly, I want to say them through verse.”

Innu kinne paani ditta, innu kinne boya aey
Patthar de jo seene uttey, boota ugya hoya aey

[Who watered it, who sowed it,
The plant that grew on a heart of stone]

Munawar says that as a child, he most wanted an education but the early death of his father and the scarcity of resources had made it impossible.

“Thus, I purchased books myself and started reading. The habit is so ingrained now that I can’t sleep if I don’t read for four hours daily after work.”

The poet consciously chooses only to write in his mother tongue Punjabi.

“Punjabi is the mother tongue of Punjabis, and it is their right to be taught in this language. It is the job of the government to promote Punjabi and all regional languages.”

He thinks that for being a good poet, it is necessary to feel the pain of the humanity, which should reflect in the poetry.

His sixth book Taanghan, consisting 112 of his ghazals, will be available in markets by the end of this year.

“There is glory in hard work. I have no shame in repairing shoes, but I want people to be more aware, and I want them to read books so we can also stand in the ranks of developed nations.”

Munawar Shakeel’s teacher in literature, Ghulam Mustafa Azad Naqeebi, says people in suburban areas are not short of ability, but they often get left behind due to a shortage of resources.

According to the teacher, Munawar's poetry throbs with the pain of the downtrodden people. It is far from the traditional metaphors of love and intimacy, and closer to the needs, wishes, and difficulties of the common people.

Note: If you wish to purchase Munawar Shakeel’s books, send an e-mail at faisalabad@lokpunjab.org with your name, address, and phone number.

This article first appeared on Faisalabad Sujag and has been reproduced with permission. Translation by Bilal Karim Mughal.

American psychologists are in dire need of therapy. A scathing report documents the collusion between past executives of the American Psychological Association (APA) and the American defence establishment involved in torturing prisoners of war after 2001.

The report reveals that the APA executives, for years, provided professional cover to the enhanced interrogation techniques (psychologist’s speech for torture) meted out to the detainees at Guantanamo Bay, Bagram Airbase, and dozens of undisclosed holding cells across the world.

The APA is apologising for “deeply disturbing findings and organisational failures” that enabled psychologists to participate in torturing the detainees.

While this recent introspection and regret are welcome, they are neither sufficient nor sincere.

Also read: CIA torture sparks world outrage, demands for justice

Over several years, the APA executives consistently refused to acknowledge the alarms raised by its conscientious members aware of the possible excesses committed against the detainees. The latest report by attorney David Hoffman was reportedly commissioned to rebut the criticism, yet it offered further proof of guilt than innocence.

Furthermore, the APA is apologetic, but not apologising to those subjected to torture. Does the APA plan to reach out to thousands of inmates abused by the American investigators?

Would the APA be curious to know if its apology has been accepted by those sold by their governments to Americans in exchange for the bounty?

Even a bigger challenge lies ahead for the APA. The scale and scope of abuse are far more extensive than what the Hoffman report has unearthed. The report has focussed primarily on the abuse of detainees held by the Americans. It does not cover similar abuse of thousands more by the intelligence apparatchik in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, and many other countries.

Also read: Americans in Pakistan, Afghanistan warned after CIA torture report

Comments by Dr. Susan McDaniel, a member of the Independent Review’s Special Committee, on the Hoffman report suggest that the learned psychologists are still in denial.

“The Hoffman Report contains deeply disturbing findings that reveal previously unknown and troubling instances of collusion,” wrote Dr. McDaniel. But, here lies the problem.

Several psychologists who knew of the Presidential Task Force on Psychological Ethics and National Security (PENS) raised alarms about psychologists being coopted in possible torture and abuse. To claim ignorance now is to insult the intelligence and integrity of those who publically warned of the excesses resulting from the APA-CIA collusion.

Jean Maria Arrigo is one such psychologist who spent several years fighting the APA executives over the association’s collusion with the American defence establishment. In 2005, she found herself on the panel of PENS whose membership was purposefully devised to favour the dictates of the American defence establishment by stacking “it with representatives from the military and CIA.”

Ms. Arrigo expressed her concerns publically, including at the annual APA convention in 2007. Gerald Kooper, who served as the APA president in 2006, instead of looking into her concerns tried to discredit her by spreading lies about her family, suggesting the supposed suicide of her father. Ms. Arrigo’s father was alive when Mr. Kooper made false allegations about her.

The issue, however, is not merely confined to an academic debate between psychologists over what constitutes torture. International covenants on human rights are explicit about the rights of the accused, including those of the prisoners of wars.

What needs to be determined is the scale and scope of such abuses by the intelligence and defence officials of other governments whose complacency was bought by the Americans for hundreds of millions of dollars in aid money and payments to the uniformed bounty hunters.

In the absence of judicial oversight, detainees held in other countries at America’s behest faced the most inhumane treatment. Once the Americans ‘legitimised’ torture of detainees, they transferred their interrogation skills and techniques to their counterparts across the globe.

In fact, the interrogation methods deemed too harsh to be administered by the American officials were left to their counterparts in other countries where the judiciary was too weak to confront the defence establishments.

The APA executives must realise that they have a long way ahead of them to rebuild the name and repute of the organisation. The Hoffman report is just the first reluctant step to righting the wrongs. The Association has enough resources at its disposal to launch a global inquiry into the abuse and torture of detainees held by other governments at CIA’s behest.

A worthwhile development will be to develop a comprehensive database of abused detainees who were tortured by others at America's behest.

An untold number of these individuals to date remain unaccounted for. The families of many of those tortured in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, and elsewhere do not have the means to mount a legal defence. Nor do they have the resources to rebuild their self-esteems or broken bodies.

If the APA and others fail to intervene, the stories of most of the abused detainees will be lost forever, leaving no hope to learn from about the extent of our collective mistakes.

Later in August, the APA will hold its annual convention in Toronto. Thousands of psychologists are likely to attend. In the past, the APA executives were reluctant to acknowledge collusion in abuse or admit guilt. Will this convention be any different?

Barry S. Anton, the APA president, is scheduled to present the presidential address on August 08. His address will focus on “challenges and opportunities for psychologists in a changing world.”

I would suggest a different title for his address:

“Why psychologists should refrain from aiding and abetting state-sponsored torture.”

Manchar Lake, the floating village of Pakistan, lies 18 kilometres west of Sehwan Sharif on the Indus Highway. It is claimed to be one of the biggest freshwater lakes in Pakistan, and the only lake that is home to fishermen living on wooden boathouses for hundreds of years.

The lake spreads over an area of 233 square kilometres, and gets its water from the Kirthar hill torrents and river Indus. The fisher folk, known as Mirbahar or Mohannas have been living here for centuries and survive on the available fish stock in the lake.

A thinly carpeted road towards the west on main Indus highway leads to Manchar Village. The village is small, mainly comprising of a main market that is crowded with fishermen in groups, sipping chai, watching TV and discussing local politics.

The market has one mosque, a few roadside restaurants, a grocery shop and a vegetable shop.

I was travelling with a friend, both of us filled with curiosity to explore the floating village. The sun had already gone down by the time we reached. Our first look at the lake presented the beautiful, serene picture of a golden sunset and the silhouette of boats and fishermen returning home.

Sunset over Lake Manchar.

One of the floating villages on the lake.

Fishermen return home at sunset.

Main bazaar of the Manchar village.

One of the fishermen, Allah Wasayo, and his uncle offered us a tour ride to the lake on their smaller boat. As we left the shore, we crossed through boat villages with a number of boats parked together, and families sitting outside, preparing their meal for the night.

The fishermen told me: “We own no land but boats, we live on boats that have been passed onto us from generation to generation”. There are different floating villages of different communities on the lake.

We asked Allah Wasayo if we could spend the night in the floating village in one of the boathouses, to which he offered us his own boat, a dinner with his family and a ride in the middle of the lake. We negotiated a price for the services and the experience they were about to give.

We were dropped at the shore to bring groceries for the dinner that his family would make for us, and later hopped on a bigger boat, which Allah Wasayo took in the middle of the lake, away from the shore.

Allah Wasayo.

Our hosts, Allah Wasayo and Chacha.

We leave the shore on a smaller boat.

The boathouse is simply a wooden boat with a big compartment in the middle, which acts as a living room, with a compartment for storage and sleeping on one side. One boat allows eight to 10 people to sleep on. Every fishermen family owns a boathouse and a smaller boat to commute.

“Our forefathers had a good time out on the lake. They had fresh, clean water and enough fish stock to make a good living. They were able to make boathouses for us. The lake now is contaminated with polluted water that has killed most of the fish stock, and I cannot afford to make another boat,” said Allah Wasayo.

As we continued our discussion, Allah Wasayo’s family prepared dinner for us at the other end of the boat. We were served Chicken Biryani in a round dish under the candlelight.

The boathouse.

The fishermen family preparing dinner on boat house.

Chacha relaxing after dinner inside the boathouse.

Chacha relaxing after dinner inside the boathouse.

Allah Wasayo provided us with a Rilli to sleep on, a local quilt made by the women of his village. He parked the boat somewhere in the middle of the lake. It was a cold and windy night with a full moon. The fishermen chatted and sang folk songs all night long, while the waves crashed the boats every now and then, swinging us to sleep.

The fisher folk live far from what others consider the basic needs of life, like electricity. They live in complete harmony with nature. Every day with the sunrise, their day begins and with the sun, it sets too. They follow the lunar calendar.

There are smaller island on lake that have houses of the fishermen.

A sleeping chamber for family in the boathouse.

Rilli is the traditional quilt made by the women here; they make it mostly for personal use.

Fishermen go fishing in the boathouse early in the morning.

We woke up before dawn. The night's cold had carried on into the morning. Allah Wasayo made us chai and then started the motor to take us to the shrine in the middle of the lake. The other fishermen were busy hunting ducks and fishing as we headed towards a shrine. The grave of the saint was covered with bushes and a surrounding brick wall. We offered our prayer and headed back to the shore.

Allah Wasayo leaves early morning for fishing.

He struggles against the strong wind of the morning.

All the catch is sold to the contractor.

Pushing the boat forward through the bushes.

At times, he has to struggle crossing the bushes in the lake.

The fishermen who live on the lake are poor, and give all the fish they catch to the contractor who hires them at a minimal daily wage. The lake is now heavily polluted, and receives less freshwater and more toxic water – mainly drain water from Main Nara Valley (MNV).

Drain water containing industrial and agricultural waste is the main cause of contamination in the lake. The government has planned to divert the drain to the Arabian Sea via the Right Bank Outfall Drain (RBOD), but progress on this front has been really slow.

The area used to be a major big stopover for migratory birds from Siberia and once provided a livelihood to 10,000 fisher folk, living on 2000 boats. Now, it is just a threatened wetland.

The lake and the boat.

Allah Wasayo manouevres the boat. In the background is the shrine on the island.

Thousands of those fishermen have been forced to relocate to other areas for employment, abandoning their traditional way of life. The fisher folk have to buy drinking water from other sources as the lake water is now contaminated. The salinity of water is increasing day by day, making it difficult for the fish to survive and giving rise to a number of diseases in the village.

Upon returning, despite the lingering awe of the beautiful lake and the ancientness of life in and around it, I could only think of how how ignorant we are to damage our environment this way.

—All photos by author

Adopted by the Abid family as a young pup, Milli was a gentle, loving dog, as Labradors tend to be.

On one occasion, an injured pigeon landed in Milli’s house. While the Abid family nursed it for days, Milli too played her part, watching over it like a silent guardian until it was well enough to fly away.

Milli loved her walks too. The outside smells and sights were likely an intoxicating concoction. A few days ago, Milli was out on one her cherished walks with the head of the Abid family, 71-year old Aley, who had her on a leash.

As Aley and Milli strolled by a house, Milli noticed a peculiar sight; something she was not likely to have come across regularly. It was a peacock, which belonged to Senior Superintendent Police (SSP) Fida Hussain.

The pet peacock, out of its cage, was strolling under the watchful eye of the SSP’s uniformed police guard. Milli immediately began barking at the peacock. Now, anyone familiar with dogs will tell you this was merely out of curiosity.

In response, the SSP’s uniformed guard aimed his weapon at the excited Labrador, and fired. His bullet, whistling past a shocked Aley, piercing Milli.

Before firing his weapon, the guard did not make any attempt to distract the dog. He also had no regard for Aley, who had Milli on a leash.

It was a traumatic moment for Aley, who understandably, was left shaken. His son, Jaffer Raza, reached soon after, but by then, Milli was dead, her now lifeless body a traumatic sight for her family.

To add to this, the guard did not show an ounce of remorse for the murderous act. Instead, with contempt, he said, “Jo kerna hay woh kerlay (Now do whatever you want to).”

News of the killing spread on social media like wildfire. The hashtag #JusticeForMilli began trending on Twitter where influential journalists and politicians such as Sherry Rehman took notice. On the Pakistan Animal Welfare (PAWS) Facebook page, Academy Award winner Sharmeen Obaid also expressed shock at the news.

The Abid family maintained incredible grace in the face of such heartbreak. Rather than seeking vengeance, they tried to use Milli’s death as a catalyst for change.

They asked the SSP to not only take action against the guard in question, but introduce a written protocol for his guards on circumstances which justify firing weapons in residential neighbourhoods.

Aley’s daughter Zehra Abid informed me on Twitter that the SSP was very apologetic, and seemed genuinely sympathetic towards the grief of the Abid family. He also agreed to donate a sum to an animal welfare charity amounting to the value of an adult Labrador.

Milli as a puppy.

Milli’s murder certainly speaks volumes of the disdain we, in Pakistan, have towards animals.

As someone who grew up with all sorts of pets, I feel frustrated at the cruelty our stray cats, dogs, donkeys, camels, and horses are subjected to.

Nothing exemplifies this better than a typical stray dog in Pakistan.

In neighbouring countries, such as Nepal and Thailand, I see stray dogs living in harmony with their environment. Tails wagging, they are ever ready for a petting by strangers, and feel no fear. Why would they? Dogs are impressionable creatures, and the personalities they develop are a reflection of their environment.

In Pakistan, however, stray dogs are absolutely terrified of human beings. It is because we stone them, kick them, and throw sticks at them, that they develop anxiety which sometimes translates into aggression as a means of self-preservation.

Dogs are incredibly loyal and loving beasts, and known as man’s best friend for a reason. Endless stories throughout the ages prove that many of them have bigger hearts than most of us humans.

It is tragic how creatures with such wonderful emotional intelligence live in fear of humans in Pakistan.

A few years ago, I was awoken by the cries of a dog in an empty plot next to my house. This continued for a couple of hours until I finally got out of bed and went outside. To my shock, I saw three guards, torturing a stray dog with sticks and sharp rocks. The dog was not only crying, but bleeding profusely.

Seething with fury, I approached the chuckling men and demanded to know why they were tormenting the poor animal. The tallest of the three, towering my six foot frame by at least five more inches and armed to the teeth threatened, “Yeh toh bas kutta hai. Tu apnay kaam say kaam rakh (He is just a dog, you'd better mind your own business)”.

I tried to appeal to his sense of ethics by quoting Islamic teachings on animal treatment, to which the man growled, “Toh hum kya kaafir hay? (Are you saying we are infidels?)”. Thankfully, the poor mutt ran away as we argued.

Recently, on the popular Facebook page ‘Halaat Updates’, a person asked for advice on how he could kill a stray dog who was howling in the nights and not letting him sleep. I’d like to ask such people why our lives are more valuable than those of animals?

Are we as human beings more deserving of life than them?

Are our lives more priceless simply because animals cannot speak for themselves, and lack the capacity to fight for their own rights?

On the contrary, does our higher standing not make it our obligation to protect creatures that are unable to fend for themselves?

Since the majority of this nation is Muslim, I encourage people to read this BBC page on Islam’s treatment of animals.

One can only hope for real change following Milli’s murder. As for Milli herself, I have a feeling she’s up there in doggy heaven, happy and loving as ever.

Milli was a gentle dog.

“What’s the English word for editorial guidelines?” I thought to myself as I fumbled and then eventually froze, quickly hanging up in the middle of a telephonic interview for my dream job.

I realised I was already speaking in English but I couldn’t hear myself over the crippling, terrifying feeling that I was going to mess up the interview.

For the rest of the day, merely talking seemed like the most difficult thing to do. I hadn’t gotten out of bed, except for meals, in days.

Three years to this day, I had chalked it all down to just being lazy; it was always either my love for sleeping or being a hermit. It wasn’t until much later that I discovered being an introvert had nothing to do with my depression, but it did make it more difficult to acknowledge my condition.

I say, my depression, because I feel there is nothing more personal than one’s own state of mind and how that shapes the rest of your body, who you are, and the constant inner dialogue as a result of which, what others know of you.

Also read: Suicide and depression: Can we snap out of snap judgements?

For the past five years I have struggled with a constant sinking feeling, like I have been walking in a dark alleyway for hundreds and thousands of miles and ever so often stumble down a long winding staircase.

I could be laughing, falling in love, horrified, excited, afraid or ecstatic but all of these states seemed to be temporary, soon to be replaced by the same familiar fall.

“What is depression?” I often wondered. I wasn’t crying every day, in fact, I wasn’t crying at all.

My instinctive reaction to any massive problem would be to jump in and solve it. But then, there was the inability to move; my depression was exhausting me.

I often attributed my back pain to lazy days, the constant throbbing ache at the back of my head often served as a reminder that everything usual was just temporary.

There has never been an escape; I have been in situations where just turning in bed could take up to an hour as I couldn’t get myself to move. Of course, those who have met me do not relate to any of this; over the years I learnt how to blend in and just move along.

But, I kept falling.

I still stumble every day, but it has gotten better. Even though I have always been interested in studying psychiatry, which is eventually what I would like to do in life, I was still doubtful about Cognitive Behavioural Therapy until I tried it out.

I have suffered from crippling depression, the kind that leaves you immobile, with zero motivation to move, to think, to do.

I have battled flashbacks from haunted times that would make me feel vulnerable as I sat in the comfort of my home.

I have woken up in the middle of the night screaming in sheer agony, the debilitating physical pain cutting like a knife, tweaking inside of me, turning every muscle into knots.

I put up with all of this without ever acknowledging that I needed to speak to someone.

I "worked on myself" and tried to have a “normal life”. It was and is a daily battle; and there is absoluty no rhyme or reason.

I couldn't tell you what is wrong or why I feel low because I don't know it myself.

What did help me was talking to a therapist.

It’s not your usual, “tell me all your problems” session, it’s actually work like managing a problem. It was no different to a visit to a neurologist who’d ask me “so what do you think triggers your migraines”.

Trigger, is a word I learnt very early on in life, akin to lighting a fuse. There is no light at the end of this tunnel, but it’s okay; I am learning to be familiar with the dark. It is okay to be imperfect, to struggle; it is okay to be a mess.

I can understand why people do not get help. Women in Pakistan are raised to be wary of what society may think of them; the fact that they need to live a flawless life.

Also read: Why Deepika's fearless disclosure is important for South Asia

If you are a young woman who is feeling low, you are either looking for attention or struggling with insecurities women must face every day.

If you are a young man struggling with depression, you are too much of a 'girl', you need to be a man and shake it off. Clinical depression is a state of mind, it is an illness.

Can you shake off a headache? A migraine? Diarrhea? A fracture? Mental health is no different from physical, in fact mental health issues manifest as physical symptoms.

You can’t just cheer up, shake it off or get over it.

I fought it for three years before I finally decided to give Cognitive Behavioural Therapy a try. It worked for me. I can not vouch that it will help others, but I am speaking out publicly now, because I see so many others around me who struggle so much and not just against depression but the tiresome fighting against the stigma of mental health.

Also read: I didn’t want them to think I was crazy...

It's okay to not be okay. Read about therapy, look for ways you can help yourself but most of all, do not let your relationship with yourself be defined by what others might think.

Mental health illness a reality and some of us may forever live in the dark, but while we are at it let’s give ourselves the opportunity to get familiar with it.

From Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif

Dear patriots and patwaris,

Assalamualaikum. Full stop. New para.

I take this asparagus … err … aus … aus… auspicious occasion to greet you all a very hefty … err … happy Eid. Mubarak.

New Para. Dear patriots and patwaris, this year, my government completed its second year in power and as you can see, mashallah, cucumbers … err … nothing en .. en … encumbers the economic progress of the country because all imported mints … err … imp … imp … impediments are being successfully removed, inshallah, mahshallah, alhamdulillah, excreta. New para.

Dear compatriots ... this Eid is a special Eid. Why? Because, my government has finally bought economic prostate artistry … err.. pros … Prosperity … and peace through many effective mangroves … errm … mangos … err … manoeuvres. Full stop.

No new para. So end of massage … err … message … excreta.

From Asif Ali Zardari

Dear Jiyalas and Jiyalees, both genuine and jaalis,

Eid Mubarak to you all from the bastion of our party’s struggle against economic exploitation, injustice and intolerance: Dubai.

Seven years ago, our party lost a great leader and I took over the reins of the party to make sure that it survives and continues to thrive as Pakistan’s largest democratic party.

I led it to victory across Pakistan in 2008, then across Sindh in 2013, and rest assured, I will now lead it to victory across Larkana and Dadu in the 2018 elections.

Dear Jiaylas and Jiyalees, our party is going through some tough times just because it stands for serving the interests of the peasants and the working-classes for whom our selfless ministers in Sindh have been amassing millions of rupees through some ingenious ways and deals. But, alas, the establishment is casting a suspicious eye on us, calling us incompetent and corrupt.

The tragic thing is that now even my own son, Bilawal, has begun to point fingers at us, but what does he know about the poor peasants and working class folks that we serve! Folks like Pir Saheb of Naudero, Sain Maulabakhsh Wadero, Seth Chachar Chandio and so many otherso. Agreeo? Goodo.

Dear friends and members of the party, I urge you all to celebrate this Eid with the peasants and the working-class folk. And for those coming to visit me at my humble mud abode in Dubai, just wanted to inform you that the Dubai Mall is having a great Eid sale. So come on over, and we’ll both shop for the happiness of the toiling masses. Eid khapay!

From Imran Khan

Oyyye my inquilaabian insaafians,

Eid Mubarak! As I dictate this message to Arif Alvi, some fans are photographing me saying my Eid prayers so they can spread these photos across the internet on Eid day just as they do photographs of me saying all my other prayers! I am very pious, oooyyye!

My message is that on Chaand Raat, look closely at the moon. Look at all the craters on it. Count these craters. Last year, I counted 35. Now I can see 71! Jahangir saheb told me these craters were created by Najam Sethi in collaboration with the famous CIA astronaut and PML-N patwari, Neil Armstrong. It is these craters that stole our mandate in Punjab!

So oyyye Armstrong! When I come to power, I will hang you at the Imran Khan Enclosure at the Gaddafi Stadium to the funky music of DJ Butt!

So rejoice, my inquilaabian insafians, Eid aa nahi rahi. Eid aa gai hai!

♪♫ Jab aye ga Imran, barhay gi shaan, baney ga naya Pakistan, baney ga naya Pakistan … ♪♫

Okay. Now back to praying pose.

From Altaf Hussain

‘Brothers … (15-minute gap) … and sisters… (18-minute gap) … a very … (17-minute gap) … happy Eid …. (18-minute gap) … But …. (21-minute gap) … what was I saying?’

(Reminded by party leaders: ‘Bhai, you were giving us your Eid message …’)

‘Haan … yes … Eid … sweet Eid … like gulab jaman … (14-minute gap) … Eid … Gulab Jaman … Nirala Sweets … Lahore … Punjab …. Eid and … … (line breaks) … toot, toot, toot …’

(Connection restored): So … Rangers …. Disconnecting my line … but … (19 minute gap) … but, brothers and sisters …. But …. (20 minute gap) … but what?

(Reminded by party leaders: ‘Bhai, but we will stay strong…’)

Yes … this Eid … strong Eid … sweet Eid … Sweet pumpkin … Pumpkin meaning kaddu … pumpkin meaning?

(‘Kaddu, bhai, kaddu’)

Haan … kaddu. This Eid, I will resign.

(‘No, bhai no, you can’t, who will lead us?’)

Kaddu! I have made up my mind … I will resign!

(‘No, bhai, no, you can’t’)

Okay … I won’t. I take my resignation back. My Eid message to my supporters is … (17 minutes gap) … that … (14 minutes gap) … where … (50s minute gap) … where …

(‘What is the message, bhai?’)

Where is my Eidi?

From Junaid Jamshed

How wonderful it is to look at the Eid moon. But dear brethren and sisteren and sisteren who became brethren, have you ever wondered what lies between your eyes and the Eid moon? There are millions of miles of sinful dust, clouds and space between you and the moon.

So, my fellow brethren and sisteren and sisteren who became brethren, I offer you special 100 per cent Shariah-compliant lenses! You can place them on your eyeballs and then look at the Eid moon without being contaminated and corrupted by all that sinful dust.

Place your order now! Call 111-KON-BANAY-GA-JJ. Remember, brethren and sisteren and sisteren who became brethren: You pay, I pray!

Also, brethren, please don’t allow the sisteren to drive. It’s a sin. Send them to my driving school in London where we teach the sisteren to unlearn their driving skills. This Eid I am offering up to 50 per cent discount! Eid Mubarak.

From Hamza Ali Abbasi (on Facebook)

Dear fraands,

First of all a very happy Eid and second of all screw those who don’t like my ideas and thoughts and third of all Imran Khan Zindabad and fourth of all we need to stand up to the cruel and corrupt leaders and fifth of all do watch my special Eid play on HumTV and seventh of all report to PTI’s moral steering committee anyone you think is gay.

Fraands, this Eid, to show how aware I am to the plight of the poor in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Myanmar and Bhutan, I have decided not to get my Eid haircut from Nabila or Tariq Amin and instead get one from their assistants.

Secondly, I will be donating over 1,000 empty plastic Pepsi bottles to old women who have never seen a light bulb in their lives. Yes, fraands, both Pepsi and I believe there are still such people in our beloved country, so I appeal to you, this Eid, donate empty bottles to those who have never ever in their lives seen a light bulb. This way more and more people will buy Pepsi and defeat the malicious designs of Coca-Cola that is owned by Zionists and anti-Pakistan elements, and, of course, gays.

I know I will again be criticised for speaking my mind, but I damn care because I only care for beloved country, faith, future, light camera action!

Fraands, Romans, countrymen and petite models, lastly but not leastly, thank you for your support, prayers and kisses – even though I have reported the men who sent the kisses.

If there is a single abbreviation that defines the nature of new media discourse, it is 'RIP'.

From an expression of grief and condolence, the acronym 'RIP' has now come to represent one's status in erudition and updatedness; a knowledge statement. Every time a renowned author, an actor, or a public figure passes away, 'RIP' erupts as a buzzword on all kinds of interactive spaces on the internet.

I did not know that Abdullah Hussain, Maya Angelou, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Terry Pratchett had a wide readership in Pakistan, until my Facebook timeline was flooded with RIP posts for these authors, coupled with random quotes. Nor was I aware that Anita Ekberg, Christopher Lee and Omar Sharif were this popular until the RIPs started pouring out after their deaths. And only recently have I learned that La Dolce Vita and Doctor Zhivago have always been the two most favourite films in Pakistan. I am still sceptical.

I’m sceptical because we live in sceptical times. So sceptical are these times that we are forced to redefine the most fundamental, the most sublime of virtues we always have taken for granted.

There are calls to redefine Knowledge, which has always been the most unquestioned virtue of human beings. There are debates if education is the solution of all the ills of society. If yes, what education? What about the fact that a quite many of modern mass murderers and terrorists have emerged from well-educated backgrounds lately? Is any education a good education?

Also read: From IBA graduate to 'terror suspect'?

Interesting times, when the most firmly founded values are shaking like leaves in the wind.

Knowledge is the first victim of the age of information and fluid identity. The identity is not a fixed idea anymore. We are at many places at the same time. We are imprisoned in our bodies and at the same time we are out there on the internet, beyond our bodies, as an active part of the world that is ceaseless and boundless.

Today, we are more than our fleshly bodies. We are important, or at least we feel that way. Much more important than we used to be before the age of new media. In order to keep up with that boundless and ceaseless world out there, we need active participation.

We need to be knowledgeable in order to keep that feeling of being important alive. And therein lies the problem.

The problem is, we are only as knowledgeable as we are in our physical lives. Our virtual personas can not be any more knowledgeable than we actually are.

This is where data comes into the picture.

Data exists in innumerable forms on the internet. It is information, and news, and books, and quotes, and films, and essays, and everything. It’s only a click and some fractions of a second away from us. We can always manipulate data, learn a thing or two about some author who has just passed away, read a review of some book that we have never read, or go through some comments on a movie that we haven’t got the time to watch. This exercise usually suffices to put up an RIP post or put your two cents in some online discussion.

However, that is not end of story. The RIP phenomenon has its own far-reaching implications.

Take a look: My ‘pick and mix’ Muslim female identity

It imparts a false sense of knowledge that is not there in the first place. Knowledge has this distinctive quality to reflect in approach, opinions, and attitudes owing to the wisdom it sows into human mind. Information sans knowledge is not wisdom but pretence of wisdom, which is more lethal than the absence of wisdom. It leads to extreme opinions, uncivilised behaviours, and knee-jerk reactions. Virtual space is replete with it today.

The same is true for education. Education, in and of itself, is not an agent of social change. It is deeply rooted economic, historical and ideological factors, and their relation to the structure of power, which not only determine the social and political attitudes but also define what knowledge and education stand for in a particular time and age.

Just as data itself is not knowledge, curriculum and academia are not necessarily interchangeable to the grand concept of education that will put an end to all the misery of humanity. Both data and the curriculum are merely the means, their utility resting entirely with contemporary material conditions.

Also read: Is more information making us more wise?

For this very reason, it is important today to question our approach towards knowledge. By the same token, it is imperative today to challenge the axiom that education is a remedy for all social ills. There’s a pressing need to go back to the roots once again and ask the same question that Karl Marx did:

Who will educate the educators?

RIP is a sad expression. It becomes even sadder when we are obliged to use it. And it’s the saddest thing in the world when we don’t even mean it. But then, the quest for meaning is the most tragic fiasco of our times.

T. S. Eliot comes to mind:

“Where is the life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?”

People claim racism is a western phenomenon and that its roots sprouted there. However, we forget the subtle, latent racism that flies by every day in our own society. It has merely been overshadowed by Pakistan's other, bigger problems, like terrorism or corruption.

So, how does this subliminal racism show? The answer is simple and well-known; although it is sometimes evident in the attitudes of people towards one another, one key marker of it is reflected in the constant commercials advertising various 'fairness creams'. The main incentive shown in these ads for consumers is the promise of a fairer complexion, of beauty and lifelong partners. Here, the underlying takeaway message that we, Pakistani girls, keep getting bombarded with is that this product should be sitting amongst our everyday cosmetics.

See: Fairness creams have nothing fair for skin

I won't blame the makers or the salesmen. Not entirely.

I blame the mindset behind our perceptions of beauty, where, for some odd reason, despite our "brown" genes, grandmothers and other female relatives in particular struggle to understand that being "fair" is not and should not be the goal. And that being dark is not a flaw.

In a country where it is genetically common to have dark skin, the fact that people see that as a problem does not make sense. 

It is quite ridiculous to see that even now, when aunties are out hunting for potential wives for their sons, the fairer one always captures their eye because in their mind that is beautiful. It makes you almost forget what century you're living in. Our society appears to have no qualms about being stuck in the past.

Also read: Reclaiming our bodies, redefining the 'perfect bahu'

Back to the bewildering issue of genetically brown-skinned people having a problem with other brown-skinned people, where did this start from and why does this problem still exist? And most of all, why don't we criticise our society and the people around us for being party to this trend?

We could criticise the companies for creating these 'fairness creams' or blame the West all we want for introducing us to racist ideologies. We could even lambast the media for catering to and perpetuating this mindset. But a more honest effort would be to zero in on the problem where it is easier to fix – and that is ourselves.

Also read: The complexion obsession

We have let this disgusting notion run amok in our society; no one questioned this sickness or wondered out loud why we have a problem with our own skin colour. Rather, the popular use of skin-lightening products has only encouraged this unhealthy, archaic ideal. 

Why are we not helping our people understand and see that we must fight off this thinking and make them see and understand what they are promoting and how damaging it is?

As a girl brought up in this society, I can safely say that this mindset which I would call a sickness has done irreparable damage to our thought processes.

It keeps pressuring women into thinking our skin colour is eventually the key to a better life. It has taught men that it is "fair" women who are more attractive. And it has taught society that such thinking is acceptable. But, it is not.

What it has really done is create, maintain and promote a false model of what is good in life itself.

Related:

• Beauty is gori
  
• 4 Indian actresses who stood up for themselves
  

There are several things that keep pushing me, over and over, to visit the Marghazar Valley in Swat: Mount Elum, the lush green gorgeous landscape, serene environment, its historical sacredness, and above all, the White Palace of the state era in its lap.

Located about 13 kilometres southward from Saidu Sharif, the magnificent royal building of the White Palace sits amidst the lush greenery of the narrow valley of Marghazar, in wait to throw a magical spell over tourists as soon they take their first step into its spacious lawn.

I must mention here that the White Palace is located along the sacred stream running down from Mount Elum, where Ram Chandra Jee Maharajah had once spent three years of Banr Bass (jungle life), leaving it sacred for Hindus.

Seeing the gorgeous landscape, there is little surprise that the first ruler of the modern Swat state, Miangul Abdul Wadood alias Badshah sahab, had decided in 1935 to construct a royal summer house here.

The white marbles for this structure were brought from the marble quarry in Jaipur in India, the same quarry from which the Taj Mahal's marble came from.

According to Miangul Shehryar Amir Zeb, who is the grandson of Miangul Jahanzeb (the last ruler of Swat), Miangul Abdul Wadood Badshah sahab visited Rajasthan in India, and was fascinated by the white marble used for the palace of the Maharaja of Rajasthan.

“Badshah sahab was so impressed by the white marble that he brought it from Jaipur in India on his return to Swat,” he said.

About the architecture and its material, renowned architect and civil society member, Shaukat Sharar informed me:

“It was the first building in the entire region constructed on Victorian architecture. It has a multilayered roof, starting from a bronze layer to the wooden layer of deodar tree, lime layer, mud layer, and again a deodar layer with an iron layer to the outer top.”

Its bronze, used in the ceiling, was brought from Belgium, and its artisan from Turkey. Its ceiling fans and its electrical equipment were imported from England, and they're all still working.

When the palace was erected to its 35-feet high stature, it was named Swati Taj Mahal, later called Moti Mahal but presently, Sufaid Mahal.

I especially took note of the thick and well-designed flora and fauna, which adds to the beauty and dignity of the palace. Currently, the palace is being run as a hotel where a large number of tourists come only for its breathtaking architecture and historical background.

“What attract people most is its location, style and material. It is a white jewel stuck in a dark green emerald-green carpet of grass. Its three-terraced building architecture adds detail to its beauty,” Zahoor Ahmad, a tourist from Lahore told me, adding that the building effuses a royal aura into the air around it.

My personal favourite is the Royal Suite, once the personal room of the ruler of Swat state, and where, later, Queen Elizabeth II of England stayed on her visit to Swat valley in 1961.

There are a number of old historical photos in one of the verandas of the White Palace, including those of Miangul Abdul Wadood and Miangul Jahanzeb Abdul Haq – the last ruler of the modern state – and Queen Elizabeth II, during her visit to Swat.

From the King's lobby, one can enjoy a stunning view of the garden lawn; and from the King's veranda, a splendid view of the lush green mountains and a swirling stream of crystal clear water.

“Besides taking in the serene calmness and the cool weather here, the white marble and items made out of it are another thing worth seeing,” says Saira Iftikhar, another tourist from Islamabad. “I really loved to see its olden style fans and electric boards and other equipment. The white lamps and the telephone set of the 1940s in the Royal suite have their own charm.”

Despite its history, it was sad to see parts of the White Palace crumbling away; some of the marble chairs and tables lie broken and scattered, while the bronze ceiling is also chipping in some areas.

During my stay, I couldn't help but reach out to the hotel administration to take due care of these precious items, and carry out regular repair work in them, as it is not merely a hotel but our cultural heritage. On the government's part, I discovered an intense lack of interest in preserving our cultural legacy.

Marghuzar Valley is a famous tourists attraction which to this day remains flocked with tourists in the summer, as well as winter seasons. In the summer, tourists enjoy its pleasant weather, cold water springs, ripe persimmons, apricot and peaches and high peak mountains. And in winter, the valley attracts tourists for its unending white snow sheet.

In both seasons, the White Palace stands tall, casting a spell of enchantment on all who visit.

—All photos by author

Fazal Khaliq is a journalist with a focus on culture, tourism and archaeology.

He is the author of The Uddiyana Kingdom: The Forgotten Holy Land of Swat and runs the website, The Morning Post.

My memories associated with Ramazan and meethi Eid are of wonderful times with family, friends; food, laughter, joy and of course, saviyaan.

My mother made the most delicious saviyaan come Eid every year, however, it was only Eid kay Eid. As my father returned home from the mosque after Eid namaz, we would line up for Eidi, and our wonderful cook Basher would bring in the trolley laden with delectable Eid goodies, with the golden saviyaan always sitting front and center.

I was never a saviyaan (vermicelli) fan up until my mother asked me how I could claim to be a foodie and not like saviyaan! Her doubtfulness about my passion for food made me rethink, and come Eid-ul-fitr 1993, for the first time I tasted and became a lifelong fan of the Eid saviyaan.

Saviyaan and Sheer Khurma are both Eid favourites, and are considered Mughlai. Sheer means milk in Persian and Khurma means dates, how and when vermicelli was added to this delightful dessert is anyone’s guess.

The cooks in the royal kitchens decided to make a ghee, sugar dessert (much in the style of halvah, a reduction dessert) keeping the vermicelli as the base. Milk was used to make the dessert, but only sparingly and it was topped with all kinds of nuts.

The Oxford companion to food by Alan Davidson says the following about saviyaan;

Sev and Seviyaan; Indian noodle term. The Sanskrit name for noodles is sevika, which may derive from an unrecorded word meaning thread connected with the root siv, which refers to sewing.

Sev are crisp fried noodles prepared from besan flour. To make them a special press, a sev maker is used. They are a popular snack food in the subcontinent.

Seviyan (also seviya, sivayya, shavayi) usually refers to a sweet dish of vermicelli noodles [made from flour, and or flour, semolina].

In an article published in the newsletter Fine Dining, titled Celebrating Eid-al-Fitr around the world (and the table), food writer James Brennan writes the following about the tradition of serving saviyaan on Eid;

Pakistani and Bangladeshi households all over the world will celebrate with a comforting bowl of seviyan kheer. The desert has its origins in Mughal cuisine, and combines roasted vermicelli with condensed milk, cardamom, pistachios, saffron and ghee, and can be served either hot or cold with a decoration of silver leaf. Seviyan may appear in various guises at Eid: sheer khurma adds dates and cashew nuts to the mix, while meethi seviyan omits the milk, but has all the other ingredients.

Generally, fresh ripened dates, dry dates and various nuts are used in the making of saviyaan.

The Edible Magazine featured a great story on Eid and the importance of dates, it stated;

*Eating dates at dusk is as old as Ramazan itself. Prophet Mohammed (PBUH) is said to have ended his own fast with the fruit, which is among the sweetest on Earth. This sugary morsel gives any fasting observer a quick boost of energy, a few dates at the end of a long day of fasting quickly helps revitalize mind and body. Therefore, it is no wonder that after a month of intense focus and fasting, much of the celebration food on Eid morning is in the form of desserts laden with dates.’

Traditionally, saviyaan is made with vermicelli, a very fine kind of spaghetti. It is cooked using a small amount of milk, dates, and adding a variety of dry fruits to make it a truly rich and aromatic dessert. Saviyaan and Sheer Khurma is a customary Muslim festive breakfast or dessert dish and is served to family and friends to show hospitality and joy on this happy occasion.

The Oxford companion of sugar and sweets by Sidney Mintz, Michael Krondl, Eric Rath, Laura Mason, Geraldine Quinzio and Ursula Heinzelmann says the following about Eid desserts in Pakistan;

The end of Ramazan, called Eid Al-Fitr, is celebrated with such desserts as sewiyan (vermicelli pudding) and the similar sheer khurma, vermicelli cooked in thickened, sweetened milk with nuts and raisins. Another traditional festive dish is zarda, a sweet, saffron color rice pilaf, made with rice, thickened milk, sugar and nuts, and flavored with rose water.

The Eid fiesta brings with it sublime food flavours. After a month of strict abstinence, Eid-ul-Fitr is associated with feasting and would not be complete without the saviyaan and its abundance. The recipe I share with you today comes from Shazli auntie’s kitchen. It is delicious, quick and makes for a delightfully sweet Eid morning.

Here it is, from my kitchen to yours.

Ingredients (serves 4 to 6)

2 cups of vermicelli, crushed roughly
2 ½ cups or full crème milk
¾ cups sugar, or to taste
2 to 3 tbsp. butter (or more for a richer dessert)
10 to 12 green cardamoms
6 dried dates (chopped lengthwise)
¾ cup (pistachios, almonds, cashews, raisins)
Pinch of salt

Method

Heat butter, gradually adding vermicelli and then roast on low heat for a few minutes.

Remove from pan and set aside. In the same pan roast nuts, dates and cardamom, adding milk, sugar, salt, and cook until milk dries. Serve hot or cold.

Akhtar Balouch, also known as the Kiranchi Wala, ventures out to bring back to Dawn.com’s readers the long forgotten heritage of Karachi. Stay tuned to this space for his weekly fascinating findings.

All preparations had been made in the Eid Gah (prayer ground) for Eid day prayers. Attentive bureaucrats are overseeing the prayer arrangements. Prayer time is fast approaching. The head of the country, however, is yet to arrive. All serving eyes longingly share stares, silently asking one another; when will he come?

One low-ranking officer brought the country head’s Aide-de-Camp’s attention to the hour; it was later than late. The ADC did not pay any heed. The low-ranking officer tried yet again to remind the ADC that the time for the prayer had long arrived. The ADC, now with a face that clearly stated he was holding himself from completely losing his cool, gave the time-reminding prayer enthusiast a look of displeasure and told him to tell the prayer leader that the prayer will only start when the sahib is here.

The officer made it a marching task and went straight to the prayer leader.

To the ADC’s displeasure, the officer could again be seen rushing back towards him. It had only been a few minutes. “The prayer leader has refused to delay the prayer, sir,” he said to the ADC. Now, the look that the ADC had on his face was of worry, and not displeasure.

While the ADC was still trying to figure out the next step, he heard the cracking noise of the loudspeakers followed by an announcement asking prayer participants to stand up and form horizontal queues so the prayer could begin. The sitting, waiting audience suddenly rose to righteousness.

The prayer had begun. Everyone was erect, body and soul, in the audience of the one and only God, thanking him for the joyous occasion.

The ADC ran to the central entrance of the Eid Gah only to see that the official vehicle of the country head was parked right outside. He ran to the in-charge of the security detail and asked, “Where is he?” The country head was standing in the last queue, praying like a commoner. The ADC had by now lost it. He could only wait until the prayer ended. So he did.

When the prayer ended, the ADC went to the country head and told him that he had asked the prayer leader to delay the prayer but could not get him to agree. The ADC must have been expecting that the country head would have an outburst and would surely punish the prayer leader for his disobedience. Instead, the country head was all praise for the prayer leader.

Those were the good old days when the country heads prayed with groups of people and the country’s only news channel Pakistan Television would later tell the whole world how the country head had ‘mingled with the crowds’. The crowds, of course, were mostly law enforcement personnel without their uniforms.

It was the first Eid day prayer after Pakistan had come into existence.

The country head who prayed in the last queue as a commoner was none other than Quaid-i-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah. The prayer leader was Moulana Zahoor-ul-Hasan Dars. In later times, in the same Pakistan, a revolutionary moulavi (Muslim religious leader) – who is quite impressed by a certain Gullu Butt – had delayed the Friday prayer for half an hour so that one Mr Sharif could comfortably stand in the first row.

Quaid-i-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah offering Eid prayers in the last rows.

It has often been said that Karachi’s first Eid Gah is located on Bandar Road, opposite Jamia Cloth Market. However, history has news for everyone. The oldest Eid Gah in Karachi is located in Lyari. It is on the Faqir Muhammad Khan Darra Road.

Siddique Balouch, one of the most known journalists in the country, shares that this Eid Gah from Lyari is the oldest in Karachi and it was established during the days of the Mir ruler in Sindh. People like the leftist leader Ghous Bakhsh Bizenjo, Sir Haji Abdullah Haroon, Ghulam Hussain Khaliq Dina, Sir Ghulam Hussain Hidayatullah, Muhammad Ayoub Khuhro and Saaien G. M. Syed have all offered Eid day prayers at this very Eid Gah.

My journalist friend Rafique Balouch shared some interesting insight on this particular Eid Gah. He says that the Eid Gah was also a centre of political activities during Ayub Khan’s martial law. Here, there would be protest gatherings against Ayub Khan now and again, when the protest leaders would exit the Eid Gah, they would be arrested by the police only to be dropped off at the outskirts of Karachi and always in the areas adjoining Thatta.

There was no public transport in those days. As a result, those who would participate in the protests would have to return home on foot. They would only reach their destinations after a two, three day long walk. Most of them would be scared of participating in any protest activity after that.

Renowned historian Gul Hassan Kalmati writes in his book, Karachi: Sindh Kee Marui:

[The Eid Gah]… is two and a half centuries old. It was established in the days when the Kalhoro dynasty reigned over Sindh.

However, Usman Damohi disagrees. In his book, Karachi Taareekh Kay Aaeenay Main, he writes that after the British had conquered Sindh, the first Eid Gah to be established was the central Eid Gah on Bandar Road around 1879-80.

I decided to visit the Lyari Eid Gah and ask about in regards to its history. My journalist friend Arif Balouch was very helpful in the matter. He got me in touch with Abdul Aziz Balouch who still lives in the Eid Gah in Lyari.

His father Moulavi Shah Daad Hout had remained the prayer leader here for a very long time. He died aged 106. I went to the Eid Gah to see Aziz Balouch. The main entrance held a signboard. It had the name of the madrassa on it: Jamia Tarseel Al-Qur’an Siddiquia Eid Gah Trust.

I entered the Eid Gah and then called Aziz on his mobile. He came out of his house after a few minutes. He smiled at me and then informed me that it was prayer time, and he must be excused. I told him I'd wait for him.

On the right was a mosque where people were headed for prayer. On the left, an empty area was being used as a football field by some children quite religiously as well. I also spotted a water cooler by the mosque.

I thought instead of just waiting for Aziz, I may as well take a look around.

It was the 28th day of the month of fasting, Ramazan. By the water cooler, I spotted two teenagers drinking water out of a glass chained to the cooler. I went close and asked if the water was cold. They showed me a thumbs-up, saying, “bamboo.”

Now, bamboo is of course English for baans. However, it is also Sindhi and Balouchi for bamboo. Often in colloquial Balouchi, calling something bamboo means it deserves high appreciation. You have to get the pronunciation right, though. It is more bumb-boo than bamboo. Practice a bit, I’d say.

I enjoyed a glass full of the cold bamboo water. It was refreshing. It was only in Lyari that I found cool water during this month and time of the day. Had it been some other place in Karachi, those two boys would have been on news for taking a beating for violating the Ramazan code, and yes, Zia-ul-Haq’s Ramazan Ordinance.

After a little while, Abdul Aziz came out of the mosque and we got talking about the Eid Gah. He told me that the place had its political history and identity, too.

He added that the Eid Gah was famous for funeral prayers in absentia of those who lay down their lives for the restoration of democracy. According to him, funeral prayers for slain Afghan leader Dr Najeebullah and Pakistan’s late Prime Minister Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto were also held here in absentia, along with those for many others.

I asked him why there was a madrassa here now. He said it was there to save it from land grabbers. Apparently, the Oqaaf department was very cooperative towards some groups who wanted to take over the land.

Since this piece of land is worth millions of rupees, many groups have been interested in building a commercial centre here. Even the last Qazi of Karachi, Qazi Noor Muhammad’s son Qazi Munir had taken over the land to build a storage facility here. Later, people forced him out through protest.

Upon exiting the Eid Gah, a man asked us: “What is the matter?”

I asked him the same question: Why is there a madrassa here now? When and why was it built?

He told me his name was Gul Muhammad. “My baap used to pray here,” he said. The Balouch of Lyari do not like it when you use the terms abba, baba or papa for their fathers.

Gul Muhammad continued: “I, too, pray here.This madrassa here was built by the people of the neighbourhood. You know, all the kids here in this madrassa are from Waziristan and Sarhad (he meant KP). Now, the Eid Gah is safe but if these kids keep living here, it will be trouble for us, you know.”

Gul Muhammad told me that there are about 250 students in the madrassa. I said to him, “But the place looks empty.” Gul replied, “They’ve all gone to Waziristan to celebrate Eid.”

Outside the mosque, a stall was established to distribute jihadi literature to the people coming out of the mosque.

—Photos by Akhtar Balouch | Translated by Aadarsh Ayaz Laghari from the original in Urdu here

Living with his parents in a village near Sialkot, Qasim Ali was everyone’s favourite child. On most afternoons, he played cricket outdoors with his best friend, Saqlain.

One afternoon, a neighbourhood wedding procession began to make its way down the same street that Qasim played cricket in. The two best friends, along with two others watched the bridegroom and his family and friends as they celebrated with dhols. Then suddenly, a member of the wedding party began firing in the air — an apparent act of celebration.

As bullets flew, one hit Qasim straight in the chest and he died. Two other bullets hit his other friends, one was seriously injured but the third did not survive.

Across the country in Lahore, Hamza Elahi was a second year A levels student at Lahore Grammar School and was his teachers’ favourite student.

On June 2, 2012, Hamza was out on a drive with one of his close friends, when he was killed. Shaan, the young man who shot him, claims that it was an accident but Humza’s family believes there was some form of jealousy that led to this incident. Whatever the reason, Hamza’s family no longer has a loved one. Hamza’s father Shiekh Fazal Elahi says,

I regret not being able to see and hear Hamza speak one last time. Mylife is full of darkness without him.

We may not realise it but our lives are in danger — with the world population being between seven and seven and a half billion — while over 12 billion bullets get manufactured yearly across the world. There is definitely a bullet out there with our name on it.

Festive occasions are a gory reminder: in many homes across Pakistan, there is at least one weapon and a willing weapon wielder.

The facts about Pakistan, as per the website GunPolicy.org, are alarming: We are placed sixth out of 178 countries, the number of citizens who keep private firearms. We are the third largest importer of firearms in the world. And it doesn’t just end there, only one out of 10 guns is licensed in Pakistan.

When the Supreme Court took suo moto action in 2013, some vital information was presented to citizens. We found out that the federal government issued over 46,000 prohibited bore licenses. And over 122,000 non-prohibited bore licenses. In its five-year tenure, the Sindh government issued 400,000 licenses. The National Assembly gained 59,000 licenses, which means almost two licenses per member.

Undoubtedly, the city to be most affected by this rise in arms is Karachi.

The exact number of legal and illegal weapons in Karachi is uncertain. But one thing is certain — it is a dangerously high number and only a few are campaigning to end this culture.

“Nobody should have a weapon,” says Naeem. He often quotes Article 256 of the constitution, which states that ‘no private organisation capable of functioning as a military organisation shall be formed and any such organisation shall be illegal.’

Naeem Sadiq, an activist based in Karachi doesn’t mince his words when he talks about gun control and who is at fault. “My message is not for the people, it is for Pakistan’s parliament, which is the only parliament in the world that possesses over 69,000 prohibited bore licenses,” he says.

“The Pakistani government is the single largest promoter and patron of weapons in the country thus it has created, promoted and patronised violence; and now violence has gotten out of their hands. This shouldn’t have happened. But since it has happened, we must find a way to control and eradicate this.”

He believes that the parliament needs to take the first step. “The government should announce a ban on keeping, using, carrying and displaying weapons, whether licensed or unlicensed. This law should apply equally to all — from a common citizen to the prime minister. Nobody should have a weapon,” says Naeem.

He often quotes Article 256 of the constitution, which states that ‘no private organisation capable of functioning as a military organisation shall be formed and any such organisation shall be illegal.’

Every day we pick up a newspaper and read about the senseless killings that take place in the cities and towns across this country. We read about Qasim and Hamza, shake our heads and we put the paper down and go back to our lives.

De-weaponising Pakistan will not be easy. It will require planning, a strategy and passionate advocates. Fundamentally there can be no major change unless the government takes the first step.

Given the apathy that exists in Pakistan, those affected will probably have to take the first step. In the village where Qasim lost his life, aerial firing is now frowned upon and no wedding parties have dared to fire in the air since that fateful day.

“There’s so much that I miss about Hamza, especially when he used to be studying and I would go to him, and hold him. I can never forget that. There’s nothing about him that I can ever forget,” says Shabana Elahi, Hamza’s mother.

Her younger daughter Iqra has started a Facebook page and is campaigning to end gun violence in the country. “Maybe somebody could be saved in the future because of our efforts,” she says.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, July 19th, 2015

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As Eidul Fitr celebrations reach their peak, the only thing worrying Naveed Sheikh is how to acquire pure milk in the immense quantities required to continue supplying Rabri to his customers during Eid days.

He has to arrange at least 16,000 kilograms of milk to produce 4,000 kilograms of Rabri. Sheikh is a fourth-generation heir to the business of his forefathers', ‘Rewari walay Haji Rabri’ business, which dates back to 1948.

It was his paternal great grand-father, Haji Bashiruddin – who established it in the historic city of Hyderabad (once the capital of Sindh) of the newly born state of Pakistan. Over all those years, ‘Haji Rabri’ assimilated itself into the very identity of Hyderabad, much like Bombay Bakery and the city's famous glass bangle factories.

The history behind the shop

Rewari is an Indian city in the state of Haryana. After the partition, Haji Bashiruddin and his family migrated from Rewari to settle in Hyderabad, where he set up shop in the historic Tahir Bazaar. He would not have guessed, perhaps, that his recipe for Rabri would become a brand name in the days to come, not only for his new hometown, but across Pakistan, rather, the world.

Tahir Bazaar is also commonly known as Shahi Bazaar (said to be lengthwise the longest bazaar in Asia), and faces the historic Pucca Qila, built by the Kalhoro dynasty ruler Ghulam Shah Kalhoro in the 18th century. Families like Haji’s had settled in large numbers in and around the Qilla soon after the partition, besides other parts of Hyderabad. Most sweetmeat producers and sellers originally hail from Rewari.

From Haji Bashiruddin's time till today, the shop has remained a family business run from a ground plus two-storey building.

“Abba jee (Haji Bashiruddin) settled here in this very house after migration. I remember being told that we paid Rs350 to a Hindu family after claiming this house in lieu of our own in Rewari,” recalls Naveed Sheikh's burqa-clad mother, Naseem Bano.

Naveed’s family have been through their share of ups and downs. His father, Nooruddin was murdered when the children were still young. Naveed's widowed mother then had to seek help from other family members to look after the shop.

She reminisced the days when her family’s womenfolk used to be part of the production process:

“There were no refrigerators. At that time, we used to keep a piece of muslin over the Rabri to keep it cool, as the house used to have ventilators – something the city of Hyderabad is known for. Nooruddin’s sisters and I used to work together under the supervision of my mother-in-law. But when the business started expanding, we decided to hire labour and it was perhaps during Ayub's regime when labourers started taking care of most of process.”

Attributing success in the business to the special prayers of Baba Salahuddin (a spiritual figure who lies buried in Kotri) Naseem Bano continues:

“Baba used to sit at our shop and always instructed Abba jee not to resort to adulteration,” she said.

Bano touches the ground as a sign of gratitude toward Allah for such boom in the business, and says that she has asked her children to not even think of compromising quality, as that would lead them nowhere.

Meeting the demand

The elderly Haji died a decade ago. When he had started the business, he would sell just a few kilograms of pure milk over a small counter. Now, they use 2,400 kilograms of milk to produce 600 kilograms of Rabri on normal days.

And on occasions like Eidul Fitr, the demand multiplies six to eight times. The situation is no different on Eidul Azha, Rabiul Awal, Independence Day or other festive occasions.

For the supply, Sheikh uses his own stock, as well as milk from other sources. He stays busy dealing with milkmen and making sure there is safe storage place for it at a time when an energy crisis is a prime threat.

Naveed Sheikh, who has obtained his Bachelors degree from Szabist, Dubai, says:

“We have our own pens for uninterrupted supplies. Besides, we have signed deals with other suppliers to receive uninterrupted milk supplies. Our problem is, we ask for pure milk, not adulterated, and we can judge if it is impure. If 40 kilograms of milk ends up producing 9.5 kilograms of Rabri, it proves the milk has been adulterated. On the other hand, if 40 kilograms of milk produces 10 kilograms Rabri, then it is pure. Its as simple as that.”

The production process for Rabri seems easy and simple. Naveed tells me:

“We get 10 kilograms of Rabri out of 40 kilograms milk which is boiled in four, large-sized, frying pan-like vessels in the shop’s backyard. We add sugar and keep the milk boiling at a specific temperature, while separating skin from the milk and collecting them in pans during the boiling process.”

In pictures: The making of Rabri

‘Haji Rabri’ is a registered brand now

Many have tried to copy the recipe and use the ‘Haji Rabri’ brand name to lure in customers. But those who have tasted the real Haji Rabri are hardly tempted by counterfeits. Nevertheless, Naveed Sheikh got the name ‘Rewari walay Haji Rabri’ registered and trademarked a few years ago.

“I have obtained registration from the federal government’s Trade Marks Registry for 19 such names, which were likely to be used as trademarks by others in the future,” Naveed explained. He is still busy fighting a legal battle over the use of the name of ‘Haji’ in the same bazaar, which he hopes to win soon. He has also launched a website with the insignia of ‘Haji Rabri walay’.

While Haji Rabri remains a specialty, they have introduced other sweetmeats, too: Akhrot ka Halwa, Sohn Halwa, Pistachio Rabri, Doodh Dulhari, Gajjar ka Halwa, Lab e Shireen, Ras Malaee, Sugar-free Rabri, etc. But their defining item, and the one which sells the most is still their original Rabri.

The Rabri is sold in earthen tumblers, to keep its quality and aroma intact, and let travellers take it with them to other cities without affecting its taste. It is tightly packed with coarse twine. Over the years, though, plastic pots and bowls have also been introduced to buyers.

Their customer-base stretches across Pakistan, and they believe that it is basically purity that makes their Rabri distinctive among other sweetmeats. Besides commoners, customers include officers, politicians, businessmen, etc. Haji Rabri’s popularity echoed even in the parliament recently when an MNA from Hyderabad Syed Wasim Hussain, offered to host his treasury and opposition members to a treat at Hyderabad's famous Bombay Bakery and Haji Rabri.

“I invited the federal minister Ahsan Iqbal and opposition leader Syed Khurshid Shah to visit Hyderabad for the proposed establishment of a public sector university, and to let me serve them with these specialties of the city,” Wasim recalled.

“It is endlessly delicious. I have tasted sweets across the country, but hardly anyone can match Haji Rabri's taste,” says another customer, Ali Nawaz, who eats it off and on and vouches for the flavour.

25-year-old Burhan Sami, an army officer currently serving in Jehlum, is of the same mind.

“I have tasted the Rabri of other big names, even in Karachi, but Haji Rabri has no match. There is no one across Pakistan whose recipe is as good as theirs; it has its own unique taste,” he says, before adding that every now and then, he sends Haji Rabri to his family in Karachi, in an earthen tumbler, of course.

In the aftermath of war or exodus, when one community leaves their religious or secular buildings behind them, there is always another community which occupies these buildings. The same occurred after the India-Pakistan Partition.

A majority of the buildings which once belonged to the Sikhs and Hindus were given to immigrants from India. These families still live in these buildings, but I was surprised to discover that the structures and the artwork on the walls were still intact.

While traveling to the Kallar Syedan Tehsil, I came across several Hindu and Sikh monuments; temples and gurdwaras gracing the landscape of this region. Three of the gurdwaras are located at Kanoha, Doberan Kalan and Mohara Bhatta, and are especially noted for their elegance and paintings. Of these, the Sikh gurdwara located 10 kilometres from Kallar Syedan at Kanoha is the most prominent.

A view of the Kanoha gurdwara.

I have been to Kanoha many times, the gurdwara here is conspicuous from a distance. Presently, it belongs to a Muslim family that has turned it into a living quarter. I greatly appreciated that the Potoharis occupying these buildings respect other religions, and have taken care not to deface any of the paintings inside or inscriptions on the buildings.

Historically, the gurdwara has been used to meet the religious and social needs of the Sikh community here. Guru Hargobind, the sixth guru of Sikhs (1606-1644), is believed to have first used the word 'gurdwara'.

Before that, the name used for such structures was 'dhramsala', which means a rest house for travellers in its normal Indian context, but was used in the early days of Sikhism to denote a room or building used for devotional singing (kirtan) and prayers.

The gurdwara of Kanoha is a very large three-storied structure crowned with canopy – a distinctive feature of the Potohari style of gurdwara. Built on a square plain, it formerly housed Sikh families who would visit here to recite the Guru Granth Sahib and performing various religious rituals.

There are arches on all four sides of the structure, adding a symmetrical beauty to it. On the second and third storeys, and on all four sides of the building, there are false jharokas. Each of the four sides also has an entrance, so the gurdwara has four entrances in all, though the western one has been closed by the occupants.

Right above each of the entrance, there is an inscription in Gurmukhi.

A closer view of the northern wall.

Gurmukhi inscriptions on the eastern wall.

Gurmukhi inscriptions on the northern wall.

Gurmukhi inscriptions on the southern wall.

The main entrance of the gurdwara opens to the south. From this entrance, one enters the main hall, which has been divided into small cells lying to the right and left, flanked by deep recessed arches.

The distinctive feature of the main hall is the foliated pillars and inscriptions fixed on the eastern wall. Formerly, it was adorned with paintings. Unfortunately, now, the plaster has peeled off.

The first and second floors have been turned into living quarters, where family members sleep at night. Several cots lie around in the rooms on the second floor.

Gurmukhi inscriptions in the main hall.

One has to climb almost 40 flights of steps to reach the canopy that crowns the upper part of the gurdwara. This canopy is octagonal from the inside and square from the outside. It is crowned with a ribbed-dome with a finial on top. One finds kiosks on the four corners of the canopy, which were apparently created to add beauty to the structure. Standing here under the canopy, one can enjoy a panoramic view of the Kanoha Village, as far as Chau Khalsa.

The canopy.

Apart from the Kanoha gurdwara, there is another gurdwara located in the Doberan Kallan town. This gurdwara is comparatively smaller in breadth, but it is very tall. The lower part or sanctum of the gurdwara is square, whereas the upper part is octagonal and crowned with a ribbed-dome. The octagonal portion of the gurdwara is decorated with false jharokas.

The Doberan Kallan gurdwara.

The ribbed dome of the Doberan Kallan gurdwara.

A closer view of the Doberan Kallan gurdwara.

The Mohara Bhatta gurdwara is noted for its shikara. The sanctum of the so-called gurdwara is decorated with split arches which can be found on the eastern, western and northern walls. The entrance of the so-called gurdwara opens to the south. The main hall of the gurdwara is located north of the sanctum. Its door also opens to the south. This hall is decorated with cusped arches. The shikara of the gurdwara is adorned with painting, traces of which can still be seen.

I have never seen a gurdwara of this style, with a towering shikara in the entire Potohar region.

"This is a temple not a gurdwara," I said to an occupant of the temple, who disagreed and confidently said, “It was a gurdwara and it belonged to Sikhs.”

The shikara of Mohra Bhatta Temple.

Painting inside the Temple.

The Mohra Bhatta Temple.

Needless to say, the Punjab tourism department, should chalk out a viable strategy to promote religious tourism in the Kallar Syedan Tehsil. These wondrous and historically rich gurdwaras can be a great tourist attraction; Sikhs who visit Gurdwara Panja Sahib at Hassan Abdal should also be able to come to here.

Cricket and Germany – two words that just don’t go together. Except, of course, if there is a Pakistani present; in that case, his passion for the game will ensure the seeds of cricket are not left unsown anywhere he goes.

Wasif Abbas, a Pakistani living in Germany, is one such example.

Five years ago, Wasif realised his responsibilities and worked hard to establish a cricket team in Germany, when there was very little presence of organised cricket in the country. He muses that it was the moment when his son, Marcel, found an old bat lying in the basement and said he wanted to play with him, that moment made him realise just how much he missed the game.

Back in Pakistan, he was not able to pursue his passion because of personal economic conditions and a lack of facilities. Of course, he never missed any Test or One Day matches on TV. He had his own street cricket team in Faisalabad, where they used to play tape-ball cricket matches on the streets.

Also read: Tape-balls and their love affair with Pakistan's streets

After his son found his bat, Wasif started researching on the internet and found many small groups of mostly Asians, who played in public parks in Germany with tape-balls. He also came across some more formal avenues, with teams playing in a league system. And then, he went on to discover that there was indeed a German Cricket Board, a group of volunteers, who had managed to build up a league system between German states.

So he joined a club in Munich and started playing cricket again. Now, traveling to Munich every Sunday to play cricket costs time and money. In the meantime, he tried to recruit players in Herzogenaurach, the town where he lives.

Luckily, Adidas and Puma have their headquarters in Herzogenaurach. Wasif was approached by Adidas to form and coach an office team. He has managed to be quite successful in Munich and has made a name for himself in Bavarian cricket.

The Adidas project was successful too. As word spread about cricket, potential players started contacting him with requests to join in.

This is when Wasif decided to quit the Munich team, and join a local football club so that anyone could join in, and not just Adidas employees. He formed the very first cricket section in a local sports club in Bavaria. Each cricket player had to pay the club fee to be able to play cricket.

Wasif's club qualified for the German League in 2012 and even won the Championship. They were awarded with bronze medals for the best upcoming team and were all over the local media.

See: PCB needs to revive grass-root cricket for better results

The local football club was happy to have them and enjoyed the publicity they were getting, but hardly graced them with any attention. Wasif recalls how they had to play between two football fields on a roll-out Flicks pitch which wasn’t really very efficient.

It was time to take the next step: Early this year, Wasif's entire team quit the football club and registered their own cricket club in Erlangen (the big city next to Herzogenaurach), where he applied for a ground and raised funds to build a proper pitch/Astroturf. After a tiring tug-of-war with the authorities, they finally acquired permission to build a pitch.

The Erlangen cricket Club e.V. has one of the most beautiful cricket grounds in Bavaria, surrounded by trees and green fields. The German Cricket Board sponsored the pitch with a small amount; the players had to raise the rest of the money themselves. Each member pays approximately 150€ p.a. in club fee. They saved up for two years and did most of the work themselves, but the pitch still ended up costing around 2800€.

Read on: Pakistan cricket's struggling next generation worries Misbah

Setting up his cricket club was not the only thing Wasif had strived for. The organisation of the League was in shreds when he started playing again and there was hardly any proper communication or data banks. After Wasif was elected to the executive committee of the Bavaria cricket board, he has created a website, set up a proper financial and commercial system and helped new team and clubs to organise themselves.

There are now 12 registered clubs in Bavaria playing in a two-tier system. Wasif is president of his own creation, the Erlangen Cricket Club e.V. With his love for cricket, he has thus united all those cricketers in Germany who were missing cricket, under one roof, and has given them an opportunity to play it professionally.

As Pakistanis, it is hard not to be proud of Wasif Abbas.

—All photos by author

10 Downing Street, London, and 10 Victoria Road, Karachi, are two similarly sounding and important, if not equally important, addresses. One is the official residence of the British Prime Minister, the second served as the official residence of successive Pakistani prime ministers, soon after independence, though it is now just a state guesthouse.

Whether the number 10 here is more than a coincidence should make for an intriguing topic of research, but for today, that is not my concern. I am more interested in Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy, who had once lived at the Pakistani number 10.

The six other prime ministers to grace 10 Victoria Road (now known as Abdullah Haroon Road), would be discussed on another occasion.

An outside view of number 10 Victoria Road (now known as Abdullah Haroon Road), Karachi. —Photo by Akhtar Balouch

A plaque, near the gate of number 10 Victoria Road, Karachi, reads “State Guest House”. The address has also been updated to “10-Abdullah Haroon Road, Karachi”. —Photo by Akhtar Balouch

Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy’s term in office was brief, as it was cut short by President Iskander Mirza. It is believed that Mirza was against Suhrawardy’s appointment as prime minister, but halfheartedly approved his name when the political realities confronting him left no other option on the table.

Begum Ikramullah, Suhrawardy's cousin and a highly acclaimed woman in her own right, unveils several episodes – both personal and political – of his life, in Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy: A Biography, published in 1991. Her revelations help us to understand the mayhem of Pakistani politics in the immediate aftermath of independence, and the vendetta that inaugurated the country's chequered political history.

Mirza and Suhrawardy may have had some animosity between them before, but after Suhrawardy's appointment as prime minister, the two men became closer with each other. A glimpse of the thaw in their relationship is found in Pakistan Kay Pehley Saat Wuzra-i-Azam (The First Seven Prime Ministers of Pakistan), a book that puts together the memoirs of Naeem Ahmed Khan, Mohammad Idrees and Abdus Sattar. On page 83-84 it reads:

"Mr Suhrawardy had a penchant for throwing dinner parties. During his days, the prime minister house saw a large number of such events, each of which was attended by 150 to 200 people, who would booze themselves up. However, Suhrawardy, as long as he stayed at the prime minister house, completely abstained from alcohol, following the doctor's advice. Mr Suhrawardy would often take Mrs Iskander Mirza as his dance partner."

Seeing the warmth between the two, it becomes hard to understand why Mirza would coerce a resignation out of Suhrawardy. Detailing the extent of this warmth, Naeem Ahmed Khan et al. describe one particular night when the drinking and dancing stretched on till two in the morning, when Mirza finally decided to get in the car and leave for home.

This 1958 photograph shows Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy, Ayub Khan and Mr and Mrs. S.N. Bakar. —Creative Commons.

Suhrawardy was a skillful politician. Jinnah wanted him to join the Muslim League and lead it in Bengal province of the pre-partition India. He lived up to Jinnah's expectations. Besides being one of the busiest politicians, he was a good-humoured and witty man. Kamaal, the renowned film actor of pre-partition India, and later of Pakistan, writes in his autobiography Dastaan-i-Kamaal:

“Karachi was to host the first Presidential Awards ceremony. Perhaps it was last one, too, for the city [as the federal capital was relocated to Islamabad afterwards]. We were affectionately received at Karachi Railway Station and given rooms at Hotel Metropole. Next day, everyone was invited to the President House, and Prime Minister Suhrawardy warmly welcomed the film industry lot. He was a hobbyist photographer and took out his own camera to capture film actors on his personal roll.”

Read on: Flashback: The progressive years

He was also a seasoned lawyer. While pleading cases, he would punctuate his arguments with poetic verses. One such incident occurred when he was defending himself in a case registered under the controversial Elected Bodies Disqualification Order (EBDO). Begum Ikramullah writes:

“His performance in the law courts was ... brilliant. The cases he dealt with became cause celibre(sic), and people used to flock to the court just to listen to him. This was specially so when he was defending himself against the charges under EBDO. The prosecution Consul, Chaudhry Nazir Ahmed was unnecessarily offensive in his cross-examination. For the most part, Shaheed Suhrawardy ignored his deliberate rudeness. Once, however, he made a very apt reply by quoting a line of Ghalib:

Har ek baat pe kahte ho tum keh tuu kyaa hai,
Tum hi kaho ke ye andaaz-i-guftagu kyaa hai

He never derived monetary profits from politics. Instead, he practiced law for a living. Unfortunately, the political vendetta in Pakistan has set a new record with each passing generation. Usually, when a man falls out of favour with those at the helm of affairs, his assets are the first target of the vengeance apparatus, which creates so much trouble that it becomes harder for the outcast to make ends meet.

A similar treatment was meted out to Suhrawardy. Begum Ikramullah writes on page 74 of her cousin’s biography:

“He began to take up his legal practice again. Here also, the Government stooped to incredible meanness. The courts of Karachi and Lahore were directed not to register him as a lawyer. It was the court of the small town of Montgomery, now known as Sahiwal, that registered Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy as a lawyer.”

Although Suhrawardy was forced to quit as Prime Minister, a group of civil servants was against the move.

They sympathised with Suhrawardy and wanted to present his case in the court of public opinion. Our bureaucracy is infested with officials who swear allegiance to their ruler but switch loyalties as soon as their master's luck runs out.

Take a look: Hypocrites to the core

Suhrawardy, however, had won unwavering devotion from some people in the bureaucracy. One such example is narrated by Begum Salma Ahmed, a well-known politician and businesswoman of the country, in her autobiography. She discusses her maternal-uncle's efforts to support Suhrawardy:

“Aftab Ahmed Khan (Mamoon Sahib) had been principal secretary to Husain Shaheed Suhrawardy, who was prime minister of Pakistan before Iskander Mirza became president. When Ayub Khan took over and declared martial law, a group of civil service officers got together and planned to incite public opinion against the imposition of martial law. They had posters printed which were to be plastered all over Karachi. But before they could do so, the conspiracy was thwarted, the posters confiscated and the ringleaders arrested, prominent among them being Uncle Aftab. Several attempts were made to have him released from jail....”

The most serious allegation that Suhrawardy’s detractors could come up with against him, was that he had joined hands with Mr Gandhi and taken up a joint residence with him in Bengal, where Hindu-Muslim riots had erupted before Partition.

What actually happened was, Gandhi wanted to visit the Noakhali town of pre-partition Bengal – an area worst hit by violence – whereas Suhrawardy feared that his visit would add fuel to the fire. Suhrawardy was of the opinion that Gandhi should stay in Calcutta (now Kolkata) and help quell the violence. Gandhi accepted the proposal on condition that Suhrawardy will also stay with him. The Muslim League leader agreed. Gradually, their combined efforts put out the communal riots.

Begum Ikramullah writes that when she asked Suhrawardy about his experience of living with Gandhi, he replied:

“It was fine, except the food was awful. It helped to reduce the tensions. The Hindus and Muslims of Calcutta came together, even if for just a short period, and the atmosphere began to gradually improve. Eventually, the dawn of freedom arrived August 15, 1947.”

Suhrawardy’s seat in the Constituent Assembly of Pakistan was declared vacant through a resolution which stipulated that anyone who had not taken up residence in Pakistan within six months of the passing of the resolution, would cease to be a member of the Constituent Assembly.

After the resolution was passed, Suhrawardy tried to take up residence in East Pakistan. Begum Ikramullah says he had gone to Dhaka in June 1948, but was served with an expulsion notice within 24 hours of his arrival. The notice was served to him by the IG Zakir Hussain. It not only expelled him from East Pakistan but also prevented his re-entry for another six months.

Pir Mohammad Ali Rashdi, recalling Suhrawardy's services to Pakistan, laments his ordeal in Roodad-i-Chaman, a collection of his columns. He writes on page 51:

“Late Huseyn Suhrawardy was the man who fought his way to bring Bengal on the map of Pakistan; to achieve this objective he got a resolution passed by the Legislators’ Convention. As Chief Minister of United Bengal, he supported and served Muslims during the riots to such a degree that Hindus in Bengal would never put his role out of their minds. Not only this, but for the whole duration of Pakistan Movement, he had been the Secretary-General of Muslim League Bengal and an active member of the Party.”

What became of this man in the years to come?

First, he was declared a “Traitor of Pakistan”, thrown out of the Muslim League and debarred from entering the country.

Then, Pakistan’s Governor-General Ghulam Mohammad, who had been nominated to the post by officialdom, felt himself in dire need of Suhrawardy’s help so that he could give an acceptable garb to his political intrigues. Suhrawardy was summoned from Geneva and appointed Law Minister. Another turn of events saw him as Prime Minister of Pakistan for a few months. Finally, Ayub Khan took over and the same prime minister languished in jail; later, he was disqualified to hold any public office under Elective Bodies Disqualification Order.

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When injuries to his dignity and the resulting trauma become unbearable, the hurt man left his country for good, preferring death in exile over a return. Recently, a newspaper-interview quoted his daughter, Begum Akhtar Suleman, as saying that Suhrawardy did not die of natural causes, but that the officialdom had him murdered.

Dawn carries the report of Suhrawardy’s death on 6th December 1963.

Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy died on 5th December 1963, in a Beirut hotel, where he was living in exile. Rumours about the cause of his death continued to circulate for a long time, while the official statements attributed his demise to a cardiac arrest.

There are an infinite number of political secrets in Pakistan. The secret of Suhrawardy’s death is one of them. It was buried long ago – never to be dug up again.

Translated by Arif Anjum from the original in Urdu here.

—Photo by author.

He was feeling isolated at home since his father entered a second marriage, leaving behind him, his eight siblings and his mother. As a severe financial crises erupted in the household, the responsibility for help fell upon him, the eldest sibling.

His family needed money to survive, but Ali Mohsin was a polio victim, how could he help, he wondered. It seemed all hope was gone until one day, he decided to do something he had enjoyed doing for a long time, but never in front of other people: dancing.

“I started dancing behind closed doors when I was 14 years old,” says Ali.

“I pursued my passion for eight years and one day, a friend asked me to dance at his wedding and I promised to but only in front of close friends. Their appreciation gave me the courage I had lacked.”

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Life is not the way we perceive it; it is unpredictable and full of surprises. In this war of survival, the battle of nerves is most important. Ali Mohsin recalls:

“When I started school, I observed that where people ignored me because of my disability, teachers paid extra attention to me, which made me feel like I was not normal and that it was my fault somehow. This inferiority complex isolated me, but it was dance that helped me survive and overcome this mental trauma.”

Finance became a barrier to his education, and eventually, he left it completely after finishing his D.com. He enrolled in the Government Virtual Training Institute and achieved a diploma as a Computer Operator, starting a job in Lahore. But then, he moved back to his hometown Arifwala in Punjab, to look after his family, as Lahore was expensive for him and the pay was not reasonable.

This was also when he committed to dancing, he started training with Nasir, a famous dancer in Arifwala. One day, he went along with him to a wedding function and danced to a song Husn Mukhtre Tu, sung by Madam Noor Jahan. The audience appreciated him and even paid him; that's when he realised he could earn money from this and could start to live independently.

Ali was very attached to his father, who had bought him a VCR so that he would not get bored at home. Music comforts him, he says. Sometimes, he starts dancing on instinct, without thinking – that's how his entire journey began.

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As he grew up, he sought inspiration from the internet. “YouTube helps me a lot, I watch dancing videos and practise them, which helps me understand and imitate the method of professional dancers”, he says. Some moves are difficult for him, and sometimes, he creates his own moves to help himself. But he has never given up.

After a couple of functions, he has become famous in his hometown. His Punjabi bhangra, classical dance and belly dance numbers are a crowd favorite.

“After doing some wedding functions, fellow dancers became jealous and refused to take me along for functions. Then, there was a Christian boys’ group who offered me the chance to dance as their group leader,” he says.

He performs as much as he can in the wedding season to earn money and feed his family. But of course, not without an expected amount of opposition from our society:

“Some of my relatives and friends asked my family to stop me pursuing this 'dirty profession'. Religious people threatened me and told me to instead join a Madrassah so that I could enjoy the fruits of the afterlife; that I was being punished and my family was being punished by god, since I am a polio victim. But I just ignored their hate.”

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Three years ago, he was approached by young people who came to him to learn dance, after TV shows and the cinema had increased public interest in this art. Sometimes, it would be students training for their school or college functions, or people planning to dance at a wedding.

“I am happy with my situation; disability did not discourage me but motivated me to survive in this mysterious world,” he said.

Ali also decided to launch a dance academy, but has failed twice, as people in general still look down upon this profession, and there is not enough scope in it to be turned into a regular profitable enterprise.

Yet, Ali Mohsin hasn't given up.

“I have never given up in my life. I still wish to launch a dance academy soon, and to contribute this form of art, which I so dearly love, to society before I depart from this world.”

Day 1 - 4am

In front of me lies the paratha, laden with butter to an extent that there are literally puddles on its surface. Fitting, I think, for I am still in Punjab. I devour it with a plate of daal chana at the dhaba which is alight and buzzing with customers even at this ungodly hour.

I am at the halfway point on the historic GT Road between Lahore and Islamabad, headed for the valleys of Azad Kashmir. Twenty-five other young individuals accompany me on the trip. And while food is, undoubtedly, always central to any outing (inter- or intra-city) in Pakistan, this is not meant to be an epicurean adventure. In fact, everyone in the coaster is waiting to succumb to another primal instinct: getting closer to nature.

We intend to trek to Ratti Gali Lake in the Neelum Valley. I am particularly excited as this is my first visit to the Kashmir region, after hearing legends of its paradisiacal beauty my whole life.

Poignant message seen outside a shop near Muzaffarabad.

Photo taken near Keran.

Army checkpost (which the region is dotted with), seen near Keran.

Seen en route Keran.

Photograph taken near Keran.

The resort at Keran where we spent the night.

Day 1 - 11am

Our bus has had to come to a stop. As I wake from my slumber – I am yet to figure out why sleep, while travelling in buses (or trains, for that matter), is disrupted as soon as the bus stops – I realise we are not in a market, so this cannot be a snack break. And anyway, I am sure the last meal is still fresh in everyone’s memory and digestive tracts. Maybe someone's facing a bathroom-related emergency? But presently, I don't see anyone dashing out of the door.

The mystery ends as I sit up in my seat and look through the windshield ahead. Marching towards us, amidst clouds of rising dust, are hundreds of mountain goats with their dark, mane-like coats, the uniformity disrupted only by a few sheep interspersed amongst them.

These herds, consisting of 500 animals, tended to by half a dozen herders and forcing us to a stop every half an hour during the remainder of the bus ride, belong to the nomadic Gujjar herdsmen who pass this area at the end of summer after having traversed the Baltistan region’s Deosai Plains.

I notice that tailing these herds are a dozen or so horses carrying the belongings of the herdsmen – colourful quilts stand out amongst the luggage – and I try to imagine how exciting it would be to tag along for an entire cycle of this transhumance.

Goat herds seen en route Keran.

Goat herd seen on the bridge at Dowarian.

Horses carrying the belongings of the herdsmen.

Day 2 - 9am

I am sitting on a jeep – on top of a jeep, that is. And it is trudging along a jeep track. Many would say that treading along the extremely narrow tracks snaking across Pakistan’s Northern Areas is always a highly risky and uncomfortable undertaking. They would be correct too. But this particular journey seems to be a whole different ballgame altogether, in terms of both risk and discomfort.

Grasping onto the rods of the luggage carrier fixed atop the jeep, my two friends and I hang on to dear life. However, perched on top, we are blessed with magnificent views of the forestation in the valley. This, coupled with the wind pushing against our faces, is enough to make us forget the perils of our situation.

Not for long though. At one point, the shaky wooden bridge below the jeep almost gives away. The locals with us get off the jeeps and begin to re-engineer the bridge. They rearrange the logs that form the bridge, and all of us are now crossing it on foot. After 15 minutes of wrangling and adjusting off the logs, the jeeps too cross the bridge successfully.

At this point, a friend aptly points out how the infrastructural challenges to travelling in these areas are still all too real, which is why local help can so often prove indispensable. For me, imagining this as a daily routine – as it often is for the people who live in these remote places – is startling.

Photo taken near Keran.

Photo taken during jeep ride near Dowarian – the jeep track heading towards the Ratti Gali Lake starts here.

Photo of Ratti Gali Lake.

Photo of Ratti Gali Lake.

It is the ubiquity of these flowers that gives the lake its name.

Day 2 - 3.30pm

A little over four hours of trekking over a fairly hospitable, sun-drenched landscape, I now stand knee-deep in scarlet flowers – their ubiquity adds a shade of red to the valley’s grassy slopes, and more importantly, gives the Ratti Gali Lake its name.

The lake sprawls out in front of me, but I have to say, I am not blown away by it at first sight, probably because I am spoilt from my countless tours to similar lakes in the Northern Areas. Also, the surface of Ratti Gali Lake does not reflect its surrounding landscape as starkly as do the surfaces of Lake Saif ul Mulook or the Kachura Lakes.

The reflection of the surroundings – crags on three sides, the lower reaches of which still have specks of snow – is smudgy. And other than the slight red hue in the background, the current view does not offer a rush of colors either (as is the case with, say, the Naltar Lake).

Photo taken during trek to Ratti Gali Lake.

Photo of fellow trekkers toiling towards the Ratti Gali Lake.

Photo taken during trek to Ratti Gali Lake.

But somehow, it still has me transfixed. The flurry of photographs around me suggests everyone else is under a similar trance. The slight shimmer of the surface against the late afternoon sun makes for quite a serene outlook.

Much like the vastness of the landscape at Shandur or Deosai, the Ratti Gali Lake too has a humbling effect, the overhead crags making you feel like a tiny a speck in this grand setting.

Photo taken while descending from the Ratti Gali Lake.

Photo of the group taken while descending from the Ratti Gali Lake.

Photo taken while descending from the Ratti Gali Lake.

Photo taken while descending from the Ratti Gali Lake.

Day 3 - 10.30am

Descents are not the most exciting part of treks. Thus, as I descend now – back towards the humdrum of daily routine I had meant to escape through this excursion – I fall back behind the rest of the group. Even though my saunter is punctuated by ample photography breaks, I feel the pictures do not even remotely capture how it feels to actually be there – to be able to smell the air, breathe it, to look all around, walk over the damp mud.

Therefore, when my guide points out that he hopes the jeep track is functional next summer, I am not particularly excited. Call me selfish, but I have an idea of how jeep tracks can transform such areas, and I certainly do not want this piece of paradise to be ‘developed’ when I visit next.

Photo taken on the way back from the Ratti Gali Lake.

Photo taken on the way back from the Ratti Gali Lake.

Photo taken near Dowarian.

Photo taken near the bridge at Dowarian.