Intertwining with the past and the present, A Restless Wind is an intense read that takes you on a whirlwind journey from London to India.

Zara, a Muslim in Britain, is a successful lawyer. At 35, she is about to become the Queen’s Counsel. She’s married to an Englishman, Peter, who she fell in love with almost instantly. On paper, her life is on track, but in her mind, she’s confused and restless.

Her state of unhappiness starts with cases of illegal immigrants seeking asylum from the communal violence in Gujrat, travels into her marriage that she no longer finds exciting and ends with memories of Qila, her ancestral home in the town of Trivikrampur. All the while, she thinks of aunt Hana, the matriarch of the aristocratic House of Ramzi, whose ill health finally pushes Zara to visit Qila after ten years.

“A trip to Trivikrampur will do you good. Get some balance back. Right now you’re lost,” offers Peter as support to Zara. But as page after page of A Restless Wind by Shahrukh Husain will tell you, it’s not that simple.

The moment Zara lands, she’s confronted by her first love, Jay, better known as the Maharaja of Trivikrampur, Jayendra Singh Varma, who had swept her off her feet when they were studying at Oxford. Along with the complexity of their relationship, we dive into the lives of other people around Zara — her cousin Saif, the spiritual head of the Ramzi clan, his suspicious wife Pebbles, their daughter Sharmeen and aunt Hana, who raised Zara after her mother abandoned her.

Zara’s relationships and her inner journey unravel against the backdrop of tension between Hindus and Muslims in Gujrat, along with political trappings. Shahrukh Husain also tells us how the rajas of the princely states try to find their place in an evolving nation.

A Restless Wind isn’t about Zara finding herself; it’s about tying her past and the present together into one person. “But which ‘you’ were they talking about? The career woman? An orphaned, abandoned child? A voiceless, nameless immigrant? Or the scion of a noble household, brought up to the knowledge of a line that began further back than the thirteenth century?” Zara wonders to herself at the start of the book.

It’s a pleasant book to read and Husain’s work as a children’s book author comes in handy as she weaves a tale of royalty and contemporary lives. The narrative is simple and constant throughout the book. What isn’t constant, however, is the pace and captivating storylines which readers find in the first half of the book. Somewhere in the middle, as Zara tries to juggle family, her marriage, a pining love and her identities, the book loses its momentum by taking on too much. Instead of tying up the loose ends, ironically what the protagonist herself is after, the book introduces new characters and somewhat random storylines. This, sadly, leaves the ending a bit haphazard and almost rushed.

Local roots, foreign ties

The Namesake

by Jhumpa Lahiri

Jhumpa Lahiri’s debut novel tells the story of a Bengali couple who move to the United States and try to strike a balance between retaining their cultural values and adopting new ones. What follows is the first 30 years of their son’s life, born and brought up in the States, and how he has to choose his ancestral values without any feelings of connection. The Namesake is witty, poignant and undoubtedly one of Lahiri’s best works.

Salt and Saffron

by Kamila Shamsie

Another debut novel, Salt and Saffron by Kamila Shamsie covers Aliya’s journey back to Karachi right after finishing college in the States. She reconnects with her relatives and the city, learns to understand and put up with the Pakistani family style and, most interestingly, finds out her family’s history which relates to her present day life.

The Village Bride of Beverly Hills
by Kavita Daswani

A change from tracing back roots, Kavita Diswani’s light hearted book looks at how Priya, the youngest of four sisters, moves from Delhi to Los Angeles after her marriage. Living in a joint family, Priya has to keep up with what her in-laws expect of an Indian bahu while also adapting to the American lifestyle — juggling life, love, career and traditions.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 17^th, 2013.

On a crisp autumn morning, one of the four organisers of Khayaal Festival of Art and Literature, Ayesha Husain, stood in front of a small audience at the Alhamra Arts Council Hall 1 and shared her thoughts on why Lahore needs an alternative social narrative which is positive and all-inclusive.

She explained why she and her colleagues, Zainab Qureshi, Amna Omar and Nuria Rafique-Iqbal came together to form Khayaal Creative Network, stressing the need for preserving Lahore’s and Pakistan’s unique socio-cultural identity. Audience members, while few in numbers, agreed. Meekal Hasan and his troupe of musicians vowed the audience with a soulful rendition of the national anthem and so began an extravaganza that was a much needed balm to the usually intellectually parched social calendar of the city.

Kamil Mumtaz with Nuria Rafique Iqbal during a session. PHOTOS: NUZHAT SAADIA SIDDIQI & MALIK SHAFIQ

Similar to the Lahore Literary Festival held earlier this year, Khayaal Festival featured back-to-back discussions and sessions over a period of two days fused with musical and dramatic performances. The major difference was that the festival had veered away from the confines of bookish discussions and paired the worlds of literature and art together to concoct a delightfully stimulating mix of the serious and the whimsical. On one hand we had renowned academics and publishing experts talking about the perils of publishing in Pakistan and on the other there were writers talking about the limitations of writing on art. From a conversation about the aching beauty and sheer travesty of wandering through Pakistan to a discussion on how to take Pakistani theatre from the absurd to the absolute, this was only the first half of the first day of the festival.

Juggun Kazim and Zeba Bakhtiar pictured speaking at the two-day conference. PHOTOS: NUZHAT SAADIA SIDDIQI & MALIK SHAFIQ

Art and literature make us realise the fluidity of identity

Lahore came out to see and hear the literary darling Mohsin Hamid. The author’s elusive wit and understated charm was matched by the effervescently upbeat Mira Sethi. Proving to be an engaging interviewer, she narrated how a local bookshop owner had languidly informed her “Hamid ki kitaab top par hai aaj kal” (Hamid’s book is a top-seller these days). The conversation was based on the collective bibliography of the author, with a few choice questions inevitably thrown in the mix about Mira Nair’s cinematic adaptation of Hamid’s book, The Reluctant Fundamentalist. About a question referring to his female characters, Mohsin Hamid sagely mentioned how “women’s sexuality unsettles everyone; it’s the most frightening thing in any civilisation”. He added that his female characters exist independent of their male counterparts and perhaps are not conventional. He drew a laugh and cheers from the crowd when he mentioned what he tells people who ask him why he doesn’t write in Urdu. “I’m a fish,” he said, “why don’t you fly? Someone asks the fish. Because I’m a fish! Says the fish.”

A small craft fair was run by Daachi Foundation outside the main halls. PHOTOS: NUZHAT SAADIA SIDDIQI & MALIK SHAFIQ

We are nothing without our filth and fury

Salman Shahid took to a darkened stage, armed with printouts of Manto’s infamous story Thanda Gosht, narrating it with halting grace. A sitar nawaz sat beside him, punctuating the ferocious melancholy of the narrative with the strings. However, it was young auteur Sarmad Sultan Khoosat who stole the session when he read one of Manto’s essays and later showed a short film which served as an introduction to his upcoming masterpiece Main Manto. Shot beautifully, the film promises to be a visceral in-depth look at the life of the man behind the stories; the madness, the sound and the fury. Sarmad said the film will be released in Pakistan in the first half of next year after it has done a tour of the international film festivals.

In sharp focus

Perhaps the biggest crowd-puller of the day happened in the form of a session that brought together the crews of two of the biggest cinematic hits Pakistan has had in the past few months. Bilal and Kamran Lashari and Amir Munawwar represented Waar and Vasay Chaudhry and Javed Sheikh joined them to represent Mein Hoon Shahid Afridi. Much to the moderator’s delight, and to the surprise of the audience, the studly Shamoon Abbasi who played the villain in Waar also showed up in the crowd and was invited on stage mid-discussion. The conversation touched upon the revival of cinema and the evolution of the art of cinematic storytelling in Pakistan.

Copies of Raza Rumi’s book, Delhi by heart were available for sale at the Khayaal Festival. PHOTOS: NUZHAT SAADIA SIDDIQI & MALIK SHAFIQ

Some of the audience members debated whether Waar was too violent, abrasive, and full of foul language. They also pointed out that perhaps the film pandered a very stereotypical image of Pakistan at war with itself when it comes to terrorism, and that certain foreign elements are to blame for every mishap. Bilal Lashari belied his years when he very soberly countered each statement by saying that his was a big budget action film not unlike a Hollywood production, which are far more violent. As for the controversy surrounding the funding of the film coming from ISI, he said, “Well, the ISPR is enjoying all the free credit right now.”

Raza Rumi speaks about his new book at one of the sessions. PHOTOS: NUZHAT SAADIA SIDDIQI & MALIK SHAFIQ

Vasay Chaudhry was a riot when he admitted that as the writer of Mein Hoon Shahid Afridi, he couldn’t divert the audience’s attention from previous sporting films from across the border such as Lagaan and Chak De India, so he focused only on having a laugh through the script. “There are perhaps four per cent people in this country who have everything,” Vasay added, “and then there is the 96% who have nothing but the power of prayers carrying them through life. Mein Hoon was an ode to that.”

Remains of the next day

The second day of the festival saw more numbers in attendance along with many of the panelists from day one. Nabiha Meher Shaikh, an educationist and women’s rights activist working with the NGO Simorgh introduced their recent publications to young attendees and their parents. The books included a hefty tome about Raja Rasalu and many translated feminist texts, textbooks for children and mainly collections of works of women’s writers of Pakistan. Khayaal Festival also had a small craft fair being run by Daachi Foundation outside the main halls. The day featured simultaneous talks in not two but all three halls of Alhamra, making it even harder to choose between sessions.

Ali Sethi moderating a session with renowned singer, Farida Khanum. PHOTOS: NUZHAT SAADIA SIDDIQI & MALIK SHAFIQ

Can television be credited as being an intelligent medium at all?

Sarmad Sehbai, Asghar Nadeem Syed and Haseena Moin, in a discussion with Sarmad Sultan Khoosat, brought out the proverbial claws when discussing the current state of Pakistani drama. In an engaging session, the three veteran television writers shared three different theories of what is wrong, or right, with Pakistani drama today. On question of Turkish dramas killing the business of good Pakistani dramas, Sarmad Sehbai vociferously countered the argument that competition was necessarily a boon for Pakistani drama makers, a view held steadfastly by Asghar Nadeem Syed. As for drama writers having a social duty and moral obligation to write intelligent material, he also added that no revolutions should be expected from the writers when they are paid peanuts and are driven to write in things that drive marketing revenue for the seth media. Haseena Moin joined in by saying that the ratings and marketing aspect of dramas has killed the age old demand of telling a good story.

“I wrote strong female characters that were bold and courageous and could have a good laugh along the way. Today’s plays either show the women to be weak, submissive and oppressed or the conniving home-wrecker,” she said. “This simplification of complex issues needs to stop.”

Asghar Nadeem Syed interjected that he had written a drama about the four girls who were buried alive in Balochistan and it got good ratings and feedback, so the door was not entirely closed on intelligent writing. “Unfortunately the media has assumed the role of sole caretaker of public debate and discourse,” he added. “Our role models, legends and new talent have all been sidelined by revenue driven political tamasha.”

Bubble of water

The session featuring first time film-makers Meenu Gaur, Mazhar Zaidi and Farjad Nabi added a refreshing perspective to the ongoing conversation about the revival of Pakistani cinema.

“[Around] 95% of our film’s crew was first time film-makers. Our art direction came from students of National College of Arts (NCA) and Beaconhouse National University (BNU), and all our leading men with the obvious exception of Naseeruddin Shah were first time performers,” said Meenu Gaur. When asked about whether it was easy to follow through with her ideas for the film, she said that Pakistan’s film industry is free from the hegemonic model Bollywood has now assumed. Aspiring Pakistani film-makers have a clean slate and a level field to try out their stories.

Farjad Nabi was adamant that the story they wanted to tell in the film grew as the actors improvised. Fresh from being under Naseeruddin Shah’s tutelage, they were also ready to explore new ideas. “The stories truly are all out on the streets, it’s just that no one’s telling them.”

Mazhar Zaidi recollected the remaking of the classic Saahir Ali Bagga song Paani Da Bulbula by showing a documentary clip of the man himself, talking about the history of his version and the spirited remake by Abrarul Haq. The fact that their film has been sent as an official Foreign Language Film nominee to the upcoming Oscars was of much delight to the film-makers, although they admitted they did not have the budget or the contacts in LA to run a campaign to promote their film.

Farjab Nabi announced that their next film project will be crowd-funded so the people should get ready to put in their money if they want another exciting film.

The songbird among us

Perhaps the most moving session was the one that featured, in all her glory, the grand dame of Pakistani classical music, Farida Khanum. Moderated by Ali Sethi, whose enthusiasm for classical music often bubbled over, the session turned into a mehfil of sorts when surprise guest Ghulam Ali joined the two on the stage. The lofty conversation veered from the  800-year-old tradition of classical music, the evolution of Raag Aiman, anecdotes about pronunciation of words in ghazals, memories of Radio Pakistan and how Farida Khanum’s singing has sustained three generations now.

The session took another poignant turn when Farida Khanum paid tribute to the legendary folk singer Reshma, who had died earlier that day. “She sang from her heart and her whole being. She couldn’t reel her voice into what was considered proper, and that was her talent. It was perhaps too visceral for some people, but she didn’t care,” Farida Khanum said. Ghulam Ali recalled Reshma’s simplicity despite her celebrity status, stating how he had once helped her get her payment from a concert promoter who had tricked her out of it.

Me, all of us, and everyone

The festival ended with an inspired performance by indie musicians Poor Rich Boy. A complete flip-over from the last session, first time attendees of the performance doubted if the band could add anything of substance after the graceful strains of Farida Khanum’s session. However, to obliterate everyone’s negative expectations, the band delivered a rousing performance of some of their most interesting hits. Lead singer Umer Khan lightly added that it was his “turn to tell stories”. And indeed he did, from a philosophical parable about man who goes searching for a tree with a treasure buried underneath it and the power of dreams, the session was a melodious reminder of the significant talent there is among our youth.

Entry to the festival was free but it was organised carefully with a lot of thought and heart, and one hopes that the next Khayaal Festival will be promoted properly so that more people can attend. The lack of crowds at this event, however, did not take away from the quality of the experience, and reminded everyone why Lahore is still the cultural heart of Pakistan.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 17^th, 2013.

It’s a bird. It’s a plane. No. It’s a guy in a green suit sporting a wicked moustache, a poorly sketched logo and a cape!

Meet Pakistan Man — the latest comic superhero to emerge as part of a growing trend of desi comics spilling over from the virtual world into print. Dubbed Pakistan’s first superhero, a claim some in the local community of amateur illustrators would dispute, Pakistan Man is the brainchild of 24-year-old Hassan Siddiqui, a marketing graduate from Iqra University, Islamabad. The self published comic is the logical final culmination of a childhood passion for drawing cartoons. The road to Pakistan Man was paved however, as it does for many aspiring young Pakistani cartoonists — on Facebook.

“HS comics were launched on Facebook in 2011. I’m the owner and artist,” Siddiqui says, narrating how the social network helped him build a fan base and improve his skills. “Facebook is a great way to show your art to people. It is a very important tool for any artist to start-up because it gives you instant feedback from your fan. You also have to be careful not to make mistakes in your work and deliver something which is on trend.”

Honing his art on social media, Siddiqui developed a fan following of over 13,000 on the HS comics Facebook page. While most of his toons were simple one-liners or 2-3 panel affairs on local politics and culture, the young illustrator/writer decided to work on a larger creative project around a local superhero, an idea he had first conceived in college.

The first issue of the comic is a fairly simple origins story, though its message is somewhat convoluted, something that perhaps unintentionally reflects the very real issue of existing conflicting narratives about Pakistan and national identity. While Pakistan Man seems to be an everyman superhero with a democratic bent, he also seems comfortable toppling the government. An overly simplified messiah, he is determined to save the homeland from all forms of injustice, including Meera’s English.

The son of a poor family, living in a small village called Sastapur, Pakistan Man dons his heroic avatar after a chance encounter with iconic hero Sultan Rahi. Five years of rigorous training and moustache growing later, armed with a superhero costume and the ability to fly, he is ready to save Pakistan as instructed by his mentor Sultan Rahi.

In the ensuing adventure, the man in green takes down pagal Sikandar, smacks a renowned female celebrity with an English dictionary, and then goes on to defeat The Corruptor, an evil super villain who is naturally a fraudulent politician sitting in the Parliament.

The drawings are basic, the inking is digital and the plot is predictable, but perhaps necessary for an origins story. “Pakistan Man is meant to represent the Pakistani people, showing how anyone can become a superhero,” Siddiqui explains. The fact that Meera is assaulted with a dictionary is “just a joke”. The Corruptor is an amalgamation of Pakistan’s leaders, and the fact that he is forced to flee the Parliament is a playful spin. “I wouldn’t say it is meant to send any big message about democracy. I don’t want people to take anything too political from my comic book, it is meant for people to have a good laugh and enjoy a good story which they can relate to,” explains Siddiqi.

The young creator points out that one of the biggest challenges to drawing comics in Pakistan is trying to tackle any issue without offending people. The lack of knowledge about comic books as an alternate form of creative expression does not help the situation either. Fortunately, the challenge of finding a publisher for the comic was bypassed by going the self-publishing route. “I had wanted to publish a comic book for the longest time. The total cost was about Rs25,000… I covered this with the help of a friend who also worked on it,” Siddiqui says matter-of-factly.

While inspired by the recent launch of Umro Ayar, an Urdu Comic book by Kachee Goliyan, Siddiqui set aside aiming for any monetary gains from the first issue of Pakistan Man.

“We felt it would be hard to convince paying sponsors for the first issue. Hopefully seeing our success we can get some sponsors for our next issue. Any profits generated from the first issue will go to the Edhi Foundation,” he says.

Whether Pakistan Man sees a second or third issue or ends 16 pages deep depends on how the current version fares with the audience. “Depending on the success of the first issue, Pakistan Man’s story may continue… hopefully in the future there will be more issues,” Siddiqui says.

While the dedication to publishing comics in the face of multiple hurdles is impressive, at the end of the day, Pakistan Man offers little that is not amateur or already seen before. The drawings are just a step above high school doodles and not in a self-deprecating, ironic way. The plot is tired, while the writing and jokes are childish, and unlikely to appeal to anyone over the age of 15. If our man in green does return, here’s hoping he works on his one-liners more than his punches.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 17^th, 2013.

Pakistan Man is available at The Book Shop, Jinnah Super, Islamabad; Famous Books, F6, Islamabad; Idris Book Bank, Rawalpindi for Rs90. The comic can also be ordered online from the HS Comics Facebook page for Rs145, including delivery charges.

Young, bright-eyed, Malala Yousafzai leaves the likes of Jon Stewart speechless, candidly tells Christiane Amanpour she would visit the Buckingham Palace as it is the order of the Queen, and has been named as one of TIME magazine’s 100 most influential people in the world. But her story is a far cry from the splendour she now sees.

In her autobiography, I Am Malala, co-authored by Christine Lamb, a British journalist, the 16-year-old takes us through the everyday life of a young girl in the Taliban infused city of Swat. The memoir traces her life and the incidents in her hometown that forced her to speak out publicly for the right of education for girls, long before she was shot and thrust into international limelight.

The book begins with an intriguing description of the Pashtun culture and Swat, a place she often refers to as the Switzerland of Pakistan. A brief history of the Pakistani political landscape dating back to Gen Zia’s regime, told mostly through her father’s recollection, gives a broader perspective on the geo-political dynamics that have shaped the country in its present form. We learn significantly about her father, Ziauddin Yousafzai, who once struggled for his own education. As a teacher and an activist, he persistently campaigned for the rights of the people of Swat. Unlike most men in his tribe, who mourned the birth of daughters, he took great pride in Malala and named her after a renowned female Pashtun warrior.

And Malala was every bit of the warrior that her father envisioned her to be. Using accounts from her personal life, the book allows you to see for yourself that Malala is no ordinary girl. Her spirit is almost tangible when you see her questioning everyday injustices, that even many adults have made peace with. For example, she shares the story of a 10-year-old girl married to an old man, an incident that troubled her deeply. “I am very proud to be Pashtun, but sometimes our code of conduct has a lot to answer for, especially in its treatment of women,” she says. She continues to debate the legitimacy of the Taliban mindset, especially when it came to stopping girls from going to school. And with her father’s support, she ensures that these questions make way to the right ears.

Malala’s mother, an illiterate but progressive woman, would share her concern for her daughter’s safety but would not prevent her from speaking up. In fact a poignant detail in the book is the moment her mother learns of the ruthless attack on her daughter, was the day she was to start learning how to read and write.

The book does not offer a thorough critique of the West’s military operations in the region, and it can be debated that a significant portion is a reflection of her father and Lamb’s analysis of Pakistani history and politics, rather than that of the 16-year-old herself.

However, it allows you to taste the fear of living in a regime where books are shunned and the wrong length of your beard can get you killed. It enables you to understand how bewildering the current situation in the country can be for a young child who just wants a normal life.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 17^th, 2013.

In 2003, two friends, Travis Garone and Luke Slattery started the Movember movement in Melbourne, Australia with an aim to generate interest and funds for men’s health and prostate cancer. A disease that only affects men, this cancer is a tumour growing in the prostrate — a gland in the male reproductive system.

According to Cancer Research UK, an estimated 900,000 men worldwide were diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2008, accounting for almost one in seven (14%) cancers diagnosed in men. With an initial following of 30 men, the independent charity movement now boasts over 1.9m moustache growers and donors in 21 countries.

How does it work?

At the start of November, or Movember, men can register an online profile with a clean shaven face. The Movember participants known as Mo Bros have the rest of the month to grow and groom their moustache, while raising money along the way to benefit men’s health and research opportunities. However, there are some strict criterion regarding the moustache — it cannot be joined to the sideburns, as that is considered a beard. Neither can the handlebars be joined to the chin. Lastly, each Mo Bro is expected to conduct himself like a country gentleman.

Where’s Pakistan in the movement?

While brands align themselves to the movement internationally with print ads and painting moustaches on airplanes (British Airways), the movement has not yet reached Pakistan. In fact, the official Movember website does not even show Pakistan as a choice in the country section.

Zair Maqsood, CEO of N-Gents in Karachi, says he has not heard too many people asking or talking about Movember. “I see the potential but people have not picked up on it yet. We can’t do much, but I am giving moustache and beard grooming advice this month.”

Procter & Gamble partakes in Movember internationally through its men’s brand Gillete by producing print ads on the movement, but locally it has not been seen promoting the campaign.

Though brands may be slower to catch on, some Pakistanis are fully aware of the movement and want to do their bit towards raising awareness and funds.

“It gives me real pride when I’m asked about the moustache and I get to tell them about prostate cancer. People don’t know one in eight men could possibly get it. I feel satisfied knowing I’m contributing to a cause no matter how small that contribution maybe.”

“I can’t grow a moustache, but I believe in the cause and want to support it in my own way.”

“I saw the trend of ‘Movember’ growing on social media sites! I researched about it and saw that it was for an actual cause. So I’m growing a moustache and sharing the actual reason with all my friends and family.”

“It is to create awareness. I want to encourage everyone to read up and donate towards men’s health to better understand the risks and prevention methods related to prostate and testicular cancer.”

“Growing facial hair right above my upper lip is not for a new look for a character I’ll be playing, it’s to be a part of the Movember movement for the awareness of men’s health i.e. prostate cancer and associated charities.”

“Put your ’stache where your mouth is! If I can do more than just talking about it, so can you!”

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 17^th, 2013.

Hearing Nusrat is not just music, it is an act of worship. There seems to be a consensus amongst those who heard the maestro as he breathed life into notes. Defying the conventional genres that melodies are usually neatly stacked into, he would transcend to a level of rhythmic devotion that was lost on ordinary minds. Immersed in the spiritual, he never lost grip over any note or any tremor, his tehreek, mutki, phanday — nothing short of perfect. As the music washed over your senses and your pulse vibrated to the beat, you ached to fade into his mystical abyss, fully aware that what you were experiencing was not ordinary.

This was the magic of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.

At Bidi Studio, Paris for a recording in 1993. 

Pakistan did not have a Bocelli or Pavarotti at the time, neither did we have our own version of the Beatles or Led Zepplin, but it did not matter because we had Nusrat. Born in Faisalabad, he inherited a 600-year-old tradition of qawwali from his forefathers and went on to become the Shahanshah-e-Qawwali or the The King of Kings of Qawwali. But his genius was not just limited to qawwali. His collaborations with renowned musicians like Peter Gabriel and Eddie Vedder saw a marriage of the electric guitar and the tabla, producing some of the richest fusions of the time.

With group members rehearsing at Bidi Studio, Paris. 

Unsurpassed in his musical range, his knack for improvisation and the sheer intensity of his chords made him one of the most significant voices from the region. While millions revered the musician, few knew Nusrat — the man. Dr Pierre-Alain Baud, a researcher, academic and author of his biography Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, the messenger of Qawwali, spent several years in Nusrat’s company. In an interview during his recent visit to Lahore, he recounts his experiences with the melodic enigma.

1. What was your first exposure to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s qawwali music?

The first concert I attended took place in Paris in 1985 at Theatre de la Ville. It was organised by Soudabeh Kia, a French-Iranian lady. She was the first person to introduce Nusrat to non-resident Pakistani audiences, the same year as Peter Gabriel.

Featured in the 1997 issue of TIME magazine. 

In 1985, Nusrat was still completely unknown in France, apart from some Sufi or South-Asian music aficionados. A major part of the audience that evening was Pakistani or Indian and the response was just like in Pakistan; people standing up from their seats and going down (Theatre de la Ville hall is very steep) to the stage to offer ‘vel’ (donations) or requesting him to sing such or such an item; a couple of sensitive listeners went into a trance.

2. And your response?

Oh, it was an astonishing discovery, widening my knowledge of Sufi music in a huge way. And Nusrat was such a presence. He had the Beloved floating in the air…

A-ma-zing, really a-ma-zing!

3. What can you tell us about your first meeting with Nusrat?

After this 1985 shock (as a mere lay listener among a 1,000 people), I heard him again live in 1988 or maybe was 1989. I had been listening again and again to his recordings. But the encounter moment came in autumn 1991. I met him when I was en route to attend his concert at an old French monastery. It was an autumn morning. We were at the Railway station in Tours, France. He was there, the ‘Singing Buddha’ from the Theatre de la Ville in Paris, waiting for the connection that would take him and his musicians to Fontevraud Abbey for his last concerts of the year in France. We, members of the enthralled audience who had already seen him perform thrice in Paris the week before, were going to the Abbey too, to witness the incredible freedom of his voice once again.

A group performance at Chergourg, France in 1993.

The shock this meeting produced was scorching. Uncertain, trembling words started a conversation, which slowly grew into a dense dialogue in the shade of the priory. Generous exchanges [were] interrupted by unexpected vocal demonstrations, stunning silences [and a] fiery look…Years later, having accompanied him on numerous international tours, I remained a spectator stunned by his vertiginous voice: I do not fully understand the mystery of his song, but an intimate resonance intrigues and unnerved me as soon as he sat down, cross-legged on the stage and hurled out his mad love song to the Divine.

4, This meeting at Fontevraud was the beginning of your association with Nusrat?

Yes. After the few days we spent together at Fontevraud, he invited me to follow him on his tour to Italy, and then to meet him at his home in Pakistan. From that point of time, I accompanied him for over five years, on a number of his international tours, in the capacity of an assistant of his major promoter. For the past 30 years, [Kia}on behalf of Paris municipal Theatre de la Ville, has been promoting numerous Pakistani artists worldwide.

Performance at Lok Virsa, Islamabad. 

I went with him to a number of European countries, Brazil, Tunisia, and was with him in New York. I followed him to dozens of places in Pakistan and went wherever he was going. He has been a great institution for me [with] respect to the Pakistani
society.

5. Say more about Nusrat the man.

He had innumerable facets: enigmatic and innocent, colossal and peaceful, inspired and ordinary, all parts of the same person who inflamed myriads of spectators in Lahore, Paris, Florence, Tokyo or New York, crossing linguistic and cultural, generational and social barriers with the greatest of ease. To further elaborate, I will quote myself from a fragment of the portrait I sketched about him in my biography foreword:

NFAK with his troupe.

“Singing Buddha in Tokyo, Quintessence of the human voice in Tunis, The Voice of Paradise in Los Angeles, The Spirit of Islam in London, Pavarotti of the East in Paris, Shahenshah-e-Qawwali in Lahore . Over the space of about 15 years, this chosen singer, one of God’s madmen, one of God’s sweetest, shot to planetary fame. And then he disappeared, too early…leaving a thousand footprints behind.

A man of superlatives: weight (impressive), octaves (six, supposedly), albums (125 at the beginning of the 1990s according to the Guinness book of records, maybe twice that many by now), videos that can be consulted on the Internet site YouTube (over 2,000, certain of which have been viewed a million times in a single year), concerts (by the thousands), Google references (hundreds of thousands), cassettes and CDs ( by the millions).

PHOTO: REUTERS

And yet a man of deep simplicity. His all-consuming mission was to spread a message — the kind and beautiful words of the Sufi poets, mystics, permeated by an Islam reflecting love and union.

A man outside of time, bewitching us with the madness of his declarations of love addressed to the Divine. A man truly of his times too, open to all kinds of experiments, all kinds of fusion. Rooted and universal. Committed and free.”

6. Who were the people around Nusrat?

Well, in Pakistan, basically his close family members, though I would say, at the same focal level, his qawwali party men, which included his younger brother, Farrukh, and for a long time his cousin-brother, Mujahid Mubarak, as well as his bother-in-law and other cousins.

In his lodge before a performance, in Cherbourg, 1993. 

In fact, he was spending much time with his party, always rolling from one concert venue to another, from a recording to a class, spending a huge amount of time travelling. He had hectic tour schedules.

7. I heard Nurat ate maybe 25 parathas for breakfast. Is that true? What was his favourite dish?

As far as I know, no! He was definitely a good eater (as we say in French). He appreciated eating but not [upto] this point. I am not sure [what his favourite dish was] but the most common one he was eating was roti and meat, the basic menu of Punjabi middle class men, no?

During different performances across Pakistan, 1993.

8. I heard Nusrat live in Central Park, New York, in the late 1990s. The impact of hearing his qawwali live is unforgettable. But when I hear Nusrat on CD it does not carry the same inspiration?

In the old days, the LP’s and records carried the full range of the singer’s voice — from the lowest to the highest pitch. Now CDs use stabilisers and other devices (for recording) and only capture the middle range of highs and lows. So you don’t get the full drama, power and passion of the vocalist.

As a bridegroom. 

9. Did your time spent with Nusrat change you in any way?

Definitely. He has been a major go-between, between my French European contemporary identity and my larger Sufi/spiritual/mystic individual soul, projected towards the Universal, the One.

At Rishi Kapoor’s wedding ceremony, Mumbai. 

“Well, I think what stands out when you look at Nusrat is his devotion to Sufism. Qawwali as an art-form has a long history, and was used as a tool to bring people towards Islam. His family had a 400-year-old history, with the art.

I think for me what stands out is that he was the first real star to have come out of South Asia who was truly international. Madonna and Pavarroti wanted to record albums with him, Mick Jagger had come to Lahore to listen to him and there was a massive following across the globe.

He performed as a traditional qawwal for many years initially but could not attain the status of his father and uncle. It was really, Imran Khan who was then raising funds for his hospital, that changed things. Performing at those fundraisers, he met great musicians such as Peter Gabriel, Eddie Vedder and his reputation as an artist became global. This is his real impact, in such a short span he was the most popular Pakistani and the biggest celebrity to make an impact from South Asia.”

Socialite/Philanthropist – YOUSUF SALLI

“An underrated aspect about Nusrat saheb, is his ability as composer which most people tend to forget. On a broader level, modern music needed Nusrat, not the other way around. He was a complete package and had very different vocals, which appealed to a lot of people who collaborated with him.

He was a very good teacher and understood how to impart that knowledge to others. I come from a family of composers and instrumentalist myself, but Nusrat’s work as composer was very natural. Most composers have to think of a beat while composing the melody but for him this was inherent. I know RD Burman has used a lot of his work and AR Rahman is heavily influenced by him too.”

Musician – Sahir Ali Bagga

 

“I spent about 10 years attached to him and met him regularly even before that. His entire day was consumed by music — it was all he really needed. I recall many nights when we would end up singing or making compositions till dawn. I think what I loved about him was his work as composer.

When I had first started parody it was because of the increasing vulgarity in local theatre. I had always looked at parody as a way of paying tribute to our artists and stars. In Nusrat’s case, I remember the first time I performed in front of him, he was in a giggling fit. He ended up becoming one of my biggest supporters. 

As someone who spent a lot of time with him, I can tell you he had very innocent and pure personality. I don’t think I have ever seen him lose his temper or get angry. But one thing was constant, he loved music and played 24 hours
a day.”

Comedian – HASSAN ABBAS

 

“Unlike many musicians or individuals who consider music as something that is part-time, Nusrat was the complete artist, from top to bottom. His index finger would move in a rhythmic motion even when he was asleep. That was his genius, he was always lost in composition and music consumed his life.

He was a very straight-forward and kind individual who generously shared his craft and never paid heed to the commercial side of his career. In fact, I recall his manager at AlHamra asking him to take more of an interest because many people would make money from his music without giving his share. It was also known that he had composed a  few songs for Bollywood  and received something like Rs18 as payment.

But he was never bitter. Music was part of his blood and all that mattered.”

Academic/Writer – AQEEL RUBY 

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 17^th, 2013.

As soon as you see Sidney Sheldon’s name scrawled in large letters on the cover of the book, The Tides of Memory, it immediately catches your attention given that the author passed away in 2007. But a closer look reveals that the author is not Sheldon, but rather Tilly Bagshaw, who has emerged as Sheldon’s successor, writing books in both his literary style, and at times using the same characters created by the late author.

The story revolves around the life of Alexia De Vere, newly instated Home Secretary of the UK, second only to the prime minister himself. Hailed as Britain’s second Iron Lady, De Vere is truly a force to be reckoned with. From her controversial political stances to her tumultuous background, she has more than one skeleton in her closet.

With a supportive husband, a playboy son, and a daughter who tried to commit suicide followed by a doomed affair, De Vere’s family is hardly picture perfect. Her constant struggle to balance her political life with her personal one proves to be one of the major recurring themes in Bagshawe’s latest offering.

People often talk about the great responsibility that comes with power but the inevitable army of enemies that power creates is often forgotten. Alexia De Vere’s career as a politician has earned her more than just a few rivals.

Before she was home secretary, De Vere was prisons minister, and her passing of a bill regarding sentence reforms extended more than one person’s stay in the dog house, making her a target for not only convicts but also their families and supporters. One particular convict, Sanjay Patel, has managed to haunt De Vere from the grave. Patel, who committed suicide after his prison sentence was increased to life has a number of loyal followers, one of whom is committed to ending De Vere’s life.

The story continues with tragedy after tragedy befalling De Vere and her family, as she tries to find an elusive link between the series of events. To her good fortune, she has her faithful American friend Lucy Meyer by her side, who is portrayed as De Vere’s rock, the keeper of her secrets, and the only person De Vere feels truly comfortable with.

As the book progresses, mystery unravels, and it is clear that De Vere had put both, her life and the lives of those she loves, in the wrong hands by trusting the wrong people.

While The Tides of Memory isn’t unforgettable, it is an interesting read. No one can do justice to Sidney Sheldon, but Tilly Bagshawe comes about as close as one can get to Sheldon’s masterwork. Despite the initial reservation, as Sheldon’s work is considered incomparable, Bagshawe doesn’t disappoint, and comes about as close as one can to Sheldon’s genius, keeping his love for strong female protagonists intact.

Mashal Abbasi is a Life & Style sub-editor for The Express Tribune. She tweets @Mashal_A

An eye for an eye: Revenge at its best

• Flawless

Scarlett Murray’s jewelry designs are one-of-a-kind, and she’s as gorgeous as the diamonds she works with. But hers is a ruthless business. To make it to the top, Scarlett must swim through seas of greed and corruption, in order to attain the elusive perfect stone.

• Happy Mutant Baby Pills

Lloyd writes the small print for prescription drugs. His job is to make potential side effects sound harmless and petty. When he meets troubled Nora, he becomes a pawn in her grand scheme to exact revenge on those who poison the masses in order to sell them the cure.

• The Power Trip

Set on a state of the art luxury yacht off the coast of Cabo San Lucas, The Power Trip tells the stories of a group of power-hungry elites, who turn sour when they find out they don’t control as much of the world as they thought.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 24^th, 2013.

Literary critics wittily claim that that the golden age for science fiction is at the ripe age of 14. The Ender’s Game, a hardcore science-fiction flick for teens, makes an adult (especially those addicted to war games) feel like a 14-year-old, and in a good way.

Written and directed by Gavin Hood, and based on Orson Scott Card’s book by the same name, the film tells the story of the planet being rescued by a small group of children. Set in a disarmingly straightforward sci-fi setting, it shows the future of the planet being threatened by the Formics, a hostile alien species with superior technology who seem determined to destroy the human race.

The entire plot of the film is unlocked with the protagonist’s narration in the opening scenes of the film. “The world’s smartest children are the planet’s best hope. Raised on war games, their decisions are intuitive, decisive and fearless.”

After observing Ender Wiggins (Asa Butterfield), a shy but strategically brilliant boy, through hidden cameras, Colonel Hyrum Graff (Harrison Ford) believes he is the next great warrior for humanity. Graff pulls Wiggins out of school to join the elite force, and trains him to be an outstanding fighter — one that kills without asking any questions. The young fighter quickly learns jarring and increasingly complicated war strategies and is promoted to the Command School.

Ender takes up the war with a group of his best team members to save the Earth from the biggest enemies of the human race. But he is also simultaneously at war with his inner self, trying to distinguish between a war hero and a killer. This forces the audience to think which side is justified in a war — the one that attacks or the one that retaliates.

The Ender’s Game revolves particularly around the subjects of leadership and the influences on one’s mind during teenage years. We see a great impact of Wiggin’s siblings (Valentine Wiggin played by Abigail Breslin and Peter Wiggin played by Jimmy Pinchak) on his mind during his time at the battle school. While his sister is the protector and confidant through the film, Ender’s brother is an angry soul who sees Ender’s selection for the battle school as his defeat.

While there have been mixed reviews for using children to play the role of adults in Hollywood, it has worked to suit the theme of the film. The fact that the movie shows children as warriors, who are at times forced to fight without an option of quitting, is a concept that will be disapproved by many. However, it also forces one to reflect on the kind of world we are leaving behind for the future generations and if the war will ever end.

Overall, the movie is captivating and thought-provoking and will make you want to buy the book immediately if you haven’t read it already. The author, Orson Scott Card, is the recipient of the Margaret A Edwards Award for outstanding lifetime contribution to writing for teens. For a complete experience, I’ve already bought my copy.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 24^th, 2013.

It is a pretty dark place when the only way to ease pain is to increase it. Commonly known as self-harm, it is a condition in which physical harm is deliberately inflicted on one’s own body to relieve emotional distress. The behaviour may take various forms such as poisoning, skin burning, hair pulling, skin-cutting, eating disorders and drug and alcohol abuse.

People who resort to deliberate self-harm can be divided into two broad categories — those who are attempting suicide and those who are using self-harm as a survival strategy to gain temporary relief from emotional pain. For the latter, it develops into an addiction as the pain provides them temporary release. The physical injury releases beta endorphins into the brain, which reduces tension and creates a feeling of temporary calm and control.

“My parents’ marriage was not a happy one and often, they would involve me in their arguments. At the age of 14, I started cutting myself using my father’s razor blades and [the pain] brought me instant relief,” admits Hassan, a former self-injurer.

The behaviour can be triggered due to anything from family disputes to conflict with the opposite sex, marital problems, chronic illness or financial difficulties.

“Research indicates that people who have been abused sexually in childhood feel a lot of guilt [and] feel responsible for the abuse against them. Harming themselves is an attempt to punish themselves, which is soothing in the moment,” says Tabassum Alvi, a psychiatrist at the Jinnah Medical College. Life Signs, a UK-based user-led voluntary organisation states that there is a strong link between self-injury and low self esteem.

A study conducted by the Rawalpindi Medical College in 2006 shows that the reported incidents of deliberate self-harm in Pakistan is about eight persons per 100,000 men and women. However, updated data on cases of deliberate self-harm in Pakistan is not available as it can be seen as a suicide attempt, which by law is a criminal offence punishable by a jail term or a fine. Most cases also go unreported due to fear of bringing shame to the family, or being subjected to a police inquiry.

The easy availability of medicines makes self-poisoning one of the easiest and most common methods of self-harm in the country. Drugs like benzodiazepines or aspirin, bleach, bathroom cleaners, rat-killing pills, lice powder and varnish are frequently used.

According to research conducted by Dr Muhammad Shahid at the Aga Khan University, impoverished married housewives, less than 35 years of age, are at the greatest risk of self-harm in Pakistan. Alvi attributes this trend to stress, having too many children in quick succession and hormonal changes which lead to depression. However, in recent years, an increasing number of men in the country are also self-harming due to frustration, abuse and poverty.

Even though the road seems dark, it is not hopeless and complete recovery is possible. One of the most effective ways is to seek help through therapy and develop alternative coping methods of dealing with the pain.

“I really wanted to stop cutting because I was tired of having to hide my scars and being in constant physical and emotional pain. So whenever I felt the urge to cut, I would instead try to express my pain by drawing and writing. Gradually, my sketchbook replaced my razor blade,” says Sheela, a former self-injurer.

A common misconception about self-harm is mistaking it as an attention-seeking tactic. In most cases, people who engage in this behaviour are very self-conscious and wary of asking for help. Hence, a strong support network of family and friends can play a critical role in recovery.

Rakshanda Khan is currently under training for humanistic integrative counseling. 

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 24^th, 2013.

The Coke Studio-Sound of the Nation coffee table book is exactly like its episodes — an excellently designed, conceived and crafted combination of visual art and script. The intentionally blurred image of the Coke Studio setting on the front cover sets the mood for the visual treat that is to follow and the contrasting image of Daniyal Hyatt, Rohail’s son, on the back cover is perhaps an indication of the impending takeover of the venture’s legacy. Although quite attractive, the book’s appeal cannot be limited to its cover image; it is the overall feel, detail to texture and an engaging write-up that gets you sipping and flipping through this well-executed initiative.

Written by Arsalanul Haq with Tanya Mirza-Ashraf as the editor and Ambreen Dar looking after the layout and art direction, the book kicks off with a very profound foreword by Raza Kazim, an activist and patron of arts. He sheds light on the philosophy behind the subcontinent’s music and Coke Studio’s contribution to it.

The core of the book is divided into the rhythms, harmony, texture, language and melody of Pakistan. It is no ordinary documentation of the sounds of this soil, but a rather in-depth overview of how music and culture has and will continue to play a crucial role in rebranding Pakistan in current times. Much like any seminal, modern-day documentation on culture, this book advocates diversity and pluralism through its visuals and pertinent text, making it one of its greatest achievements.

“For any nation to stride ahead, it must be in complete harmony with its diversity. Harmony comes from the synthesis of all homogeneous and heterogeneous elements such that they co-exist in the larger scheme of things,” the book states. As a tool for cultural change it is perhaps an ideal gift for visiting dignitaries.

To add to its overall appeal, is the artwork; an effective arrangement of images that blend well in the background with the text and render the book irresistibly charming. In this regard Nazia Akram and Summaiya Jillani’s creation, titled Divine/Acrylics on Dastarkhuan (2013), deserve a special mention. The former shows the Coca Cola logo dissolving in the backdrop of a local tyre shop with a pair of eyes staring at you, placed strategically in the middle of a tyre. The latter, on the other hand, smoothly meshes the patterns reminiscent of the traditional truck art, often seen on prayer mats, against the background of a rather symmetrical cross with two fingers joining in the centre. With bright colours and a balanced composition, Jillani’s sublime presentation is certain to win readers over.

Coke Studio-Sound of the Nation is perhaps one of the most fulfilling reads and will make you reconnect with your soulful side. Although a touch heavier for some to handle, it is nevertheless the perfect book to have on your coffee table.

Rafay Mahmood is an Arts and culture reporter for The Express Tribune. He tweets @Rafay_mahmood 

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 24^th, 2013.

“This is the first time that I’ve had to talk to CNN about one of our exhibits,” quips Sarah Bevan, curator of the Imperial War Museum’s (London) IWM Contemporary programme, which features 5,000 Feet Is The Best, a short film by artist Omer Fast exploring the subject of drone warfare.

“At 5,000 feet,” explains a drone operator interviewed by Fast in the film, “I can tell what type of shoes you’re wearing from a mile away.” The film is structured around segments of interviews with this former drone operator (now employed as a security guard) who claims to be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) as a consequence of the missions he has been a part of in Afghanistan and Pakistan. The film, played on a loop, has no discernable opening or ending, and viewers are free to watch the narrative, comprised of a series of vignettes, unfold at any point.

Born in Jerusalem, Fast currently lives in Berlin and describes himself as a news junkie but not a war artist. With this film, he explores how the use of drone technology has all but removed the sliver of a line distinguishing home from the battlefront in today’s conflicts. He does this through the stories of a man who, as he describes, “drives to work, punches in with a card, has a Starbucks coffee and then sits in front of a computer for several hours and engages in real-time combat.” With its slick production values, the film resembles a high-budget Hollywood film and also features actor Denis O’Hare who plays the vampire Russell Edgington on the popular TV show True Blood. The format is entirely familiar, thereby enabling us to suspend our disbelief as we watch an American family, on a road trip, incinerated in the sudden launch of a missile near their car, while also alluding to our routine consumption of violence through films and television and a 24-hour news cycle.

As Fast interviews the drone operator about the process of identifying targets, his camera takes us into the night sky above Las Vegas, where the operator’s base is located, the city a blinking, shimmering circuit of light. As Fast’s camera roves the city, the operator describes how it was night here in Vegas and day time there as he searched for IEDs in a town in Afghanistan. Eventually he finds a wannabe terrorist and sends out a laser targeting marker known to Marines as the light of God. The beacon of light visible through night vision goggles that looks like it is coming from heaven, pinpoints the location of a suspicious object or person in preparation for the launch of a missile. Caught up in the slow-paced, almost lulling footage of twinkling lights, you might miss the operator say, “I didn’t realise, oh hey, I just killed someone. It didn’t impact me.”

Q: What got you interested in the subject of drone warfare and surveillance?

Fast: There was a quote by Sandy Berger, who was a national security advisor to Clinton during his presidency, and at the time they had just watched the first drone mission take place. There’s this description in her book of this huge enthusiasm in the room from the people who have been watching what’s happened and she said something like, “Unfortunately, gentlemen, the light at the end of the tunnel is just another tunnel.” I thought that it was a smart and poetic way to look at something that is enthusiastically embraced by politicians and generals but whose implications are entirely unclear. Very often my interest or ideas will be something that come to me not from something I read, but in a less prepared state — I have an idea and sometimes it’s just an image. In this case, there was the image of these unseen faces who are working this technology, working these weapons.

The film addresses certain preconceptions we have about war — that we take young men, dress them up, give them pieces of machinery or armor, we ship them off somewhere and they fight in our name on some exotic, foreign soil and then they will come back to us. That notion is highly problematic and it has become even more problematised with the introduction of drone warfare. The film addresses a collapsing of certain conventions about warfare and our encounter with other cultures and this increasingly fetishised investment in technology as something that is going to save us, that will augment us to such a degree that will give us the power of the Gods.

Q: How did you go about getting in touch with the people who work as drone operators?

Fast: I live in Berlin and the producer of this piece, Daniel, lives in Los Angeles. I first put forward an application to the Pentagon to interview these people and Daniel and I were very aware that this permission was not going to be granted, so we pursued alternative tracks. We found out that the base where these operators work is located outside of Las Vegas and so we put up an ad in Craigslist in Vegas. Within days we had a lot of hits. I met two guys who responded to our ad and who turned out to be completely crazy — they had full-blown fantasies about this line of work. One even claimed to be working in drone technology during its infancy.

We had published the ad with a pseudonym and made up an email address but Daniel then received a phone call from the FBI — they had tracked his phone number through the IP address used to publish the ad. At that point all the contacts we had that seemed to be legitimate and people who were still in the program, who were interested in talking to us went completely silent. But the one person who continued dealing with us had just left the programme several months ago and he felt comfortable speaking with us. We arranged to meet him in Las Vegas. However he was very cautious and paranoid about what he could talk about. I did send him the film but I never heard back, I don’t know if he’s seen it or what he thinks of it.

Q: Can you talk about the format of the film and the decision to mix conventions from various genres?

Fast: There is a documentary component to the piece and I use that word carefully. The overall structure depends on relatively long segments of interview with this drone sensor operator who talks about his work and some of his missions and what he claims to be the post traumatic stress that he experiences. His face, when he does appear on camera, is blurred, as we were concerned about his identity. We tried to find ways of tying those interview segments together and connecting them to his state of mind while also acknowledging the circumstances of the interview. Interruptions like the FBI calling us and bothering us or not being sure whether we would be stopped or arrested or any of these things which in retrospect seem silly or fanciful [now] but created a pretty paranoid situation [at the time]. My conversation with the drone operator was interrupted repeatedly as he said we couldn’t use something he had just said or wanted to end the interview. Some of our conversations would take place in the hotel corridor because the camera was not there. So the work tries to address some of the information gained off-camera by including it in fictional reenactments. The film is screened on a loop, with no one point of beginning or ending, in order to address the conceptual issue of somebody who claims to be suffering quite a bit. He has symptoms like loss of sleep and nightmares and so on. And to get into his state of mind, the piece is structured or narrated as a hallucinatory, never-ending, loopy story where somebody is constantly retelling the same story, trying to escape or leave but is unable to.

Q: Do you ever feel the burden of translating someone else’s experience, particularly the experience of those living in areas under drone surveillance or attacks, for a piece like this?

Fast: Yes absolutely, that’s the sticky core of the work. I don’t think that for the type of work that I do, I need to answer to the kind of criteria that a journalist would. The work is not didactic; the point is not to explain to people what the day in a life of a drone sensor operator is. I’m going into this guy’s head and that’s where the focus is. The piece acknowledges the limits of its focus by casting his victims as North Americans. Anybody watching this who has any understanding of what is going on knows that those people aren’t the targets of drones, at least not yet.

The work also reflects, to a great extent, what this drone does. It puts you at such a remove from the places and people that you’re targeting and killing that [you are] separated from any kind of understanding of another context or culture or situation. Don’t forget — this person wakes up, has his muffins or cereal, gets in a car, stops at Starbucks on the way, gets a latte, listens to heavy metal in his car, he’s surrounded by Americans, he is nowhere near where this drone is flying. He is half a world away from it. And within a few hours he could be impacting another part of the world in the most radical way possible and then he goes back to work and picks up his laundry or goes out on a date and as he says in the piece, after several years, he begins to feel that what he is doing is quite a lot more complicated and more demanding on him psychologically than he would have thought in the beginning.

Sanam Maher is a Karachi-based writer.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 24^th, 2013.

The 1973 tourism brochure for Pakistan featuring the hippie trail may now seem like a road less travelled to most of us, but one would be surprised to know how many foreigners still take that route. Although in smaller numbers, the modern hippies continue to tour the country discreetly on their motorbikes or cycles, making an odd appearance at a dhaba or a mall to piece together memories of Pakistan to take back home. And while many have abandoned the once flourishing tourism industry in search for more profitable ventures, a few enthusiasts still remain, incurring costs to accommodate those who may turn the tide some day.

Sajjad Hussain is one such patriot, whose love for the country takes the form of a small hostel called Lahore Backpackers. Armed with nothing but hospitality and a discounted room rate card, he hopes to counter negative perceptions about the country with his warmth and affordable accommodation. “It’s been three years since I started this business,” he says proudly. “I just want our guests to be so overwhelmed by our hospitality that they keep visiting Pakistan again and again.” It is this simple idea that has kept him going even in the face of rising inflation and infrequent foreign visitors.

With a central, rooftop location the hostel enjoys an aerial view of the city. “At a walking distance of two minutes there is a money exchange, a minute away is KFC, ten minutes away is the museum and the zoo is eight minutes away,” claims Hussain. The location is ideal for backpackers who prefer to explore the city on foot. Along with a prime location, the hostel’s daily rates also play a major role in luring guests.

The standard rate for a room ranges between four to ten dollars while an air-conditioned room with a double bed may cost up to $16. But if you are a cyclist, you can spend a night at the hostel absolutely free of cost, and also avail the free wi-fi, filtered drinking water and laundry and kitchen facilities. “Previously we would charge our guests as low as Rs150 to Rs200 but due to an increase in electricity costs we had to raise it to around Rs400 per night,” Hussain says.

Having carefully narrowed down his target audience, Hussain caters to foreign travellers who plan their visits on a very low budget. They are mostly backpackers or cyclists who come from Europe, cross Turkey and Iran, enter Pakistan and then proceed to India and Nepal — following the hippie trail. “Currently I have a motorcyclist from Iran, two from Europe and a Japanese cyclist staying with us,” says Hussain. “We only cater to foreigners and not locals. This way they are at ease and feel comfortable and secure.” Although Lahore Backpackers has enlisted one security guard, Hussain insists that they do not need more security as it only alarms the foreigners who otherwise consider themselves to be in a very secure location.

“Our guests are made to feel at home. They can dress however they want without fear of attracting attention or stares,” assures Hussain. “They are most happy that way.” To make their stay even more joyful, Hussain serves his guests with tea and green tea whenever desired. With only four workers managing the place, he makes sure to tend to his guests personally. When Elliott Ford, a British traveller fell ill, Hussain and his staff took special care. Later Elliott extended his visa by two weeks, giving him a chance to visit Changa Manga where he stayed at Hussain’s friend’s house. “Pakistan was a really special place for me. I genuinely felt like a guest wherever I went and the people were always friendly and genuine and not concerned with making money,” Elliott later wrote in his blog titled ‘Unexpectedly enjoyable time in Lahore’ on TravelPod.

A letter of appreciation by one of the backpackers.

The maximum capacity of the hostel might be limited to 13 or 14 guests, but the quality of experience makes up for the small scale. “We organise a qawwali night twice or thrice a month, depending on the number of guests staying with us,” says Hussain. To entertain the tourists, he also takes them to various festivals depending on the time of year along with a customary visit to the Data Darbar. A special surprise meal at a local eatery is also arranged in order to introduce guests to Pakistani flavours.

“Many people think that since the stay here is cheap, we do not provide many facilities, but we have even had foreigners staying at Avari Hotel come to us,” insists Hussain. Marcus Losdhal, a Swedish tourist, wanted to extend his trip because of his “really nice stay” at Lahore Backpackers. “I reached really late at night but the people at the desk were very welcoming and offered me chai… the view from the rooftop is also beautiful and they have free wi-fi,” Losdhal commented.

Tales of Hussain’s hospitality echo loud and far. Some, like the visitors from Hungary, were so impressed by the experience that they became voluntary ambassadors for the country. Not only did they buy traditional clothes to wear to work back home but also promised to spread word about the country and encourage others to visit too. Proof of the kindness extended to all guests is proudly displayed on the soft board that hangs in the reception. Letters of appreciation on the Lahore Backpackers letterhead hang like medals, assuring all those who walk in that they are in safe hands.

Along with letters, many document their stay on blogs for everyone to read and inform friends and family about the ideal lodging place in Lahore. It is by word of mouth that Lahore Backpackers has grown in popularity. In March 2013, it won the 11^th annual Hostel Awards and was declared the best hotel in Pakistan by hostel.com, one of the most trusted websites on Lonely Planet. But even with such positive reviews and feedback from tourists, Hussain sadly admits that tourists frequenting the hostel are few. “Many tourists are not granted visas to visit the country,” he explains. “Although the month of August was completely booked, many did not get a visa. It now costs around $300 to $400 which is expensive.”

But even in the face of adversity, Hussain manages to remain optimistic. “Tourism in Pakistan shall improve,” he promises. He claims that even the Nanga Parbat attack earlier this year in which 10 foreign tourists were murdered by a terrorist group, did not affect tourism as much. And although there were cancellations from many European and American tourists, there was a flood of foreign visitors from the Eastern side and the number of Koreans and Chinese tourists almost doubled.

“The [ground realities] are not as bad as your media projects it. I have travelled on [the] Karakoram Highway in a bus from Rawalpindi to Hunza with local passengers,” says Kim Hoyeon, a banker-explorer from South Korea. He has already been to Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, Nepal and India and after visiting Northern Pakistan believes that the beauty and hospitality here remains unmatched.

Additional reporting: Dilaira Mondegarian 

Vasiq Iqbal is a Lahore-based photojournalist and a travel writer. He has worked with a non-military think tank as a research associate. He tweets @vasiq_eqbal 

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 24^th, 2013.

Correction: An earlier version of the story mistakenly used an incorrect twitter handle. The error is regretted. 

The harsh mid-afternoon sun beams down on her face. She adjusts the legs of her plastic chair in the mud to get a better view of the game. In the distance, a shrill whistle marks the beginning of the showdown between Diya and Balochistan United — two of Pakistan’s premier women football clubs. Sixteen-year-old Zulfia Nazir, better known as Zulfi to her teammates, watches with a knot in her stomach.

Today is the last day of the Sindh regionals and only two of the best teams will qualify to play the quarter-finals for the 2013 Women’s National Championship. And like every other girl, Zulfi aches to be on the winning side. For a sport that hardly gets its share of resources, importance or glory in the country, this was a big moment. Even though Zulfi has been playing as a left-winger for her team, Balochistan United for over three years now, this match is an important one. The competition is tough but they are prepared. After all, they have been training every day for almost six months now, even through Ramazan.

“I came here once when I was younger, about 11 or 12,” she says pointing towards the football ground at the Aga Khan Gymkhana, Karachi, “and as soon as I saw girls playing here, I knew I wanted to join them.” But her family was not thrilled with the idea. “My father stood up for me, he said I should do it,” she went on. “The rest of my family doesn’t want talk to me anymore. What is it to me? I don’t care. I am not going to stop playing football.”

Zulfi’s story is not an isolated one. In fact, it is rather mild compared to the other ones. For most women in Pakistan, wanting to kick a ball comes with a huge set of challenges. And yet, many of them continue to do so, despite all odds.

Women’s football first sprang its roots officially in 2004 although it is for sure that there were women in Pakistan who had kicked a ball before that. “Bringing women’s football to Pakistan was no easy feat,” says Rubina Irfan, a senator, chairperson of the women’s wing of the Pakistan Football Federation (PFF) and the owner of the Balochistan United Women’s Football Club (WFC). Known as one of the pioneers of the sport in Pakistan, Rubina has invested a considerable time, effort and money in the sport. “When I saw my girls [who were] barely six and seven play football with their male cousins, I knew right then that I wanted them to play later in their lives,” she says. “Who am I stop them?”

Starting a women’s football team was challenging for Rubina, but not entirely unachievable as she belongs to a family of football enthusiasts. Her father, husband and brothers not only played the sport but was also responsible for setting up one of the first teams in Balochistan. She contacted Akhtar Moinuddin, a former Pakistan men’s national coach who worked at the PFF and was extremely supportive of the idea. Next, she got in touch with Mohsin Gillani, the South Asian representative for FIFA who assured her that there was a future for girls in football. Rubina went on to present the idea for bringing women’s football to Pakistan to over 200 countries at a FIFA conference in Shanghai in 2004. The effort was not in vain as FIFA pledged 10 percent of its funds to be allocated to women’s football in Pakistan.

Nine years on, there are 43 WFCs registered in Pakistan, although actual figures are believed to be much higher since many of them are not registered with the PFF due to technical rules or a lack of players.

“There can be as many as 100,000 women in Karachi who could have the potential to play football,” Rubina says, “but we don’t know about them.” During the initial stages of setting up her team, Rubina would go knocking on the doors of each player’s house to talk to their families. She discovered that every family had the same demand — that their girls be treated with respect, something that sport players are often denied in Pakistan. Once she promised the families that, girls from even conservative areas like Sibi, Kalat, Kohlu, Quetta, Awaaran, Mashkey,Vihari, Qilla Saifullah and Hunza began to play.

Today, girls from all backgrounds including Baloch, Ismailis, Hazara Shias, Christians and those from Karachi play together on Rubina’s team, regardless of their religious and social identities. “For women to progress in Pakistan, we do not need to draw even more lines between them,” she says.

Many girls, such as Shahida Raza, known as Chintoo, transitioned to football from other more commonly played sports such as hockey and cricket, Women on the national team have an advantage and can play even in their late 20s and 30s, unlike the men’s teams in which the average age is much lower. For Chintoo, who plays for the Balochistan United WFC and has participated in eight women’s national championships, playing is not just a passion but also a source of livelihood. The winning money which can range anywhere from the Rs5,000 individual bonuses for outstanding performances up to Rs30,000 prize money for bigger tournaments, contributes to her family income. The amount varies according to the proportion the club decides to retain for reinvestment in training.

Playing in urban centers like Karachi is relatively easier. “I remember in autumn of 2010, one of my friends told me [that] Karachi United was holding women’s trials,” says 20-year-old Nina Zehri, a student from Karachi. “But they weren’t really proper trials,” she says. “I think at that time no one really knew how to play, it was more for encouraging us to learn.”

However, according to Adeel Rizki, head coach at Karachi United, things seem to have improved a lot over the past three years. While the number of tournaments held for girls were still far fewer in comparison to those for men, parents’ attitudes towards the sport seemed to be shifting. “Lots of parents had spoken to me about getting their girls to play as well. They sent their sons and wanted similar opportunities for their daughters,” he explains, referring to the motivation to start training camps for girls of all ages, from toddlers to the women’s team.

It was because of her mother’s encouragement that 16-year-old Joyanne Geraldine started playing football. “We started playing in our church ground where there were about 25 girls,” she recalls, “but as we grew older, many lost interest.” Joyanne says that Ahmed Jan, the owner of the KMC football stadium located in Saddar, Karachi, pushed her to keep playing. Jan has been particularly commended for making it easier for women football clubs to train and play matches by lending the ground to them free of charge.

Renting a ground to play or practice is expensive business. A ground located in Boat Basin, Karachi, may be three-fourth the size of an original field but can cost up to Rs6,000 for a mere two hours. This adds up the six-day rental cost to approximately Rs144,000 a month, all for just two hours of play. While some club managers like Rubina use their personal savings to fund training, others rely on member contributions to cover these expenses. According to Rubina, it is the only way to sustain the sport since the government only allocates Rs1.5 million per year to both men and women’s football, which is not enough.

The financial constraints are not just limited to practices. While corporate sponsors readily back men’s tournaments due to higher turnout and better brand visibility, there is barely any enthusiasm for the female version. To counter these attitudes, a 10-minute exhibition match for women’s football was held during a men’s tournament recently. The idea was to show the sponsors that women could play football too.

Apart from a lack of finances, corruption is another major problem. In a letter of complaint submitted to the PFF, a spectator at one of the regional matches held in Karachi last month, complained of a false goal credited to a club and the referee’s callous attitude towards the mistake. The letter also mentions the poor state of the ground and playing conditions that day.

“It just shows [that] they don’t take us seriously,” says Zoya Hasan, a 23-year-old law student and football player. “Regionals like this are supposed to be a big deal, and should be considered that way.”

The PFF website also shows the original scheduled date for the women’s national championship as September, but which has now been delayed to November. Many other scheduled tournaments did not take place either, raising serious questions about the auditing, reporting and accountability of the PFF. If the sport is to flourish, there is a dire need for transparency.

Despite all their shortcomings, the regional tournaments were proof of one thing — that there are women in Pakistan who not only want to play football but also be good at it. Sixteen teams competed for the top eight spots in the National Women’s Championship to be held sometime in December this year. At the nationals, the battle will be for the championship title. But as the regional results show, matches can be extremely favourable to one team, with as many as 15 or 17 goals for one side while the other side fails to score even one. This shows the stark disparity in coaching standards among different teams. “For the girls to perform to their optimum, it is essential for them to be comfortable with their coaches and managers. That can only happen if they [coaches and managers] are hired on merit and not changed sporadically to grant favours,” Rubina emphasizes.

In the same tournament, the FATA team also pulled out of their group at the last minute due to security concerns from families. With a much smaller pool of teams competing for the national tournament now, the competition will be much tougher. Many of the girls hope to showcase their talent and get picked up by scouts for the national women’s team. Nina admits that her ultimate goal in football is to represent Pakistan. Shahlyla Irfan, who started playing at the age of six, says, “If there is a future in football, I want to play all my life.” But the passion and talent needs to be channeled correctly in order to make that future a bright one. According to the official FIFA website, the Pakistan women’s national football team currently ranks at 109 (out of a total of 120 teams) with sides such as Bangladesh, India, Malaysia and Philippines ranking much higher.

During the interview, Rubina’s phone rings.  A TV channel is calling, and she talks for a minute about the folk singer, Reshma, who recently passed away.  “You see, this is what they do,” she says, sounding distressed. “We have artists and ambassadors of Pakistan and we let them die in poverty and disease. They deserve to be treated with respect. They give so much to Pakistan that we don’t appreciate till it’s too late.” She emphasises that the situation is quite similar for women football players of Pakistan who need to be idolized as they are role models for the next generation. While they continue to struggle for the basics in Pakistan, female footballers in other South Asian countries such as Nepal and India are miles ahead. Not only do these countries provide incentives for women to start playing football professionally but they are also allotted government jobs in Nepal and are guaranteed employment, housing and utility payments for all the players on the national team in India.

“How can we expect our women to concentrate on football if their heads are full of worries about where their next meal is going to come from? This is not how stars are born!” says Rubina. She insists that these girls deserve scholarships so that their education does not suffer due to the sport.

In the meanwhile, these young passionate footballers continue playing in the hope that they will one day be discovered and celebrated for their talent. To keep the fire burning, they narrate examples of other female footballers across the globe who have not given up on the sport, despite all obstacles. They take solace in stories like that of Brazilian player Marta Vieira da Silva, who does not have a club or contract to her name despite being named player of the year five consecutive times by FIFA — a glaring proof that football is still considered a man’s territory. Even though their own realities are far more severe, there is a strange consolation in knowing that they are not alone in their struggle.

“Who wouldn’t work their butt off for all that glory?” asks Joyanne wistfully. One glance at the girls on the field with their sweaty limbs and steady resolve would tell you that there are many who agree with her.

Myra Khan works in the education sector and also loves to write on the side. She tweets @myrakhan

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, November 24^th, 2013. 

As unfair as it sounds, one picks up Fatima Bhutto’s first foray at fiction writing not because of an appealing plotline or positive reviews, but for the tragic family legacy she carries with her Bhutto surname — being the late Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s granddaughter, niece of the slain former prime minister Benazir Bhutto and daughter of slain political leader Mir Murtaza Bhutto.

The Shadow of the Crescent Moon set in Mir Ali, a small town in the troubled tribal region of Waziristan (or the FATA area as we mark it on the map of Pakistan), chronicles the story of three brothers (Aman Erum, Sikandar and Hayat) and the two women close to them (Mina and Samarra) through the course of a single, eventful morning.

The story that unfolds is a bitter tale of betrayal, discrimination, oppression and a war that has no closure because there are just too many sides to it — the Taliban, the army, the religious divide between Sunnis and Shias and the people of the land.

Available at Liberty Books for Rs995

In a Gulf News interview, Bhutto disclosed that “When I was a journalist, I had travelled a lot. All the things that did not fit into articles, all the little moments you have with people, those stayed with me. The surge in this book came from that period of journeys. The scenery or the descriptions come from what I saw. So, even though it is fiction, The Shadow of the Crescent Moon is not a fake story.”

While the book contains some lovely imagery, its vivid setting fails to offset the lack of a proper closure as many questions are left unanswered. The novel is structured around a single morning, but various backstories are filled in through extended flashbacks tugging the reader in multiple directions that often becomes difficult to keep track of.

The characters stand in stark contrast with each other and most pop up and die down in the narrative, only for their significance to dawn on us pages later. Samarra, the mysterious Colonel Tarik and even Sikandar’s wife, Mina, were initially mentioned in a very forgettable manner. Pleasantly however, it is the female characters in the novel that are much stronger then the three male protagonists. In the end, the reader just feels more connected to the grieving Mina or the rebellious Samarra than either of the three brothers.

A major disappointment is Bhutto’s writing which is inconsistent and tends to vary from poetic to breezy, to extremely perceptive. But, there is a memorable section in the book when Aman Erum travels to Islamabad for his US visa interview — which showed sheer brilliance.

Overall, the book gives one a strong sense of déjà vu, as it is also a political-religious narrative that is telling a story of Pakistan that has been ventured by Mohsin Hamid and Mohammed Hanif in their works. But it succeeds far more than it fails. Only a few debut novels can adequately communicate a theme or message — and the end result here is complex and compassionate at the same time.

Samra Muslim is a digital marketing professional, an avid reader and  a movie buff. She tweets @samramuslim

The Shadow of the Crescent Moon is Bhutto’s fourth book. Her earlier works are:

• Whispers of the Desert, a volume of poetry which was published in 1997 by Oxford University Press, Pakistan when she was 15 years old,

• 8.50 am. October 8, 2005, a collection of first-hand accounts from survivors of the earthquake in Pakistan, and

• Songs of Blood and Sword, a memoir on the life of her father, Mir Murtaza, who was murdered when she was just 14.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, December 1^st, 2013.

The swirls of dry, ground coffee hide certain clues that can give you a brief glimpse into the future. But those who want to decrypt secrets through coffee reading must be prepared to gulp the bitter-sweet truth the beans behold.

Accounts of the origin of coffee reading are many and varied, but there is consensus regarding the fact that the reader must be spiritual and should be gifted with a strong intuition. “Everything appeared so clearly before my eyes when I did my first reading,” says Pari Dokht, who has been coffee reading for family and friends for the past 15 years. The symbols and patterns formed by the coffee grounds just flashed before her eyes and she immediately felt connected to them. “At the time it was for a friend in India and she was left in a state of awe when I reported instances from her present and offered insights into her future.”

While the art of visualising patterns in coffee grounds may remain a mystery to many, the preparation of the coffee cup is fairly simple. To prepare the blend, Dokht explains that, “a teaspoon of Turkish ground coffee, carefully selected for its thicker consistency, is added to a small coffee cup full of boiling water.” It is allowed to rest for a while after which one is asked to drink it slowly and make a wish after taking the last sip.

A saucer is then placed on top of the cup and, once it is well sealed, rotated clockwise at chest level. “It should always face the heart,” Dokht says. The cup is then placed upside down on the saucer and left in the same position for a few minutes, allowing the grounds to cool down and dry up. “This will create patterns and symbols as the grounds slowly slide towards the saucer,” she says. The cup is then placed upright on the saucer for the reader to decrypt the symbols and patterns.

“I wish I had noted down everything when I got my coffee read,” says *Mina Hussain who had requested Dokht for a reading. She came with many questions, like everyone else, about her life ahead and to clear her mind before pursuing a business venture. “She told me I would be travelling to a distant land and at the time I never thought I would actually be off to Australia for two weeks. She also saw a camel in my coffee cup and told me I had to fulfil my mannat (wish).”

And while Hussain was informed about her good fortunes, not every coffee reading ends on a happy note. To be able to peak through a window into the future, one must be prepared for even the worst.

Dilaira Mondegarian is a subeditor on The Express Tribune Magazine desk.
She tweets @DilairaM

Decoding the beans

What some of the shapes and figures represent:

Window

Health in your home.

An old man

Someone who will help and protect you.

Raven

Death.

A standing couple

The start of a relationship. But, if the girl is standing at the distance, then that symbolises imminent pregnancy.

Candle

Good news.

Shade of the coffee trail

If it is a lighter shade, it is commonly noted that one is happy. But, if it is a deep shade of brown, it implies depression and unhappiness.

Funnel-shaped coffee trail

If the two vertical lines grow wider apart as they reach the brim of the cup, it means one shall be travelling in the near future. But, if the coffee trail appears slashed at any point, it means that your plans will not materialise.

Numbers

They could symbolise days, months or even years, depending on the interpreter.

Triangle

Gift or money.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, December 1^st, 2013.

Basho forests are the pride of Baltistan, but my recent visit to the area stripped this myth and laid it bare. Just like the forests. What baffled me more was the apathy from those who thrive on these forests than the absence of the lush green landscape promised to me by my Balti friend, Tipu.

Almost as a forewarning, even the route to Basho is as dangerous as the looming threat to the ecosystem in the area. Nearly 40kms before approaching Skardu city, a sharp turn descends into a precarious-looking bridge that is suspended over the furiously flowing River Indus. If one is not skilled or courageous enough to maneuver the jeep over these wooden planks, I’d suggest they walk across it. The waterfall that welcomes you after this treacherous drive however is quite uplifting and following it is the final ascent up to the receding forests of Basho.

Gripped by a basic need for shelter, Basho turns a blind eye to deforestation. PHOTOS: AMEER HAMZA

The landscape here is inundated with settlements. The rows and rows of houses in the village, commonly known as Khar Basho village, explain the cause for deforestation. The winding ride through the village ends at the mouth of the Basho forest valley and what it now holds comes as a major disappointment.

Only traces remain of this once thriving forest. I feel an overwhelming urge to leave but the weight of exhaustion and the expense of travelling holds us back. After spending Rs4,000 on a jeep ride, the decision to spend two nights at a community rest house seemed like the most practical thing to do. Our guide, Sher Muhammad, informed us that the income of this rest house is purportedly distributed equally among the villagers of Basho. But a little bit of inquiry reveals that the major chunk of the income was pocketed by a contractor, Yonus, leaving only a meager sum for each household that is distributed annually, by the end of the tourist season.

Gripped by a basic need for shelter, Basho turns a blind eye to deforestation. PHOTOS: AMEER HAMZA

The services at the rest house were below par and the tea served here was perhaps the worst I’ve ever had. Day one was hence spent agonising over how to best spend the second day in the absence of the area’s biggest pull factor — the forest.

Next morning, however, things seemed a bit brighter. The sun shone over the mountain top, making it a perfect day for photography. I left the rest house with my equipment to head down to the river. In the absence of the forest, the mountains on all four sides satiated my appetite for photography. Although they are not as high or as impressive as the K2, they manage to strike a chord with everyone who visits the place. Basho suddenly got a lot more interesting as I grudgingly admitted to myself that beauty can take any shape.

It was also the first day out on the hills for the nomads. Women and children were dressed for this special occasion to see off their husbands and fathers as they wander through the mountains for months. Only a few stay back to tend to their families in case of an emergency as the nearest hospital is all the way in Skardu. According to a villager however, the village is very safe and the last time someone was shot here was nearly 10 years ago.

Gripped by a basic need for shelter, Basho turns a blind eye to deforestation. PHOTOS: AMEER HAMZA

Everyday life in the village is uneventful explains our guide, Muhammad. Most of the village elders have been to Karachi. “Karachi is our mother,” they claim. But perturbed by the recent developments in the city they claim that Karachi is sadly no longer safe for them. “The best chefs in Karachi come from Basho village,” claims a villager proudly, adding that the chief chef at Spicy Roll is from Basho. Many villagers travel to the city to look for opportunities to earn and the new houses that continue to spring up across the village are directly linked to their stable earnings in the city.

As my visit here comes to an end, I prepare for my journey back home; carrying luggage to the jeep under a merciless sun, without any forest trees in the vicinity that could provide shade. Before we checked out however, I had a chance to speak to the chief forest officer and range officer who had just made their way up to the rest house for a routine meeting with the villagers to discuss local problems.

In the meeting, a local is granted a permit to use the forest wood to build a house. According to the Pakistan Forest Act of 1927, the forests in Balistan, including those in Basho have been absorbed as part of the government’s property with only ‘use’ rights extended to villagers. They must seek permission from the government for the use of forest products. Wanting to learn more about the destruction of forest land, I decided to confront the man. “Who cut all these trees?” I cut to the chase. The officer swiftly dismisses my query with, “which organisation do you belong to?” He then proceeds to give an unconvincing explanation, blaming the state of the forest on alpine conditions. But this does not explain the overnight appearance of tree stumps. My protest falls on deaf ears as the officer requests me to set up a meeting with him in Skardu regarding any further queries. His reluctance to address the issue was answer enough.

Gripped by a basic need for shelter, Basho turns a blind eye to deforestation. PHOTOS: AMEER HAMZA

During the winter season, when temperatures in Basho drop to a reported -25 degrees centigrade and there are no forest officers to keep an eye, many villagers commit wood theft to light fires to keep warm. Although a ban was imposed on all commercial exploitation of forests throughout the Northern Areas in 1986, many instances of theft continue to be reported. During 1997, more than 90 loads (one load equaling 1,200kg) of wood were transported to Skardu without official permit, according to a case study by Jawad Ali from the Aga Khan Rural Support Programme, Baltistan. And according to our jeep’s driver (a former driver for the lumber mafia), every single villager in Basho has a part to play in this callous plunder.

Ameer Hamza is a former curator for Getty Images USA.
He tweets @ameerhamzaadhia

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, December 1^st, 2013.

Swathed in an off-white cotton sari, Zubeida Bibi sits on her takht, deftly preparing paan for her guests. With a glistening silver paandan resting next to her, she hurriedly wraps the green leaves as she notices a couple of guests winding up their meal. Her aim, like always, is to ensure that none of the guests leave the dastarkhwan without a juicy paan in their mouth. Her grandchildren flock around her, asking for a bite of the stuffed leafy goodness but are shooed away with promises of a treat once the guests depart.

Zubeida Bibi is one of the many Hyderabadis who migrated to Pakistan after Partition and is determined to keep the ways of her ancestors alive through these small rituals. Her community, which is largely defined by its food, language and mannerisms, is one of the many formerly migrant groups that make Karachi a subcontinent in itself.

History

The Hyderabadis who came to Pakistan come from the Deccan region of India. Tracing their footsteps in history, we learn that the area was ruled by the Bahmani Sultanate in 1347. The empire was the first Muslim kingdom in the southern part of India and was founded by Alauddin Hassan, an Afghan by birth and a descendant of Persian King Bahman. How he landed in India is not clear, however, what is known is that he established the Bahmani Empire in the area after revolting against the Delhi Sultanate that ruled the Indian subcontinent at the time.

When the Bahmani Empire started to deteriorate in the 16th century, Sultan Quli Qutbul Mulk, who served the then-Bahmani sultan, conquered the empire’s main city of Golkonda and declared independence from the Bahmani Sultanate. Quli, who migrated to India from a federation consisting of present-day Azerbaijan, Armenia, Iraq and parts of Iran and Turkey, established the Qutb Shahi dynasty in Golkonda in 1518.

Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah, the fifth ruler of the Qutb Shahi dynasty, founded the city of Hyderabad in 1591. The city derives its name from Hyder, the title of the fourth caliph of Islam Hazrat Ali (RA), which means lion. Another myth states that the city was named after the founder’s wife Bhagamati who was named Hyder Mahal after she converted to Islam, while another version claims it was named after his son.

The Qutb Shah Dynasty ruled Golkonda for 171 years but was forced to acknowledge the Mughal Empire’s authority in the later years. In 1687, the area was taken over by Mughal emperor Aurangzeb and was made a province of the empire.

In 1724, Nizamul Mulk Qamaruddin, a Mughal viceroy, declared independence from the Mughal Empire and established the Asif Jahi Dynasty. During the rule of this dynasty which lasted for two centuries, Hyderabad became a prominent Muslim state and a stronghold of Islamic identity in the Indian sub-continent which was greatly influenced by colonial culture.

When the British colonial forces arrived in India and strengthened their grip on the subcontinent, the Asif Jahi ruler signed an alliance with the British East India Company. In 1798, Asif Jahi dynasty’s capital, Hyderabad, became a princely state under the Company’s governance.

And then Partition happened. The princely states present were given a choice between joining Pakistan, India or staying independent. Hyderabad decided against joining the Indian Union and opted to stay sovereign, surrounded by Indian states. However, the independence didn’t last very long and the Indian army forcibly took over in 1948. The majority of the people who migrated from Indian Hyderabad arrived in Karachi and settled mainly in Hyderabad Colony, Laiqabad and Bahadurabad.

(This historical account has been compiled from the following sources: Locating Home: India’s Hyderabadis Abroad, Our faithful ally, the Nizam, The Indian Empire: Its People, History and Products, Golconda Through Time: A Mirror of the Evolving Deccan, Hyderabad State and the Greater Hyderabad Municipal Corporation website)

Whet your appetite

More than anything, the Hyderabadi community is known for its mouth-watering cuisine, which is a unique blend of Mughlai, Arabic and Telugu food. Typical to any Indian dish, the Hyderabadi food is a blend of aromatic spices and herbs, the most prominent ingredients being coconut, tamarind, peanuts and sesame seeds.

According to Henna Khan, a Hyderabadi mother, people expect to be served kachi yakhni ki biryani, mirchi ka salan, begharay baigun and khoobani ka meetha when they attend a Hyderabadi get-together.

However, Khan says these are festive dishes associated mainly but not exclusively to important occasions such as weddings or Eid. On an average day, a Hyderabadi kitchen is filled with the aroma of simmering khatti daal, dalcha or tamater ka kut, to be served with kulfa ghost or dum ka qeema.

“We also have a great snack menu with luqmi, special dahi baray and mirchi pakori,” boasts a visibly delighted Khan.

Chakna, however, is the one controversial dish on the Hyderabadi menu, which the older generation cannot get enough of but the younger ones try hard to disown. A spicy stew made out of goat tripe, chakna also contains chunks of liver and kidneys. If you feel daring enough to give it a try, visit Karachi’s Hyderabad Colony and ask anyone to direct you the closest joint selling this chopped-up delicacy.

The whole nine yards: Fabric, style and fashion

With traditions that are as grand as their cuisine, their aesthetics lack no splendour either. Hyderabadi women can be seen carrying elaborate, six- metre long dupattas during wedding ceremonies. Their traditional dress called the kurtanni comprises a twin-layered shirt, churidaar pajama and a long dupatta that is wrapped around the body in a specific style known as khara dupatta. The method of pinning the dupatta around the body is so intricate that only a few women in any family have mastered the art.

Shamin Arif is one of those women in her family. She tries to arrive early to family weddings anticipating frantic girls, carrying their dupatta with a bunch of safety pins, looking for her. While many think it is a complex way of tying a simple dupatta, Arif does it meticulously.

“It’s fairly simple if you get the hang of the method and the sequence,” says Arif.

For men, the attire consists of a plain kurta over a white pajama, while on special occasions they would don simple sherwanis. Today, this is a rare sight with a vast majority sticking to the standard shalwar kameez.

Sui generis traditions

Influenced by various cultures over the years, Hyderabadi traditions are intriguing to say the least. Nazia Ahsan, a Hyderabadi who has lived in both Pakistan and India, shared a few fascinating customs followed by the community. She, however, was quick to mention that these practises vary from family to family.

- The bride is given a special necklace called kali poath (Hyderabadi version of mangalsutra — a sacred Hindu thread given by the groom to the bride) after the wedding ceremony. In the ritual, the mother-in-law puts the necklace around saath suhaguns (seven married women) before she places it around the bride’s neck. Similarly, many wedding-related rituals are performed with the help of married women as it is assumed it brings good luck to the new bride.

- Hyderabadis believe in the concept of Charshamba — Wednesday in Hindi. Important work is avoided on this day of the week, for they believe that anything that happens on Wednesday repeats itself three more times. For instance, if someone dies in a family on this day, it is believed that three more deaths will follow.

- Hyderabadis emphasise manners and etiquettes; the young usually greet elders with an adaab or bowing their head in respect. The elder person reciprocates by gently placing their hand over the head, or sometimes by kissing the forehead. The elders also expect the younger members of the family not to seat themselves at a level higher than theirs.

- Many Hyderabadi families also take great care during their daughter’s first pregnancy. The woman is brought home in the seventh month of her pregnancy following a ceremony called Satwasa, in which she is given seven fruits of the season as a present. On the sixth day after the birth of the baby, the baby is given a name at a ceremony called chatti. Forty days after the birth date, the parents are showered with gifts in yet another gathering called chilla. This also marks the return of the mother to her in-laws’ house.

As the guests leave, Zubeida Bibi takes a deep breath while her stomach growls in protest. Her mind has been so preoccupied with feeding her guests that she has not put a single morsel in her mouth all day. In her books, it is impolite not to give complete attention to your visitors. But before she can savour the biryani and mirchi ka salan, she has one more important task left. Her wide-eyed grandchildren are still waiting for their share of the paan. And she must prepare it with extreme care if the original taste is to be preserved for future generations.

Fact box

• The city of Hyderabad in Pakistan has nothing to do with the Hyderabadi community that migrated from India.

• Famous TV personality, Anwar Maqsood traces his roots to Hyderabad. Professional tennis player Sania Mirza was also brought up in Hyderabad, India.

• After 1947, most of the Hyderabadis initially settled in Karachi’s Hyderabad Colony, Laiqabad and Bahadurabad area.

• ‘Charminar’ (Four towers) — the global icon of Hyderabad, India — was replicated in Pakistan in the form of a roundabout in the Bahadurabad neighborhood of Karachi.

• Hyderabadis never speak in a literal sense; when they say they want something itna sa (just a little), they don’t really mean little. When they say they did something parson (day before yesterday), they mean they did it ages ago.

Ferya Ilyas works with The Express Tribune as a sub-editor. She tweets @ferya_ilyas

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, December 1^st, 2013.

Imagine a world where you could print your own meals. Your own toothpaste. Coffee mug. Medicines. Your son yanks off the wheel of his toy car for a fourth time. You no longer have to endure the agony of piecing it together with a reassuring smile plastered on your face. Instead, all you have to do is put some plastic in a three-dimensional (3D) printer, program the design of the wheel using a special software and wait for a fresh new wheel to pop out. Welcome to a new three-dimensional wonderland.

The concept of 3D printing was born in 1984 when visionary Charles W Hull invented stereolithography — a printing process that creates a 3D object using digital data. Visually, a stereolithograph is like the fine lines a chef makes on a piece of fish for sushi. Similarly, 3D printing is a layer-by-layer manufacturing process, called additive manufacturing, in which the printer melts plastic or metal under a certain temperature to produce 3D objects of any shape. The 3D printer doesn’t waste any raw material which makes it cost-effective and environment friendly, unlike the traditional machining techniques. While plastic and metal are the most commonly used raw materials so far, other types of printers also work with ceramics, biological tissue and food.

Initially, 3D technology was costly, retailing for nearly $20,000 before 2010 but the prices have changed since then. Due to free and open source software licensing and the RepRap project (an open source initiative to build a 3D printer that can print most of its own components), 3D printers have become more affordable for smaller companies and average consumers. In today’s markets, a 3D printer can be bought for as little as $500 (roughly the same price of an iPad), though the prices keep shooting upwards from there. However, Terry Wohlers, an industry consultant mentions in his report that only 68,000 consumer printers have been sold globally so far with most home users being technology aficionados. He also predicts that the 3D printing industry will top $6 billion by 2017 and grow to a massive $10.8 billion by 2021.

Even though 3D printing has been around in the global market for over three decades now, the concept was alien to Pakistan until a couple of years ago. It was not until Afaque Ahmed and Yasin Altaf — two friends who wanted to help their children develop an understanding of science — ended up launching a scientific learning centre that the country got its first ever 3D printer.

The duo established Robotics Labs in Karachi, the only modern scientific learning centre in Pakistan so far. The laboratory is helping young children learn about the latest technologies, which include but are not limited to 3D scanning, modeling and printing. It’s not only training possible future scientists but also, quietly, defining the way ahead for manufacturing in Pakistan.

“My children would paint or draw different kinds of objects, jewellery and dolls for example, on paper and computers but had no platform to bring their ideas to a physical form,” says Ahmed. Funnily enough, it was a toy that his daughter would break often which pushed him to look for a solution. “My daughter had a small helicopter and she would frequently break its rotor coupling,” Ahmed says. “Since I could not find that part anywhere in Pakistan, I decided to manufacture it myself and bought a 3D printer — so that’s how all of this started,” he says.

The printer might have helped Ahmed’s daughter make the broken part of her helicopter, but he remained frustrated as a father at the lack of availability of science-based courses for his children. Ahmed was not alone in his struggle to find a scientific learning centre for his children.

“After exhausting all options in Karachi, we realised there wasn’t a single place where we could send our kids to learn about science,” says Robotics Labs co-founder Altaf. There were programmes in arts, painting, karate and music but nothing based on science, which motivated the men to go through with the launch of Robotics. According to Ahmed, the science-based lab that uses robotics to train young children about practical science was a fresh concept even in the US at the time of its launch in Pakistan.

The long-accepted trend has been for the country’s bright minds settle abroad for a better life, but these two friends took the opposite route. After working at high-tech firms in Silicon Valley for 13 years, both Ahmed and Altaf returned home to connect with their families.“We might have been able to earn a lot more in San Jose, California but the satisfaction of staying close to our family and making some tangible contribution to society and the economy is unmatched,” says Ahmed.

Although advanced 3D printers are now available, the one at Robotics is one that prints plastic objects. “Firstly, you either scan a product you want to replicate or design one based on your original idea,” explains Muhammad Hasan Shariq, a managing engineer and instructor at the Robotics Lab. “In the second step, you improve or modify it — change its size, design etcetera as per your specific needs through a high-end 3D modeling software, and in the final step, you print it.”

Structured in a vertical rectangular wooden box without any side walls, the 3D printer has a 10cm by 10cm base area, which can print small objects that can be used for multiple purposes, ranging from making human body parts to tools to toys and large scale industrial components.“With applications in a range of industries, 3D printers can produce almost any object,” says Shariq. “The possibilities are endless, it just depends on how creative you are.”

One of the uses of 3D printing involves experimenting and prototyping to check how an object would look like after being manufactured. Once convinced of the product’s model (its dimensions, design etc), you can proceed with large-scale manufacturing of the same at factory level. Recently, the Pak Suzuki Motor Company approached the lab to print a prototype of a new spare part that they were planning to install in their automobiles. “They gave us their design in a 3D model and we printed it for them. Had they manufactured it through their own product line, it would have been very costly,” explains Shariq.

Similarly, Zain Mustafa, an architect, came to them to convert his designs into 3D models that could be shown to his clients. Instead of seeing what their houses would look like on paper, the clients could now hold the model in their hands and get a feel for the design. “Mustafa was also working on a project for historical sites and sent us pictures of Makli tombs that we converted in 3D and printed for him,” says Pir Arkam Suharwardy, a telecom engineer and instructor at Robotics Lab.

However, the biggest use of this technology is in bio-engineering. Scientists are printing human body parts, such as the nose, ears, hands and legs through 3D printers and installing them in the human body. “In one such example, an American had a hand printed for his son for just $12. His son can now play basket ball,” says Suharwardy.

In Pakistan, the awareness about 3D modeling and printing is gradually increasing and members of academia along with other industries are now approaching the laboratory.

“We recently helped a student from SZABIST make a 3D printer as part of his project,” says Suharwardy. One of the most amazing aspects of a 3D printer is that it can produce its own replica since it is capable of printing up to 60% of its own parts. “This can come in handy if you want a nationwide rollout of 3D printers.” It costs around $1,200 to import an unassembled 3D printer but producing it here can bring down the cost to as low as $300 to $400. While it might not be of the same quality, it can still be used for various purposes.

But for the pioneers of this technology in Pakistan, advancing science education remains on top of their agenda. “You can teach the concepts of 3D modeling to students who will learn how to convert those concepts to physical form and manufacture a range of objects, cartoons, toys etc, using those techniques,” says Ahmed. Being proficient in the technology also gives students an edge in the job market. “3D modelling is gaining acceptance in all industries, whether it is architecture, entertainment or advertisind. So, it would be of great help to me regardless of which field I choose,” says Alishba Chapsi who took a 3D addiction course at Robotics.

The duo is also currently looking for ways to ensure a wider audience for this technology rather than keeping it limited to a certain income class.“Our goal is to push this science lab to TCF schools, a nationwide school network covering about 150,000 underprivileged students,” says Ahmed. The project, however, is currently pending because of funding constraints. “We have asked them to find some big donor for this purpose. Currently, we train these children only through field trips to our labs.”

Their desire to create a level playing field was best seen recently when a child with visual impairment built his robotic design, which is otherwise easy to do for children who have full vision. Unlike the normal practice of text-based programming, the laboratory teaches robotics through block-based programming since it is easier for young children to understand. Children select blocks, and piece them together to design robots on a computer. However, a visually impaired child can’t do it on a computer so they printed out those blocks based on the braille system. The child, by touching and feeling, connected those blocks to build a robot, said Zartaj Waseem, manager STEM education at Robotics.

If you are innovative, the potential of this technology knows no bounds. The printers have also been used to make chocolate cakes. “All they had to do was replace plastic with raw chocolate,” says Ahmed. In May 2013, NASA also invested $125,000 in a Texas-based company to develop 3D printed food for astronauts. The idea was to find ways to design an assortment of meals from a limited number of ingredients in a low-gravity environment.

Like all revolutionary inventions, the technology can be drastically misused if it falls into the wrong hands — for example, being used to print firearms.“You can’t manufacture a gun from plastic-based 3D printer but metallic ones can certainly do that and that, too, very cheaply,” says Ahmed. Solid Concepts, a Texas-based company printed the first 3D metal gun last month, arousing a great deal of concern and controversy.

It would not be incorrect to compare the open access that 3D printing allows to the internet. The average Joe now has the capacity to print whatever he wants, without any quality or safety checks. Once, the technology becomes more common, it also poses the risk of putting a lot of people out of jobs. While the world is still struggling to harness and regulate the wonders of the digital world, it would only be sensible to introduce some kind of regulation or governing principles for this new post-industrial world order before it unlocks another Pandora’s Box that lies beyond our control.

A two-week 3D Addiction course at Robotics Lab costs Rs9,500. For further details contact  021-35241256

Additional input by: Raheel Essa

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, December 1^st, 2013.

Directed by Jimmy Hayward, Free Birds, a Thanks-giving themed 3D animation makes for an unappetising meal this holiday. Slice through the turkey and characters and the jumps between the past and the future in the film will squirt all over the table. Indigestible, in one word.

The plot pecks at the elaborate feasts of Thanksgiving celebrations. Turkey being the most commonly served bird during the holiday is the central theme of this new cartoon. The most intelligent turkey on the farm, Reggie (voiced by Owen Wilson), tries to warn his flock of the human appetite and their ultimate fate on the plate. The flock however firmly believes in a surreal turkey paradise, and cast Reggie out for his weird ideas.

It is only when the president’s team visits the farm in search of a turkey, that the flock realises the truth behind Reggie’s concerns. Reggie is handed over to be sacrificed for the presidential dinner. But just as the audience begins to get worried, he is granted a presidential pardon on the insistence of the president’s noisy and chirpy daughter.

From here the movie flies in a completely different direction and like birds migrating south during winter, it takes a dip.

Reggie, along with the president and his daughter, is flown in a helicopter to Camp David where he luxuriates and is seen indulging in pizza. In those five very long minutes of pizza deliveries, you hope for a twist and crave a cheesy reward for sitting through the rest of the film. Finally Reggie’s gluttonous cheesy adventures come to an end in a not-so-thrilling way when another turkey, Jake (voiced by Woody Harrelson), kidnaps him for an assignment.

Jake, an ambitious turkey forcibly recruits Reggie for a secret mission, commissioned by ‘The Great Turkey’ to travel back in time and wipe turkeys off the dreaded Thanksgiving menu. In a neither funny nor gripping journey the two turkeys are transported in a giant, talking time-machine egg named S.T.E.V.E (Space and Time Exploration Vehicle Envoy), voiced by George Takei.

Reggie and Jake travel back to Plymouth circa 1621, where they are caught in between hungry hunter dogs and gunshots. Saved by the turkey tribe, Reggie meets the turkey of his dreams, Jenny, a strong character who later becomes the chief of the tribe. Apart from some action scenes, the fights are predictable and offer nothing memorable. And you will have to sit through an impossibly bland and overstuffed narrative, if you want to find out whether the duo eventually succeeds in changing history.

Free Birds, unlike other animations of its league such as Chicken Run, did not succeed in any significant way. The film was cluttered with ideas, lacked humour and the pace of action moved slowly. It was festive yet flavourless, colourful yet remindful of the idea of death and slaughter. In all, even by the standards of a children’s movie, the film was tasteless.

Reviewers rating: 1.5/5

 Sundar Waqar is a subeditor on The Express Tribune Magazine desk. She tweets @sundar_waqar

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, December 8^th, 2013.

Imagine driving a car with your foot on the accelerator but there are no brakes. Try and feel the panic and the absolute lack of control over what will happen. Now imagine feeling like that all the time. This is the simplest way to understand what goes on inside the brain of someone with Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (AD/HD) — a condition that manifests itself as a poor attention span, increased activity and impulsivity.

“He is bouncing off the walls, he cannot sit still, he goes up and down the stairs a thousand times a day, jumps off the sofa or bed,” says Faiza, who’s son has AD/HD. “He does not pay attention to homework and needs constant redirection to do anything. He does not listen to me when I talk to him. He is an intelligent kid but does not live up to his potential,’’ she says describing her eight-year-old son Musa’s behaviour to the doctor. These are some of the common complaints from the parents of children diagnosed with AD/HD.

AD/HD is a neuro-developmental disorder, with both genes and environmental factors linked to its development. Different studies have shown that five to ten per cent of the American population has AD/HD. In Pakistan, the disorder is grossly undiagnosed, under-diagnosed or misdiagnosed with most young patients suffering from verbal and physical abuse by their families, peers and teachers. The untreated or under-treated AD/HD, can take a significant toll on the life of the person and society.

If untreated, some of the children have greater chances of developing adult AD/HD with more symptoms of inattentiveness, forgetfulness and difficulty in organising tasks. These are the people who often lose their cell phones or keys and miss appointments. They are always on the go and feel an urge to keep themselves busy and find different things at home to fix. They find long conversations boring, and relaxation, even on a vacation, a difficult concept to grasp. However, it should be kept in mind that not every person who is active, disruptive and inattentive has AD/HD. To be absolutely sure, one needs a clinical diagnosis that involves examinations and collateral information with extensive personal histories.

The treatment for AD/HD is multi-tier, and a comprehensive approach is necessary for symptoms control with a psychiatrist, therapist, parents and teachers taking part by forming a team. Psycho-education covering the diagnosis, treatment and prognosis should be provided. A child psychiatrist should monitor medication (which have established their effectiveness in clinical trials), whereas a therapist should teach the child to behave differently in difficult situations. Similarly, parents need to be educated in effective parenting skills that include setting of boundaries and rewards for better behaviour. The treatment should be revisited at appropriate intervals and frequent feedback from all members of the treatment team should be incorporated before deciding what to do next. Physical and verbal punishment has a counterproductive effect on the treatment and should be avoided.

Unfortunately, there is a scarcity of child psychiatrists in Pakistan. According to the World Health Organisation, there are only 320 psychiatrists in Pakistan to deal with 176 million patients. There is a pressing need for psychiatrists, pediatricians and general practitioners to learn more about AD/HD in order to provide diagnosis and treatment. It is often the right help at the right time that can draw the dividing line between a jail and a job for these patients.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, December 8^th, 2013.