Tag Archives: Pakistan

A Quivering Voice for Zainab!

A young bud was blooming into a beautiful flower, as magically pink as a cherry blossom, her awakening must have been celebrated. The radiance of enchanting flowers of spring, be the Sakuras or Dahlias, enlightens the world with bliss and delight with kindling of hope in the powers of nature to rejuvenate, nurture and prosper. The scent of their delicacy is the messenger of joy which fills the polluted air with fragrance of purity. For what reason wouldn’t she be celebrated for, the little, delicate, fragrant, burgeoning flower they named Zainab?

Do you hear the resonating crash of thunder that burnt the little Dahlia from the land of Bulleh Shah? Do you see the blinding flash of lightening that cursed the little bud before she could ever blossom? Do you hear the deafening screams of the petals ripped apart? Do you tremble seeing the receptacle of the flower shredded of its petals, strangulated in mud? Do you see? Do you hear? Do you feel? You, the men from the land of a humanist, the tradition of your soil was to nurture the colours of life with care. What seeds of poison have you sown? So scarce are the fruits of your land that you have begun to devour the flowers of the heaven’s orchards?

They speak of dignity or pride to which are entitled those who are human, what dignity has ever a brute had? A predator drenched in the blood of a Dahlia draining it of its alluring pink, what a horrific face of a demon his human form has? Has a human name too, this varmint they call a man? A man? Were the flowers of the gardens of heavens granted the life to fall a prey to the rapacious creatures you hold parallel to Adam’s sons? The heavens scream a rejection to your postulate, hear if you have the ears to hear, you, the hollow skeletons without mortal flesh humans have as a heart, a heart that beats.

The quivering, naïve voice speaks, hear the echo if you can. Under question is the not the might of the raptors of the flowers of this land, but that of the landscapers. How worthless is the future of this nation for you? How cheaply do you tag the lives of the women and children of this land? Records have evidence of a continuous hike in the number of case of several kinds of child abuse across the largest, the most highly populated province of the country, seven hundred cases from the town which was the subject of a nationwide outcry three years ago when a child pornography scandal surfaced after ten years of silence of the villagers in the name of shame? Twelfth victim in a two-kilometer radius over the past twelve months is this little bud called Zainab? Does it not shame your human conscience that her reports have samples of a DNA of a predator already in criminal records? Your loud voices make tall claims of service of the people, a demon at lose victimizing our children is the evidence of your service? Riots erupt, the commoners speak, every sphere voices condemnation, cases are lodged, why is justice not served? The pedophiles continue to crawl out of their abyss. She would have been alive today if a single culprit was duly punished and made into an example. How weak are those empowered by the people of the land that the offenders have not been taken to the gallows? Justice! Hear the voice! Killing of those seeking justice in the land with no law will not silence the voice. It will scream. It will scream from beneath heaps of trash in the nooks of your cities. Justice for Zainab, justice for every Zainab, young or old, of her gender or of the opposite one subjected to child rape! How will justice ever be served?

Asks this meek voice, is humanity alive in the humans of this land? Will those, the claimants to dignity set forth the definition of a dignified man? To which low of morality can this society stoop? What breeds this lust? How much more blood before this thirst is quenched? “Women who don’t veil are victimized!” What sees that predator when he eyes a woman in veil, head to toe, as she crosses him on the pavement? Flowers attract with their fragrance; their enchantment is captivating. Is it true for infant buds too?

A society? An unruly mob of… dignified humans, indeed! Protest, this weak voice protests. Hear! Hear the bellows of every tattered flower if you can! They scream in your haunting silence too.




The Cash Counter


Take a wild guess, what do you think it is? Pardon me for the weird angle and not a complete, clear shot for there were a lot of people… typical of traditional Lahori markets. This is lower wall of  a cash counter at a traditional Lahori shop. I wish I could make a more elaborate shot not just the details. However, isn’t it enough to leave anyone awestruck? This is a cloth, hand-crafted with beads, dabka and tilla, pinned to the wooden wall of the cash counter with utmost mastery and made me click one hast shot walking past it.

Pakistan’s Father Teresa

A hero lives in legends and myths and a messiah lives in hearts of those he touches the lives of! We have lost our messiah today, the hero of the masses whose last words were nothing more than, “Take care of the poor of my Pakistan…”


You have left the nation orphaned and humanity mourning, Abdul Sattar Edhi. You had no formal education, you never went to school but you were a scholar of humanitarian values yourself. “I do not have any formal education. What use is education when we do not become human beings? My school is the welfare of humanity?”

Abdul Sattar Edhi was Pakistan’s Father Teresa and humanity’s servant, a saint. He was the founder of the Edhi Trust, the largest welfare organization in the country which he started from scratch. Edhi did not require a hotline to be called on, he was but Angel of Mercy. Edhi Trust runs the largest ambulance service on this planet of humans with a round the clock facilitation. This trust has trained approximately forty thousand nurses over last six decades. It provides shelters and rehab centres for the old, the widowed, the orphaned, the mentally disabled and the drug addicts. Abdul Sattar Edhi was a father to fifty thousand orphans of our land. He was a brotherly shoulder to thousands of widowed women of this country. He knew no religion, no cast, and no creed, no rank… no bounds. He served the people of his soil more than any government ever could, he ruled the hearts of millions who have lived in his time. He was ours without even knowing us, having met us… even once.  Pakistan is Edhi’s philanthropy, humanity is Edhi’s compassion. He was the richest poor nation’s Richest Poor Man. He was humanity’s Nobel Prize. He was his name’s truest essence, Abdul Sattar – The Servant of the Veiler.

Abdul Sattar Edhi, you were a candle that flickered to give hope to those trampled by trials in life, an umbrella to those without a shelter over their heads and a lifeline of this drowning nation. Pakistan was, is and shall always be indebted to you as your five ambulances served at the Walton Camp in 1947 and multiplied in number to serve millions through decades… Your philanthropy is humanity’s treasure! Now that you have left us, you the hero of mine and millions of humans, we pray for you to be blessed with the highest rank in the Jannah. Ameen! Your eyes, per your word, have been donated and shall give vision to two disabled persons. Your philanthropy shall live on.


Draped in the national flag at your state funeral, you have left us with a heavy burden, our hero! There will never be another Abdul Sattar Edhi but we will make an effort to further your endeavours! The legacy shall not die.


I have no words, I have nothing which could serve as a befitting tribute to you, Edhi Sahib, but I pray for the Edhi dynasty to live long… the empire where none shall sleep starving in the open…

Thank you, my hero!

Love-Struck At 04:00 Hours

Blink_2016-01-31T03.59.33.228_5_2016-01-31It is four hundred hours on Sunday morning in Lahore and here is a big hello from me, the good old yet crazy young I! What has taken away my sleep, is quite clearly visible in the picture. Cricket, the sport every Pakistani is addicted to. We all watch it, play it and enjoy it! If you ever wonder what delirium of joy and strength of support feels like, watch a cricket match in a Pakistani’s home. Winning and losing is a part of game, taken too very seriously by most of us when it comes to cricket though. However, the fever burns… I’m running a high fever too, love-struck at 04:00. AM… Watching the Green Team take on the Kiwis… Fingers crossed for a win…

One Year Later…

A year has passed, three hundred and sixty five long days…

I woke up that morning with a bright smile on my face, it was a cold December day in Lahore on December 16, 2014! The smile was in celebration of the ecstasy that spout out in the streets of my city, a day earlier, with waving flags and deliriously echoing slogans. Those weren’t Independence Day celebrations, it were the voice of this struggling nation demanding its civic and democratic right to fair polls and welfare. Lahore seemed like an artist’s stroke of ingenious, the sky was green with patriotism, white with democracy and peace and red… red with fidelity to the soil and allegiance to the ideology of justice! Lahore protest was a massive success and the front page of every newspapers was an imagery of this nation’s resolve to endeavour till the very end of time… I had an exam the next day, a semester final. I had to study and so I took a flight to my nest, opened up my books and began to study like a good student. The smile was still flickering. And then… the pleasantly cold winter day wasn’t pleasant any more. There was a message in the WhatsApp group from Lala Ji that there had been a terrorist siege laid on APS Peshawar… the smile went out like a candle that dies in thin air… APS Peshawar! Army Public School Peshawar! School! School it read, school I read, school they said, school I heard… A school… School? You could have said it wrongly, I could have heard it wrongly, I could be sleepy, I wasn’t sleepy, I woke up ninety minutes ago, how I could be sleepy… A school? Children! Children study in schools. Innocent children in their green and white uniforms had gone to school that day, like every other day. They never came back… It was home time but they never came home again… Our army squared them, the terrorists, it took them more than seven hours to vanquish those terrorists… they were extremists, they were beasts, brutes, barbarians, savages, how could they be human? They ruthlessly slaughtered humanity, they killed our children… Could those innocent lives tell what had been happening, what were they thinking, did they fear them, did they call out for help, did they resist… did they have enough time? Frightening bolts of bullets and thunderous jolts of those vicious voices, blood seeping into the soil of their motherland, did they feel it happening? They were children! Our armed forces have been a target, police academies and army bases have been assaulted, our worship places have been painted in the colour of their lunacy and then… a school…

December 16, 2014… 144 martyrs…


Main aisi qaum sey hun jis ke wo bachon sey darta hai

Bara dushman bana phirta hai jo bachon sey larta hai

(I hail from the nation whose children he fears

Poses with might, that enemy, who fights children)

  • Tribute by ISPR
  • (Translated by Zahra)


Yes, we are a nation faced with arduous challenges hampering our surge towards a better tomorrow. Yes, we are a nation at war with the evils of the society and the rogues of economy. Yes, we are a nation burdened with the destruction by the enemies of humanity. Yes, we have our weaknesses. But no, we are not weak! We are half a million lives for global peace and war on terror. We are resilience. We are valour. We are sacrifice. We are not the ones we are perceived to be. We are Edhi’s philanthropy. We are Malala’s peace. We are Nusrat’s melody. We are Rehman’s ingenious stroke. We are hospitality, peace, philanthropy, love, culture and generosity. We are a resilience that shall trump all atrocities! We are a courage that shall never be conquered! Hope shall never die! The song of our victory is the echo of our national anthem that resounds in our schools every morning. The testimony of our endeavours is every moment of learning that we gain every day. We will triumph for it shall serve justice to those hundred and forty four torch bearers of our enlightened tomorrow. We shall rise to glory in the face of all odds, we are Pakistan!


Hai waada yeh tum sey key ilm key deep jalayenge…

Tum dekhna, hum qalm sey talwar ko ziar kar jayenge!

(It’s a promise to you that the lamps of knowledge, shall we light…

You”ll watch, with a pen shall we surmount the sword!)

  • Tribute by Zahra




Words of Worth!

“It is not defeat that destroys you, it is being demoralized by defeat that destroys you!”

Imran Khan

Motivational, inspirational, encouraging and the slice of his very own exemplary life; the man is a true persona of what could be qualified as ambitious, motivated, determined, dedicated, steadfast, upright and courageous. The name is Imran Khan and the life of his, is a success story, a tale of endeavours for what was most casually perceived as impossible but utterly a matter of working unfalteringly, for him! The most successful captain in Pakistan’s cricketing history, the most charismatic and evenly one of the greatest all-rounders in the world of cricket…the ace speedster, the dependable scorer and the skipper to captain to victory; the man whose philanthropy is no less a national heroism by any standards of service to his people; the politician in persona of a struggle against the might of the status quo and a hope of a brighter future for the many of his and my land who dream of living the Pakistan Dream one day!

Needed him to crop a few many stumps out of the sockets for more than two decades for Imran Khan to lead Pakistan to its maiden world championship triumph, having ended up as a semi-finalist five years earlier under his own captaincy. The world came down and the flags went up and we came at number one, the 1992 crown is still cherished by the delirious followers of the sport of cricket, including me!

Imran-Khan-receives-1992-Cricket-World-Cup-Trophy-in-England (2)


Captained the combat against the fatal ailment of cancer as he knocked on every door for charity to build Pakistan’s first and the biggest cancer cure hospital which now serves over seventy percent of its patients for free, run by the most benevolent nation in the world that donates over three billion rupees per annum; they bless him unconditionally for this service. The institution shall stand strong even  after him; proud am I to be a volunteer for the cause. Planted the seeds that shall grow into flowers of educated young Pakistanis on the land of Rikhi, a charitable educational institution; the advocate of education-to-light’s first step towards a brighter tomorrow!


After decades of dwindling survival, hope shimmered in the old eyes with wrinkled bags, faith in destiny reawakened in the hearts and kindled a sharp amber of ambition of turning the tide of battle against the odds of a brighter future when the fourteen year old Pakistan’ Movement for Justice rose, ideology reinforced, to grandeur on October the thirtieth in the year two thousand and eleven when the air in my city seemed electric and the sky became a canvas upon which were splashed or white, green and red; waving flags and awakening hopes.


That was the commencement of the new era, the era of awakening… things have changed massively ever since, yet need of a greater change persists. Eighteen years of unwavering working towards his mission in life, losses and gains, rises and falls… when they said he is down and he is out, he rose up and he fought back and fought hard, with support of millions! In Pashto, the ethnic language of the province under his governance, they call him their leader – zamunga masher Imran Khan dey! The struggle continues… the ace captain is not out… one hundred and twenty six, innings declared; world’s longest sit-in protest demanding the sanctity of votes and the basic rights of the commoners; success is the ripened fruit it bore. The fight shall continue, until the dawn we envision, we dream, we endeavour for… His dream, my dream, our dream!

Churchill said, the courage to continue counts! Imran says, defeat doesn’t destroy you; his actions and inactions are a concrete evidence of his postulate; the results that he has shown… the lesson!

Introducing Me: Identity – More Than A Name

Love me or hate me, I am me – the crazy young me! Have been around here for more than twelve months and not surprisingly as an unnoticed commentator. The English idiom for the Urdu phrase pouncing in my mind right now is: it’s better late than never! So, here is a big hello to the world! Introducing me: this is Zahra from Pakistan or more precisely a twenty year old girl named Zahra from the city of Lahore in the Asian country of Pakistan; this is the right way to introduce oneself, isn’t it so? My name can very well identify me but is it the whole of my identity? I believe otherwise.

What did you conceive when this piece of text read you that I hail from the land called Pakistan? Never mind, I’m sure to erase the conceptions; if it were some text message I would have inserted a smiling emoticon after the last remark.

“Zahra, is a youth with a persona unique to her – developed through the course of time ageing in an environment that ensured her intellectual nurturing to observe, learn and grow which perhaps pretty much aptly explains this domain in use: Facts and Commentary. She is fluent in her mother tongue and Pakistan’s lingua franca Urdu and possesses an exceptional command over what would ideally be called the language of the world, English. Interested in history and culture she has learned a very few basic words from foreign languages alongside her ethnic medium of communication Punjabi. Economy and politics interest her and sports, cricket in particular have earned her fondness while cartoons and animes have always been an attraction, a voracious reader but not a book worm as technology is convenient enough to lend the world at a click’s access to innumerous articles and what not and has a peculiar taste in music, arts and crafts. She is a happy go lucky vibrancy wandering about the walkways flaunting her self-absorbed observant dressing stealing chatters, giving away a chirpy smile and speaking her complex mind, composes her tunes and dances her own moves. Simply oddity in disguise of a youth!” reads the book of biographies residing in the shelf tagged “1995” in the old archive.

Have I identified myself, really? No! My identity is my surname in the society, my nationality in the lands demarcated as outer spaces to my beautiful homeland’s territory and my skill to interact and ability to juggle with words here in the world of writers rather bloggers. I am a writer by no academic qualifications, trainings or made choices; I am a writer by trait, a natural player of words be them Urdu or English… I am no champion though! Learning through life is what I believe in and that is what keeps me going. Why do I exist in this world away from the one we all originally belong to? I am here to state facts and make comments; facts about anything or everything about the life that I live… a journey of challenges in this mortal world… and comment on anything or everything about the life I live… an extravaganza, a spectrum of colors…

An identity is but beyond a name and now you know mine, will you join me in my quest to bring a positive change in life of my own and everyone else because I wish the world was a gentler place?

Hasta La Vista, Amigos!


The phrase that hears every ear these days, Democracy Is Endangered, is quite controversial. If the intellectuals could explain to the commons like this immature commentator the meaning of this statement then it would benefit the society. Democracy to the theorists and scientists, however, remains to be an affair “to the people, for the people, by the people.” If the hypothesis stands any value claim than it is likely to conceive an idea that the practitioners of democracy should be the representatives of the people and elected by the people to serve the people. If the parliamentarians are for the people, by the people then it remains a compulsion on them to be with the people. If the hypothesis is somewhat not fallacious then the elected representatives of the people should talk of the people, for the people, with the people… If the alliteration is so coherent then it sits due on the parliamentarians to lend an ear to the grievances of the masses, scrutinize the past failures, identify the systemic faults, address the primary challenges facing the common man’s survival and ensure the just service of fundamental human and citizen rights to the people…
If the above premises are sound and valid then what is the status of the government which is alleged of committing of theft on the nation’s right to vote, charged with murder of innocent civilians, accused of denial of justice, burdened with poverty of ten million, questioned of sincerity to state institutions…?
The query propelling the commentator’s nieve sense of comprehension to bewilderment is: Is it the democracy under threat or are the people endangered by the demand for service of justice…?
Democracy is when the indigent, and not the men of property, are the rulers…

“Healthy citizens are the greatest asset any country can have.”
– Winston Churchill