Every four years, the world turns its attention to the shores of the United States, gripped by the possibility of transformation, of new hope, of promises for a gentler path in global affairs. The air thrums with the lofty vows of candidates, each one pledging to resist the inexorable pull toward conflict, to restore peace, to build a world no …
In the far-flung recesses of memory, when the hum of the present dims and the mind drifts into sepia-toned reverie, I find myself back in the streets of Nowshera Cantt, a city woven from the threads of my first twenty-two summers. Yet, what draws me back is not the bustling bazaars, nor the timeless alleys, nor the sense of youth …
In history’s relentless march, ‘traitor’ surfaces as a darkened blade, carving betrayal onto those whose only allegiance was to principle. Not just a word, it drips with the weight of broken loyalty, the severance of all bonds. In the treacherous arena of politics, this word, branded with accusation, transforms into a weapon. A weapon which is cold, sharp, relentless, crafted …
My father passed away in 1963, a year after I was born. He left behind not only a son too young to know him but also a silent witness to his life, a black Labrador named Kaloo, his steadfast companion in the wilderness. My father was a hunter, a man bound by friendship and tradition, who would cross the Kabul …
In the heart of Nowshera Cantt, my birthplace nestled in Pakistan, my family bought a piece of land, a plot that seemed steeped in silent whispers and unsettling rumors. It was a corner plot, last in our secluded street. By day, it appeared like any other parcel of earth. But by night, especially in the eyes of the elderly, it …