Dr Mahnoor Nasir has been shifted to a private hospital in Karachi for treatment and her attacker, later identified by police as Humayun Shah, an employee at the hospital, was kil­led in an encounter with law enforcers while attempting to flee on a bus.

News of her attack has rocked the nation, not only because of the ferocity of it, but because it is far from the first case of a woman being attacked with acid.

“A woman went to WORK today. To SAVE LIVES. And someone threw acid on her face. I can’t. I genuinely cannot,” wrote Mahira Khan in an impassioned Instagram story.

“Dr Mahnoor Nasir [was] attacked inside a hospital. INSIDE A HOSPITAL. This is barbaric. This is evil. I am shaking with rage. This woman deserved safety. Instead she was nearly burned alive by a man who thought he had the right to destroy her,” she wrote.

“It’s time for not just the women but the MEN to speak up. To be louder. To be angrier!!!”

Singer Hadiqa Kiani said what happened to Dr Mahnoor Nasir should shake us all. “It is heartbreaking, horrifying and absolutely unacceptable,” she wrote, highlighting that Dr Nasir’s is not an isolated case.

“For too long, our women have faced violence, acid attacks, harassment and even death simply for existing, working and living with dignity. This must not be treated as another tragic headline,” she wrote.

Kiani implored society to find the courage to protect women before tragedy strikes.

Actor Mariyam Nafees shared a video of herself talking about multiple acts of violence against women in Pakistan.

“If she says no to a marriage proposal, we kill her. If she’s stranded in her car with her kids, we rape her. If she’s a girl, we kidnap her, sell her and rape her. If she gets married,  for some reason or the other, we burn her or kill her. If she’s a doctor, we throw acid on her in broad daylight. If she was born, we throw her in a garbage bin or drown her in a drain. But we talk about clothes because that is the biggest issue of our society — this is, I don’t even know what to say anymore.” 

Actor Saheefa Jabbar Khattak shared a note on Instagram about how morally policing women helps normalise hatred and contempt. 

“When people constantly speak against women’s clothing, their choices, their rights or even their mere existence, they help create an environment where misogyny thrives. The same mindset that shames women for what they wear is part of the culture that enables violence against them, where it’s acid attacks, murdering a wife for refusing sex, or brutalising a woman because she gave birth to a daughter,” she wrote.

“These horrific acts do not emerge in a vacuum. They are rooted in the same belief that women should be controlled, judged and punished for simply existing on their own terms.” 

Filmmaker Sharmeen Obaid Chinoy shared a screenshot of a story about the attack and said achievement, service or dignity has never protected women from violence.

“The shame belongs to the attacker and to our society that still allows this to happen.”

Actor Amna Ilyas highlighted that in the wrong hands, acid is a weapon.

“A woman should be able to go to work without fearing violence. We need accountability, justice and stricter control over substances that can be used to destroy lives,” she said.

“Another woman, incident, noise, then silence. Get well soon doc! Being an achiever woman in this society, you certainly need a guard. Rip life for a woman,” wrote host Shaista Lodhi, highlighting that the cycle of violence against women always end with the outrage soon dying down and then silence.

Actor Sana Javed called hearing news of the attack “deeply unsettling”.

“There is something extremely wrong when someone can so easily obtain acid and use it to destroy another person’s life. This is no longer just about one incident, it’s about how little has changed,” she wrote in an Instagram story.

Several celebrities shared a video of how to provide first aid in case of an acid attack, much to their regret. Hina Altaf said she her heart broke at having to share it, while Yasir Hussain said he’d seen videos of natural disasters but seeing this one shocked him.

Actor Ayesha Omar shared a lengthy note on the attack, calling it a “psychological one”.

“It’s an attack on her freedom, her professionalism, her independence, her autonomy, her education, her mind, her soul and her spirit. It reminds us of how unsafe women are, not just on the streets but at their so-called safe workplaces and even inside their own homes,” she wrote.

“She goes our to save lives and her own is ruined. By an employee of the same hospital. I’m shaken and shattered…I’m full of anger and rage.”

She called for major “mental reforms” in the country and a deep dive into how to “start shfiting the misogynistic, violent mindset prevalent in Pakistan on a grassroot level” for all tiers of society.

“It’s not about law and order only. It’s about shifting the sick, twisted mindset, otherwise we are heading towards complete collapse and destruction.”

The attack on Dr Nasir is not the first act of violence against a Pakistani woman and it won’t be the last, not when acid is easily available, when men can’t take no for an answer, and when society continues to turn the other way when it comes to protecting women.

On Saturday, a man threw acid at a female doctor at Quetta’s Civil Hospital, severely injuring her. Dr Mahnoor Nasir survived, but with 70 per cent of her body burned, according to hospital sources.

On Thursday, a 64-year-old man surrendered himself to the police in Karachi and confessed to killing his wife for refusing to engage in intercourse with him the night before.

After going through the horror of witnessing so much crime, Pakistanis on X asked how many more women have to go through this before something actually changes.

As always, there were people online blaming the victims of these tragedies, claiming there was some reason why they were attacked, as if women aren’t attacked at random. Netizens were not having it and responded by calling out the real culprits: misogyny and male entitlement.

People were understandably enraged at why, after so many acid attacks, acid was still easily available for any potential attacker to buy and even carry with him into a hospital.

While the Acid Control Crime and Prevention Act, 2011 requires sellers to record the personal details of buyers, the substance remains commercially available and is readily used for domestic applications like drain cleaning.

In the case of the man who murdered his wife, a clip of him emerged where lawyers were huddled around the killer telling him they’d represent him and he was “in the right”. Users on X were horrified, with one shocked the lawyers could do so and still face their mothers, daughters, wives and sisters at home.

Many believed men need to be taught how to take no for an answer.

And of course, for many, the main culprit is always feminism. Many netizens rolled their eyes at people at the scrutiny around feminism and what feminists stand for when women “continue to be killed, raped and burned by acid attacks”.

One user put one of the biggest struggles of being a woman in Pakistan into perspective — no woman is safe from attacks by entitled men.

A lot of people were angry.

The prevalence of violence against women in Pakistan signifies a deep, systemic rot in the way society thinks about and treats women. Until attitudes change and everyone starts seeing women as human beings worthy of respect and rights, we can’t expect anything to improve.

The question is: how many more women need to be killed and injured before society finally has had enough?

There have been multiple reports of fictional clashes between the two cities, with videos showing the use of ‘heavy weaponary’, many of which are being seen for the first time.

Fighting between infantry units has escalated into gruelling close quarters battles, with troops engaging in hand-to-hand combat in the trenches after munitions ran low on both sides.

The fighting took a turn for the worse after forces from Okara deployed a never-before-seen short-range rocket system against the Federation’s troops.

Armoured units soon entered the fight, with Sahiwal’s state-of-the-art light tanks routing Okaran formations, swiftly striking fear into the hearts of enemy troops.

As a countermeasure, Okara’s forces deployed super-fast trucks developed by their scientists at Area-52 — the facility was built by Sahiwal and has since been taken over by Okara after the Republic broke away.

The trucks are expected to be able to break through to the frontlines and provide much needed supplies to the Republic’s forces.

Artillery batteries from both sides have been hammering rival positions, with video showing shells criss-crossing in the air due to the sheer volume of fire on the front.

Okara has established absolute air supremacy in the skies over Sahiwal with its high-tech ‘aircraft’. Sahiwal’s air forces have resorted to using ground-based assets for strikes and have attempted to hit targets as far as Karachi — although reports indicate the strike package got stuck on University Road.

Wing Commander Chahat Fateh Ali Khan, a veteran of the India-Pakistan meme war of 2025, was intercepted by Okara and reportedly remains in custody.

Other cities are taking sides in the conflict and the fighting has spilled into other areas. There are fears this may turn into a major proxy conflict as Lahore has thrown its weight behind Sahiwal.

In response, Karachi has joined the war on Okara’s side with 4,000 men of the elite Korangi Cavalry being sent to support Okaran forces.

Bahawalpur has entered into a mutual defence agreement with Okara.

Muridke and Pattoki — both part of Lahore’s divisional sphere of influence — have rebelled and pledged support to Okara, sending naval units to blockade Sahiwal. Yeah, even we don’t know how that one works.

We have questions, so many questions. What on earth is going on? Who started this? Where is it headed? And how will the economy fare with the budget just days away?

We don’t have any answers yet, please send them in the comments if you do and stay tuned, there may be updates.

Where these mini-dress clad people — presumably women, though he didn’t specify — are roaming is a mystery to us, as it probably is to most of you. It would be educational for us all if he would enlighten us all about where exactly in Punjab women are roaming around in public in short dresses.

“As a father of two daughter I humbly request to madam CM Maryam Nawaz please make a law against those who wear short dresses in public places — bazaars and streets — otherwise we will all be destroyed culturally,” he wrote in his story.

Naturally, people — read: we — are confused. Who is he talking about? What bazaars and streets does he frequent in Punjab where people roam around in short dresses? What do his daughters have to do with his request? And why does he think CM Maryam should be policing what people are wearing?

The reaction online to his request is, of course, mixed. Some are most pleased at this strange statement, happy that our ‘culture’ will be protected from these faceless short dress-wearing people. Others argue that he never mentioned women, and therefore cannot be called misogynistic. Some believed he was talking about men in shorts — also, a much-debated topic in Pakistan. A fourth more sensible group is as confused as us, wondering what prompted this sudden outpouring of concern.

If anyone figures out what he’s talking about, please let us know.

Jaffer was sentenced to death in February 2022 by a sessions court in Islamabad for the 2021 murder of Noor Mukadam, with subsequent appeals in the Islamabad High Court and Supreme Court ending in rulings that upheld the punishment.

Users on X breathed a sigh of collective relief upon hearing the news, calling it a positive development for women’s rights, safety and the rule of law in Pakistan.

Netizens said Jaffer’s sentence sets an example that could serve as deterrence for other acts of violence against women.

One person said though it won’t bring Mukadam back, the dismissal of the review plea closes an avenue for the criminal in “one of Pakistan’s most horrific cases” to escape accountability.

Another advised caution, saying this case was only a start and there was still a long way to go when it came to protecting Pakistan’s women against violence.

A few others were less optimistic, saying justice remained out of reach for people without means and societal influence.

One user said Mukadam’s case was resolved in four to five years owing to her father’s influence as a retired diplomat. Another cited the examples of Natasha Danish and Shahrukh Jatoi — two influential people who were accused of murder and then later pardoned by the victims’ families.

There was also discussion around Jaffer’s defence in the case. His legal team told the court he suffered from mental health issues, attempting to use that as a reason for the murder, something the courts rejected. One person said such tactics end up hurting people who actually do need help with their mental health and increase the stigma around it.

With Thursday’s decision, a presidential pardon under Article 45 of the Constitution is the only way Jaffer can be given clemency with a suspension or commutation of his death sentence.

Talking about using Black Forest’s technology for storyboarding, the director said, “For 70 years, I’ve been creating my own storyboards. There’s always been this problem of ‘how do you communicate what you see in your head to your cast and crew’. There are some things you have to see and feel. I’m interested in the intersection of technology and storytelling, and seeing how that can push the bounds of creativity to create deeper and richer experiences for audiences… Now, with this tool, I can share what I’m visualising more clearly and efficiently to my creative team — the production designer, art designer, and cinematographer — for them to build on to enrich cinematic intelligence.”

While Scorsese appeared to hail AI as the next frontier in the development of cinema, fans were less than enthusiastic about one of Hollywood’s most iconic minds buying into the AI wave.

One user said it was part of a worrying trend of senior filmmakers such as James Cameron, George Miller and Ridley Scott pushing AI tech.

A few others contended that the even more worrying thing was that these older directors will probably not be around to see the effects of the tech “revolution” they’re advocating for.

As storyboarding is a proper function on any film set and storyboard artists working hard to bring a director’s vision to life, people were concerned about the impact this would have on their livelihoods.

Someone brought up Japanese animation legend Hayao Miyazaki’s principled stance against AI with a video in which he calls the idea to integrate AI in artistic work like his “an insult to life itself”.

Some fans, grieving the way the internet does, chose to meme their way through the situation.

Hollywood films aren’t the only arenas where humans are gradually being pushed out by AI. Bollywood is experimenting with the technology, there are attempts to bring an AI-generated actor into the mainstream and Vogue even featured an ad with an AI-generated model last year.

Last year also saw a trend where people used Chat GPT to remake their pictures into Miyazaki’s signature art style. We have no doubt he wasn’t happy about this.

Chacha Cricket, whose unwavering support for Pakistan’s cricket team in spite of their incredibly poor performance made him a symbol of hope for cricket fans everywhere, retired from cheering for the team in a ceremony on Tuesday.

The Pakistan Cricket Board treated the super-fan to a cake and a commemorative jersey presented by skipper Shaheen Afridi on the sidelines of the One Day International between Pakistan and Australia at Lahore’s Gaddafi Stadium — where Chacha watched his first international match in 1969.

Being a celebrity, Chacha’s fans were sad to see him leave the field and tributes poured in on X.

Ali Tareen, the former owner of the Multan Sultans and a bonafide cricket fanatic, recalled his memories seeing Chacha Cricket at Pakistan’s games.

Another user recalled meeting him as a kid and being inspired to cheer for Pakistan.

Naturally, netizens weren’t happy to see the green shirts lost Chacha’s farewell match. We’re all pretty used to seeing them lose, but this game was supposed to be special.

One user said he deserved better, while another speculated he may have chosen to retire because even he couldn’t stand the team’s incessant losing streak.

Whatever the cause may be, Chacha Cricket’s almost 500-match-long career of being Pakistan’s biggest cheerleader brought smiles, spirit and much-needed hope to a group of beleaguered fans who often don’t have much else to keep them going. He will be missed both on and off the field.

In a clip shared on Instagram, digital creator Rija Rafique identified a YouTube channel run by Noman Aleem, a “drama analyst and critic”, who she claimed was posting videos about Pakistani dramas and actors with digitally manipulated cover photos.

Rafique shared thumbnails of Aleem’s videos — which have since been changed — illustrating how specific body parts of Pakistanis actresses and other prominent figures had been digitally manipulated in order to “entice the male gaze”.

She explained that any act through which Artificial Intelligence and digital tools are used to cause “physical, sexual or psychological harm” to women is termed “technology-facilitated gender-based violence”.

She added that just because a woman is a public figure, “that does not mean you have the right to manipulate her images in any way you wish, because that is illegal”.

Rafique pointed out that under the Constitution, nobody could “attack the natural dignity” of another person. She added that the Prevention of Electronic Crimes (Amendment) Act (Peca), 2025, Section 2R on the regulation of “unlawful or offensive online content”, particularly subsections (f) and (g), held liable for blocking or removal any online content which is “obscene or pornographic” or “fake”.

Rafique claimed there had been a surge in gender-based violence as social media access grew from 2019 onwards.

She said she wasn’t against the rising popularity of social media, but regretted that “the patriarchy we face in the physical world now has a modified form of misogyny online in the shape of harassment, stalking and image-based violence”.

In a comment under the video, Rafique claimed Aleem had changed the thumbnails of the videos she had mentioned, but she had saved screenshots of the objectionable content.

In the comments section a number of celebrities appreciated her for raising this important issue.

Romaisa Khan said she had come across the channel on YouTube earlier and had to “immediately report it” for its content. She said the issue wasn’t just the thumbnails but also that “how they talk about the actors is disgusting”.

Naeema Butt called on Punjab Chief Minister Maryam Nawaz to take action against Aleem, calling his videos a “shameful act”. She asked the YouTuber what the actors had done to him and if he had any fear of punishment for what he was doing.

Bushra Ansari calls out fake quotes

Elsewhere on the internet, veteran actor Bushra Ansari clarified that she was not responsible for politically charged statements being attributed to her on social media.

In a post on Instagram, she said, “It has come to my attention that some fake graphics and political statements are being circulated on social media using my picture. I want to make it absolutely clear to all of you that I have never shared or supported any political narrative and these false statements have zero connection to me.”

In the caption, the actor called the actions “cheap and criminal”, adding that such use of social media was “awful”.

An explosion hit the train as it was passing through a railway crossing in the provincial capital, derailing passenger bogies and destroying a number of vehicles waiting for the train to cross.

As Pakistanis mourned the tragedy, celebrities joined the nation in expressing their grief at the loss of life. Mahira Khan saw the city bleed again and couldn’t help but ask: “How much more?”

Sarwat Gilani posted a story with broken hearts.

Talha Anjum minced no words and said he stood “with our soldiers” against the “terrorists” who took “innocent lives” in the attack. The rapper also sent prayers for the souls of those who had died.

Farhan Saeed similarly said his “heart goes out to all the victims and [their] families”. He said he wished Pakistani forces would “make examples” out of those responsible. The singer said the attack was the work of Pakistan’s enemy, which had to be defeated “at any cost”.

Designer Hassan Sheheryar Yasin spoke for many people across Pakistan when he said, “Today our hearts are heavy with the pain of so many innocent lives lost and families forever changed.”

The attack occurred shortly after 8am on Sunday when the train was travelling from Quetta Cantonment to the city’s main railway station. People present near the site of the incident recounted hearing a loud explosion and seeing people run for cover.

A statement from the provincial government said the victims included three members of the Frontier Constabulary and a number of “pedestrians, passengers, bystanders, and residents living in houses adjacent to the blast site”. A family of four, a couple and their two children, were among the casualties.

The world was forced to confront that reality on Tuesday when the company announced its iconic search bar would be “totally reimagined with AI” in what it described as the biggest change to the web’s favourite search engine in 25 years.

The comment section was full of people telling Google this was a terrible idea nobody had asked for.

Some users threatened to walk out on the world’s most popular search engine if the change was implemented. They even had alternatives prepared for this exact scenario.

Users reacting to the company’s announcement on X asked it to please do away with the idea of putting AI in everything and let the internet heal.

One user, probably tired of fighting the AI surge and wanting to not experience any more of it, asked Google to at least allow people to opt out of the new development.

While Google’s move seems common-sense on the surface, especially in the context of the rise of AI chatbots as tools of retrieving information, that’s not the full picture. AI agents — including Google’s own Gemini which the AI-search feature will operate on — are known to be susceptible to manipulation.

The bots often push popular but unverified information as fact, leading to a dangerous potential to spread misinformation. While some services — including Google’s current system of AI summaries — attempt to counter this by citing sources, many people do not check these citations before accepting the information as factual.

There are also the environmental impacts of artificial intelligence, with the technology having been criticised for its heavy clean water usage.

Estimates indicate 10 to 50 prompts on an AI agent use up roughly half a litre of water; multiply that by three and its the water an average person needs to consume in a day, multiply it by millions and we have an environmental crisis waiting to happen.

With water scarcity and misinformation both being prevalent issues, it’s worth asking if AI really is the next frontier of technology or if we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere.

While the sentence awaits confirmation from the Islamabad High Court, Pakistanis on X are saying justice has finally been served.

Netizens said every victim deserves justice.

Sana’s parents spoke to the media after the judgment was announced. Her mother, Farzana, thanking the team of lawyers for their efforts and police for their cooperation, said justice had been served. She thanked the judge and the media, noting that the “media supported us from the beginning”.

“The culprit has been handed the right punishment,” she said.

Sana’s father, Yousaf Hassan, said, “We had been waiting for today for the past 11 months […] and the judiciary has given its verdict in the spirit of justice.”

Thanking his lawyers, he said: “This verdict is not just for me as an individual; it is for the entire society. This is a lesson for all such criminals in society that if they commit such an act, they can get such a result.”

The ensemble was inspired by white peacocks, with her outfit incorporating mukesh and zardozi embroidery with mirror-work, making Saeed shimmer in camera flashes like the star she is.

According to a post from Rehar’s brand, it took 50 artisans over 2,300 hours to finish the intricate handiwork.

The jewellery also kept to the theme, with the silver and diamond set including ear cuffs inspired by a peacock’s feathers. Flowers braided into her hair completed the look.

Everyone on X agreed she looked stunning and many felt that this was a major moment for Pakistani representation.

Some users from outside Pakistan also wanted a piece of the representation pie. In fact, they felt entitled to it.

Of course, Pakistanis were not having it and the clapbacks began flying across the border.

One user asked if the people wanting to claim Saeed and Rehar today were the same ones willing to throw hands over Pakistanis saying biryani was joint cultural heritage.

Others asked why users from across the border weren’t happy with India’s own representatives at Cannes — actors Alia Bhatt, Huma Qureshi, Urvashi Rautela and billionaire heiress Isha Ambani were among the many Indian names in town at the same time.

Some people insisted Saeed was indeed South Asian and there was nothing wrong with saying that, but the use of the label had to be reciprocal to be fair.

Then a user pointed out the golden rule for what label to use — or at least the rule used by the Indian side.

Of course, nobody bothered to ask the representative whom she was representing, choosing instead to make their own story around Saeed and her appearance. She made herself clear in an Instagram post on Sunday.

The star at the centre of all the drama said she was “a South Asian woman representing Pakistan and our heritage and craft”.

She said she walked the red carpet “for the women of Pakistan, for the ones who came before us, for the ones who are yet to come and for the ones [who] are never seen behind the scenes”.

The actor cut off her long locks and is now rocking a pixie — just in time for the summer — and everyone has lost their minds. From shock to horror, there are a lot of reactions online, especially on X where sane opinions go to die, so we thought we’d address some of them.

Sajal posted a picture of her new haircut on her stories on Tuesday night. Many speculated that it might be a filter.

She then posted a video of her hair to her account, and her sister, Saboor Aly, commented, which many took as confirmation that this was no filter or wig.

The internet then lost their collective minds. We’ve picked some of the tame reactions to include in this article.

There were some sane voices that pointed out that Sajal was not in fact the first Pakistani woman to get a pixie cut and that they actually used to be pretty common.

There were also others who understood that this was not normal behaviour.

We understand that many people appear to have a parasocial relationship with Sajal’s hair — if you take ‘understand’ to mean begrudgingly accept with great contempt — but the line really must be drawn somewhere.

If you don’t like a pixie cut, don’t get one, but Sajal has a right to get whatever haircut she wants. Sure, no one can stop you from having an opinion on her hair, though we don’t understand why it would be a point of conversation you feel deeply enough to post rants on social media about, but at some point, you’ve got to let it go and touch grass.

The girl got a haircut and everyone is acting like she’s committed a crime against humanity. It’s her hair and if she wanted to shave it all off, that would be her choice too.

And for all those in the ‘we have a right to our opinion’ camp, yes, you certainly do, but that doesn’t mean it’s valid.

We’d also like to remind everyone, this is Sajal Aly we’re talking about. She looks good in anything and everything.

TLDR: Let Sajal Aly get whatever haircut she wants because she looks good in everything.

The Next Salahuddin, a children’s film about a Gazan boy who dreams of conquering Jerusalem, has been picked up by HUM TV for a future release, the channel announced on Friday. The film had a limited theatrical run earlier this year across nine Pakistani cities.

Created by Jinn TV, the film follows Yousuf, whose childhood is taken away from him by a — presumably Israeli — airstrike that kills his family members and leaves him buried under the rubble of his home.

The boy then works towards his goal of uniting Muslims around the world to avenge his people and raise the Palestinian flag over the Al Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem, shadowing the achievements of Salahuddin Ayubi — the Muslim general who captured the city during the Crusades.

The film was conceptualised by Ustadh Asim Ismail and brought to life by Farhan Siddiqui, who wrote and created it using AI. A Malaysian non-profit organisation, Cinta Gaza Malaysia, was also involved in the film’s development.

In the announcement’s comment section, the mood was less jovial than expected and people wondered if this was really the right way to go about making a film on such an important topic.

Netizens questioned if HUM TV, part of one of the largest media companies in Pakistan, lacked the resources to make a film on the Palestinian struggle without using AI.

Some users pointed out the controversies surrounding the use of AI itself, like its wasteful use of clean water and the fact it has been called out for enabling the exploitation of artists and writers.

Others made their point very clear: AI is not art. They also called on people to boycott generative AI.

HUM TV has not given a release date for the film yet and it remains to be seen how the film will be received by audiences when it does air.

While one can occasionally need social and material support from those around them, the gendered aspect of this equation is rather unsavoury, especially when the one being served is a man, and the women are the obligatory givers. Women chronically break their backs to provide for the men around them and Kafeel takes us through the tipping point of this cultural crisis.

Typically, women work overtime caring for the home, the kids and the elderly. Add a man to this mix of caregiving and homes topple. The premise of this drama is the call-out that any marriage will break apart when a man doesn’t provide financially, emotionally and psychologically.

The reason this drama is fresh is that the falling apart is not depicted as the woman’s fault, in fact, what makes Kafeel rare is that it does not even entertain the notion of whether it might be. A blameless woman is refreshingly close to the human condition and reminds me of the Haseena Moin and Noorul Huda Shah era of Pakistani dramas. It reminds me of the point Hum Gunahgar Aurtain was making when Kishwar Naheed wrote the poem about almost everything being a woman’s fault.

It takes two to bhangra

Perhaps some feminists would call this a very archaic take on gender roles — the assumption that a man brings home the nihari and the woman provides homely dhobi services — but the point I’d like to make is that men have so much privilege in society, the least they can do is the job that gains them all that privilege in the first place.

You must have heard the trite bicycle-wheel analogy — that a marriage can only work if both wheels are working. Sadly, in Pakistani contexts, this lame analogy is only used if a woman doesn’t perform her role well, hardly ever is a man held accountable for a lifetime of freeloading off women’s invisible labour.

The other injustice rests in the fact that we do need these gender norms to prevail in earnest because the economy is so archaic. Especially during child-rearing years, men need to bring in the food because women, though capable, are stretched thin. Pakistan, for all practical purposes, is stuck in a pre-industrial time — agrarian for the most part — where only 23 per cent of women enter the workforce, mainly in menial or care jobs. Only a negligible portion of women have more than a $1,000 in their bank accounts. So, there is no way that traditional gender roles don’t rule this world.

After Rafia Zakaria’s takedowns of white feminism, it becomes imperative to understand that being more modern does not necessitate being more liberated for women in this non-white context. I believe that working women in Pakistan got the short end of the stick because they entered the workforce and ended up doing three jobs for low pay. They do these three jobs — home, work and caregiving — while their spouses sometimes have merely one job, or in the case of Kafeel, no job at all.

Earning money does not always earn women dignity. In fact, they may even be looked down upon, resulting in lower status.

The value of a woman’s work

The rupee must be valued, because any disposable income a woman has in this society is going to be spent on her family. Yet, the economics of empowerment dictate that you are only as powerful as your disposable income. So, working women are no more and no less than indentured servants, blocked within the framework of the traditional wife and daughter-in-law, with only a paycheque to show for their aspirational freedom.

But aspirational freedom is not real freedom.

A paycheque earned by a middle-class woman goes mostly toward paying for the rising cost of diapers, milk, salt, school fees, bus fees and bitter gourds. There is nothing left for her own protection.

This is the world Sanam Saeed’s character Zeba inhabits as she runs on the hamster wheel of providing for her four children. And this is precisely what Kafeel understands that almost no Pakistani drama before it has bothered to — that the system failing Zeba is not abstract. It has a face. It is her husband, Jami’s face.

The drama does not examine the economy nor the patriarchy — it locates the rot in one man’s refusal to be accountable, and it does not flinch from that.

Until Kafeel came along, no one tackled the anthropological disaster that is the modern Pakistani working woman stuck with a man who loves glory more than his children. No one depicted, with all its ugliness, how gross it is to see a mother burn the candle at both ends. No one had chronicled how unsavoury it is when a perfectly intelligent woman abandons herself for the sake of societal acceptance.

A believable drama with extraordinary performances

Saeed has been a spectacular show of force in her performance especially for the believability with which she dramatises the mayhem of walking the world of marriage alone, with only responsibility as her life force. Her performance has been on point.

No one says she should not be Sisyphus, pushing a boulder uphill with her mere nail. We women have been doing the boulder-pushing for eons, proving that if only we gave a few more drops of blood to domesticity, the bicycle would be a bicycle. But sometimes a spanner is just a spanner. Relationships are saved by more than one person.

You strip a woman of all power, yet when it comes to saving the home, she is paradoxically held as the most powerful. Women stay in such situations predominantly due to a poverty of time — time to think, plan and strategise an exit.

When a woman is exhausted, no one is surprised. It is the most normal thing for a star-crossed woman to chaotically run from one end to another, doing something lifesaving.

But seeing a woman in control, poised, with enough money to throw at several problems until she has no problem left, is a sight no one has seen. I am willing to bet our mothers’ generation has never been caught enjoying their lives, merely chilling out. Yet what is it that we see men doing? Their life is a proverbial golf course, a proverbial charpoy, a proverbial pulpit, a proverbial couch or keyboard.

The contrast is so stark between Zeba, and Jami, that you want to reach out across the screen and shake him out of his moronic life goals — which include eating chicken patties, cribbing and complaining, and insisting that Zeba has raised the kids ‘wrong’.

The fact that he is painfully good looking is not helpful at all. But then again, most narcissists are. If they aren’t, they have so much charm that they make up for it. Highly toxic and severely emotionally challenged, Jami’s character is loathsome without being melodramatic. An evil character portrayed especially well. 

Come back in a coffin and other wedding gifts

Zeba and Jami are a household phenomenon.

The girl is wed, she is told to never return to her family home except in a coffin. Soon after, tiny pieces of her are shipped back to what was once her home in tinier coffins. In return, she receives handouts from her family, because the man she married refused to get a job, insisting that he came from privilege and maintaining a false sense of aristocracy.

Typically, what happens in a Zeba-Jami mess is that society looks the other way forever. Jami would refuse to be held accountable, and get more set in his ways. Zeba would decide to redouble her efforts, assuming she needed to prove herself. Typically, it is always a win-win for Jami.

Instead, Kafeel refuses to be a ‘typical’ drama. It does not deal in the usual Pakistani drama bargain where the woman’s suffering is redeemed by her patience. It demands that the man answer for himself. In Pakistani television, that is close to revolutionary.

Kafeel is a spiritual drama. It insists that there is more to marriage than a transfer of power. It insists, in the form of Zeba’s wizened father, that a marriage is a contract. One party not pulling their weight in life will cause a fissure, then a gaping hole, and eventually there will be a legal breach of contract. No matter how much one acts like Zeba.

I know no elder who has been that wise.

Elders become wise like this after the woman leaves, not before she leaves and certainly not during. Elders these days are all about the convenience of optics — how it looks to everyone. Elders are — and almost always have been — addicted to a woman who is muzzled or silenced at all costs and makes very little fuss.

Elders insist that once a mistake has been made and a match is not a good fit, that the mistake must be converted into a life sentence. Some call it sabar-shukar. Kafeel calls it peace at the cost of justice.

Zeba’s father is the real hero

In the drama, there is such immense clarity from Zeba’s father when he says that the role of the man is to instil peace with justice. It may be a role for a woman too, but first, a man must be a protector. With the GDP per capita ratio being what it is in Pakistan, it is important that that provision means money.

Zeba’s father does not shy away from talking money.

Often, when the broader relative cabal wants the woman to not make a peep, they usually do so because they are uncomfortable about speaking about the role money has in the breakdown of a marriage. But money is ubiquitous. Money is everything. It is hair on a good hair day, it is a breeze after a 10k hike, it is a shawl at the beginning of winter, and it certainly pays those relative’s food bills.

Yet, there is so much aversion to honest money-talk. There is so much distaste for talking about this one thing that fuels your life.

Jami can’t work, won’t work

Jami is a sick man. My thesis is that men who are kept, and then willingly stay within the confines of false status are removed from the blessings of good old fashioned hard work. They find hustle beneath their glory and would rather the women slog at work just like they do at home.

The truth of the economy evades them and the truth of the household economy definitely evades them. They have no clue what proportion and measure go into running a household — the cost of the UPS, plumbing repairs and the rising price of LNG and gasoline, or even the mounting health costs of a dysfunctional household.

Pakistan makes no sense sometimes, making weddings a million-dollar industry but making marriages a woman-only problem. Zeba is a special breed because she thinks: no, thank you.

There is always a point in a woman’s life where something gives way. For Zeba, it was getting shoved against the wall and having her mouth twisted. She spoke up with that same mouth when she asked for her right to a safe environment.

Every time a woman snaps in two, an angel somewhere sings.

The Jamis of the world are just people, not deities we are made to worship and bow down to thanks to male privilege. Male privilege in moderate quantities is a slow poison for women, but in excess, it snaps a woman in two.

Kafeel beautifully portrays how this poison can become an impetus through which a woman can rise from the ashes. But first, she has to use her feet.

Actors and models tasked their good friend Chat GPT to get them ready for the biggest night in global fashion and the results were… something.

Azfar Rehman — The one who followed the dress code

Let’s start with one of the better ones. Azfar Rehman’s “Met Gala look” was a suit and cape inspired by Barcelona’s iconic La Pedrera — a heritage building from the early 20th-century designed by Antoni Gaudi. It was perhaps the only look that kept to the Gala’s theme of ‘Fashion is Art’.

On the flip side, Mehwish Hayat called the outfit “very holesome” and we’re kinda mad we didn’t come up with that one.

Tooba Siddiqui — Mad Max: GT Road

Tooba Siddiqui kept things desi and likely used “goth truck art” — three words that have probably never been uttered together before –– in the prompt she used for her dress.

What came out can only be described as “truck art if the truck driver was also a pirate”. There’s very little colour, there are skulls, everything is black. It looks like something a toxic ex would wear to your wedding.

Srha Asgr — Fashion is the art gallery

In a leap of logic only AI is capable of, Srha Asgr’s look said, “Fashion is art, art is found in galleries, therefore fashion is the gallery.”

Her gown was covered from neck to toe in — empty — picture frames, making us wonder whether she was sending a message about the new-age obsession with everything picture-perfect, or if she just called it a day after a couple of messages with her chatbot.

Hina Altaf — Dressed for the wrong year

Hina Altaf had her look generated for a Met Gala, just not the one in 2026. Her look, a form-fitting tunic with a mandarin collar and gold embroidery would have worked for past events which focused on history — maybe 1979, when the theme was the Hapsburg-era fashion.

Still, if she’d get something similar made by real people and wear it to a real event, we think it could work.

Ahmed Ali Butt — Solar Superman

Okay, Ahmed Ali Butt’s creation was definitely unfit for this year’s Met Gala. He knows it, we know it, everyone knows it.

Still, the actor did send a message about renewable energy with the wings embedded with solar panels and a gas cylinder with “no gas” printed on it. We’re not sure we get the Jordans though.

Jokes aside, it’s odd to see so many artists resort to AI for costume inspiration at a time when Pakistani fashion can be said to be experiencing a golden age both at home and abroad.

Pakistan’s art scene would perhaps be better served if these celebrities worked with their friends and colleagues in the fashion industry to host an actual themed gala to benefit our own museums.

When the world is turning to Pakistani brands like Warp and Rastah for fashion, why are our own celebrities going to half-baked robots to dress them up anyway?

The movie starts off with Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway), who is finally the investigative journalist she dreamed of becoming. She’s about to accept a journalism award when she, along with her entire team, gets fired. Andy proceeds to deliver a speech about the importance of journalism and how the story matters more than the money.

Her speech is a testament to the current state of the media. It’s no longer the over-beautified and glorified early 2000s. Rom-coms from that era sold us a false dream of girlhood and making it as a successful writer. It was simply a tried-and-tested trope that worked at the time.

With the new movie, it’s clear that the trope looks quite different now. The Devil Wears Prada 2 was, on a whole, good. It was fun, nostalgic and exciting to revisit characters and spaces we cherished years ago. Meryl Streep stuns, as always, as Miranda Priestly, although I do think her character was much softer in this film and that she initially seemed to accept her fate in the downfall of Runway.

Stanley Tucci as Nigel is as witty and classy as ever. The movie touched upon the fashion, the conglomerates and the chaos of the industry but still somehow fell short because a sequel is never as good as the original. The plot looks different now and I think the best thing the movie did was comment on the dying media landscape. It hit all the right notes with the fashion, the art, the office space and the cameos, although the score could have been better.

Storytellers versus systems

Whether it was Runway, Poise Magazine (13 Going on 30), Composure (How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days) or Scarlet (The Bold Type), the early 2000s emerged as the girl boss, glossy magazine era. Today, the media industry (even in rom-coms) looks different.

The Devil Wears Prada built a brand that relied on the expression of bold fashion and luxury, as well as the rise of print media. But now, with part two, there are some realities fiction cannot hide from. Print media has died, leaving editors to create reels and polls, and writers to rely on clicks for their voices to mean something.

In the film, Runway has been digitised and the people behind the magazine are scrambling to hold it together. Finance bros like BJ Novak are now making big decisions for things they don’t know anything about. As Miranda asked in one of my favourite scenes from the movie, what about artistry?

The value society places on storytelling and good journalism has been dying for a while, but beyond that, the movie shows how power has shifted. Even Miranda, someone who has been in the field for years, has a lingering fear of being let go. And that is a clear reflection of the industry today. The stakeholders are different now and the power no longer lies with cultural producers — it lies with corporations.

As Kriti Gupta writes for Refinery29, “The ‘devil’ isn’t Miranda Priestly. It’s the room she’s standing in.”

We ask ourselves now, 20 years after the release of The Devil Wears Prada, how does the world look different? In an age of AI, clickbait journalism, doomscrolling and bed-rotting, people are not reading enough. Listicles rake in the numbers and long-form pieces are left in the dust.

When Andy publishes her first piece as features editor of Runway, she gets some solid feedback from others but Miranda asks a pressing question: “But did people read it?” And that was, in fact, what mattered to her. Even a journalist like Andy, who initially wanted to chase the great American story, began spending her time analysing metrics.

The collapse of feminist media spaces

So many women-run media companies have shut down over the past three years — Gal-dem, Bitch Media, Self Magazine. Refinery29 has been downsizing. Teen Vogue no longer exists. There’s a clear pattern here — feminist publications have been shutting down and shrinking and I don’t think it’s because people don’t read them.

In the age of AI and the finance bro, there seems to be a lack of value people place on publications like these, leading to a loss of independent female voices. I worked at an all-women-run digital media company for years and we housed voices from across the globe, told stories that mattered, but we shut down too. It isn’t that the media industry is dying — it’s that there has been a global shift from community-run spaces to corporate control.

An entire ecosystem is burning to the ground, and we can’t do anything about it because of ‘evolution’ and the patriarchy and the loss of individualism in this age.

The advertising economy

Magazines used to be filled with pages of luxury ads. Advertisers relied heavily on these publications to get word of their products out there. Brands now no longer need to rely on a “middleman” — they run their own ads on social media. Now, we rely on algorithms and there is no longer someone filtering the content we receive. The audience, the readers, never went anywhere, but the power has definitely shifted.

Journalist Harry Cheadle writes, “Digital media companies were attracting their audiences in large part through social media apps and search engines — that audience wasn’t ‘ours’ in any meaningful sense. These platforms gradually realised they wanted to keep people on Instagram or Facebook or the Google results page rather than sending the traffic to publishers.”

In the age of Substack, where Cheadle wrote his essay on the death of the digital media, writers are seeking out spaces to actively put their work out there. Some of that work may have initially existed within publications that have now shut down.

People are still searching for that community that was once created through this fantasy of magazines. But community looks different now. And while the end of The Devil Wears Prada 2 gave us hope, with Miranda still helming Runway, the message about the transformation of the media industry is clear.

The movie isn’t a serious retelling of the industry nor is it supposed to be. It’s just a reminder that we are now living in a solo creator economy. Every industry is shaped by the new generation and maybe it’s time to let go of the fantasy and ground ourselves in reality.

The media industry isn’t really dying, it’s just restructuring.

The activists, including Sheema Kermani and Karachi City Council member Shahzadi Rai, were released later in the day on the orders of Sindh Home Minister Ziaul Hasan Lanjar, but not before public outcry began on X over what some netizens called a sign of “shrinking” civil liberties.

Others called the display “shameful”. They questioned why the right to peaceful assembly was being infringed upon and whether it was even upheld anymore, especially when it came to Aurat March.

People, including activist Zulfikar Ali Bhutto Jr, were especially outraged at clips of Kermani being manhandled by police personnel and being pushed into the back of a police car.

People wondered if this is how members of the province’s ruling party are treated — Rai is a member of the PPP — how would the police deal with non-members. Her arrest was also condemned by netizens as “unacceptable”.

Another video of an activist being carried into a police van was labelled a “disgrace”.

As the date of their annual protest approaches, Aurat March organisers have said they “will not back down” from their demand to hold the protest in Karachi and will continue to seek the necessary clearance.

They called the police action a “scare tactic” and demanded an explanation from the government on why their activists were arrested and why the NOC is being delayed.

This underage casting trend recalibrates how Pakistani audiences view girlhood and its possibilities. Girls are being written into marriages and emotionally difficult relationships in unequal dynamics. Many TV series depict young girls playing adult roles; instead of casting them as adolescents navigating education, identity, or friendships, these series show girls as marriageable adults, romantic interests, wives, and emotional anchors. They compress, accelerate, and ultimately erase girlhood, both narratively and socially.

At first glance, this trend is just an extension of long-standing tropes and casting trends. It’s no surprise that young women have always been sexualised, commodified, and cast opposite much older men. Audiences have been conditioned to like young female actors. Pakistani TV has also historically relied on narratives of young, naïve, pliable girls paired with older, ‘more mature’ men.

These dramas frequently position the teenage heroine as both childlike and romantically desirable, or childlike hence desirable. However, what makes this recent trend more problematic is not simply the age gap — it’s the narrative insistence that these girls are ready for adulthood, that they can and should seamlessly transition into marriage and motherhood. This girl, this heroine is simultaneously someone to be dismissed, guided, disciplined, and ultimately possessed.

This trend is particularly concerning in a country where public discourse around women’s right to education, work, access to public spaces, and choosing a life partner is already very contentious.

Amid the ongoing debates over gender-based rights and responsibilities in Pakistan, this trend both normalises the adultification of girls, ie the premature attribution of adult roles and responsibilities to young girls, and also conditions the audience to accept it.

This adultification operates alongside implicit sexualisation of girls. Girls are not only expected to behave like grown women but are also consistently framed as desirable and thereby marriageable within adult romantic economies. It is critical to remember that violence against women in Pakistan often occurs because men believe that women should be available to them romantically, or because men insist that women should be available for marriage, or because men expect that women should unconditionally perform their gendered responsibilities as assigned to them by the patriarchy.

What happens when men watch the romanticised reassurances of the same beliefs and expectations on their TV screens? What happens when young girls watch romanticised versions of these patriarchal beliefs and fantasies portrayed as girls’ success on their TVs?

Meem Se Mohabbat, P Se Problem

Let’s look at Meem Se Mohabbat, starring Dananeer Mobeen and Ahad Raza Mir. Roshi is introduced as a chulbuli, clumsy girl who, in the first episode, fails her Bachelors of Engineering admission test. Based on this, she is presumably 17 to 19 years old. Yet, by the last episode, the same teenager is married to her boss, who is a successful businessman and a divorced father of a five to six-year-old son with a speaking disability. During her journey from an intern to boss’s wife, the story problematises this age gap.

At one point, the boss’s girlfriend accuses Roshi and says, “Tum apni kam-umri ka faida utha ker Talha Ahmed ko hasil kernay ko koshish ker rahi ho (you are trying to use your youth to get Talha Ahmed).” The boss, Talha, describes her as a “gher zimadar, immature, aur kam-umer larki (irresponsible, immature and underage girl).” On the surface, this attention to their age gap highlights that the relationship is inappropriate.

However, the narrative also uses it to infantilise Roshi, to show that she needs a caretaker. The drama ultimately resolves this tension of their age gap — not by challenging or undoing the romantic relationship — but by romanticising it.

Not only does the series romanticise and neutralise their age gap, but it also declares Roshi responsible for this romantic resolution. In the last episode, she incredulously says to the boss, “aap ne mujhse kahan shadi kerni thi (since when did you want to marry me)?” and he responds “tumahri zidd aur mohabbat jeet gai (your stubbornness and love won).”

The series shows that the boss married the intern only because of her persistence, ignoring that he makes Roshi’s fiancé disappear on their wedding day to ‘save’ her and marries her himself. Young Roshi’s zidd or stubbornness is framed as triumphant, while the man’s hesitation due to the age gap is recast as his moral conscientiousness.

Focus on her triumphant zidd creates the illusion of Roshi’s agency, and it absolves the boss of any wrongdoing. The drama rewards the young intern by endowing both wifehood and motherhood on her. This pairing of a young girl with an older man reinforces a model of heterosexual desire, one that privileges male authority and female youth. The drama becomes a reassurance of this male desire because it first problematises, then normalises, and eventually romanticises this desire for the audience.

Meem Se Mohabbat also maternalises the young girl. It links her desirability to her capacity for care, her potential for motherhood. Many of the romantic moments between the couple occur when Roshi interacts with her boss’s son. Instead of showing her as an adult with the child, due to Roshi’s childlikeness and her age, they appear to be children of different ages. And somehow, many of these scenes are followed by the boss romantically gazing at her.

The boss also goes on to threaten Roshi that if something were to happen to his son, he would hold her responsible. Mind you, the girl couldn’t even take care of herself at the start of the series. He himself appears to be failing at taking care of his child. But he shifts his own failure as a father onto the girl before they are even married.

Kafeel’s entirely too quiet feminism

Let’s also look at Kafeel, starring Sanam Saeed and Emmad Irfani, which is a women’s rights-oriented drama. Zeba’s parents suspect she is having an affair, so they quickly marry her off to the first available man, Jami. She is not allowed to even complete her education. After she’s married, she learns that her husband is unemployed, irresponsible, and disloyal to her.

Her father encourages her to get a divorce, but other women, including her mother and grandmother, push against it. Zeba becomes the sole bread earner in her household and raises her three daughters and a son without any financial or emotional support from her husband.

But Zeba, seemingly, does not learn much from her own experience as a woman in a financially and emotionally abusive marriage. Instead of teaching her daughters the importance of financial autonomy, she hopes that they will marry up. The sole aspiration she shares for her eldest daughter is a good husband, big kitchen, and a big house after marriage.

Zeba’s sister is a successful architect and lives in a palatial house that she designed with her husband. But instead of actively modelling her to highlight the possibility of financial autonomy along with a successful marriage, the drama reduces her to a minor character.

Many episodes focus on the eldest daughter Javeria’s marriage and use it as a tool to highlight the problems they face due to their father. Zeba’s daughters’ friend, Daneen’s whole character is based on her desire to marry Zeba’s son, Subuk. Daneen is a school-going girl and is shown wearing a school (or perhaps a college) uniform in the drama. Even inside the school, the topic of conversation is her marriage with Subuk. We never learn much about these girls beyond their own or their mothers’ desires about their marriages.

We never learn what any of these girls study, what their interests are, or what their career aspirations are. Though both their mother and aunt are working women, instead of learning about the importance of financial autonomy, the daughters are shown to hope for a more responsible husband for their chances at a life better than their mother’s. It reduces young girls to dependents awaiting marriage, without ever assigning them complete personhood.

Within the plot, there is an internal contradiction: the series that aims to highlight women’s rights ends up centring teenage girls in marriage plots, making its own message ambiguous. It feeds into the widely-believed idea of daughter as a liability, a responsibility, a burden. The series gestures toward themes of women’s empowerment — showing, for instance, a mother who gains independence through employment and secures a khula. Yet this lesson is not extended to the daughters.

This reflects a broader pattern of feminist façade in television, where dramas flippantly acknowledge feminist ideas but rarely integrate them into their storylines. They create the appearance of feminist engagement without a substantive shift in narrative priorities.

By framing early marriage as romantic or inevitable, these dramas also make limited access to education, economic dependency, gender-based violence, and legal vulnerabilities seem inescapable. By collapsing adolescence into adulthood, these TV series actively reshape the boundaries of girlhood.

Many of these female actors presumably come from the upper-middle class, and are academically and professionally ambitious, as any young girls should be. But, ironically, their work provides the Pakistani public reassurances of regressive patriarchal beliefs. At a time when feminists are challenging early marriages, advocating for women’s education, and demanding greater autonomy for women in Pakistan, the persistent portrayal of teenage girls as wives and mothers strengthens the barriers keeping women down.

This trend suggests that, despite the changing discourse, the fundamental expectations placed on girls remain the same.

These series also shape the aesthetic orientations of the audience as they get used to seeing girls in adult roles, and thereby age out senior female actors. Female actors have always faced this gendered ageism and often share how their professional prospects dwindle or become limited while their male counterparts continue to play heroes.

Comments on female actors’ social media posts are often ageist. Recently, in an interview, Firdous Jamal defined a heroine as a “15 to 16-year-old, or at maximum 18 to 20-year-old girl” who is “chulbuli”, “chanchal”, “innocent” and “excites the audience”.

Unsurprisingly, the actor playing the eldest daughter in Kafeel, Nooray Zeeshan, is 16 years old. She shared that she was offered multiple roles because she looks ‘innocent’. This casting practice eliminates or limits the possibility of work for female actors after a certain age. Patriarchies have always prized women’s innocence and naiveté and underage casting exacerbates this. Teenagers are the desired target of both patriarchy and capitalism: young enough to be moulded, old enough to be sexualised and commodified.

In centring teenage girls in adult roles on screen, these dramas offer both a reassurance and a continued fantasy to their male audience, of a world where young girls remain available to older men, where girls remain financially and emotionally dependent, hence exploitable.

For the female audience, these dramas romanticise the misconception that their value lies in their youth, their innocence, and their marriageability. But this reassurance and romanticisation comes at a cost that girls and women continue to pay for everyone’s entertainment.

In a story on Instagram, she reacted to a video about the incident, asking why it wasn’t being reported on and what was being done to rescue them.

Anjum was also worried about the crew, especially one member he said “is like a brother to me”. He claimed the government “has taken no action” in a series of stories posted on his Instagram account.

He said he was “ashamed” as a Pakistani at the government’s “non seriousness” and “under the rug policy” when it came to its citizens trapped abroad. He pleaded for authorities to “wake up and bring them home”.

Farooq expressed disbelief at the incident, asking who people should go to for justice in a crisis like this.

The vessel “Owner 25” was hijacked in the Gulf of Aden last week and its crew — which includes the Indonesian captain alongside Pakistani sailors — has been held hostage ever since.

The foreign ministry is in contact with the government of Somalia about the incident and is taking part in a collaborative effort with the Ministry of Maritime Affairs, the Pakistan Navy and other stakeholders to secure the release of the Pakistani citizens.

Sindh Governor Syed Muhammad Nehal Hashmi met family members of the Pakistani hostages on Monday and assured them both the provincial and federal governments stood with them in this trying time.

He said communication with the kidnapped Pakistanis remained intact and efforts for their safe recovery were ongoing at all levels.

In a vlog posted on Sunday, the actor made her distaste for Jamal’s comments clear and told him they were inappropriate and out of line.

Ansari said it was her firm belief that it was “difficult to find a mediocre actor” in Pakistan’s entertainment industry, but she wouldn’t announce it to the world even if she did find one.

She said the job of correcting actors and telling them how to perform fell on their directors and “insulting your colleagues on their craft, that too on social media, is highly inappropriate”.

Without taking his name and referring to him as “an accomplished actor”, Ansari said Jamal calling other senior actors “selfish”, “showpiece” and “mediocre” did not suit him and she would never make similar comments about his own work — even if it wasn’t up to par.

The Dekh Zara Pyar Se star said it was common courtesy not to speak ill of the dead. “That applies to all people, but to berate an artist after he has left the mortal realm? Someone saying something I can’t even repeat about Talat Hussain; or saying Abid [Ali] was selfish; or that Shafi [Muhammad] was of little use; or that Khayyam Sarhadi couldn’t speak well; that Rahat Kazmi, may God keep him safe, was a showpiece, this is very bad.”

She asked Jamal to be careful what example he is setting for the next generation. “This is the height of bad manners and it’s what you’re passing down to the next generation. When you pass away, or I do, the kids will dig up our corpses and insult us, saying, ‘What did these fossils know, they acted so high and mighty when they were alive. They only knew to act in one tone.’ Who knows what people will say, don’t encourage such things.”

Ansari said the actor was a better than she was, but he didn’t seem to be doing alright. “I don’t think he’s okay. He’s been through cancer, may God give him health, but I feel like his medications have made him forget how be respectful.”

She asked him to consider the impact his words have on people, “Think of how Abid Ali’s daughters feel and his wife. Think of Talat Hussain… his children must be feeling terrible. Shafi’s son… think of how he feels. You spoke about Rahat Kazmi, think about how his son feels. What are you saying… Get a hold of yourself, please, get some rest.”

Ansari also had something to say about podcasts and how everyone seems to have one nowadays. She said she had only ever appeared on one — and only because it was hosted by Ahmed Ali Butt and she was friends with his grandmother — but she knew a thing or two about interviews from her own time in the field.

She said people had forgotten how to be respectful on podcasts and interviewers back in her day like Khushbakht Shujaat, Obaidullah Baig, Mehtab Rashdi and Tariq Aziz had class and respect for their guests.

Jamal was a guest on The Yazziastic Show on April 20, when he made the disparaging comments about his contemporaries and colleagues. He said Ali was a “type actor” and “selfish”, while calling Hussain “monotonous” and reliant on “cheap theatricalities”. Sarhadi, he said, was “difficult to understand” and lacked the finesse of a trained artist.

He had praise for Qavi Khan, but that was about it. He said Kazmi was more of a “showpiece” than an actor. He called Shujaat Hashmi “self centred” and said Muhammad lacked in craft.

This not the first time the senior actor has gotten into trouble for his public comments. His comments about Mahira Khan in 2019 caused an uproar in the industry and were condemned by all quarters as ageist and sexist.

The matter reached an unprecedented height when Momina Duraid announced her production company MD Productions “will not work with him again in any capacity because of his sexist, regressive and discriminatory attitude”.

While people are urged to exercise austerity in their fuel consumption in light of supply instability, markets have been told to close early and many offices are asking employees to work from home, we know everyone needs to step out of the house sometimes.

So, for anyone who can’t stay at home pretending we’re back in a lockdown but also can’t afford to fill up their gas tanks, here are eight ways to get around without a car.

Walking

Starting off simple, this is probably the easiest and healthiest way to go places, just get up and start walking.

Pros:

• It’s free and you don’t need any equipment — except maybe a comfortable pair of shoes.
• It’s healthy too, you can meet your daily step goals every day.

Cons:

• There is a very high chance of falling into a ditch, or a manhole, or a puddle that’s deeper than you expected.
• You might be a little late to that wedding.

Bicycles

This is pretty simple too, you can’t forget once you’ve learnt.

Pros:

• Really healthy, especially if you want toned legs.
• Significantly faster than walking.

Cons:

• You’re still the slowest thing on the road.
• Not great when dealing with potholes in Karachi.

Horses

This how people used to get around in the ‘good old days’ when nobody worried about petrol prices.

Pros:

• It’s basically a self-driving car, so there’s not a lot you need to do.
• You now have a new friend to keep you company on your journeys.

Cons:

• Your new friend can deliver a mean kick with its hind legs.
• Horses are actually really expensive to buy and keep, so it might just be cheaper to drive…

Electric vehicles

It’s all the fun of driving with none of the fuel cost.

Pros:

• A lot cheaper to run than petrol-driven cars and bikes.
• They’re eco-friendly too!

Cons:

• You’re stuck if the battery dies.
• Would be great if we didn’t have constant power outages and soaring electricity prices.

Skateboards

Definitely the coolest idea on the list — maybe you can throw on a backwards cap and shades to complete the look.

Pros:

• Looks super cool.
• Costs nothing to run.

Cons

• Not as easy as it looks.
• You’ll never be as cool as that cat.

Carpooling

If you know a bunch of people going to and from the same general area, this can cut costs significantly.

Pros:

• Driving is not nearly as unaffordable if multiple people are paying for it.
• It can be nice if the other people are fun to talk to or if your music tastes align.

Cons:

• What if they’re boring, or they listen to Chahat Fateh Ali Khan…?!
• You might have to carpool with and talk to the office weirdo (you know who we’re talking about).

Teleportation

Imagine leaving for somewhere five minutes before you need to be there and somehow still getting there on time.

Pros:

• It’s super fast.
• It’s probably safer than driving in Karachi.
• You don’t need to park.

Cons:

• You’re gonna have to invent a teleportation machine.

Magic carpet

The best option if you want to see the world — shining, shimmering and splendid.

Pros:

• Super comfortable, especially if you shell out for the extra fuzzy one.
• Can be kept inside when not in use.

Cons:

• Do you have any idea how tedious it is to file a flight plan and get it approved?
• Air pollution means your laundry bill is probably going to be higher than your fuel bill if you drove places.

Okay, all options considered, we think we’re just going to stay home for a little while. Maybe what we really need is convenient, efficient and affordable public transport…

I say this because even the great Indian film legend, Dilip Kumar, once remarked that ‘Moin Akhtar’s great artistry is worth copying.’

But Moin Akhtar was a lot more than just a comic. Beginning his long career as an impersonator, he went on to become a much appreciated stand-up comedian, TV, film and stage actor, talk-show host and then ultimately, going back to doing impersonations.

Surprisingly, not much is available on the man’s life in terms of a biography or a detailed study of this prolific artiste, even though he remained to be the country’s leading comic talent ever since the 1970s.

But Moin Akhtar’s gradual ascend towards stardom and legendary status was also wrought with some devastating failures that took a toll on the man’s health.

He arrived onto the scene at a time when Pakistan, like the rest of the world, too was about to enter a period in the 1960s when urban youth had begun to question the materialism and conservative politics of their parents and were demanding more breathing space to practice their new artistic and political ideas.

Moin Akhtar’s rise was not rapid. His fame grew through word-of-mouth, especially on his home turf in Karachi.

He had been impersonating his teachers and famous Pakistani film actors in school when all of a sudden he was called up by the organisers of a Pakistan Day event at a club in Karachi in 1966. He was just 16 years old.

When his turn came to perform on stage, he did what he was already doing in school. But this time, he added a new act to his impersonation repertoire — that of the famous Pakistani film actor, Mohammad Ali.

Ali had been popular for his loud emotional scenes and a booming voice, and when Moin Akhtar impersonated and mimicked all this to perfection (also adding his own twists and bits), the crowd at the event is said to have erupted in laughter. They had never seen or heard anything like this.

Word about Moin Akhtar’s antics spread and he soon became a popular draw at ‘variety shows’ at universities, colleges and parties.

It is also interesting to note that even though Pakistan’s campuses in the late 1960s had begun to vibrate with fiery uprisings against the Ayub Khan dictatorship, Moin Akhtar mostly kept his act apolitical, concentrating on mimicking and revolving his skits around famous film personalities.

Although he managed to make a modest living doing such shows, his first big break came when in 1970, a 20-year-old Moin Akhtar was invited to perform at the time’s most popular primetime stage show on Pakistan Television (PTV).

Called the Zia Mohyeddin Show and hosted by the now famous intellectual Zia Mohyeddin, Moin Akhtar left the audience in stitches when he mimicked the voices of those who had presented PTV’s special transmission during the country’s first democratic elections in 1970.

This was also one of the first few occasions he had come face-to-face with Anwar Maqsood.

Anwar Maqsood had been working as a scriptwriter for the show, but would go on to became a famous satirist and struck a celebrated abiding partnership with the comic genius.

But all this would shape up a decade later. After his successful stint on the Zia Mohyeddin Show, Moin Akhtar became a permanent fixture on PTV, even going on to host his own show called Monday Kay Monday.

Surprisingly, not many acting offers came his way from either TV or film. He continued working as a mimic and impersonator but got a career boost when in 1973, he pulled off a hugely successful show at Karachi’s famous Beach Luxury Hotel where apart from exhibiting his highly improvised impersonation of the time’s famous film stars, he also began impersonating the cultural idiosyncrasies of the many different ethnicities that resided in Pakistan.

It is said that he was one of the first Pakistani comics to do so, an act that would successfully be carried forward by the likes of famous PTV comics, Majid Jehangir, Ismail Tara, Umar Sharif and Liaquat Soldier.

As Moin Akhtar maintained his presence in the public eye as a young comic through various shows on PTV, his main income came from doing private shows for multinationals and colleges.

However, though still ignored by PTV for his acting potential, in 1975 Moin Akhtar finally got an offer to work in a film.

By the mid-1970s the Pakistan film industry had begun to hit a peak, producing an average of 200 films a year (mostly in Urdu, but also in Punjabi, Gujrati, Sindhi and Pashtu).

The film that Moin Akhtar appeared in was called Tajdar, and his role of a typical Lollywood maskhara (jester), could not save the film from being a flop. But the failure didn’t stop Moin Akhtar’s ascendancy to stardom.

During the lack of acting offers from TV and film, Moin Akhtar continued to brush up and fatten his mimicry and hosting skills, and he continued to be a popular draw at private events and club shows, also doing his bit on various PTV shows.

He had also been working in commercial theatre. This form of theatre, over which men like Umar Sharif would rule, was still in its infancy.

Luck seemed to have bypassed him again when in 1978 young director Shoaib Mansoor (who would go on to become a prominent TV and film director), began casting actors for a comedy skit show on PTV.

Moin Akhtar should have been an automatic choice, but Mansoor and the show’s scriptwriter, Anwar Maqsood, instead went for relatively unknown stage actors from Karachi, such as Majid Jehangir, Ismail Tara and Zeba Shahnaz. Some like Sakhi Kamal were studying at the University of Karachi and were also politically active there.

Nevertheless, the show, Fifty-Fifty was an instant hit. Inspired by the more sophisticated satire show, Shoaib Hashmi’s Such Gup (1973-76) – that had been banned by the new military dictatorship in 1977 – Fifty-Fifty mixed sophisticated wit with populist humour, parodying the bureaucracy, ethnic idiosyncrasies, the declining standards of  the film industry and PTV itself. It ran from 1978 until 1984.

It succeeded in swimming through even the most repressive censorship laws imposed by the Zia dictatorship.

Moin Akhtar’s destiny could have turned out to be quite different had Anwar Maqsood not quit the Fifty-Fifty team after experiencing a fall-out with its director and actors in 1981.

As Ismail Tara and Majid Jehangir took over the writing duties of Fifty-Fifty, Anwar Maqsood went on to script and appeared on a series of his own shows (also on PTV) such as Show Time, Shoshah, Silver Jubilee, etc.

For these he chose two central comedians, Moin Akhtar and Bushra Ansari. It was during these shows that Moin Akhtar really blossomed into a diversified comic.

The duo played a number of fictitious characters, mouthing witty scripts jotted down by Anwar Maqsood, who too became famous for successfully dodging the censors with tongue-in-cheek remarks that were actually taunts aimed at the Zia regime and its overbearing moralities.

This was also the first time Moin Akhtar saw himself doing socio-political scripts. Slowly but surely, he was finally emerging from his status as a cult favorite and onto the mainstream as a versatile comic.

The 1980s had been rather fruitful. Moin Akhtar had risen from being a cult star and master mimic to becoming a regular skit actor on various successful Anwar Maqsood projects.

And even though he still did not manage to get regular work as an actor, he had begun to venture into the lucrative comedy theatre scene that had begun to grow in Karachi and Lahore.

Nevertheless, after the demise of the Ziaul Haq dictatorship and the return of democracy in Pakistan in 1988, three performances by Moin Akhtar (between 1988 and 1993) finally handed him the stardom his talents had always promised and deserved.

First, it was his role in a wonderfully done comedy play on PTV called, Eid Train. Aired on the night of the first day of Eid in 1989, it captured Moin Akhtar playing his now trademark character of a loudmouthed, straight-talking (but skinny) Karachiite. The play was a huge hit.

Then there was his laudable performance as an aged writer in a long-play (for PTV), penned by Anwar Maqsood called Half-Plate, in which Moin Akhtar plays an old writer who is suffering from a financial crises but refuses to take up his ancestral profession of a kabaabchi (cook).

Starring alongside Moin Akhtar in the play was the great actress, late Khalida Riyasat and the fidgety late Jamshed Ansari. Incidentally, the fourth main actor of the play, the versatile Latif Kapadia, too is no more in this world.

But perhaps the most well-known acting performance from Moin Akhtar was a 1993 play on PTV called Rozy.

Moin Akhtar was now dishing out a series of great acting performances, as if making up for the all those times his acting skills were ignored. His performance in Rozy in this respect saw him hit a peak.

Written by playwright and journalist Imran Aslam, Rozy was an ambitious adaptation of Dustin Hoffman’s famous Hollywood hit, Tootsie.

Tootsie shows a struggling actor dressing up as a woman to get a part in a soap opera.

Aslam took the plot of Tootsie and wittily turned it into a statement against the kind of harassment women face in the workplace.

Moin Akhtar intensely played the role of the struggling angry-young-actor who dons make-up and women’s attire to land a part in a TV serial.

Moin Akthar had finally mushroomed into a star performer. The only other Pakistani comic that dared to be compared to his caliber was Umar Sharif, who too had broken out from his cult status and gained mainstream popularity, mainly through commercial theatre.

But Umar’s comedy was more populist, rapidly using Karachi’s street lingo and imagery, whereas Moin Akhtar still kept a middle-class sensibility about his acts.

Nevertheless, when Umar directed, scripted and acted in his own film in the early 1990s, Moin Akhtar followed suit.

Umar’s film became a box-office hit, and Moin Akhtar, fresh from his successful acting exploits on TV, invested heavily in his own film called Mr.K2.

Unfortunately the film turned out to be a financial and critical disaster. Friends suggest that this colossal failure took a heavy toll on the comic genius who was also a heavy-smoker and loved to stay up nights with friends and colleagues.

A reckless and unhealthy lifestyle coupled by his workaholic nature and the failure of his film venture led him to suffer a heart attack. He got a by-pass done in 1997 but returned to regain what he had lost.

He began hosting celebrity shows, but it was Anwar Maqsood’s satirical talk-show, Loose Talk, that brought him back into the limelight.

A parody of BBC’s Hard Talk, Anwar Maqsood would play Pakistan’s version of Tim Sebastian week after week, talking to all sorts of fictional characters, from politicians and maulvis, to heroin addicts and businessmen – all of them played with ingenious insight and hilarity by Moin Akhtar.

It is said Moin Akhtar had played more than 200 different characters on the hit show!

Alas, this mind-boggling exhibition of versatility was to be this comic genius’ last great hurrah before his death from a heart-attack at the age of 60.

This article was originally published on April 23, 2011

According to a press release issued on Tuesday, the decisions were made in a meeting at the headquarters of the Capital Development Authority (CDA) chaired by Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi, whose ministry oversees the CDA.

Residents of Islamabad, ever proud of their city’s natural charm, took to X in a fury to denounce the plans to develop one of the city’s most lush green areas.

Netizens questioned why the project was necessary and what had been done to assess and mitigate the environmental harm that would result from it.

Even Senator Sherry Rehman, the former federal minister for climate change, called on the government to review the plans. She said the Margalla green area is a “protected zone” and highlighted the “brutal” evictions in Bari Imam, saying “compassion and compensation must come before anything else for vulnerable populations living in these areas from before 1947”.

Some users had suggestions on what could be done in place of development in the Margallas, ranging from building environmentally conscious attractions to building hotels and parks elsewhere in the city.

There was also a feeling there were other places in the country that could use a new 1,000 kanal park or two.

While details are still scarce, the park is expected to be built in the capital’s D-12 sector, one of the northernmost sectors bordering the Margalla Hills.

The development of hotels is especially uncertain as the area highlighted for the park is zoned in a way that would not allow major construction projects to proceed.

While it is unclear whether the CDA will alter its zoning laws or if the hotels will be built somewhere else, what is clear is that the people of Islamabad love the city’s trees and don’t want to see them cut down and replaced with concrete structures.

In a video posted by People magazine, the star talked about life in her 40s and said, “I want to live a long, healthy life, Inshallah, I hope so.”

Yeah, we did a double take while watching that clip and so did a bunch of people on X who thought they might have misheard something there.

Some people were sent and others were taken out by the invocation. One user even theorised that the actor’s pronunciation and placement meant Hathaway was someone who knew what the phrase meant and where to use it.

Inshallah wasn’t all she said in the interview.

In the sagely style of a person who lived their four decades on earth to the fullest, she said being 40 lets you look back at “how certain decisions bore fruit over time and so, you can kind of assess if you want to continue making those decisions, or if you want to make new ones”.

Hathaway said age had given her a better understanding of the phrase “take it with a grain of salt,” and she’d learnt to “really value the chill”.

She also said that in life “you can either fear aging, or you can fear dying young” and we really think someone needs to put that on a poster.

The actor said she embraces aging with “curiosity” and that some things don’t change as you get older, “You still never know what’s coming around the corner… and that’s true if you’re like 11 or you’re 43.”

The exposé, filmed over the course of several weeks in late 2025 after insider information said malpractice continued after a similar outbreak in 2024, claimed to have identified 331 children infected with the disease, linking the spread of the virus to syringes being reused at the hospital.

Netizens were outraged at the continued endangerment of young lives, calling the incident “sick” and “criminal”.

One user questioned what the government was doing about the repeated violations of basic medical ethics at a public hospital. He also said the use of disposable syringes had been banned in Pakistan, which poses another question of how this could happen.

He wasn’t alone in demanding answers, many users on X wanted to know what action was to be taken in light of the revelations.

One user called the situation “unbelievably cruel on so many levels”, decrying how “unnecessary” it was because of the low cost of syringes.

One user recalled that a similar story unfolded in Jalalpur Jattan. He lamented how nothing had changed in 18 years.

Activist Zulfikar Ali Bhutto Jr also spoke out on the issue, mentioning past outbreaks in Sindh and how there were free programmes for patients to treat the disease.

He also cleared up some misconceptions people have regarding HIV. He clarified that the virus only spreads through injections and unprotected sexual activity.

He reiterated how regular human contact with a patient cannot result in HIV transmission. Unfortunately, as the report from the BBC pointed out, many of the children infected in Taunsa were facing societal stigma because of their illness.

Meanwhile, provincial authorities insisted corrective measures had been taken at THQ Hospital Taunsa after 11 HIV-positive patients were brought to Dera Ghazi Khan from the area.

They said a subsequent screening mission had identified 331 patients under the age of 12 and a permanent AIDS treatment facility was established at the hospital to deal with any further cases.

Without naming the BBC, the authorities said details of the corrective measures had been shared with the international broadcaster. The provincial health department said failure to include these steps in the report was “against the principles of responsible journalism”.

Jake Sully — a paraplegic marine, broken and discarded by his own civilisation — arrives on the planet Pandora as a spy. Within the film’s runtime, he tames the supreme aerial predator leonopteryx, becomes Toruk Makto (rider of the great leonopteryx) and leads the indigenous Na’vi against the very military he came with.

The indigenous people of Pandora do not merely accept him. They anoint him. The land, the creature, the prophecy — all of it folds around the outsider and declares him chosen.

This is not a coincidence of plot. It is a structure. And it is ancient.

Fantasy returns obsessively to the same architecture: an outsider enters a world not his own, encounters a people whose customs are foreign to him and, through exceptional ability and romantic initiation, fulfils a prophecy the indigenous people had kept for themselves.

Paul Atreides in Dune becomes Muad’Dib, rides the sandworm and leads the Fremen against the empire strip-mining their world — before building a larger empire of his own. In Game of Thrones, Daenerys Targaryen arrives among the Dothraki as a transaction, a girl traded for an army. She takes the heart of the khal [warlord], learns the language, walks into fire and emerges khaleesi [queen].

The trope is not the result of a personality flaw in individual storytellers. It is a narrative technique. And from Robinson Crusoe to Dune’s Paul Atreides and Avatar’s Jake Sully, it has been doing the same work…

The pattern is not the prophecy. The pattern is the transfer. The pattern holds across genre, medium and decade.

Structure as ideology

The Martinican philosopher Édouard Glissant called this vulnerability by its right name. His concept — the right to opacity — holds that indigenous and marginalised peoples are entitled to keep their cultural practices, their prophecies and their interior life inaccessible to outsiders.

Glissant understood that, to become readable to the nation, to the empire, to the state, is to become conquerable. Interpretation precedes extraction. The anthropologist arrives before the soldier, but the soldier follows. What can be translated can be taken.

Fantasy, in this sense, is the literature of violated opacity. The outsider hero does not merely observe the indigenous world. He masters it. He learns the language faster than the natives expect, bonds with the sacred creature no one else could tame and earns the intimate trust of the people’s most powerful woman.

This last element is not decorative. It is what scholars have called the Pocahontas theology. It holds that, if the incoming outsider takes the heart of the indigenous woman, he acquires — through the covenant of romantic and eventually marital union — legitimate access to her body, her people, her land and the intimate knowledge of her culture.

The Catholic Church formalised this logic through marriage doctrine. Colonial law extended it. Fantasy renders it cinematic.

This is why love and prophecy travel together in these narratives. The prophecy legitimises the claim in the eyes of the people. The marriage transfers the property. Together, they produce a hero who is both spiritually endorsed and legally entitled. He has not conquered. He has been chosen.

The novel as a weapon

Palestinian-American scholar Edward Said argued — and this is not metaphor — in Culture and Imperialism that the novel itself was among the primary narrative instruments of colonisation. This is not metaphor. Robinson Crusoe — most commonly cited as the origin of the English novel — features a shipwrecked Englishman who encounters strange peoples, subdues a native he names Friday and builds a functioning colonial outpost on the island he treats as unowned.

What is adventure, Said asks, but an act of enterprise? Moby Dick is the obsession of a white captain with a white whale. Heart of Darkness is a journey into the African hinterland that is really a journey into the European self. The fantasy novel extends this tradition — Crusoe with magic systems, Captain Ahab with his white whale obsession, Heart of Darkness’ Kurtz with a prophecy already written in his name.

But the story did not stay in the library. It was put into the classroom.

In 1835, Thomas Babington Macaulay wrote his infamous Minute on Education, proposing the creation of “a class of persons Indian in blood and colour, but English in tastes, opinions, morals and intellect.” The curriculum was the mechanism.

Colonised children across Asia and Africa were made to read the very texts that cast their own peoples as silent, waiting and illegible. They memorised Robinson Crusoe. They studied Rudyard Kipling. They were examined on their comprehension of The White Man’s Burden — a poem whose burden, notably, the white man had appointed himself.

The colonised did not merely encounter the outsider-hero narrative. They were made to reproduce it, to praise it, to aspire toward it. The most intimate conquest is not of territory, it is of imagination.

The consequences persisted long after formal empire ended. Several generations of postcolonial intellectuals have described the condition of seeing themselves through the coloniser’s eyes — of internalising their own opacity as backwardness, their own customs as primitive, their own prophecies as superstition.

The curriculum taught them to identify with Crusoe rather than Friday, with the arriving hero rather than the people he arrives among. It made the coloniser’s ascension feel not merely plausible but natural, even desirable. That is a more durable conquest than any garrison.

The manufactured messiah

The most uncomfortable version of the fantasy trope remains Dune. Frank Herbert wrote it as a critique. Paul Atreides is explicitly a messianic figure whose rise the author distrusted. But the novel contains a detail more damning than the ascension itself.

The Fremen prophecy that names Paul as their messiah was not ancient. It was planted. The Bene Gesserit — a secretive sisterhood that manipulates bloodlines and governments across the empire — had seeded messianic myths across dozens of cultures generations earlier through a programme called the Missionaria Protectiva. The purpose was explicit: manufacture a prophecy in advance so that a Bene Gesserit operative could later arrive and fulfil it.

Herbert was not merely warning against charismatic leaders. He was showing that the prophecy itself was a colonial instrument, engineered by outsiders for future exploitation. The Fremen did not dream their messiah. Someone else dreamed him for them and then sent him.

Readers still turned it into a power fantasy. That is what four centuries of conditioning produces — an audience trained to experience the coloniser’s welcome as a happy ending, even when the author is explaining the mechanism to their face.

Another ending is possible

Glissant’s opacity is not absence. It is resistance. When a people’s prophecies remain untranslated, the outsider cannot fulfil them. He cannot arrive and find that the ancient texts describe him. He cannot tame the sacred animal because he does not know it exists. Opacity is the condition under which a people’s future remains their own.

Fantasy keeps writing the same story because empire keeps needing it told. And the story has a name by now. The white saviour complex is not a personality flaw in individual filmmakers. It is a narrative technology — one that recasts colonial entry as selfless sacrifice and indigenous acceptance as the highest honour.

Jake Sully does not go home richer. He stays and leads. That is the refinement. The old empire took the land and left. The white saviour stays, loves, suffers and redeems — and in doing so, makes the taking feel like a gift.

What is telling is what other traditions did not produce. The great messianic figures of non-Western imagination are always of the people, never apart from them. The Mahdi in Islamic eschatology rises from within the community of believers. The Hindu avatar descends into the world in forms native to it — Rama among men, Krishna among cowherds. The Jewish messiah is awaited by the covenant people, not delivered to them by an outsider who happened to wander in and prove himself.

No Fremen prophecy, honestly told, would have named a Harkonnen. No Dothraki legend, left intact, would have awaited a Valyrian princess. These are not gaps in other cultures’ mythologies. They are evidence of a different relationship between a people and their own future — one in which the future was not expected to arrive on someone else’s ship.

The prophecy was never native. It was always the outsider’s because someone wrote it that way, long before the ship arrived. And the ultimate victory of the empire was ensuring that the children of the colonised learned to believe it too.

Originally published in Dawn, EOS, April 12th, 2026

Yet, despite our nation’s capital hosting its most important diplomatic event in recent history, some Pakistanis, true to their old habits, were more concerned about what female journalists reporting on the event were wearing.

In a sickening, regressive display of just how low people can go when it comes to subjugating women to their ideas of “appropriate dressing”, journalist Gharidah Farooqi came under fire from men — and even women — on social media for what she wore to go cover the event.

We will not dignify their vile commentary by talking about what Farooqi wore, except to say that it was not inappropriate. The real problem here is how women, no matter what they do, no matter what they wear, no matter where they are, will always be criticised by a society that believes it has the divine right to police them.

She was there, she was doing her job, neither the organisers nor the other attendees had any problem with her conduct and yet someone who was probably lying in bed enjoying their lazy weekend believed their thoughts on the journalist’s outfit were important enough to air to the world.

We wish we could tell you this was an isolated incident, that this was just an anomaly, but it’s a common experience for women across the country and something Farooqi has faced before.

Former prime minister Imran Khan once said she was asking to be harassed by reporting from male-dominated spaces, which is emblematic of the problem. We just hate it when women go out into the world and do things.

From assuming all women are bad drivers, to making unfounded claims against women in the entertainment industry to keeping the nation’s daughters away from an education and a career in the most extreme cases, nothing a woman does can ever be right.

Which brings us to the second problem — a few of the comments began to compare what Farooqi wore to journalists who were reporting for the Iranian press.

The government in Iran is conservative to the point that there are laws on what women can and cannot wear. Iran’s own women, or at least substantial segments of them, are not happy with this and have taken that anger to the streets in past.

The third and most pressing issue is one of privacy, consent and straight-up AI-enabled digital harassment. As Farooqi pointed out in a post on X, much of the conversation seems to be revolving around a picture of the journalist taken from behind without her consent.

Now, that’s bad enough to warrant its own outrage, but then people, blessed with the power of generative AI, created inappropriate clips from the picture in what her fellow journalist Asad Ali Toor rightly described as “disgusting”.

This too is neither uncommon nor surprising — superimposed images, deepfakes and now AI just casually undressing women on the internet based on their pictures. Material used to harass women online has not only gotten more realistic, it’s also become easier to produce.

Something has got to give, because these archaic ideals of meek women confined to their homes, living their lives at the whims of men, are relics of a time long gone.

Men, especially the ones discussing the “decency” of women’s clothes on the internet, need to learn a thing or two about basic human decency.

Authorities need to step up protection for women facing harassment, online and offline, because nobody is safe until everybody is safe.

As for Farooqi, she said this wasn’t the first time she’s been harassed online and while we’re sorry she — or anyone — has to go through that, we have a message for her: go and show them who’s boss.

Cover via Gharidah Farooqi/X

No mehndi celebration in the 90s felt complete without ‘Zara Dholki Baja Goriyo’. No child drifted off to sleep without ‘Chanda Mama Door Ke’. No birthday could be celebrated without ‘Tum Jiyo Hazaron Saal’. No lovers’ quarrel truly ended without ‘Acha Ji Main Haari Chalo’. No journey ever began without ‘Hawa Ke Saath, Ghata Ke Sang Sang’. No moment of romance was whole without ‘Tumse Milke Aisa Laga’ and admit it, no shower felt complete without ‘Thande Thande Pani Se’.

Bhosle was part of the lives of many, like me, yet her journey was never a bed of roses. Born in 1933 into a family already defined by the towering legacy of Lata Mangeshkar, she faced the immense challenge of stepping out of her sister’s shadow and establishing her own identity in music. She never had the luxury of choosing songs like Lata did and sang whatever came her way. While her younger sister Usha Mangeshkar did not achieve the same level of prominence, Bhosle eventually found her path through perseverance, talent, and the opportunities that came her way.

The collaborators she worked with — be it OP Nayyar, SD Burman, RD Burman, or AR Rahman — reflected how perfectly her timing aligned with changing musical eras, allowing her talent to flourish across generations.

When Nayyar decided not to work with Lata, he relied on Bhosle and they produced songs like ‘Maang Ke Saath Tumhara’ and ‘Urain Jab jab Zulfain Teri’ (Naya Daur, 1957), ‘Aye Meherbaan’ (Howrah Bridge, 1958), ‘Bahut Shukriya’ and ‘Aap Yunhi Agar’ (Ek Musafir Ek Haseena, 1962), ‘Deewana Hua Baadal’ and ‘Ishaaro Ishaaro’ (Kashmir ki Kali, 1964), ‘Jaiye Aap Kahan Jayenge’ and ‘Yeh Hai Reshmi Zulfo’ (Mere Sanam, 1965) and ‘Ao Huzoor Tumko’ and ‘Kajra Muhabbat Wala’ (Keemat, 1968).

A tussle between music director SD Burman and Lata created a rift between the two that lasted from 1958 to 1962, and Bhosle benefited from it. ‘Chor Do Aanchal’, ‘Haal Kaisa Hai Janab Ka’, ‘Acha Ji Main Haari’, ‘Ab Ke Baras Bhej Bhaiya Ko Babul’, ‘Tujhe Mili Roshni Mujhko Andhera’, ‘Koi Aya Dhadkan Kahti Hai’, ‘Dhalki Jaye Chunariya Hamari Ho Ram’ and ‘Raat Akeli Hai’ from Jewel Thief were simply outstanding.

Later, the 70s and 80s defined the Asha-RD era, a musician six years younger than her and the son of her guru. Though RD Burman and Bhosle married in 1980, the list of hit songs they produced from 1966 to 1993 is tremendous. Be it Teesri Manzil’s peppy ‘Aaja Aaja Main Hoon Pyar Tera’, the hippy ‘Dum Maro Dum’, the jazzy ‘Jaane Jaan Dhoondta Phir Raha’, or the cabaret classic ‘Piya Tu Ab To Aaja’, the sultry ‘Chura Liya Hai Tumne Jo’, the playful ‘Chori Chori Solah Singar’, the melodious ‘Do Lafzon Ki Hai’, or the deeply reflective ‘Mera Kuch Saamaan’ — each song showcased a different shade of her brilliance. Even the songs in Rangeela, Taal or Lagaan by the techy AR Rehman were a piece of cake for Bhosle, who had no qualms in changing gears.

She also had a brief contact with Pakistan, though she never actually crossed the border. At the time, Pakistan had a very similarly-named actor, Asha Posley, the heroine of the very first movie produced in Pakistan, Teri Yaad. The movie starred Posley alongside Nasir Khan, Dilip Kumar’s brother. At the time, Bhosle was in Bombay and was still known as Asha Mangeshkar.

Posley was born Sabira Begum and was rechristened by the legendary music director Ghulam Haider, who also played a key role in shaping the careers of Lata Mangeshkar. Posley was the daughter of music director Inayat Ali Nath and came from a musically gifted family — her sister, Kausar Parveen, was also a well-known singer in the 1950s. Although senior to both Lata and Bhosle, Posley had already made her debut as a supporting actor in the Punjabi film Gawandi (1942) long before any of the Mangeshkars entered the picture.

When Asha Mangeshkar eventually married Ganpatrao Bhosle she became Asha Bhosle, a name strikingly similar to Asha Posley, which led to occasional bouts of confusion and brief controversy.

Collaboration with Pakistanis

By the 1990s, only a handful of songs by Bollywood singers were recorded in Pakistan — often as personal favours (like Hemant Kumar for Muslehuddin in Humsafar, 1959) or through last-minute arrangements (such as Talat Mehmood for Fazl Karim Fazli for Chiragh Jalta Raha 1962).

Bhosle became the first major female voice to record multiple songs for a Pakistani film, lending her voice to Adnan Sami Khan’s Sargam 1995. Tracks like ‘Pyar Bina Jeena Nahin Jeena’, ‘Barse Baadal Dil Mein Hulchul’, ‘Pyar Hai Yehi To Pyar Hai’, and the evergreen ‘Zara Dholki Bajao Goriyo’ went on to become anthems for the generation born in the 1990s.

The leading lady of Sargam, Zeba Bakhtiar — who knew Bhosle personally from her Bollywood days and had travelled with her to India for several shows — played a key role in bringing her on board. Speaking to Images, she recalled Bhosle as “lovely, affectionate, and extremely kind”. However, she also expressed regret that Bhosle’s songs in Sargam were later dubbed by Hadiqa Kiani due to censorship concerns, as India–Pakistan relations in the 1990s were not particularly cordial.

Adnan Sami Khan — the music director and leading man of Sargam who was once married to Bakhtiar — shared close ties with the Burman family. He later collaborated with Bhosle again for Badaltey Mausam.

The album received a warm response upon its release in Pakistan in 1997, but when it was released in India, it became a massive hit. The song ‘Kabhi Tu Nazar Milao’ turned into a chartbuster and eventually paved the way for Adnan’s move to India, with significant support from Bhosle.

After Sargam, Bhosle collaborated once again with another Pakistani legend, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan who was composing for Aur Pyaar Ho Gaya 1997. The introductory song for Miss World 1994 Aishwarya Rai, ‘Thoda Sa Pagla Thoda Deewana’, carried an energy that only Bhosle could bring. The duet with Udit Narayan, ‘Jaagi Hui Fizayein Hain’, was equally impressive.

Bhosle was also part of the soundtrack of Javed Fazil’s Mein Ek Din Laut Kay Aaoon Ga, where she sang a duet with Jawad Ahmad, also the music director of the film. Ahmad recalled to Images recording the song with her. “I had the privilege of working with her in 2007 on the film Mein Ek Din Laut Kay Aaoon Ga, where I recorded a song titled ‘Dil Ke Taar Baje’ with her in India at Jagjit Singh’s studio. She was not only an extraordinary singer but also a gracious, humble, and encouraging personality. Despite her legendary status, she treated everyone with kindness and respect, and even engaged deeply with the creative process, refining her performance with great artistry,” he said.

“I still remember how she once sang a line differently to add her signature style, then graciously adjusted it after discussion, reflecting her openness and professionalism. Working with her was an unforgettable experience. She belongs among the greatest voices of South Asian music, alongside legends like Lata Mangeshkar and Noor Jehan. Her voice and legacy will continue to inspire generations, and she will always be remembered with love, admiration, and prayers across the world.”

In 2005, Bhosle released an album as a tribute to legendary ghazal maestros Mehdi Hassan, Ghulam Ali and Farida Khanum. The album featured eight of her favourite ghazals, reinterpreting timeless classics with her own expressive style. It included renditions such as ‘Aaj Jaane Ki Zid Na Karo’, Ghulam Ali’s ‘Chupke Chupke’, ‘Aawargi’ and ‘Dil Mein Ek Lahar’, along with Mehdi Hassan’s ‘Ranjish Hi Sahi’, ‘Rafta Rafta’, and ‘Mujhe Tum Nazar Se’.

She also appeared as a guest on Sur Kshetra, a collaborative musical talent show between India and Pakistan. Aired in 2012, it was a musical battle between teams of two neighbouring countries that brought together a truly iconic judging panel featuring three legendary voices of South Asia: Bhosle, Runa Laila, and Abida Parveen.

Their presence transformed the competition into a celebration of music beyond borders, where classical depth, playback brilliance, and Sufi spirituality met on one stage. Together, they represented the golden era and timeless diversity of South Asian music, making the show not just a contest, but a historic meeting of legends.

Ironically, Bhosle made her debut when India and Pakistan were one, and one of her last famous songs was ‘Prem Me Tore’ for Begum Jaan in 2017, which depicted Partition.

Bhosle was far more than a legendary playback singer — she was a living bridge across eras, borders, and musical traditions. From the golden age of Indian cinema to cross-border collaborations in Pakistan, her voice evolved with time while never losing its emotional depth, versatility, or freshness. Whether in classic duets, playful cabaret numbers, romantic melodies, or modern experimental tracks, she continuously reinvented herself and expanded the possibilities of what South Asian music could be.

Actor Ahsan Khan calling it the “end of an era”.

Actor Adnan Siddiqui paid tribute to the singer, saying her voice “had a way of filling even the quietest moments with something devastatingly human”.

“Today, it’s that seem silence that feels heavier. Thank you for the emotions you gave us, the memories you became and the magic you left behind. You’ll always be heard, somewhere… somehow.“

Actor Ahmed Ali Butt thanked her for the “immortal melodies”.

Singer Ali Zafar called her an incredible artist. “Asha Bhoslee G’s work will continue to inspire generations. Such voices don’t fade with time. They become a part of it, he wrote on X.

Fellow singer Shuja Haider said Bhosle’s voice reached people all over the world, inspiring millions of fans from the past, today, and the future.

“Her name will always be remembered as one of the greatest in world music. A special chapter has closed.”

Actor Yasir Hussain shared the news on Instagram with a line from a ‘Naam Goom Jayega,’ a song by Bhosle’s late sister Lata Mangeshkar.

RJ Anoushey Ashraf shared a note on artists travelling between Pakistan and India when things weren’t so “complicated”. “Today, as we say goodbye to Asha Bhosle, it reminds me how deeply her voice lived in all our homes, on both sides.”

She said, thankfully, shared music doesn’t need visas, permissions, or political analysis. “It just shows up, resonated, and [stays] and is still the one thing people from both sides of the border appreciate fully. Maybe we should all upgrade our playlists for world peace.”

Reactions continue to pour in as more people wake up to the sad news of Bhosle’s passing.