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.

This binding thread seemed rather fitting given that Colombo was the location for The Current V: Ancestral Ocean’s inaugural convening, Marine Intersections and Coastlines as Webs, led by celebrated curator Natasha Ginwala.

An initiative of the Spain-based international art and cultural foundation TBA21 Thyssen-Bornemisza Art Contemporary’s TBA21—Academy, and taking place alongside the Colomboscope arts festival, this convening explored cultural languages, maritime stories and marine historiographies prevalent in and across the Indian Ocean. This central theme is a prescient one, particularly for those of us belonging to the ‘Global South’.

Which is why it is all the more crucial that the guest curator of this year’s Colomboscope, Hajra Haider Karrar, understands so intimately how this central theme relates to ‘our part of the world.’ Karrar — who established her curatorial practice in Pakistan and is now based in Germany as the curator at SAVVY Contemporary: The Laboratory of Form-Ideas, Berlin — has a long and continued engagement with the Indian Ocean and coastal geographies. This has also been one of the key entry points for her work on this edition of Colomboscope, hence making TBA21’s involvement here even more relevant.

So, for a few days in January, Colombo became a harbour for a trans-oceanic gathering, inviting participants to move through Colombo’s ports, wetlands and cultural spaces and treat them as living archives.

The convening’s round of talks at Radicle Gallery, housed in a colonial-era building, saw Ginwala touch upon “water bankruptcy” and other concerns being faced by communities whose livelihood is centred around the Indian Ocean in her opening remarks. This thread was poignantly carried forward in one of the sessions that followed titled Artist Encounters Across Coastal Spheres.

This conversation between artists Naiza Khan and Charwei Tsai, moderated by Karrar, traced affinities between distant coastlines marked by dispossession and resilience. Both artists have long worked with island geographies: Naiza has incorporated Pakistan’s Manora Island into many of her works, and Tsai has done the same with Taiwan’s Lanyu Island.

Naiza’s filmic installation Sticky Rice and Other Stories, partly screened during this session, showcased several artisans on Manora Island creating models of various historical boats from the region. Her work provided a window into an art form and way of life that is slowly eroding. She spoke about how Sufi shrines, a church, a Hindu temple and a Sikh gurdwara have all coexisted on Manora Island.

But the evolving indigenous relation to the coastline is now under threat due to climate change — a phenomenon Pakistan is all too familiar with. Speaking of ritual, cartography and the slow violence of climate change, both Naiza and Tsai modelled precisely the kind of cross-coastal thinking the convening sought to cultivate.

In a similar vein, the screening of Fana Fraser’s video work Nesting provided a powerful reminder of the ecologies that are currently under threat across the Indian Ocean. Drawing on the migratory life of leatherback turtles, Fraser’s choreography wove Black Atlantic histories into Indian Ocean imaginaries, suggesting that these waters are interconnected theatres of displacement and survival.

This balance between the conceptual and the applied continued in On Ports as Portals, Coasts as Companions, a conversation between academics Laleh Khalili and Dr Neelima Jeychandran, moderated by Setareh Noorani. Here, the Indian Ocean emerged as a dense mesh of labour routes, devotional networks and logistical infrastructures. Khalili’s work on maritime economies and Dr Jeychandran’s research on Malabar coast histories wrestled with the romantic vision of oceanic cosmopolitanism.

The sea, they reminded the audience, is as much a site of militarisation and debt as of exchange and belonging. This point was affirmed by Naiza, when she spoke of how Manora Island has, over the years, become increasingly militarised due to its use as a naval base.

But lived experience was just as important at this convening as discourse. This was exemplified by the Arka Kinari: a 60-tonne sailing ship built in 1947 that now sails across the world as a “laboratory of sustainability”.

While the ship was docked at Colombo’s Port City, Arka Kinari’s crew members Raka Ibrahim, Grey Filastine and Nova Ruth spoke about the ship’s voyage across international waters in its quest to promote environmental sustainability. Having begun its journey in 2019, the ship has already sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, the Pacific Ocean and now, having visited Sri Lanka, will be heading to India next.

Meanwhile, South African sound researcher Atiyyah Khan led Rotations of Bismillah at Colombo’s Soul Studio. In her investigation of As-Shams Records, a small but significant Cape Town label that functioned in the shadow of apartheid, Atiyyah uncovered a layered cultural history.

Drawing on personal and archival research, she mapped the journeys that carried communities from South Asia to South Africa through systems of migrations and colonial indenture, and considered how those movements shaped new forms of belonging. Within this landscape, jazz emerged in her work as a shared language that enabled unexpected alliances to flourish during a time defined by rigid racial boundaries.

Part listening session, part archival workshop, Atiyyah’s pedagogy invited participants to handle materials, hear field recordings and reflect on archival sounds. It was here that the ethos of “deep listening” felt most genuinely enacted, in large part due to Atiyyah’s infectious enthusiasm for her subject matter.

On the other hand, Berlin-based sound artist Joseph Kamaru, better known as KMRU, provided a more atmospheric and abstract musical experience at the Musicmatters Soundroom. His work L25 unfolded as an immersive study in field recordings gathered across the Indian Ocean. The work resisted narrative clarity, and its refusal of easy representation mirrored the convening’s broader insistence that oceans cannot be neatly translated into language.

The convening also grounded participants in the ecology of Colombo. A guided wetland walk at the Beddagana Wetland Park, conceived by biologists Anjallee Prabhakaran and Anya Ratnayaka of Small Cat Advocacy and Research, introduced visitors to the remarkable biodiversity of the city’s urban wetlands. From housing migratory birds to Asian water monitors, the park exemplified why safeguarding the natural habitats that the Indian Ocean gives rise to is vital.

Evidently, the convening wished to treat the ocean as an active interlocutor of stories — regardless of whether those stories came from Pakistan, India, Sri Lanka, or any other land touched by the wide embrace of the Indian Ocean. The programme’s structure, acting as part symposium, part workshop and part performance series, mirrored its thesis that coastlines are webs rather than borders.

The climatic conundrums we in Pakistan are facing are the same ones our neighbours are confronted with. In light of this shared plight, TBA21’s convening sought to propose a method for thinking and gathering in an age of ecological uncertainty. Through art, conversations, workshops and walks, it imagined the Indian Ocean as an ancestral commons that is layered with violence, beauty and, above all, hope.

Cover: Atiyyah Khan’s Rotations of Bismillah. Photo by Ryan Wijayaratne

You may have heard of the Gen Z beach cleanups on social media, where videos of young people picking up garbage with bright smiles on their faces have gone viral. Most of those cleanups are organised by the Hammad Foundation.

The beach is one of Karachi’s rare spaces for calm and escape, but continues to buckle under the weight of unchecked littering. The garbage doesn’t just ruin the vibe; it actively harms the natural sanctuaries the city has to offer. In an attempt to address this, the Hammad Foundation launched its Gen Z beach clean-up drives in 2020 as part of its youth empowerment initiative — a project that, back then, struggled to gain even the smallest footing.

Founded in 2010, the Hammad Foundation independently began its cleanup drives with little response. Founder Hammad Tanveer told Images that despite the promotions, only four people showed up to their first drive in 2020.

“We did a good campaign for our friends and cousins. But hardly four people came,” he recalled.

Working in Manora, Hawkesbay and Kund Malir, the foundation only managed to attract only 30 to 40 volunteers in the subsequent years. That changed in 2025.

For its 13th beach cleanup drive, Tanveer’s team — expecting the usual modest turnout — was surprised when around 250 people showed up. Encouraged by this response, the foundation introduced a youth internship programme, bringing more than 80 college and university students on board as representatives.

That momentum peaked at their 15th beach cleanup drive, held on Thursday near Chunky Monkey on Seaview, which saw an overwhelming turnout of over 3,000 volunteers, according to Tanveer. Using social media and word-of-mouth through their interns, the foundation managed to get thousands of people out of their homes early on a public holiday to clean nearly two kilometres of Karachi’s coastline. Two members of Dawn’s team also volunteered at the drive and confirmed the scale of participation.

“There were many foreigners and celebrities, but we mostly highlighted our Gen Z volunteers as they are our actual celebrities,” Tanveer emphasised.

Although the clean-up was scheduled to begin at 8am, it started closer to 9:30am and continued until 2pm. Tanveer’s team worked until 8pm or 9pm to hand over the trash-filled bags to the Cantonment Board Clifton (CBC) for disposal.

The Dawn team noted that there were CBC workers on site.

According to Tanveer, the foundation arranged for 7,000 to 8,000 trash bags through sponsors, of which around 3,000 to 4,000 were filled. While proud of the turnout, he admitted feeling slightly disappointed that more bags weren’t used.

“One disappointment was that most of the volunteers had their first beach cleanup. They were more excited to see all the people than the beach cleanup,“ he said. “Obviously, there was media and everything. They were enjoying it. So that was also positive that they got out of their homes for Pakistan. Even if they didn’t pick up the trash, at least they came. That was a drawback I thought. If they had picked up the trash, all our garbage bags would have been full.”

Speaking about location selection, Tanveer said areas such as Nishan-e-Pakistan are chosen with security considerations in mind.

Beach cleanup drives are just one part of the Hammad Foundation’s broader youth empowerment project. Beyond environmental work, the foundation also focuses on women’s empowerment, employment initiatives and support for small businesses.

Photos via Hammad Foundation

That explains why residents were shocked to find many of the park’s old trees had been removed for the construction of a parking plaza. Though the government says it is relocating the 123 trees, many people are upset with the park being touched at all.

Environmental activist Abuzar Madhu shared videos from the park. “A public site of memory is being surrendered to concrete and profit,” he said in a video shared to his Instagram account.

“For decades, students, workers, teachers, poets, and movements have gathered here. Nasirbagh has carried the city’s public voice a rare space where Lahore could breathe. Today, its trees are being cut or forcibly shifted to make way for a parking plaza. A public site of memory is being surrendered to concrete and profit,” he wrote, calling on students and teachers from nearby universities to take a stand against the measure and save their “right to breathe”.

One user said the garden was like a “classroom without walls” where he had taken part in study circles. He said seeing the trees cut down broke his heart.

Even the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) took note of what was going on, calling Nasser Bagh’s trees an an “irreplaceable environmental and cultural asset”. They said the felling of these trees showed a disregard for “citizens’ right to a healthy environment” and shows “misplaced priorities” at a time when Pakistan is suffering from an environmental crisis.

Commission member Farah Zia urged Lahoris, who made their displeasure known when a 150-year-old banyan tree was cut down outside Rahat Bakery in Cantt last month, to speak up.

Quoting the HRCP’s post, journalist Diaa Hadid highlighted that Lahore is one of the most polluted cities in the world. The city was ranked the most polluted globally on November 20, with an extremely high air quality index of 386.

She expressed incredulity over a historic garden and mature trees being razed to build a parking lot.

The Lahore High Court expressed concern over the felling of trees in the park on Friday. However, a representative of the Lahore Development Authority assured the court the trees were not being cut down and were instead being transplanted away from the development site.

Marriyum Aurangzeb, who holds the portfolio of minister for environment protection and climate change, said the same thing on X, noting people’s concerns about tree cutting. She shared a video of the transplanting process and said none of the trees had been harmed.

“At the [Nasser] Bagh Parking Plaza, all 123 trees have been safely and professionally transplanted not a single tree was cut. The process adhered to international environmental compliance standards and was fully documented on video for public transparency.

“By moving parking underground and reducing roadside congestion, the project will cut vehicular emissions, improve Lahore’s AQI, and actively combat smog in the city’s historic and cultural heart,” she said.

“Lahore is not losing trees Lahore is gaining forests, while reviving its heritage, culture, and festivals. Citizens, don’t worry your government is fully committed to being environmentally responsible Alhamdullilah.”

Despite their essential nature, green spaces have become increasingly harder to find in Pakistan’s rapidly growing cities. What parks remain are subject to threats from development, encroachment and neglect. It’s a breath of fresh air to see the people of Lahore ‘speaking for the trees’.

Cover photo: Arif Ali/White Star

In a reel shared on Instagram, the activist stood in front of a poster for the games and pointed to an illustration of a dolphin on a banner announcing the National Games, telling the camera that the Indus River dolphin does not look like this.

Noting that some might see this as a minor issue, he said these depictions have real-world consequences when it comes to public awareness. He said his organisation, Bulhan Bachao, has found that people often do not recognise the endangered species when they see it in the waters of the Indus River and kill it, thinking it is “a fish or some monster”.

The activist said river dolphins exist in South America too, adding that Brazil and Columbia are careful to depict their native fauna correctly. He said we have an even greater responsibility to protect the Indus River dolphin because they are native to Pakistan alone.

Okay, but what’s the difference?

While they’re both related, river and oceanic dolphins are different in their features and their behaviour. Unlike their marine cousins, river dolphins have very poor eyesight — Indus River dolphins are completely blind.

They have longer snouts which they use to probe the riverbed for prey. The also extensively use echolocation to find food and detect obstacles. River dolphins are less active than those found in the sea, preferring to surface slowly instead of leaping out of the water.

The freshwater mammals were once on the verge of extinction, with around 100 living in the Indus River system by the 1970s. Since then, conservation efforts led by the World Wildlife Fund and involving both fisherfolk and the Sindh Wildlife Department have brought the population to about 2,000 today.

So, I scrolled through her profile, watching in awe and envy as she whipped up different, authentic Sindhi dishes. Not long ago, her great-grandmother and mine probably shared a similar diet. My parents were both born and raised in Sindh. My father was born and grew up in Sukkur, while my mother was born in Hyderabad and raised in a village called Wazirabad, nestled between Shikarpur and Sukkur. They eventually moved to Karachi in pursuit of education and work.

Sindhi isn’t just a language we speak, it’s also how we eat. So how was it that this influencer had this treasure trove of recipes I’d never even heard of?

Bajray thooma ji maani (bajra roti with garlic), chawaran ji maani (I’ve had this, but her version was a red rice crepe filled with herbs and spices), bajray ji khichhri (millet and lentil porridge), sayyon patata (savory sawaiyyan with potatoes). My first reaction? Blame my grandmother for not swapping recipes. But after a little digging, I realised who was really at fault — the colonisers.

The OG grains: Before wheat took the spotlight

For thousands of years, the people of the Indus Valley and Punjab grew and consumed a variety of hardy, nutrient-rich grains such as millet, sorghum, barley, and amaranth. These grains were suited to the land, climate, and local knowledge. This wasn’t just food — it was the foundation of cultural identity, health, and environmental sustainability.

Under British rule, everything from agriculture to eating habits was reorganised to suit imperial priorities. Among the most overlooked casualties of this transformation — our ancestral grain traditions. Long before wheat roti took over our daily meals, the people of the subcontinent, especially in the Indus and Punjab regions, were eating diverse, nutrient-rich grains.

According to archaeological studies from Indus Valley sites such as Harappa and Farmana, ancient diets were dominated by hardy millets and cereals. Charred grain remains, food-processing tools, and residue analysis from pottery point to this rich grain diversity. Millet, in particular, was one of the earliest cultivated domesticated crops in South Asia, widely consumed across Sindh, Balochistan, and Punjab.

Other research shows that archaeological findings across the Indus Valley reveal that wheat wasn’t the only staple in ancient diets. Millets such as sorghum, finger millet, little millet, Italian millet, and foxtail millet were cultivated consistently from the Early Harappan period (3000 BCE) onward. At key sites such as Harappa, Hulas, and Banawali, these grains appeared alongside wheat, but in outer settlements, their dominance was striking: finger millet made up 68 per cent of the grain remains at Rojdi, Italian millet 95pc at Babar Kot, and pearl millet and foxtail millet showed similar prominence elsewhere.

This agricultural system wasn’t random — it was intentional. These grains were tailored to local needs: drought-resistant, packed with nutrients, and able to grow in areas where wheat could not. It was smart food science long before Instagram’s “ancestral eating” became a hashtag. So what happened? Why did we abandon these superior foods for wheat?

The answer lies in the two most evil Cs known to the brown man — colonialism and capitalism.

Empire on opium: High stakes and higher profits

During the colonial era, the British were heavily dependent on Chinese tea but couldn’t afford to keep paying for it in silver, as the Chinese rejected barter. The solution? Opium. The British colonial administration forced Indian farmers to cultivate opium instead of food crops to satisfy the growing demand for the drug in China.

The East India Company maintained a strict monopoly over its production, processing, and export. Farmers were forced to sell their poppy harvests at fixed prices well below market value. The Company then auctioned the opium in Calcutta, and it was smuggled into China. This trade generated immense profits for the British but left Indian farmers in poverty. Many peasants were pushed into cycles of debt and could no longer support their families or grow enough food.

Crops such as varieties rice, millet, and pulses were sidelined in favour of poppy cultivation, particularly in the regions of Bihar and eastern Uttar Pradesh. The result — repeated famines, malnutrition, and the collapse of local food systems.

This opium revenue enabled the British empire to reverse its trade imbalance with China. Instead of sending silver, they used profits from opium sales to pay for tea imports. In essence, Indian land and labour were exploited to sustain British tea drinking habits.

Before wheat, there was wisdom

Before the colonisation of the Subcontinent, communities in South Asia ate what the land could sustainably produce. Coarse grains such as bajra (pearl millet), jowar (sorghum), barley, and red rice were dietary staples. These grains were nutritionally dense and rich in fibre, protein, iron, and antioxidants. Millet and sorghum are also drought resistant and ideal for the region’s semi-arid climate. Studies show that until the 1950s, these grains were widely consumed and associated with lower rates of diabetes and heart disease. For predominantly vegetarian communities in India and Pakistan, these grains were a critical source of protein, B12, iron, and other micronutrients essential for balanced health.

Iqra Ghufran Tahir, a Registered Dietitian Nutritionist (RDN), and vice president of the Nutrition Foundation Pakistan, explained that grains such as bajra, jowar, ragi, and red rice surpass wheat flour (maida) and white rice in terms of nutrient density.

“One of the key differences is fibre content. Millets and red rice provide three to 10 times more fibre than refined grains like maida or white rice. This high fibre content helps improve satiety, meaning it keeps you feeling full for longer,“ she explained. “It also contributes to better blood sugar control, which makes it an excellent option for people managing diabetes. In terms of micronutrients, millets are rich in iron, magnesium, phosphorus, zinc, and B-vitamins.”

According to Tahir, ragi, for example, is exceptionally high in calcium, far more than any other cereal, and she often recommends it to individuals who are calcium deficient.

“These grains also have a lower glycemic index compared to refined wheat or polished rice. Refined grains tend to spike insulin levels, which is why we generally don’t recommend them for diabetic patients. On the other hand, millets and red rice release glucose gradually into the bloodstream, supporting better metabolic health.” Additionally, millets contain phytonutrients, polyphenols, and antioxidants, which provide added health benefits and help combat oxidative stress. Tahir compared them to refined wheat and white rice. “They have most of the bran and germ removed during processing, which strips away much of their fibre, minerals, and vitamins. When you eat polished rice, for example, you’re missing out on the nutrient-rich outer layers of the grain.”

So why did we abandon these nutrient rich sources of fibre and carbohydrates?

Cereal offenders: How wheat hijacked our plates

Growing up, I visited Sukkur and my villages during the summer and winter holidays. We often crossed the great Sukkur Barrage and a common thread of conversation would be how the British built this powerful structure that is still thriving — had some Pakistani been commissioned this, it wouldn’t have lasted. But that is just part of our colonial hangover. There is so much we need to unlearn about what we were taught to believe, such as the idea that the coloniser did us a favour by “building” things that would later “help” us.

The truth is, their motive was always to help the empire thrive using our resources. British colonisers didn’t just occupy land, they restructured its use. In Punjab and Sindh, canal irrigation systems enabled the mass cultivation of wheat and cotton to meet imperial demands, especially to supply the British military. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, the British transformed farming in Punjab by building canals and railways, making it easier to grow and sell crops. They encouraged farmers to grow cash crops such as wheat and cotton to serve British economic and military interests.

By the 1920s, Punjab was producing one-third of all the wheat and a tenth of the cotton in British India. Wheat, which used to rot during bumper harvests, was now exported in large amounts. While regions such as Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa faced agricultural crises and fell behind, Punjab became the leading area for crop production. However, this growth came with serious problems. Many farmers took loans to cover social expenses, such as weddings, and fell into debt. When they couldn’t repay the money, moneylenders used British laws to take over their land.

In places such as Muzaffargarh and Dera Ghazi Khan, large swathes of farmland were lost to absentee landlords. British officials warned that this could lead to unrest, as local farmers were pushed out and land was concentrated in the hands of the wealthy.

By the end of the 19th century, Karachi had emerged as the largest wheat-exporting port in the East, a transformation fuelled by its strategic coastal location and the expansion of railway and shipping infrastructure under British colonial administration. This growth only accelerated in the following decade. By 1910, Karachi was handling more wheat than any other port in the British Empire, surpassing older ports in both scale and speed of grain movement.

This development was largely driven by the colonial canal irrigation system in Punjab, which converted previously uncultivated lands into vast wheat fields, feeding the empire’s demand for grain and turning Karachi into the central artery of that supply chain. Railway networks were constructed to facilitate export, not to benefit local populations. Indigenous grains were dismissed as “primitive,” while white rice and refined wheat flour became markers of modernity and civility. While the British paved ways for increasing food in one area they were systematically starving the other.

One brutal strategy often used by imperial or authoritarian regimes is the scorched-earth policy. This refers to “the military tactic of destroying everything that enables the enemy to wage war, including crops, livestock, buildings, and infrastructure”. While originally a military manoeuvre, scorched-earth policies have also been used to target ethnic or political groups as seen in Myanmar’s systematic attacks on the Rohingya, Israel’s blockade and bombardment of Gaza, or Nazi Germany’s actions in Soviet territories during World War II.

A devastating historical example of weaponising hunger occurred during the Bengal Famine of 1943–44, in which over three million Indians died. Though British authorities long attributed the famine to natural disasters and wartime disruptions, more recent scholarship challenges this narrative. In a landmark 2018 study, economist Utsa Patnaik argues that the famine was man-made, driven by colonial extraction policies implemented under then prime minister Winston Churchill, with influence from then-chancellor of the exchequer, John Maynard Keynes.

These policies included price manipulation, grain exports from India during wartime shortages, and refusal to allocate food relief — decisions that proved catastrophic for Bengal’s rural poor.

In A Grain of Wheat, Kenyan writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o reflects on how colonisers used food systems to control identity. The same pattern unfolded across South Asia — western food became aspirational, while ancestral grains were seen as backward. Bajra, ragi and jowar became the “poor man’s food” and if you wanted to look like you ate well, you would eat like an Englishman, who had his food with a hearty side of wheat bread. In the case of the Subcontinent, bread was translated into roti.

Hard to believe a bunch of white people popularised a food and made it trend? Think of matcha, avocado and sea moss. These are trending “wellness” foods that have nothing to do with our culture but have taken the main stage compared to sattu, ghee and shilajit.

Mimicry, modernity, and the myth of wheat

As colonisation advanced, so did mimicry. Tea-drinking with white bread and biscuits became fashionable. In urban Punjab, wheat rotis replaced millet-based breads, a trend accelerated by post-Independence policies and Green Revolution subsidies. But this transition had consequences.

As wheat and rice took over, indigenous grain biodiversity suffered. India alone reportedly lost over 100,000 traditional rice varieties post-1970. Pakistan saw a similar decline, with native red and black rice varieties disappearing from fields and kitchens. This shift was mirrored in how the Parle-G biscuit rose to prominence.

Initially launched in 1939 as a Swadeshi response to expensive British imports, Parle-G targeted affordability and national pride. The biscuit soon found its way into school lunchboxes, train journeys, and chai routines across India. These eating habits were once considered British but were now made “Indian” through indigenous branding and mass production. Parle-G’s ubiquity turned it from an elite colonial snack into a symbol of domestic modernity. Laddus, chikki, roasted channas and puffed millets were replaced by these British-inspired snacks.

The “biscuit” was the way to go, especially for upper class Indians. This trend of snacking between meals was rather alien to those in the subcontinent — three hearty meals a day was something our ancestors had practiced for years, they ate according to when the sun rose and was about to set. The idea that there should be a snack between lunch and dinner was a concept that caught on post-Independence.

Eventually the newly made Pakistani state caught on to the culture — in 1965, Peek Freans Pakistan Limited was established as a joint venture with its British parent company. Renamed English Biscuit Manufacturers (EBM) the following year, it began production in 1967 becoming Pakistan’s pioneers in packaged biscuit manufacturing.

EBM introduced the famous Peek Freans range and introduced the idea of biscuits as more than a tea-time luxury. By marketing them as “food between meals,” the company transformed biscuits into an everyday food, presented as wholesome, modern, and hygienic. What began as a colonial import soon became woven into Pakistani diets, marking a shift in how people consumed wheat-based products.

Colonial carbs and the celiac crisis

Pakistan is on the list of countries hardest hit by diabetes, ranking third globally in overall cases, behind only China and India, with about 33 million people living with the disease. Of greater concern is recent data that shows that Pakistan has the highest age‑standardised diabetes prevalence rate in the world at 31.4 per cent among adults aged 20 to 79, and approximately 230,000 people die each year due to diabetes-related complications. Experts warn that if current trends continue, Pakistan could have 70 million diabetes patients by 2050, making it one of the most severely affected countries in the world.

According to nutritionist Tahir, in traditional South Asian vegetarian diets, millets and pulses played a crucial role in providing essential nutrients, especially protein, iron, and, to some extent, B vitamins. Pulses and millets are excellent sources of plant-based protein. For vegetarians, they are easily accessible, and we usually rotate them; we don’t stick to one type of daal every day. This variety is intentional.

For example, if one lentil lacks a certain amino acid, another will make up for it. That way, over the week, amino acids are balanced and the body gets what it needs.

When it comes to iron, plant-based sources are significant, but the challenge is that the iron isn’t as bioavailable as it is in animal-based foods. However, traditional practices like soaking and fermenting pulses and grains overnight greatly enhance iron absorption.

Vitamin B12, however, is where vegetarian diets fall short. Millets and pulses do not contain B12, which is why this nutrient has to be supplemented through fortified foods or other sources. Overall, traditional vegetarian diets were reasonably good at meeting protein and iron needs, but B12 was and still is a concern. With modern fortification, though, that gap can be addressed.

So is gluten the culprit? Were our subcontinental guts not built for gluten?

Dr Faisal Wasim Ismail is an associate professor of gastroenterology and the vice‑chair of education at the Aga  Khan University, Karachi. He also serves as the medical adviser to the Karachi Celiac Society, playing a key role in promoting awareness and support for individuals with celiac disease through expert guidance and community-based initiatives. “Yes, I do believe that gluten intolerance, celiac disease, and non-celiac gluten sensitivity are significantly under-diagnosed in Pakistan. In fact, we mentioned this in a 2022 research study that we published as well. I think among the reasons for that are limited awareness among healthcare providers about celiac disease and gluten sensitivity,” he told Images.

“An overlap of symptoms with other gastrointestinal conditions, particularly IBS, is another reason as well. And finally, I think a lack of widespread access to diagnostic testing contributes to many cases going unnoticed for many years.”

It would be unfair to demonise wheat altogether, as every body is built differently but the truth is, access to wheat and zero diversity with grains is doing more harm than good. “I think diversifying grains could possibly reduce the risk of gluten-related issues. They may also improve fibre intake and support better metabolic health for the things I mentioned a little while ago, such as brain fog and inflammatory states within the body,” Dr Ismail explained. “Things like millet, maize, and even newer grains like quinoa can contribute to a more balanced diet and reduce our dependence as a nation on wheat.”

Decolonising the plate

Reclaiming our health begins with reclaiming our food heritage. Across India and parts of Pakistan, a revival is underway — millet rotis, sorghum batter, red rice bowls, and ancestral recipes are returning to kitchens.

This is not just a culinary trend — it’s a form of resistance. As Ngũgĩ says, land and food are not only material but also cultural. Eating like our ancestors is an act of memory, identity, and defiance.

Dr Ismail believes eating like our grandmothers is the solution: “We can begin by reclaiming the food wisdom passed down through generations — one that values locally grown, seasonal grains over imported or colonial-era staples. Encouraging whole foods, reducing processed items, and incorporating traditional grains like bajra, jowar, and makkai into daily meals could help urban populations realign with culturally rooted, nutritionally sound eating patterns. This return to ancestral diets may also foster better gut health and overall wellbeing.”

Dr Asifa Qureshi, founder of Qureshi Farms, recalls how marriage introduced her to an entirely new world of flavours. Coming from a household where wheat roti was the norm, she initially found it difficult to adjust to the earthy textures and tastes of the roti her in-laws ate. These new flavours of bajra, makki, and jo were all harvested directly from their farm were something she had to get accustomed to. But with time, she came to love them. What began as a dietary adjustment soon became a lifestyle shift and she soon noticed a significant improvement in her overall health.

Eventually, Dr Qureshi realised she was gatekeeping something powerful — these grains were nutritional treasures. In 2017, she formally launched Qureshi Farms, a farm-to-table venture rooted in the philosophy of “khidmat-e-khalq” — service to humanity — which aimed to help people adopt a healthier lifestyle. She realised she had kept these life-changing discoveries to herself for too long.

A trained gynaecologist, Dr Qureshi found her interest in nutrition deepening as she became more involved in agriculture. Over the years, her product range expanded to include a variety of flours and rotis: oat, multigrain, flaxseed, and even gluten-free wheat alternatives.

Today, she receives regular testimonials from customers from photos of glucose meter readings showing dramatic improvements after switching to her flour. “Our red rice roti, for instance, is rich in antioxidants,” she explained. “It’s not just beneficial for people with gluten intolerance; it’s a great choice for anyone looking to eat healthier. We even make red rice bowls and desserts using our flour as they’re amazing substitutes for refined flour.”

Dr Bazgha Ali, a Karachi-based nutritionist and doctor, works with Pakistanis to help them understand food rather than fight it when trying to lose weight. “Emphasis is also on increasing the amount of fibre that you consume in your diet. Fibre basically serves as food for your gut bacteria, and when you make sure that you’re consuming around 20 to 30 grammes of fibre every day, it helps in a lot of things — including dealing with insulin resistance, decreasing your chances of developing diabetes later on in life, improving your gut health, reducing the chances of colon cancer, and a lot of other things,“ she explained.

“Basically, the number of good bacteria in your gut is directly related to the amount of serotonin your body produces. So, good gut health equals good hormonal health, good mental health — it’s all interrelated.”

There’s a certain irony to it all. During the Green Revolution, grains such as barley and sorgham were dismissed as “poor man’s food,” yet now, a five kilogramme bag of whole wheat flour sells for Rs700 to Rs1,000, while jo or barley can cost somewhere between Rs400 to Rs600 per kilogramme. The poor, it seems, are eating poorer than ever while the affluent are returning to grains once considered inferior.

But as Dr Qureshi explained, the pricing reflects the process. “Sourcing these grains is incredibly labour intensive,” she said. “At our farm, everything is done by hand, unlike wheat, which is machine-processed. That naturally raises the cost.”

Other millets are labour intensive — the grain is harder to sow, clean and process. Still, for her, the effort is worth it. It’s not just a business, it’s a return to nourishment, to heritage, and to health. A number of upscale eateries are now using food indigenous to us in trendy new twists, from the falsa lemonade at Evergreen, seaweed pakoras by Chef Asad Monga, or palak chaat by Khaadi Cafe — a wave of local ingredients seem to be making a comeback but the tragedy is that they’re only available to those who can afford them.

Dadi’s roti walked so sourdough could run

So does this mean that we eliminate wheat completely from our diets? Is the brown man’s gut not made for wheat? Is bread the bearer of evil?

The answer isn’t complicated; it’s actually very easy. “The gluten-free diet originally emerged for people with celiac disease — an autoimmune condition where the body attacks itself in response to gluten,“ believes Dr Ali, the nutritionist. “While celiac is rare among South Asians, non-celiac gluten sensitivity is becoming more common, especially in people with thyroid issues, autoimmune conditions, and joint pain,” she explained.

“Modern wheat has also changed — it’s higher in gluten and lower in fibre due to agricultural interventions. Refined wheat, or maida, is now widely consumed in foods like pizza, cookies, and cakes, far beyond the traditional roti. So while a strict gluten-free diet is only necessary for medical cases, a low-gluten diet is definitely a healthier choice for many.”

Based on research, the opinion of medical professionals, and history, the answer is moderation. We’ve made wheat not a part of our diet but rather the entirety of it. We start the day with parathas, bread, and rusks, move on to lunch with chapatis, have tea with biscuits and samosas or sandwiches, and then for dinner we have another helping or two of chapatis. Where did the moderation go? If we mix things up, keeping our wheat intake to once a day, things might start looking up for us.

Our ancestors ate wheat on special occasions, days of worship and celebrations — puris and atta ka halwa were made, a nursing mother would have mithi lollis and panjeeri.

It was a part of our diet but not the entirety of it. While researching for this story, I found studies suggesting wheat can cause cancer, but I don’t believe that demonising a food group is the solution to anything. It can create an eating disorder and an overall bad relationship with food. Misinformed nutritionists and health professionals have done that enough for us.

First, they told us not to have ghee, then switched back to it when the Kardashians had it for “good fat”. We were told not to have achaar because of the amount of oil, but suddenly everyone is talking about gut health and fermentation, so we’re switching to high-quality pickles. Recently, kanji has been making a comeback as a drink of choice. Think of turmeric lattes and then recall how our grandmothers told us about haldi doodh way before it was a social media trend.

So why do we only see a food as a superfood once a Western country makes it into one?

Peruvian sociologist and decolonial theorist Aníbal Quijano introduced the influential concept of coloniality of power in the late 1990s. In his 2000 essay, Coloniality of Power, Eurocentrism, and Latin America, Quijano argues that even though colonial rule has formally ended, the systems of domination it created have not — particularly in terms of race, knowledge, and global hierarchies as they continue to shape the modern world.

In South Asia, eating is never just about eating. It’s a moral, political, and social act. And we’re holding on to the practices of those who saw as uncivilised but are now hijacking our culture and rebranding it in ways that are then reintroduced to us as “theirs”.

This is nothing new for colonisers — the Israeli occupiers did this with Palestinian food. A 1936 Zionist cookbook shows European settlers using local ingredients and making them more palatable to themselves. For example, they suggested replacing olive oil, which was too overwhelming for them, with vegetable oil. How to Cook in Palestine is a cookbook written by Erna Meyer and published in 1936 by the Women’s International Zionist Organisation. It is widely regarded as the first Jewish cookbook printed in Palestine during the British Mandate period.

More than just a culinary guide, Meyer’s trilingual publication — released in English, German, and Hebrew — functioned as a nationalist tool, using food to encourage ideological and cultural hijacking rather than adaptation among Jewish settlers in Palestine. We now find ‘Israeli’ olive oil sold all over the world.

Now, it’s up to us and whether we’ll unfollow that white influencer telling us the benefits of barley brownies and instead attempt to make the barley roti our grandmothers used to eat. It’s time to de-influence ourselves.

Net zero energy is when there’s 100 per cent on-site renewable energy. Khaadi says its Green Hub is powered entirely by natural resources and designed to generate more energy than it consumes, achieving a net balance of zero. The goal is to reduce its environmental footprint and operate sustainably, a representative for the brand told Images.

Theirs may well be the first net zero energy retail space in Pakistan. Globally, American drugstore giant Walgreens opened a net zero energy store in Illinois in 2013, while Target has one in California. This past May, Lidl announced Ireland’s first net zero supermarket would be constructed.

Khaadi says the store is run entirely on solar energy — and we know how well Pakistan has taken to solar power. The country is experiencing a solar boom with many people rushing to install solar panels in a bid to dodge expensive power costs.

The Green Hub runs entirely on solar energy and “operates in sync with natural daylight,” meaning its timings correlate with when the sun is out. With high-performance glass façades, the building has been designed in a way to maximise sunlight and insulation, therefore reducing the need for artificial lighting and cooling.

If you’re stepped into any clothing store in Pakistan, you know the temperature is usually set to frosty. The Green Hub’s temperature control is inspired by nature, according to Khaadi. They’re going back to traditional methods of keeping homes cool by using porous terracotta vessels and aspen husk pads to cool air before it’s circulated in the store by a fan.

The Terracool Panel acts as a natural filter, cooling the air through evaporation and releasing it inward at a “noticeably lower temperature”. Its drip system recirculates its own water, to minimise waste. The aspen husk pads hold moisture, ensuring that the cooling effect lingers, while the drip system above keeps the cycle continuous. By the time the air crosses the drift eliminator, it has been both cooled and cleaned, reducing the need for mechanical cooling almost entirely.

In winter, the terracotta mass, warmed by the sun during the day, retains heat and slows down cold drafts at night. Its thermal inertia ensures that indoor spaces remain stable, tempering extreme shifts between day and night.

Vertical product displays also allow air to flow freely and a closed-loop system sustains surrounding plants with minimal water use.

The guiding principle, in the brand’s words, is to take only what’s needed and give back more. That doesn’t, however, mean that the store is putting that excess energy production back into the power grid. The store is “completely off-grid”, which means it does not have an electricity connection point to the main grid and therefore cannot send that excess energy back.

The design choices at the Green Hub were made to “work in harmony with nature, reducing dependency on conventional energy and resources”. The layout is meant to support sustainability.

The brand says the materials for the store are 95 per cent locally sourced — cold-rolled steel, local marble, lime, stone and terracotta, all carefully chosen for their strength, aesthetic value and proximity. By sourcing from nearby regions, the store significantly reduces carbon emissions and transportation costs, while also supporting regional craftsmanship, the brand’s representative said.

The remaining 5pc largely comprises “specialised components that are not yet manufactured in Pakistan”.

As for other methods of sustainability, Khaadi has shifted to e-receipts at The Green Hub and uses recycled shopping bags, eliminating plastic fabric packaging.

Khaadi plans on taking its Green Hubs nationwide, but part of a sustainable design means that they can’t just replicate the design at every store. Each area is different and therefore requires a different approach. Each hub will follow one philosophy: design that works with its environment, according to the brand. The form changes with the climate, cooling in hot, dry regions, insulating in cold areas and resisting salt and humidity in coastal zones, the representative told Images. Instead of replicating a single design, the Green Hubs will adapt to their locations, “turning climate into an architectural advantage”.

We’ve often spoken about the unsustainable nature of fashion in our country, especially with the rise of fast fashion and straying from our sustainable roots. We’re also seeing the effects climate change is having on our country as we speak, as floods ravage parts of Punjab, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Gilgit-Baltistan and Azad Jammu and Kashmir. It seems Khaadi is aiming to go back to Pakistan’s far more sustainable roots with its Green Hub, and if its promises of net zero energy ring true, that’s certainly worth celebrating.

The edible oil is slipping out of the reach of price-conscious consumers, and those accustomed to its distinctive flavour, deeply embedded in regional cuisine, must search harder to find alternatives.

“I will switch to the more affordable refined sunflower oil for everyday cooking and save coconut oil for dishes where its flavour is absolutely irreplaceable,” said Leelamma Cherian, who lives in India’s southern state of Kerala.

The price surge that began in the second half of 2024 was accelerated by output disruptions across major producer nations from India to Southeast Asia, caused by seasons of lower rainfall, extended heat, and more ravages by pests and disease.

Prices in India have nearly tripled in less than two years, to a record INR 423,000 or $4,840 a metric tonne, while global prices surged to an all-time high of $2,990 per tonne over the same period.

A group of producer nations, the International Coconut Community (ICC), says growing demand in the face of production limits will keep second-half global prices in the range of $2,500 to $2,700, well over the 2023 figure of about $1,000. Coconut oil supplies usually improve in Southeast Asia in the second half, and new season output will help ease prices off records, said a Singapore-based vegetable oil trader.

“Still, prices probably won’t drop below $2,000 anytime soon,” he said.

A fall below $1,800 a tonne in the next two years was unlikely, he added, pointing to the neglect of plantations and unfavourable weather in recent years as factors likely to delay a broader production recovery, especially at a time when supplies of other similar lauric oils are tight. “While prices are expected to ease gradually, the current rally is likely to establish a new normal.”

The price surge also affects unripe green coconuts harvested for their electrolyte-laden water, and products such as copra, milk, and powder, while squeezing makers of shampoo and skincare items, who prize the oil for its high content of lauric acid.

A supply squeeze

Globally, coconut oil output is falling as trees age, replanting proves inadequate, and plantations grapple with a shortage of better seed varieties, said Dorab Mistry, a director of Indian consumer goods company Godrej International.

World coconut oil production was 3.67 million tonnes in 2024–25, with no growth over the past three decades, barring minor annual fluctuations, the US agriculture department says.

As weather conditions increasingly swing from hot, dry spells to sudden heavy rains, both extremes disrupt coconut production, said Joe Ling, executive director of Malaysia’s Linaco Group, a leading supplier.

These days, at least one producing country is affected — if dry weather is not curtailing output in Indonesia or Malaysia, it is highly likely that typhoons are disrupting production in the Philippines, or vice versa, Ling said.

Yields fell in 2023 as the El Niño weather phenomenon brought above-average heat and below-average rains to key growing regions, said a Mumbai-based dealer at a global trading house, who sought anonymity in line with company policy. The shortfall was only reflected in 2024, since coconuts typically need nearly a year to mature after flowering.

In the wake of years of underinvestment thanks to low prices, coconut production was further hit by the Covid-19 outbreak, as lockdowns brought a slump in demand and prices. That in turn led farmers to neglect plantations, resulting in lower yields just as demand began to recover when social media influencers drummed up attention to the health benefits of coconut water.

Higher demand for the water prompted farmers to harvest coconuts earlier and further narrowed the supply of mature nuts used to make oil and copra.

Even at higher prices, the perceived health benefits continue to fuel demand for coconut food products, said Ling of Linaco Group. The rally has led his company to raise prices almost monthly and maintain supplies despite upsetting customers, Ling added.

Coconut oil’s premium over rival palm kernel oil, also primarily produced in Asia, has surged to a record $1,000 per tonne, up from the usual $100 to $200. Palm kernel oil prices have also risen, climbing 30 per cent this year.

Any major shift away from coconut oil could drive up prices of alternatives, including palm kernel oil for industry and palm, soy, and sunflower oils for households.

Global demand

While coconut oil is popular in Asia, demand for copra, coconut cream, and milk is strong in Britain, China, Europe, Malaysia, the United States, and the United Arab Emirates.

To capitalise on rising demand, Indonesian farmers are increasingly shipping whole coconuts instead of extracting oil, said Amrizal Idroes, vice chairman of the Indonesian Coconut Processing Industry Association.

Indonesia’s coconut oil exports fell 15pc between January and June, while shipments of items such as desiccated coconut and endocarp coconut rose by 58pc annually, government data showed. Shortages have spurred calls for changes to trade policies that make more oil available at home.

In Indonesia, the Association urged suspension of coconut exports for six to 12 months to stabilise prices, while in India, the Solvent Extractors’ Association asked New Delhi to allow imports of coconut oil and copra.

India regulates imports of coconut oil tightly, with a duty of more than 100pc that makes them expensive, and traders required to seek permits from state trading enterprises.

Higher prices have spurred farmers to expand planting, with strong seedling demand depleting most nurseries’ stocks this year, said an official of India’s state-run Coconut Development Board, who sought anonymity. But yield from new plantations take four or five years to come in, so prospects are bleak for prices to subside quickly.

A circle of girls would surround one girl in the centre, the “machhli,” or fish. They would chant: “Hara Samander, Gopi Chandar, Bol meri machhli, kitna pani (Green Ocean, Gopi Chandar, My Fish, Tell us how much water)?” In response, the girl would lower her hands to her feet and slowly raise them — chest, shoulders, head — until she stretched them high above, declaring with gesture alone: “Itna pani” or this much water.

It was a playful game, but now, as the planet warms and waters rise, that chant takes on an eerie resonance. What once was harmless mimicry of swimming or sinking now feels prophetic. What was once giggles and rhyme becomes warning. 

The chant begins with two names: Hara Samander (Green Ocean) and Gopi Chandar. The first is a dreamlike phrase, evocative of vastness, mystery, and nature’s beauty. Green, instead of blue for the ocean, adding to the mystery. The second — Gopi Chandar — is a name pulled from folk memory, a semi-mythical king turned yogi, known in Punjabi and Rajasthani oral epics. He renounced his kingdom to follow a spiritual path, often associated with rivers, inner reflection, and detachment. His presence in a girls’ game suggests something deeper. Perhaps an ancestral whisper, an echo of forgotten tales where water was sacred and wisdom lay in respecting the elements. 

Today, however, we have done the opposite. We have tried to conquer nature and are now drowning in the consequences. When the girl in the centre stretches her arms high above her head, showing how high the water has risen, it becomes an unintentional allegory for the climate catastrophes engulfing us. In 2022, Pakistan experienced floods that submerged a third of the country. Entire villages disappeared underwater. It is happening once again.

The “machhli” of today is no longer a child at play but millions of displaced families, trapped and surrounded. The chant of the group: “Bol meri machhli, kitna pani?” could well be the chorus of the world asking the vulnerable how deep the damage has gone. The rising hands offer the terrifying answer. 

Many years ago, I wrote a children’s story titled Hara Samander and illustrated it as well. The story began with a girl playing the Hara Samander, Gopi Chandar game with her friends, but on the surface, it was about the value of books themselves. How written words open the mind to vast worlds and wisdoms waiting to be explored. But perhaps, even then, a deeper concern pulsed below the narrative: my long-held consciousness of the environment and the fragility of our planet. In a way, the green ocean of the title was symbolic — not just of imagination, but of nature’s immense and endangered beauty. 

Years later, to bring this story into public view, I had the cover of Hara Samander painted as a mural on Hoshang Road in Karachi. It became a public artwork as part of the I Am Karachi movement of which I was a part, and project champion of the wall murals in the city. The artwork quietly converses with passers-by about reading, dreaming, and perhaps looking back now about the rising tides we face. 

That we invoked Gopi Chandar in this game is no accident. Perhaps it was a lingering trace of collective memory. The king who abandoned worldly pleasures to pursue spiritual knowledge understood the futility of resisting nature’s order. His life was a lesson in humility and balance. In forgetting him, in reducing him to a misremembered name in a playground chant, we may have also forgotten how to live within our ecological limits. 

In South Asia, so much of women’s cultural work, lullabies, games, kitchen songs, and embroidery patterns, carried ecological and spiritual meaning. They were never just diversions — they were the way knowledge survived. The imagery of the game: a lone fish surrounded by a chanting circle also mirrors the current moment. Vulnerable communities, already suffering from poverty or displacement, are now surrounded by climate injustice. The circle tightens. Those inside are left to fend for themselves, while those outside are the powerful, the comfortable, who continue to chant, to question, but not to act. We are all now inside that circle. 

If we were to reimagine this game for our children today, what would it look like? Perhaps instead of asking “Kitna pani?” (How much water?), we would ask “Kitna waqt?”(How much time is left?) Or perhaps we must still ask “Kitna pani?”, but with the seriousness it now demands. Not as a game, but as a call to action. Because the water has risen. And the machhli can no longer swim.

The AGCM watchdog accuses the China-founded fast-fashion colossal of having “adopted a misleading communication strategy regarding the characteristics and environmental impact of its clothing products”.

The fine was imposed on Infinite Styles Services Co Ltd, the company responsible for managing Shein’s product trading websites in Europe, the authority said in a statement.

The AGCM accused it of “misleading and/or deceptive environmental messages and claims… in the promotion and sale of Shein-branded clothing products”. These were “in some instances, vague, generic, and/or overly emphatic, and in others, misleading or omissive”. In particular, claims about the recyclability of products “were found to be either false or at least confusing”, it said.

Consumers could easily be led to believe Shein products were made exclusively from sustainable materials and fully recyclable, “a statement which, given the fibres used and current recycling systems, does not reflect reality”.

The AGCM also took issue with the retailer’s claims it would reduce greenhouse gas emissions by 25 per cent by 2030 and reach zero emissions by 2050.

These “vague” pledges by a company which has seen phenomenal growth in recent years were “contradicted by an actual increase in Shein’s greenhouse gas emissions in 2023 and 2024”, it said.

In a statement to AFP, Shein said it had “cooperated fully” with the watchdog’s investigation and “took immediate action” to address the concerns, saying all environmental claims on the website were now “clear, specific and compliant with regulations”.

Environmentalists have long warned of the damage wreaked by the fast-fashion sector’s wasteful trend of mass producing low-cost clothes that are quickly thrown away. Fast fashion uses up massive amounts of water, produces hazardous chemicals and clogs up landfills in poor countries with textile waste, while also generating greenhouse gases in production, transport and disposal.

Bezos’ Amazon, as we all know, has been marred with highly credible accusations of poor safety conditions and a terrible working environment, including being so demanding about meeting targets that workers urinated in bottles to avoid taking bathroom breaks while on shift. The company also won’t allow its workers to unionise — which would allow them to bargain for better wages and safety conditions.

After knowing all that, it’s difficult for most people to rationalise celebrating a lavish wedding, no matter how glamorous it may be. The wedding is rumoured to have cost over $20 million.

Several people mocked the wedding and all its pre-events as being “ghetto” or tacky and it’s not difficult to see why.

Many eyes zoomed in on the guest list, which included the Kardashians, Ivanka Trump, model Karlie Kloss (who is Ivanka’s sister-in-law), Leonardo DiCaprio (who positions himself as a climate activist), Sydney Sweeney, Oprah Winfrey, Bill Gates and many other celebrities.

They were flown in on over 90 private jets, so any claims they have made about supporting climate conscious activities or ventures don’t really hold much weight.

DiCaprio’s attendance — in a black baseball hat no less! — was something a lot of people highlighted, especially given his climate activism work. It’s kind of difficult to listen to someone preach about sustainability and saving the planet when they’re being flown across the world in a private jet and hanging out with someone with a carbon footprint the size of a small country.

Many had some valid questions — why should the burden of saving the planet be on common people when a billionaire is creating more of a negative impact over the course of a weekend than most people will in their entire lives? We wonder how many recycled yoghurt cups it would take to make up for the emissions from all those private jets…

Venice has been protesting Bezos’ wedding with a passion, citing the effects of over-tourism in the city as well as how little the billionaire pays in taxes — from huge banners to floating effigies of Bezos, the residents of the city made it clear with their “No Space For Bezos” campaign that he was not welcome.

And then, of course, came the primary reason everyone is angry — Bezos’ tax rate is less than most people’s at just 1.1 per cent. That means he is able to hoard so much wealth — and, in turn, host such an extravagant — because of the tax cuts he has been given by governments.

It’s also laughable that this wedding comes at a time when New York City mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani has been criticised as a threat to US democracy over his socialist views and proposed policies that aim to tax the rich and help the average person.

There were, of course, arguments made online that it’s their money, and they should be allowed to spend it as they please. That argument only holds up when said money hasn’t been made through the exploitation of others.

The overwhelming sentiment online — tax the rich and stop allowing billionaires to behave as if the planet isn’t dying.

“Four hundred. They are all Rs400. Take it or leave it,” he tells a customer, his mouth curved into a thin line. I pick up a strawberry-printed cropped green sweater vest labelled Shein. When I ask if he will answer a few questions for me, he looks at me hesitantly. “What are the questions?” he mutters.

Sheharyar is right to be sceptical — I’m not just curious about how he picks his items, how sellers and buyers interact, and how pricing works, but also about the online thrift scene that may or may not impact his business. I want the full picture, from the nitty-gritty of sourcing to how market vendors are adapting to the rising popularity of online thrift stores in Pakistan.

After all, the recent proliferation of Instagram thrift stores has been nothing short of explosive. What was once dismissed as ‘landa’, a term weighed down by class associations, has been embraced as ‘thrifting’, a term that carries a distinctly cooler, more curated connotation.

In the West, thrift culture exploded in the 2010s and early 2020s, especially among Gen Z and millennials. Platforms like Depop, Poshmark, and TikTok helped turn thrift hauls, #thriftflip, and vintage finds into cultural mainstays.

This trend made its way to South Asia, where Instagram-based thrift stores began doing weekly curated drops to reposition landay ka maal or second-hand clothes as affordable, stylish, sustainable, and status-agnostic. Social media transformed thrifted purchases into ‘finds’, helping shed the stigma once attached to wearing someone else’s castoffs.

Today, thrifting is no longer about necessity — it’s become aspirational. And ultimately, it all ties back to the open markets where the ‘landa bazaar’ culture first began.

‘Landa’ — the new ‘it’ thing

Sheharyar tells me he’s been selling at such bazaars for the past three years, and his connection to the trade dates back generations. He’s well aware of the online thrifting scene and says it hasn’t hurt his own business. If anything, it has encouraged more customers to buy secondhand goods from him. And although Sheharyar agrees that selling his items online might be more profitable, “this works for me”. “Online sellers themselves come to me,” he says.

Among the many different buyers at the market, there’s a certain demographic, according to Sheharyar, that comes solely for flea market flipping, which involves purchasing on-trend clothing pieces and reselling them for marked-up prices online. “They buy from us — ladies, etcetera — and they sell for really high prices.” He makes it a point to note that it’s mostly women. “Yes, they come here a lot. But it’s fine, they’re just doing their job.” It’s all part of business, he assures me.

Just a few days before, I had contacted Fatima, the owner of a popular thrift page on Instagram who advertises “preloved” items. When I asked where she sourced her products from, she ghosted me. Sheharyar, however, has no such advantage. He tells me outright, “USA. I get them in bulk from Shershah in Lyari.”

That’s one of the differences, I suppose, between operating a business online and offline. Online, there’s less accountability; you do not owe anyone anything. You can even get away with charging double and triple the rates of offline sellers.

My fascination with this subject began with a pair of shoes. I found them while scrolling through an Instagram thrift store late one night, and couldn’t believe my luck in stumbling upon the hard-to-come-by Vans Old Skool Rainbow Checkerboard Skates. And in my size too! When my eyes landed on the price, my face fell. Rs4,000. There was no way I could cough up that amount for a pair of secondhand sneakers.

Two months later, I discovered the same pair and many more at the Bachat Bazaar for a fraction of that previous price — Rs1,200 before bargaining, but sadly not in my size. It makes me wonder why anyone would choose to thrift online when more economical options exist.

Danyal Shaikh, 29, has had a similar experience. He’s the chief operating officer of Sunday Bazar, a popular thrift page on Instagram that boasts a follower count of 348,000. But he didn’t get here easily. His journey began when he, too, had the Bachat Bazaar revelation.

Fed up with constantly requesting relatives abroad to bring back sneakers and jackets for him, he finally ventured out to the open-air thrift markets in the suburbs of Karachi. There, he discovered the same products for a price that barely scratched the surface of what they cost abroad. “To wear Jordans, I’d have to ask my father to smuggle money,” Shaikh joked. “But anyone can afford a pair from a thrift store.”

Sourcing from ‘bulk-buying areas’

Shaikh began his operations selling pre-loved goods on a humble little page on Instagram during the Covid-19 lockdown in 2020. His first sale was a pair of Zara heels.

His page has steadily grown since and reached a wider audience. He now has 29 employees stationed across Pakistan, and he offers a range of clothing items, from shoes and blouses to handbags. He even has a website to streamline operations and improve customer access. But what I’m really curious about is where all these products come from.

To that, Shaikh gives me the same answer as Sheharyar. He names a few “bulk-buying areas,” as he calls them — Shershah, Bin Qasim Zone, Pushtoon Market in Orangi Town, and others — where goods are bought in large heaps.

The piles, he tells me, are split based on quality. “An A-grade pile, for instance, would have the good stock, with branded tags. They’re usually leftover pieces that might have slight defects or just didn’t get sold.”

Meanwhile, quality reduces when you get to the B, C and D scales, but naturally, so does the price. A single A-grade pile consisting of 1,000 articles of clothing costs Rs3,500 on average.

This is the same price you might pay for a single piece in a regular, branded store at the mall. According to him, 90 per cent of these items are in amazing condition. This differs from what Sheharyar told me about his bulk purchases; half of the articles end up being unusable. But perhaps he’s getting a low-grade pile.

Sheharyar also had a lot to say about the types of customers that visit his store. He looked me up and down, a hint of a smile on his face, before calling them “cheapskates”. I accepted the personal attack and couldn’t help but laugh. Before I agreed to settle on his resolute price of Rs400 for the sweater, Sheharyar and I spent a couple of minutes going back and forth on the cost. Unsurprisingly, people are always bargaining in thrift markets too.

Alina Stephen, or Mrs Bhatti, as she likes to be called, is one of the only female vendors I see at the bazaar. Her speciality is hair accessories. She tells me that for a hair clip priced at just Rs100, customers argue, “This is too much!” She switches to a mock English accent and with it adopts all the airs and graces of a DHA auntie as she imitates them. I burst into laughter and she’s visibly pleased by her joke.

“What’s too much in this?” she asks. “You’re getting out of such a big car and can’t even spare Rs100 for a clip!”

Thrift selling as a woman

Mrs Bhatti goes on to tell me about how these customers purchase the same products for double and triple the price from male vendors or other markets outside of the bazaar. “We’ve facilitated this inflation, you and I. We’re the ones who consume these items at unreasonably high rates,” she reflects.

It’s not easy operating a stall within the Bachat Bazaar as a woman and Mrs Bhatti has had to face discrimination because she is a woman. There have been numerous occasions where her agreement for a stall space was unexpectedly revoked and handed over to someone else. She points to a female friend at a nearby stall who has faced similar issues.

“They should be encouraging us; at least we aren’t using illegitimate means to make our earnings. But no, they just want to make our lives a living hell,” she tells me, adding that she has a store in Gulf market and will solely focus on that now.

I scan the rows for more women vendors, but they’re few and far between. When I approach one of the other rare women vendors, she hesitates to go on record but nods in agreement with Mrs Bhatti’s account. “It’s not easy,” she whispers, glancing at nearby vendors. “We have to fight twice as hard to hold our place here.” It becomes evident that while thrift spaces are expanding, the gender gap — both in selling and buying — remains deeply entrenched.

Women and bazaars — a never-ending struggle

A pair of Jordans wasn’t the only thing that inspired Shaikh to take his thrift finds online. He noticed that accessing thrift stores wasn’t as easy for women as it was for him. Seeing the gap, he took the leap of faith, and today, his customer base includes mostly women. “It’s hard for women to access these markets — they’re either too crowded and male-dominated, the commute is too far, or bargaining is a hassle. E-commerce just makes it easier.”

Arsh Khan, 20, an avid thrifter in Islamabad, echoed Shaikh’s sentiment. “I love going to the bazaar with my friends,” she says, “but we always go when it’s daytime and we’re very cautious. If I’m alone, I usually just stick to online pages.” She shares how navigating crowded markets often means enduring stares or discomfort when bargaining with male vendors. “Online thrift stores just make things easier.”

Sofia Saeed, 18, feels the same way. She tells me she cannot fathom going to a bazaar on her own because it’s a safety hazard. “There are a bunch of weird people, and they stare at you all weird; it dampens the vibe.” She shares that the experience can be very disorienting. “Sometimes you get shoved by random women shopping, and they just briskly pass you without saying sorry!”

‘Glorified Sunday Bazaar for the rich’

Located at Teen Talwar in Clifton, Karachi Playhouse is a bustling spot for thrifters. Unlike the weekend Bachat Bazaar, it’s open every day and attracts many customers. But if you look closely, they all look very similar. A young vendor tells me that it’s mostly just residents of Clifton and Defence, more affluent neighbourhoods.

I notice the very clear difference between the Bachat Bazaar and Playhouse — the latter seems to be the more accessible option. It’s a closed space where otherwise uncomfortable buyers can engage in thrift shopping without having to visit an open-air market with hordes of people.

No beggars are trailing behind you, no sun beating down on your face, no mosquitoes whining in your ear. Even the sellers seem attuned to their buyers’ social standing and psyche — they know exactly what to say and do to land a hefty sale.

In my notes, I write, “glorified Sunday Bazaar for the rich,” which is ironic, because Sunday Bazaar itself is a glorified version of preexisting landa bazaars like the one at Lighthouse. In many ways, Playhouse functions as the polished twin of Bachat Bazaar, sanitised, enclosed, and priced for a more affluent, sheltered demographic. A shopkeeper tries to sell me a plain white crop top for Rs700. I tell him I will only purchase it for Rs200. He laughs in my face.

A young vendor informs me that crop tops are a hot seller among the ladies. He’s unfamiliar with the term “thrifting” but agrees that the items he’s selling are landay ka maal or secondhand goods. I ask him what the most expensive thing he’s sold is. He pauses for a moment, his face splitting into a leering smile, before he says, “A pair of shoes?” Then, he points to a lacy lingerie piece on a hanger above his head. “Or a bra, maybe.”

I’m with my friend when this happens, and sensing an uncomfortable energy, we both slowly walk out. He stops in front of us, a wide grin on his face as he leans against the doorframe. “Do you want to buy something? I’ll give you a special discount.”

It hits me how even the accessible and “safer” markets can become an uncomfortable space if you’re a woman. I’m reminded of Mrs Bhatti’s story and think back to what Sheharyar had said about women purchasing products from him and going on to sell them online, and what Shaikh had said about physical markets being an accessibility and safety concern for women.

He gets his stock from Shershah after crossing the difficult Lyari streets to get to his A-grade piles. Meanwhile, it’s not as easy for women. Perhaps selecting items from Sunday Bazaar vendors and then selling them online is the most natural step for them. It also explains the pricing difference.

One woman’s trash, another woman’s treasure

But what about the buyers? Why is thrifting a natural step for them? If you ask Shaikh, he’ll tell you to think of a Jafferjees wallet. “That’s like Rs10,000 right there. Now compare it to Sunday Bazaar, you can get the same material for less than a fifth of the price.” According to him, this is the attraction of thrift markets in Pakistan — the fact that they’re cost-effective, trendy, an easy way to own otherwise fast-fashion products, and all in all, a sustainable choice. Additionally, there is no compromise on quality. It’s a win-win!

For Khan, thrifting is a hobby, and it’s one that she doesn’t take lightly. Every other week, she makes a plan with her friends to scour the I-8 Sunday Bazaar in Islamabad, determined to find the most unique pieces to fit in her fashionable wardrobe. She also spends a good chunk of time scrolling through her Instagram, going through all of the thrift store pages she follows — she follows hundreds! — in search of the best finds.

“On average, I probably spend like Rs5,000 in a row, so whenever I do shopping, it’s at least Rs5,000 — that’s a rough scale,” she tells me. Khan describes thrifting as a treasure hunt. “You really have to dig through piles and search for gems. I usually go with my friends, and it’s like a whole activity.”

She prefers thrifting over going to regular stores. “The [regular store] clothes just feel so mass-produced, like they’re made in a factory and everyone has the same ones. It doesn’t stand out to me.”

Nobody’s gonna know.

The only time Khan ventures into a store to shop is with her mother, whom she explains doesn’t appreciate her second-hand clothes. “It’s a really weird concept to her that I get my clothes second-hand or pre-loved,” she laughs.

I understand where she’s coming from. Whenever I show my grandmother my thrifted finds, she is horrified, a look of disgust on her face. “You can’t wear those!” she shrieks. “Someone already wore it!” It seems unacceptable to older desi women to rewear an item of clothing that previously belonged to a stranger. Of course, there’s also the status aspect of it: what will people think if they find out you’re wearing cheap “landa ka maal”?

Well, the fantastic thing about landa is — how would anyone know? Khan’s favourite item she’s ever thrifted is a long leather jacket with a fur collar. “The quality seemed so good, and I was so amazed because I got it from the Sunday Bazaar that I looked up the company. It’s called Rothschild — it’s a designer brand. The original price of the jacket was $700, and I got it for Rs2,000!” She is buzzing with excitement as she tells me this. It’s clear Khan takes pride in her thrifted purchases. She tells me that she triumphantly tells anyone who compliments her clothes that they are thrifted.

But it hasn’t always been this way. There was a time when a greater stigma was attached to second-hand clothes. Shaikh does not recall these days fondly; however, he now has a retort ready. “It doesn’t say on anyone’s shoes that they’re wearing second-hand, but what you can see is that they are wearing Jordans.”

In his video posted on Monday, Buckley claimed that locals had said the resort was dumping waste into the lake and showed the contrast between brown, murky water emerging from the boundaries of the resort and the blue water of the lake.

“The beauty of Lake Attabad is the colour of the turquoise water, and if this continues, you can literally see the brown going all the way around […] where we’re standing at the moment, the winds coming towards us, it smells bad,” he said in the video.

After the video was shared online and garnered one million views and over 37,000 likes, authorities in Gilgit-Baltistan sealed on Tuesday a section of the resort and fined its owner Rs1.5 million for non-compliance with environmental standards.

Gilgit-Baltistan Environmental Protection Agency (GBEPA) Director Khadim Hussain, the Hunza deputy commissioner and other officials inspected the hotel’s environment and sewage system.

The district administration shut down the entire extension of the resort. The sealed portion will remain closed until corrective measures are completed and formal clearance is granted by the EPA after a re-inspection.

The administration has also launched a review of all no-objection certificates issued to hotels and restaurants in the Attabad Lake area.

Dawn tried to contact the management of Luxus Resort Attabad, as well as their offices in Lahore, but no one was immediately available to comment on the issue.

In an Instagram video posted on Tuesday, Luxus denied the claim and said the “adjacent water streams coming from the mountains have natural sediments like mud, rocks and minerals”.

“When these turbid water streams mix with the blue lake water, this causes the muddy/cloudy appearance of water seen near Luxus Hunza.”

The resort said the phenomenon was known as “confluence”, where two separately flowing water bodies meet. “If one of the water bodies is high in turbidity, then this causes a muddy/cloudy water surface at the point of confluence. This phenomenon is more pronounced during the summer, which is why every summer, Luxus Hunza is falsely accused of dumping waste water into the lake.”

Following the action from authorities, Buckley posted another video and said, “The hotel I called out yesterday in Pakistan has been found to have been dumping sewage into the lake. This started from my post, and it has now reached a national level. [It’s] all over the news, the government has gotten involved, officials have arrived to the building. I’m in disbelief, to be honest.”

He maintained that Luxus denied all claims and did not provide any credible documents against his allegations. Buckley also thanked everyone from Pakistan who interacted with the post.

“I don’t like drama or getting involved in this stuff, but I felt it was important to address, and within 24 hours, there has been swift action.”

He also distanced himself from the scenario, citing safety reasons, and thanked everyone who raised their voices, adding that it was a shame that nothing was done sooner.

“I haven’t changed my opinion on Pakistan,” Buckley clarified. “I still think it’s a wonderful country, I’ve had lots of great experiences. I’m just documenting my travels as honestly as possible.”

In August of last year, the Hunza district administration and GBEPA took stringent measures against other hotels for similar violations.

At that time, Luxus Resort and Dolphin Floating Resort were sealed due to improper management of grey water from washrooms and kitchens.

“Hola mis recicla-amores [Hello my recycling loves]!” the 32-year-old, who is on a mission to teach Colombians how to sort their waste, says to greet her half-a-million Instagram followers. Samaniego, who wears blue overalls and a baseball cap on backwards as part of her “Marce, la recicladora” (Marce, the recycler) social media alter ego, has also become an unofficial spokeswoman for the 74,000 people who rummage through the garbage of Latin America’s fourth-biggest economy every day.

Colombian cities have no public recycling systems. Instead, they rely on informal waste pickers to go through bins and garbage left out for collection to salvage cardboard, glass, plastic and other reusable materials.

Across the world, between 20 and 34 million people play a crucial role in environmental protection by collecting and sorting waste recyclables — dirty, dangerous work for which most are paid a pittance.

Throughout the developing world, waste pickers can be seen pulling carts laden high with bric-a-brac through dense traffic. Samaniego tries to boost their visibility by profiling waste pickers on her YouTube and Instagram accounts.

She “encourages people to understand the work of recyclers from the inside,” Zoraya Avendano, the manager of a warehouse where the recyclers sell their wares for a few pesos, said.

Originally published in Dawn, March 19th, 2025

Ghosh “has delved deeply into the question of how to do justice to this existential threat that defies our imagination,” the prize committee said in a statement.

The Erasmus Prize, due to be presented by Dutch King Willem-Alexander on Tuesday, is awarded for an “exceptional contribution to the humanities, the social sciences or the arts, in Europe and beyond.”

The winner receives a cash prize of 150,000 euros ($157,000).

The Praemium Erasmianum Foundation, which awards the prize, noted that Ghosh had described how the effects of climate change have been “inextricably linked” to human destiny on the Indian subcontinent.

It cited his work The Hungry Tide, which portrayed how rising sea levels were devastating life in the Sundarbans, the world’s largest mangrove forest.

The 68-year-old’s work is also political, with The Great Derangement setting climate change in the context of war and trade.

“Through understanding and imagination he creates space for hope, a prerequisite for change,” said the prize committee.

Born in Kolkata, Ghosh has won several literary prizes, including the 2018 Jnanpith Award, India’s top award.

In a series of Instagram stories, the Nayab actor asked the government to create a long-term plan and prevent new housing societies from operating.

“We have already compromised all of our green land. Lahore urgently needs a vertical building plan. The green areas from Lahore to Gujranwala and Lahore to Bedian even close to the Indian border, have almost entirely been consumed.”

According to Khan, schools still needed to pay rent and salaries and even businesses cannot operate in the current environment. He emphasised that the government needed to understand that they could not shut signals, schools and businesses in every situation.

He added that his comment about schools was regarding smaller schools, not “A category schools”.

“They don’t have proper access to [an] online system plus they charge not more than Rs2,000 — Rs4,000 in fees per month.”

Last week, the Punjab government declared an emergency in Lahore and Multan, where a “complete lockdown” will be imposed from Fridays to Sundays due to the intensity of smog.

Dense smog, caused by toxic pollutants, has engulfed several cities in Punjab over the past few weeks, with Lahore and Multan being the worst hit. The AQI reading in Multan has already crossed 2,000 twice, setting a new record for air pollution.

“We are declaring a health emergency in Lahore and Multan,” provincial minister Marriyum Aurangzeb told a press conference on Friday.

The minister said a complete lockdown will be enforced on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays in both cities.

James, whose grandfather was a refugee who fled Greece for Syria during World War Two, will join the UN refugee agency and refugee advocates at the climate summit in Baku.

The Gentlemen and Divergent actor travelled to Mauritania’s southeastern Hodh Chargui region last month, meeting refugees who had fled conflict in Mali for an area already facing poverty, limited access to basic services and climate shocks.

The semi-arid Sahel has been hit by increasing weather extremes including higher temperatures and drought.

“Refugees do not contribute to the vast majority of rising global temperatures and carbon emissions but they are on the frontline of suffering,” James told Reuters.

In its first climate report released on Tuesday, the UNHCR said three out of four forcibly displaced people worldwide — 90 million out of 120 million — lived in countries exposed to high to extreme climate change impacts.

“Now the UNHCR has… specific data which links the climate crisis to forcibly displaced people and the refugee crisis, we need to amplify the message that those two things are intimately interlinked,” James said.

“They will forever be hand in hand and more so in the future.”

The summit has been dubbed the “climate finance COP” for its central goal: to agree on how much money should go each year to helping developing countries cope with climate-related costs.

Just last week, the city’s Air Quality Index (AQI) soared to alarming levels, surpassing 1,000 in some areas, a level deemed hazardous for public health and safety. To put it into context, a score of 150 is unhealthy, 500 is labelled hazardous and often the highest number shown on the index.

Amidst this grey haze, the Punjab government attempted to implement a “green lockdown” in designated smog hotspots across Lahore on October 31. This included imposing restrictions on barbecue joints, motorcycle-rickshaws and marriage halls.

This initiative wasn’t enough, and several other places have been closed or temporarily restricted for the public, because, you know, breathing and fresh air are pretty important for human existence.

Here’s a list of places Lahoris can’t visit and things they can’t do because of the smog.

Schools

The right to education has taken a backseat in Lahore. The provincial government closed all public and private schools and colleges across 18 districts of the province from November 7 to 17 to protect students and staff from exposure to the toxic air.

Special education schools

Additionally, the Environmental Protection Agency ordered all special education schools in Lahore to send students with conditions/diseases susceptible to poor air on a three-month leave.

Sports galas

Punjab Senior Minister Marriyum Aurangzeb announced the postponement of the provincial sports gala due to severe smog, which will be rescheduled once conditions improve.

Public spaces

According to a notice issued on November 8, the Punjab government barred the public from entering public parks, zoos, playgrounds, and museums from November 8 to 17, amid deteriorating air quality across the province.

The ban encompasses Punjab’s districts of Lahore, Sheikhupura, Kasur, Nankana Sahib, Gujranwala, Gujrat, Hafizabad, Mandi Bahauddin, Sialkot, Narowal, Faisalabad, Chiniot, Jhang, Toba Tek Singh, Multan, Lodhran, Vehari and Khanewal.

Parks

This includes public AND private parks.

Zoos

Lahore Zoo, who?

Historical places and monuments

Cancel your tickets to the Badshahi Mosque… and Minar-e-Pakistan… and the Shalimar Gardens. The historic city needs to breathe first.

Joylands and playlands

Unfortunately, you can’t live out your Saim Sadiq-inspired Joyland fantasies in Lahore.

The Pakistan Air Quality Experts’ Group, comprising leading air quality experts, researchers, doctors and scientists, criticised the government’s measures as insufficient and poorly planned, arguing they are unlikely to have a measurable impact on reducing air pollution.

Since the air quality isn’t getting any better, even though barbecuing is restricted, make sure to take safety precautions when stepping outside.

Wear an N95 mask when outdoors, avoid smoking, wash your hands returning coming indoors, hydrate, avoid going outdoors excessively, carpool and use air purifiers.

Cover: Mohammad Wasif/Instagram

For days, Lahore’s 14 million people have been enveloped by smog — a mix of fog and pollutants caused by low-grade diesel fumes, smoke from seasonal agricultural burning, and winter cooling. Primary schools have been shut down for a week, travelling is dangerous, and the very act of breathing is hazardous.

According to Dawn, the air quality index (AQI), which measures a range of pollutants, exceeded 1,000 on Saturday — well above the level of 300 which is considered “dangerous” — according to data from IQAir.

The Punjab government also recorded peaks of over 1,000 on Sunday, which it considered “unprecedented”.

Photographer and content creator Mohammad Wasif flew his drone over Lahore one morning, and the outcome was bleak, to say the least — the entire city was submerged in a thick blanket of grey haze, the bright red of the Badshahi Mosque barely visible.

“How can we breathe in such air quality?” Wasif questioned in his caption.

RIP Lungs

Needless to say, Lahoris aren’t too happy about the situation. Content creator Nadir Shah posted a video about returning to Lahore and breathing it all in. The video cuts to him splayed out on the ground.

Abdul Rehman Kashmiri pretends to beat up a Lahori after they say the iconic “Lahore Lahore ayy” (Lahore is Lahore) despite the terrible air quality.

Many X (formerly Twitter) users highlighted the adverse impact of the smog on their health, with one very eloquently stating that the people of Lahore were “so cooked”. (For those who aren’t chronically online, this means they’re doomed).

“Sore throat, burning eyes and stifling air — Lahore’s air quality has plummeted to some of the worst levels globally. The thick, smoky haze hangs over the city, making it feel increasingly unlivable.”

Another netizen highlighted that her lingering headache was returning, “Hello, Lahore smog. Just when we hoped we might get a little more time without you.” Meanwhile, another X user reached Lahore from Islamabad and “immediately felt an assault of gross smoke” that was more severe than the usual smog.

Worsening health conditions caused by smog aren’t new for Lahoris. A tweet from 2021 read, “Once again a rich vein of pristine phlegm at the back of my throat heralds the arrival of smog season.”

Even former cricketer Mohammad Hafeez chimed in about the plethora of health concerns faced by the city, like viral infections, smog and dengue fever.

What’s the govt doing?

Several people criticised the Maryam Nawaz-led Punjab government for failing to take action against the smog, while others called for tangible action to combat the issue. One user questioned why the government could not take any “practical step[s] like limiting vehicle usage at certain times, making air purifier zones and cloud seeding or artificial rain?”

Activist Ammar Ali Jan called the situation an “ecological apocalypse”, adding that cities in Pakistan only worked for “land mafias, car/oil companies and corrupt bureaucrats”.

“Only those who can afford air-purifiers can survive. Privatisation of clean air! Absolutely criminal and insane,” he wrote.

Another netizen questioned what Maryam and the deputy commissioner of Lahore were doing, highlighting that it was increasingly difficult for citizens to breathe.

“Citizens are looking at you. When will you take any action to lessen the intensity?”

People called on the provincial government to do more than “lip service, dashboards and TV advertisements”, while others called for an immediate “smart lockdown” to save people from the “biohazard” caused by the smog.

A non-Lahori, in town to attend a family wedding, described how horrendous it was to deal with smog for the first time — “everyone has a bad throat, eyes are burning and breathing problem”.

They maintained that the government did not have a plan to combat the issue, “while Lahoris’ average lifespan is shortening with each year”.

Keep calm and meme on

However, as with any calamity in Pakistan, internet users were on point with their meme game, not letting the lack of fresh air in Lahore stop them in any way.

One user highlighted that after the smog, Lahore would make a good zombie apocalypse movie, while another questioned if something could “suck the smog out of Lahore” because they didn’t feel very “Lahore Lahore ayy”.

Another X user said smog in Karachi was cleared by the sea breeze and smog in Islamabad by the rain, while Lahoris were left at a loss, using an iconic gif of racer Lewis Hamilton looking immensely confused to depict what we’re sure all Lahoris feel.

Precautions, precautions, precautions

The smog has reportedly affected millions, leaving them with symptoms such as cough, difficulties in breathing, eye irritation and headaches. Experts have raised alarm over the deteriorating air quality in the city, which they claim leads to life-altering problems like depression and impacts the growth of the children.

It, therefore, becomes extremely important for the people living in and around Lahore to take adequate precautionary measures.

It’s important for those living in smoggy conditions to wear a proper N95 mask that covers their mouth and nose when stepping outside. You should avoid smoking altogether — please don’t contribute more to the smog and worsen your lungs — and instead opt for hot drinks and lots of water. Wash your hands and face after you return indoors, and limit excessive time outdoors.

Be a good citizen and try to carpool or use public transport to travel, avoid burning wood and trash — obviously — and seal the vents of your home with masking tape or place moist towels under doors and windows. Lastly, if you can afford to, use air purifiers in your homes.

Stay safe, and don’t forget — smog or no smog, Lahore Lahore ayy.

SOC Films held a screening of the trailers of five films produced by its Her Earth Advocates fellows — 10 female filmmakers from across Pakistan who created films on climate change and the way it’s impacting Pakistanis — and a chance to meet the filmmakers.

In the first two rows of the event were a number of stars — Sarwat Gilani, her husband Fahad Mirza, Mehwish Hayat, Syra Yousuf, Ali Hamza and Samina Ahmed, to name a few. Behind them sat equally big names in the world of advocacy, filmmaking and art. But their combined stardom wasn’t enough to draw the audience’s attention away from the large screen on stage projecting the trailers of five films.

Each of the films was powerful in its own way but each one followed the lives of Pakistanis affected by a problem not of their own making. We’ve been told time again that Pakistan is one of the most affected countries when it comes to climate change, and we saw it during the 2022 floods, but, as one filmmaker from the previous cycle put it, “People think of vulnerable communities when the disasters hit, but not after that. The story starts after, the disaster starts after that.”

The five teams were mentored for seven months by filmmaker Jesse Ericka Epstein. The programme started in April and focused on the central themes of climate change and women’s empowerment in Pakistan and was funded by the United States Institute of Peace.

And with the trailers of these five films, we saw that disaster play out in real time. After the trailer of their film played, the filmmakers were invited onto the stage and asked a few questions by Chinoy.

Nadia Zartaj & Nagina Jabeen

The first film trailer shown was by Nadia Zartaj and Nagina Jabeen on the valley of Avagrach in Gilgit-Baltistan. The village, once a thriving home to over 500 people is now nearly abandoned after a devastating flood caused by melting glaciers in 2012. The film followed the story of Ghulam Safeer and his wife — Jabeen’s parents — and explored their longing for a home lost.

“Nagina told me the story of her parents and when I met her mother, she said a line that stuck with me — ‘when I wake up, I dream of Avagrach’,” Zartaj explained.

“For me, it’s special because I grew up there. The road was destroyed and there was such a massive impact on our family, especially my parents,” said Jabeen. The impact on her family and her community’s economy pushed her to make the film.

“Gilgit-Baltistan and Hunza are very beautiful and tourists come and enjoy the mountains and leave trash behind. Only we know the problems we face. There are lots of other hidden stories there because we’re traditionally and culturally rich people,” she said.

Another motivator for her was that there are no female filmmakers in Hunza.

Zartaj said she’d been working in this field since 2021 but this was her first time participating in a mentorship programme. “[I want to] tell stories that — forget the world, people in Pakistan don’t know them either — I want the world to know these stories and problems.”

Maira Pasha & Shifa Rajput

The second film was about the coastal village of Rehri Goth, a stone’s throw from Karachi. In fact, that it is not considered part of Karachi is one of the issues touched upon by the filmmakers — the systemic exclusion of an entire community. The once-thriving fishing community now faces the devastating impacts of industrialisation and climate change, with the women of the community having to become breadwinners as the men go out to sea for longer periods or fall prey to alcoholism or drug addiction.

One of the challenges the filmmakers faced was reaching the area. “We didn’t even know about it, despite Maira living here for 22 years and me for three,” said Rajput. A lack of accessibility coloured much of their shoot, with internal politics surrounding turfs and industries made it challenging to navigate.

“It’s a community isolated from the city and the country. They’ve formed their own ecosystem of sorts. There are 17 clans in that small area,” said Pasha.

When asked what the community’s understanding of climate change was, Rajput said they understand it in that they’re facing the consequences of it every day, but they don’t know about the terminology or why it’s happening. “They know their ancient way of life is dying out as is fishing.”

An interesting thing she noted is that the women have now started working in the surrounding factories, which is — to an outsider — rather empowering. However, the filmmakers questioned how empowering it truly is because they didn’t choose to work themselves — they were compelled to do so by their circumstances.

“It’s a vicious cycle — they’re working at the same factories that are dumping sewerage into the sea that is killing their livelihood,” said Pasha.

They’re hoping that people in charge of policy decisions see their film and put an end to the systemic exclusion of these people from public discourse.

Saro Imran & Zareen Rajpoot

The third film, titled In Their Shoes, was by Patakha Pictures’ first transgender fellows and focused on trans women affected by the floods in Punjab’s Muzaffargarh. The short documentary follows the lives of Rashi and Mushtaqii who lost much of their livelihood during the floods.

“I’ve been working for trans rights but never thought about climate change. But when it comes to it, trans people are doubly marginalised,” said Imran. She explained that they are not included in any policies and are actively excluded from disaster response and denied healthcare support, leaving them alone and isolated.

Rajpoot, who began her career as a YouTuber, said it is important to raise your voice on social media, because that’s where the youth are. Through her work as a filmmaker, she hopes to give voice to her community. “No trans person has showed their community on a level as big as we have today,” she said.

Imran spoke of the inclusion of trans people in mainstream media. She hopes to emphasise equality through her work. “There have been some visible steps towards visibility, such as Joyland, but that received a lot of backlash. That backlash, however, made us stronger,” she said.

National and international community everyone should know policies say just men and women documents we should be incorporated in all policies related to climate change

Natasha Javed & Nirmal Bano

The fourth trailer shown was on the Sutlej River and titled The Mother, The Sons and The Holy River.

Bano explained that they decided to explore the idea of rivers for their film because Bano comes from Punjab, where rivers are a big part of their myths, legends and history. “But we no longer talk about them.”

While researching, they found out that revolutionary Sardar Bhagat Singh’s ashes had been scattered in the river in 1931. His mother’s were as well in 1975. That brought in the idea that the river belongs to the dead and that it itself is a dying river having been given to India.

Bano said that though she had been in the field for seven years, she had never made a documentary. She was all praises for mentor Jesse Epstein and said that “unlike our educational institutes, I experienced praised and excitement from Jesse” and that admiration encouraged her.

Declaring herself “uncultured” for finding documentaries rather boring in the past, Bano said she watched many during the past couple of weeks and believes she will now be making more of them.

Sabika Noor Ali & Namrah Sikander

The final trailer shown was the most unique — it was on lightning strikes killing people in Tharparkar, transforming rain and lightning from a joyous experience into something to be feared.

“It was strange to us,” said Sikander. “We love music and rain and believe that when we connect with nature, we connect to our creative pursuits better. Tharparkar had a similar love of rain and music — much of their music is about rain, which is a source of sustenance for them.”

While researching, they found about about lightning strikes and how even for survivors, the aftermath is very difficult. “Something so beautiful, something that brought them happiness is becoming a source of fear,” she said.

Ali said that filming their project was great. I’d barely been out of Karachi and hadn’t been exposed to a village before, she said. “Going out to a new environment put into perspective how different their lives are,” the filmmaker said, highlighting the network problems and connectivity issues.

In a panel immediately following the screening hosted by Sarwat Gillani, Epstein said that the goal of the project is to keep people connected to telling the stories they want to tell and creating an incredible ecosystem of filmmakers. “And it’s working.”

“None of this would be possible if we didn’t have the support of yourselves and your wallets,” said Chinoy to laughter from the audience. “[Your support] is so important, we couldn’t do this without you.”

And just how important that support is was illustrated by one of the filmmakers from the previous cycle. “Female filmmakers in Pakistan are struggling. We got lucky by being selected for this fellowship and getting funds, but as independent filmmakers, we struggle to makes our own films. We really need you guys to help us. Keep supporting SOC films and female filmmakers, because we’ll do wonders.”

Hamimommy, a mom with over two million subscribers, takes us through a sensory experience of domesticity. Her videos barely show her face, yet reveal an intimate look inside her home through moments where she reads a book to her daughter, Hami, in bed.

While in her kitchen, Hamimommy meticulously covers a leftover piece of cabbage with paper towel so it doesn’t change colour and lasts longer. She then cuts the white parts of green onion and leaves them aside to freeze and to use in broths in the future. Nothing edible ever goes in the trash and is either frozen or refrigerated for later use. As Hamimommy chops mushrooms, radishes and carrots for a stir fry, she uses the scraps to make hot vegetable tea.

This meticulous care and frugality is perhaps an extension of South Korea as a society. The country is also one of the world leaders for recycling, with its recycling and composting rate at 60 per cent, which the World Bank says is one of the highest in the world. Its waste management system, known as jongnyangje, separates food, garbage and recyclables into colour-coded bags.

In 2013, South Korea introduced compulsory food waste recycling. According to a World Economic Forum report, the country put a cost of about $6 a month on biodegradable bags for an average four-person family, so you essentially pay a tax for throwing away food. This is partly how they generate money to execute the campaign and encourage home composting.

Honeyjubu, another South Korean vlogger with over two million subscribers, settles in her kitchen to prepare bulgogi sauce. She then fills a black stone pot with water and rice. Her family often eats in a biodegradable plate made of wheat. The kitchen towels that are used to cover food are not discarded but used for cleaning the counters.

I watch her, perplexed as she collects eggshells of cooked eggs. What could Honeyjubu possibly do with those? She saunters towards the microwave, dries the eggshells in it and then grinds them in the blender, cleaning the blades in the process. But it doesn’t end here — she gathers the powdered eggshells, strolls towards her little garden and uses the powder as a natural fertiliser, enlightening us about their anti-pest properties. Ever dumped used cooking oil in the sink? Well, not Honeyjubu. She recycles waste cooking oil by making kitchen soap.

According to a recent report by the Ministry of National Food Security and Research, Pakistan wastes 26 per cent of its food production yearly. The report revealed astonishing figures of 19.6 million tonnes of food that is wasted. With an increasing population, rising inflation, the availability of food is a miracle for some.

Sometimes, a leftover sandwich finds its way to the back of a shelf and we simply forget about it. Our house-help is not educated or trained enough to comprehend the perils of not storing food properly to increase shelf life. I do feel that small steps beginning from our home kitchens may seem cumbersome but can yield long-term results owing to our combined efforts to reduce food waste.

As someone who has been cooking regularly for her family for years now, here are some of the things I try to implement and can suggest.

How to reduce food waste at home

Alter the way you shop. Buy groceries according to the meals that will be cooked at home within a few days. You may end up eating out or ordering in, so avoid bulk buying of fresh vegetables etc.

Clean and store vegetables as soon as you get home. Proper cleaning, trimming and storing of food in air tight containers/bags is likely to help them last longer. Green onion, fresh cilantro and other herbs can last upto a week if you keep them wrapped in paper towel inside a box, as that absorbs moisture.

Not everything expired is rotten, and not everything not expired is safe to eat! Use your judgement by taking a whiff and checking for mould.

Have leftover rice or roti? Feed it to the birds. If you keep one bowl for this purpose out in your garden or leave some food in the grass, you’d be surprised how quickly it vanishes.

Family members are more likely to eat fruit if it’s already washed, peeled and cut. A melon is likely to stay untouched for days if it’s uncut, so encourage snacking on fruit by making it bite ready.

Some produce, such as potatoes, eggplant, onions, and garlic, should be stored in a cool, dry, dark, place with ventilation.

The lower shelves are the coldest part of the fridge so you will want to store meat, poultry and seafood there.

Don’t throw away stale bread. Instead, use it to make croutons. You can also keep freezing the corners of bread till you have enough for homemade breadcrumbs.

If you have a lot of peeled garlic but are leaving the city for a week, then mince it and freeze it in silicon moulds.

If fruit you brought home like peaches or cherries is too sour to eat, make jam out of it.

Don’t leave perishable food at room temperature for more than two hours.

Mould forms easily on cheese. Cling wrap pieces individually and keep it frozen.

If your toddler doesn’t eat the peel of an apple, collect them for composting.

Mindfulness

Like many other things in life, the desire for change in your kitchen and your outlook towards food and waste will also come from mindfulness. Being aware and conscious of the carbon footprint that wasted food will leave every time you don’t muster the energy to store food for later use is more likely to compel you to take measures you wouldn’t have otherwise.

If you’re boiling peas and the same water can be used to boil eggs right after, you will need presence of mind to not spill the water in the sink, as we often do by default, and to instead pour it into a bowl and refill it for the eggs. If you see your surrounding with a nurturing lens, you will be eager to start with your own kitchen. Take baby steps for leaps of change.

His story was then shared as a post by Diva Magazine’s Instagram account, and the audience had much to say about it in the comment section.

Many pointed out that it isn’t just Cross Stitch that’s doing this — it’s becoming a retail industry-wide practice.

There were debates on which brand started this ‘trend’ in Pakistan and a large section of the commenters seemed to consider it a money-making gimmick by the brands to ‘rob’ customers by first charging exorbitant amounts for their products and then topping that up with a surcharge for shopping bags.

Some suggested that this represented a lack of courtesy. They said it was better to carry your purchase in your hands rather than paying for the paper bag. Because, of course, after paying thousands for an outfit, paying Rs30 for a bag is treachery.

Angry commenters felt any fast-fashion house that ‘influences’ other brands to also charge for bags is akin to a dirty fish dirtying the rest of their aquatic companions. Therefore, according to some, charging for a paper bag is a ‘dirty’ business practice.

Some people were not happy with the only viable option remaining — carrying clothing or grocery items in your hands. Understandably, that would be quite a juggling act, and a sight to behold, carrying potatoes and onions in the two hands humankind is blessed with.

If we saw customers carrying grocery items on their heads it would make for quite a funny spectacle.

Some people also went as far as asking why they should pay a business Rs30 for a bag when the same money could instead be given to a “poor orphan” begging on the streets. It is heartwarming to see how much shoppers care about those who are not as blessed as them.

Among a sea of startling comments that showed a dire lack of knowledge about the environment among the general Pakistani public, there was someone (may God bless their soul) who asked a very pertinent question, albeit sarcastically:

The answer is YES. The idea is exactly that. Bring your own bag, for the Earth’s sake!

As this sensible person (who I’d like to thank for comment, the likes of which were difficult to find in the comments section) pointed out — the idea here is to promote bringing your own reusable bag from home, not for brands to trick you into paying them more.

This is exactly how retail businesses in the west are trying to discourage the use of single-use plastic. If you’ve been living under a rock, I’d do the needful and highlight that the world is currently facing a lot of plastic pollution.

While plastic may be recyclable, it is not always recycled, especially plastic bags used by shoppers. They are added to dirt plies, fly around cities, become eye sores, and when dumped into the ocean, become the cause of death for marine life.

Microplastics have already become part of our food chain — when they enter the ocean or the soil — and are present in the air we breathe. It is believed that their over presence in our atmosphere may be harmful to our health. Hence the wave of companies pushing to replace single-use plastic with paper bags.

Maybe a couple of years ago we could all pretend that global warming was not a real threat to our planet, But we can hardly continue to do that when the damage is staring us in the face right here in Pakistan. We witnessed the most devastating floods in decades which cost thousands of people their lives and livelihoods, and put a huge dent in our already struggling economy.

In a world where weather patterns are changing and becoming even more unpredictable, where glaciers are melting, rivers are running dry, temperatures are soaring in Asia and winters getting harsher in Europe, where deserts are experiencing non-seasonal rains and rainy areas are witnessing unusually long dry spells, we cannot continue to expect that we will not pay environmental taxes for human activity — such as paying for paper bags when we shop.

It is also important to point out that paper bags are more expensive to manufacture as they are made from trees, more expensive to ship as they are heaver, and more expensive to store. Making paper bags is also costlier for the environment as they do not just involve the cutting down of trees but need about four times more water than plastic bags.

Therefore, customers are charged a certain price for them. On the other hand, plastic bags, which have traditionally been given to consumers free of charge, use less resources to be produced. It would be beneficial for us all to understand that that when we pay for a paper bag, we are essentially paying an environment tax. And if you don’t want to pay that, or do juggling theatrics while carrying your anday and double roti in your hands, then bring your own bag!

This is not some kind of ‘trend’ that is growing in Pakistan and no Pakistani brand has started it as a ‘dirty money making tactic’ — it is a common practice in many western countries where governments are encouraging brands to avoid the use of plastic, and even outright banning single-use plastic bags. Slowly, nations in other parts of the world are evolving and making it a part of their lifestyle to carry their own reusable bags each time they step out of the house, whether it is for groceries, clothes or homeware shopping. You can carry these bags in your handbag — folded to make them super tiny — your backpack or in the trunk of your car so that you can make your small contribution to reducing your carbon footprint every single day.

That way, the Rs30 that so many find so hard to pay, won’t have to be paid, and can instead be used to help the poor orphans, as someone had suggested.

Clothing brands that encourage fast fashion by introducing different trends every season and new styles to purchase every week are doing that at a heavy cost to the world we live in — from harmful emissions and waste during their production to an excessive use of water and at the end of it all, their products making their way to landfills. As customers, we participate in that by rushing to buy the latest trends and trying to not repeat clothes. It is about time Pakistani consumers pause to wonder what kind of a planet we intend to leave behind for our children instead of crying about paying for a paper bag whose cost makes up 0.002% of the price of the lawn outfit they have purchased from a fancy fashion house.

Some commenters added to the conversation by saying that when businesses charge for bags with their logos, they are essentially asking consumers to pay for their advertising as carrying around a bag with a logo is like a business advertisement. Of course, I agree that is something warranting a separate debate. Law-making bodies can consider whether businesses should be allowed to charge for bags with logos.

Governments can also consider allowing businesses to charge only a given price for a bag to ensure customers are not having to pay an unjustified amount and unduly adding to business profits. Businesses should also always ask the customer if they want to purchase a paper bag instead of punching that into the bill without prior consent. This will give the customer the opportunity to make an informed purchase, or use their own reusable bag.

Here’s to hoping that all agents in the economy, which includes businesses, consumers and the government, play their own part when it comes to taking care of the planet, because there is no planet B. When we make changes in how we operate as businesses, or when governments introduce laws to create a better environment, it is essential that the public be included in the discussion so that the change the world needs can be made with the most awareness and least resistance.

As consumers, we can play our part by spending some time and energy to understand why investing in our own biodegradable bags is a service to the future generations who will inhabit this world after we are gone. After all, we all live on this planet.

Lecturer turned blogger, Mahvish Ahmed is a mama in boots, trotting through Europe, fighting the rain, catching trams and sipping warm coffee if/when her toddler naps. Find her on Instagram here.

“All this plastic is killing marine life,” she said, adding she wished she had a magic wand to put things right on the planet.

Probably the youngest social entrepreneur in Pakistan, if not across the globe, she is rallying the Pakistani youth by creating awareness about climate change and how to save the planet using the age old method of story-telling. If the world can eliminate plastic from the planet, that could be a good start, she said.

A little nervous at the beginning, looking to her mother for nods of reassurance, Emaan enthusiastically explained her plan of tackling the menace of cleaning the earth.

Her project, Peekaboo, once complete, has a mascot, a rag doll by the name of Fizza (Fizza, a girls’ name, in Urdu language, means environment) suggested by her father.

“Fizza is nine years old, loves nature and wants to save the planet,” explained Emaan. Her mother Zunaira Khan, her biggest supporter, added, “She is a little girl with a big heart!”

The doll will come with changeable clothes and a storybook, with stories written and illustrated by children aged between 8 and 15. It will have various super heroes, who help Fizza protect the environment, fight global warming and the menacing effects of climate change that are causing death, disease and destruction.

“Of the 60 entries that came, 25 have been selected by an independent panel of judges – comprising environmentalists, writers and teachers – for the storybook (and which is also getting a stamp of approval from the WWF Pakistan and Ministry of Climate Change),” explained Zunaira, adding, “The revenue from the project will be used to create climate awareness talks and plays at school in the first phase in Sindh and then throughout Pakistan.”

They hope to be able to publish the books through crowd-funding.

Some of the subjects touched upon in the 25 stories include plastic, ocean pollution, smog, flooding, deforestation and glacial melt. “I was pleasantly surprised by how imaginatively these issues were taken on by children,” said Zunaira

It all started early this year when Emaan decided to apply for a ClimateLaunchpad (CLP), the world’s largest green business ideas competition. Facilitated in Pakistan by Stimulus, the competition helps germinate ideas to “fix climate change one start-up at a time” according to the website’s tagline.

Emaan was among the 25 short-listed from 100 applicants who attended a 2-day boot camp and were mentored. However she did not make it to the top three finalists for the international competition.

CLP global started back in 2014 and this year Pakistan joined in too. “Although age is not a criterion, Emaan is our youngest mentee,” said Hira Wajahat, a consultant with Stimulus and Pakistan National Lead for ClimateLaunchpad.

“Our team decided to take her in because her pitch was really good. While there were many who came up with ways of reducing plastic and turning it into a business, we marvelled by her initial idea of ‘upcycling’ old toys and planting trees from the money she would earn from selling the toys,” said the CLP head, adding, “Although her initial idea has changed a great deal, it fitted into our criteria of a positive climate action and business revenue generation.”

“When she came to us she was doing a number of things. Our programme was for creative social enterprises, and she was trying to develop functional items of wood scraps and old toys. While developing her business model, we suggested she concentrate on one thing,” said Shaista Ayesha, who heads the product development at SEED Ventures, which provides capital to start-up companies (like Stimulus) and small businesses.

Ayesha also heads RISE, the incubation programme for creative social enterprises where Emaan is being mentored. “She was honest, and for her age, very passionate about a cause,” is what struck the RISE team, who decided to take work with her and her project.

The project is funded by the British Council, under the latter’s Developing Inclusive Creative Economies (DICE) programme. Focusing on girls, women and the disabled, this pilot project is encouraging them to explore how “creativity, generosity, unconscious bias” nurture our “curiosity, creativity, communities, enterprises, policies, ideas and the environments” in which we live while at the same time, contribute towards eradicating barriers to economic opportunity for all. It is currently being run in Brazil, Egypt, Indonesia, Pakistan, South Africa and the UK.

As part of fine-tuning the project, Emaan interviewed some 30 potential customers/users of her product to get feedback, who, in turn, guided her to include blog, a Facebook page as well as start a YouTube channel to strike a continuous conversation around issues of climate change and environmental degradation. Finding the “YouTube space rather saturated” her parents decided to concentrate on helping her promote her cause using a Facebook page.

With 2.2k followers, they help Emaan upload video logs (vlogs) twice a month, or even more, depending on what there is to say. Her mother also shares her daughter’s doings on Instagram under EmaansTalk.

The young entrepreneur’s mentor, Syed Zuhair Abbas, who specialises in teaching product design at Karachi University, worked extensively with her on the design of her doll. Zunaira has involved women from her neighbourhood to make dolls that are traditional, climate friendly (made from cotton fabric and biodegradable material) that include Fizza, her parents and her younger sister.

“She is the youngest one in our batch. When we selected her, we loved what she was doing and we believed that we should give her a chance because SEED believes in planting and cultivating an entrepreneurial mindset from a young age,” said Ayesha.

Emaan surprises you further with her “age is just a number” and that “age should not be a deterrent in achieving your dreams”. She blames all adults “except for my parents” for causing so much damage to the planet.

Adorably she says she never uses plastic and then the truth comes out when she whispers sheepishly, “Sometimes I forget to carry my cloth bag”. She tries to stay away from junk food, wants to be a vegetarian but does not succeed as her favourite dish remains biryani.

Today, the young activist with a winsome smile is seen at most climate events taking place in Karachi, with Fizza tucked under her arms, as she talks passionately about saving the planet. She has found collaborators with the WWF Pakistan and even the Ministry of Climate Change. “I hate what is happening to the planet. If we need to put things right, it will have to be a collective effort and on a war footing before it is too late!”

This article was originally published on The Third Pole and has been reproduced with permission.

Dr Parveen is an environmental scientist from Oxford University whom I’ve had the pleasure of working alongside at the Aga Khan University’s Institute for Educational Development (AKU-IED), from 2022 to 2023. Prior to her role at AKU, Dr Parveen was a faculty member at LUMS.

When I was approached to work on a piece highlighting women change-makers in Pakistan, Dr Parveen was the first person I thought of — I’ve known her to be a passionate activist for climate change, an enthusiastic educator, and an all-round amazing colleague. I had the pleasure to interview Dr Parveen to get to know her and her work a bit more.

Early years and the motivation to be an environmental scientist

Dr Parveen’s early years were spent close to nature in the mountains Gilgit. Growing up in a middle class family, the environmentalist was always aware of how scarce resources were. A minimalist lifestyle was inculcated from a young age, making it easy to follow through in her adulthood. Dr Parveen described the beauty of living in the mountains — the calming sound of the stream beside her house, the breathtaking view of a mountain outside the door.

“At the time I was not aware of what a luxury this was. I was living a million dollar life without knowing it. The experiences that come along with growing up next to nature are also incomparable, the feeling of walking barefoot on the soil, feeling that connection to the earth, sitting by the river, reflecting on how big the universe is and how insignificant we are in comparison.”

People growing up in the mountains often begin to think about the role they can play to preserve their sanctuary at a young age. “As a community from the mountains, we are raised within a culture that is very minimalistic. I come from a village where resources were scarce and up until my grandparent’s generation, we didn’t have enough. It’s that degree of resilience, survival, and wisdom of living close to nature that was part of me and how I was raised. When I began formal education too, I was always inclined towards nature.”

Dr Parveen took a keen interest in STEM subjects in school and college and finally made her decision to pursue environmental sciences after completing her Intermediate education. She recalls her brother bringing a few university prospectuses from varsities in the twin cities, “I looked at all the departments available at those three or four universities, but my first priority was environmental science and from then on my decision was made.”

The environmentalist recalled how, during her undergrad years, she was upset with how lifeless the cities looked. She looked for ways to make a change and even with her university assignments, her passion for nature shone through.

Dr Parveen’s focus on experiential learning began at a young age, albeit, unconsciously. She shared how during a project about medicinal plants, she sought out experts in the area and spoke to them, as opposed to using the internet to copy content. Her desire to create her own knowledge base was a driving force behind the publicly available resources she has worked on, such as the Environmental and Climate Change Dictionary, and the Climate Change and Sustainability Module, among others.

Something I always wonder about when individuals choose a niche career path is how they ensure success and monetary return. Growing up in a South Asian community, you’re often expected to choose the most lucrative career early on. However, Dr Parveen’s response to this really made me take a step back and reflect.

“Having been raised with a lot of humility and limited resources, the priority was never to earn wealth. Success in my home wasn’t measured by how much money my siblings and I made. Perhaps this is because we saw our father, who is a lawyer by profession, fight for the poor and marginalised. He didn’t end up making a lot of money out of it, but the community as a whole was doing better as a result of his dedication. Even in my career right now, wherever I go, whatever I do, community building is the first step in my journey.”

From a young girl in the mountains to a renowned academician

“I grew up in front of glaciers, we were, therefore, never taught about glaciers in schools. I grew up with a sky full of stars, no one needed to teach us about the stars. Every evening we would just lay below the vast sky and make up stories. These things are not part of our curriculum,” Dr Parveen explained.

“I grew up with a lot of local wisdom, traditional stories, indigenous solutions, indigenous knowledge. None of this rich information was translated into academia, none of this was part of our textbook curriculum. Contextually relevant knowledge was highly lacking. Similarly in my undergrad, I was able to participate more in class and enrich the classroom discussions because I had experienced what was being taught, from creating small dams to trophy hunting.”

Speaking about opting for climate change education in undergrad, Dr Parveen shared how she and her classmates believed the issues being taught were of the distant future, but it was during that time that natural disasters started to become more frequent in Pakistan. Glacial Lake Outburst Floods (GLOF) now happen every year, the likelihood of earthquakes and flooding also increased. “As a result, my classmates and I were more active and engaged. Whether it be action or policy, we wanted to contribute,” she recalled.

“I was also very aware of the localised pollution in the big cities after having moved there for my undergrad, so my concern was two-fold — climate induced natural disasters were impacting the communities I grew up in and the difficult conditions of our cities,” she said.

“Our cities are our responsibility, if we can protect our green spaces, we should. If we can advocate for public transport, we should. Climate conservation needs to be a 365-day agenda and not just something to speak up about on World Environment Day.”

Living life the eco-friendly way

When discussing personal practices to be more eco-friendly, Dr Parveen shared a profound thought — “We measure success by wealth made and by possessions. For me it was never about that, till today people tell me I should have my own home by now, a bigger car, and just more of everything, and I struggle with that mentality. Why are we accumulating so much as if we were to live forever?

“It’s with this ideology that I live life, to not buy into the concept of just accumulating worldly possessions for the sake of it. For me, having a safe space where I can live, where I’m close to nature, that’s what’s important. I don’t need to take too many resources from the environment. Not buying into consumer culture is my biggest tip to live a more environmentally friendly life,” the environmentalist said.

“We operate in circles where how we look matters a lot, so the one area I have slightly less control over is my wardrobe, but I still don’t buy a lot. I try to reduce my impact in terms of travel, I take as many online meetings, conferences, etc as possible. Unless absolutely necessary, I wouldn’t do something that has a bigger footprint.

“As a general practice, I try to buy as little as I can and for as long as I can remember, I have had very minimal plastic use, in fact, in Gilgit, we were campaigning for a plastic-free region and I worked with the local government.”

Effects of climate change in Pakistan

Dr Parveen shed light on the floods of 2022 and said that while climate change is a reason for it occurring, the lack of planning also played a significant role. “Traveling around the world has helped develop this view because you see how other countries have the same infrastructure and waterbodies, both large and small, and they have naturally occurring events as well, but they plan for such natural disasters.

“On one hand floods are catastrophic, but on the other we build houses and hotels on the riverbed, where the extra water is meant to be accommodated. The lack of policy and understanding of natural spaces has led to much of the destruction we have witnessed.”

Dr Parveen stressed on how the events occurring are changing as well. “In my undergraduate years, there was no concept of atmospheric rivers, now there is a concept of atmospheric rivers flowing in the sky. As a result, Sindh and Balochistan have received more than 500 per cent rain so even the cities that planned for 200pc more rain are unable to contain the destruction. These are the events we need to be planning for,” she cautioned.

“While the increased precipitation is a problem, efforts need to be made to harness the power of all this extra water. Rainwater could be harvested and put back into underground water storage known as aquifers, as practiced in Jordan.

The shift from an environmental scientist to educator

Dr Parveen has worked on many projects in the climate change realm and at this point in her career switched to educating educators about climate change. She realised how unaware people in cities are of nature and climate change.

“I was always a community person. As a girl guide at the age of six, I was serving water to the community. My mother would make us clean our streets when there was too much trash, even though it was trash thrown by others. We were taught that our streets were our responsibility. I began to realise the importance of inculcating these values.”

“So now when I’m teaching my cohort of teachers at AKU-IED, I take them out of the classroom to understand their responsibility, create a sense of community and engagement, while increasing awareness.”

Dr Parveen spoke about how in the professional circles she was moving in before her shift to environmental education, there were often comments about how she should not be working at grass-root level. She was made to feel like working with the waste scavenging communities, responsible for the majority of our recycling was somehow beneath a scientist’s job. “Working with schools and children directly was considered ‘dumbing it down’, but when we’re working with teachers, its called ‘breaking it down’ signifying the importance of disseminating information in an easy-to-understand way.”

Dr Parveen’s message to those who want to work in the area of environmental sciences is to absolutely do so. The field is still relatively untapped, allowing much room for impactful work to be done. The issue at hand is grave so those who want to really make a change and understand that it will not always be easy, that there may not be enough guidance initially in the form of mentorship, however, those who are passionate will navigate their way.

Honouring Dr Parveen’s work and highlighting her wisdom would hopefully inspire others to take on the critical challenge that is climate change. If not, it will definitely make you take a moment to appreciate nature and notice the lack thereof if you reside in big cities.

This March, Images is profiling trailblazing women who are stirring change in our society. Women who inspire us and women who make us proud. You can read all our stories on inspiring Pakistani women here.

Just because our attempt at making soy milk failed didn’t mean everyone fails at making it. Besides, soy milk is not necessary for survival.

The painstaking process of attempting to make our own soy milk was not only disastrous but also made me wonder how difficult and expensive it could potentially be for vegan people (whose diet completely consists of plant-based food) to have this lifestyle in Pakistan.

A lot of Pakistani staples such as daal chawal and sabzi roti are meals that are either already vegan or can be very easily made vegan with a few tweaks. But when you're eating out, most Pakistani vegan food options usually sound like starters and sidelines instead of main courses.

In recent years, a lot of Pakistanis have reduced their meat intake and resorted to a primarily vegetarian diet. This is reportedly because of the rising prices of meat and inability of many people to afford it. That is indicative of how eating plant-based meals is relatively inexpensive compared to meat-based meals.

On the other hand, the fact that dairy alternatives are not manufactured locally means that swapping out dairy could be heavy on the pocket.

A Pakistani vegan future potentially could be a sustainable and beautiful one with endless possibilities. Picture coconut milk raita, soy milk kheer and chai, sprawled across a dastarkhwan with vegetable and potato biryani. Very unfortunate for you if you’re team biryani without aalu but it's a beautiful sight to imagine nonetheless.

What is a vegan?

A vegan is someone who doesn't eat any animals or animal products, like dairy. That means no milk, no butter and no honey.

They differ from vegetarians, who don't eat meat but still consume animal products.

Most vegans also subscribe to the philosophy of not using animal products in their daily lives as well. For example, they don't use products tested on animals nor do they use items crafted out of animal skin, such as leather.

Why go vegan?

There are many reasons why one would want to go vegan. The appeal is very real, at least for me. The meat and dairy industries have huge carbon footprints and the environmental consequences of eating meat are major reasons for some people going vegan.

Another rather obvious reason is the sympathy that people have for animals. If people are privileged enough to have a choice, they do not want to be part of a system that is cruel to animals. Additionally, some may speculate that the health risks associated with meat and dairy are not worth an omnivorous lifestyle.

Although veganism doesn't have to be expensive, it is fairly well-known that being vegan might not be the cheapest and easiest thing in the world. Plant-based products should technically be cheaper but are actually more expensive because animal products are manufactured in bulk while vegan products are not.

In order to gauge how difficult and expensive it is to be vegan in Pakistan, I decided to ask the handful of people around me that have successfully been vegan for a while.

Pireh — sick of seeing animal abuse on social media — made the decision to go vegan two years ago. Her formula to stay on budget is fairly simple, she relies on whole-food options such as daal and sabzi. Alternatively, she cooks dishes like pasta and burgers at home while obviously making sure that any pre-made ingredients such as the uncooked pasta or burger buns don’t have animal products such as milk or eggs in them. She recommends the YouTube channel Cheap Lazy Vegan for recipe inspiration for anyone looking.

“It never gets boring, I don’t think you ever run out of options,” she says. While Pireh doesn’t eat out a lot, vegetable shawarmas, aloo and daal bun kababs, Subway, salads and halwa puri do the trick for her.

However, Pireh does acknowledge that it is hard to find substitutes for dairy products like chocolate and yoghurt. She explains that some things are inevitable, which is why being vegan can be emotionally overwhelming sometimes. That's why she recommends going vegetarian first for a while before making transitioning into veganism.

Pireh’s suggestion is not uncommon. In fact, Z*, whose Instagram page @ethnicalveganism is entirely dedicated to being a vegan in Karachi also started researching veganism when they saw their father experiment with vegetarianism.

“It was all about health fads and trying to motivate people to go vegan in order to lose weight, and that just is not viable,” Z says, highlighting an important issue that was initially linked to veganism. Back in 2014, when they started questioning the ethics of eating animal products, the fatphobic discourse was predominant. People furthering the rhetoric that one should go vegan to lose weight is harmful and can make individuals spiral into eating disorders, Z explains.

“... the reason I have been able to remain vegan for five years with no hesitation or regrets is because I constantly reinforce the moral merits of veganism.” On July 1, Z will celebrate five years of veganism. They explain that the driving force behind their consistency has been the commitment to abstain from being part of animal suffering.

Animal abuse is sometimes needless, Z says, pinpointing videos circulating on the internet showing disturbing examples of animal abuse such as millions of male chicks being ground up in Pakistan among other acts of cruelty.

However, another important factor that has softened the journey for them is supportive friends and family, so if someone you’re close to is going vegan or is already vegan an easy pro tip would be to make sure they’re comfortable! Z says one of the functions they hope their Instagram page serves is that of an encouraging support group for this very reason.

Z also acknowledges that some people might just have to accept animal suffering as a by-product due to their circumstances and reserves any judgement towards them. “It was a deeply intense and harrowing process for me to face what I was complicit in when researching what goes on at slaughterhouses and farms,” they recall.

Z decided to go vegan “for my health, for reducing my personal carbon footprint, and for my conscience” and they don't regret it at all.

While Z acknowledges that you basically can’t get purposeful vegan meat and cheese substitutes in Pakistan, and that soy milk can run out sometimes due to import issues, they revealed that we can find a lot of "accidentally vegan" products in Pakistani superstores. While margarine is readily available, Z suggests getting creative at home for other substitutes and gives us a few ideas: “Mushrooms or tofu or beans to substitute meat, ground flax to substitute eggs, and nuts to substitute milk and cheese.”

Before going vegan, Z recommends getting blood tests done to make sure you don’t have deficiencies such as those of vitamins B-12 or D.

Food for thought

While daal and sabzi are great alternatives, speciality vegan meals, like the ones you get abroad, are very expensive. They taste great, hurt the environment less and would be cheaper if demand increased.

“I generally don't spend a lot on specialty vegan products, so the chanas, coconut milk, veggies, and rice I survive on are extremely cheap. People who are low income can definitely adapt their diets to veganism and create satisfying meals while spending less than they would if they were buying meat, milk, yogurt and cheese," says Z.

"That's one of the main things I set out to do with my account too: show people that making satisfying vegan meals is 100% possible. The best thing about our food is the spices, not the meat!” they say.

As I’ve mentioned before, I did not see a lot of main courses on Pakistani restaurant menus that were explicitly vegan. Z surprised me when they mentioned that you can almost always get a meal successfully made vegan at a Pakistani restaurant. “There's always going to be rice and vegetables, or some pasta dish, all of which you can ask to be made vegan,” they say, alternatively suggesting getting creative and putting together different appetisers and side dishes.

But while restaurants might have vegetable-based meals to offer, Saba raises a very valid point about not knowing whether those meals are cooked in butter or ghee. She spoke about the limited options when it comes to finding vegan food in Islamabad’s restaurants, with a few Chinese places that offer tofu dishes being the exception.

With her conscience weighed down with thoughts of animal cruelty and motivation from some vegan family members, Saba went vegan more than a year ago. Having had vegan family members already, lack of family support was not an issue for her. Although she had to deal with some friends making jokes, all of her family and some of her friends are vegan now.

Saba does not believe in finding substitutes for animal products. “We really need to break our addictions and change our taste buds,” she says, expressing her distaste for meat and dairy. She believes that said products are more expensive than fruit, vegetables, and grains anyway. “If you're someone who's looking for 'vegan processed stuff' then it can be quite expensive, maybe because the demand is limited for vegan products,” she explains.

However, things are looking up as the vegan processed products that used to be expensive because they were imported are now starting to be locally manufactured.

“The tofu I get is locally made by Chinese people who are here or Pakistani people here trained by the Chinese people," says Shandana, the brains behind VeganEats Islamabad. VeganEats is a vegan bakery and dessert store that was started in 2018.

Shandana went vegetarian in 2006 and vegan in 2012 after reading research on animal cruelty in the meat industry and how the egg and dairy industries are complicit in that same cruelty. “I wouldn’t eat my own dog [so] I don’t see why it’s right to eat a chicken,” she analogises. Going to university in Boston, a liberal hub full of vegan options, made her believe that there was no excuse not to go vegan.

“Initially, I read the information I found online but I said it won’t make a difference. I'm one person, but when I did further research about how my actions can make a difference, it also helped me with my decision," she says.

"There are apps out there where I put in the year I went vegetarian or the year I went vegan, and they help calculate the number of animals I’ve saved.” For her, that's a big motivator.

One such app is The Vegan Calculator. The calculator borrows facts from Cowspiracy, an investigative film about the meat industry.

When Shandana moved back to Pakistan in 2016, she missed having vegan desserts, which prompted her to start baking desserts for herself and her family. That eventually grew into her selling her goods at a farmer’s market. “People purchased it because it tasted good in spite of it being vegan. You’re not gonna know it's vegan unless I tell you it is.”

She has some important things to point out about Pakistan and its relationship with animals and meat, including how meat is often tied to class. If you get rich, you want to consume more meat.

“I think in Pakistan the most important thing that needs to change is how people see animals," she says. Referring to her pet, she says, "She’s a street dog. We’ve had her since she was still a puppy. If she tries to get out people try to poison her or throw stones at her, so fundamentally that needs to change in Pakistan."

Another thing that needs to change, according to Shandana, is how veganism is considered something elite and western. "Veganism is for everyone. My veganism is rooted in equality, in the idea that everyone has the right to life. Not just for the animals but also for everyone to have access to information.”

She believes that there could potentially be a vegan future in Pakistan if more people had access to information and that veganism is cheap if done right. There is no arguing with the fact that right now, most of the information rests in the hands of the more privileged and she concedes to that saying, “There’s definitely [more] options for people with privilege and money, access to information and the luxury to care about what they’re consuming.”

When I was looking into veganism in Pakistan, I couldn’t find too many narrative pieces about being a vegan and having to live here but the few stories I did find were quite the source of intrigue.

My interest was piqued reading about Amna Bakhtiar’s experiences as a vegan from Australia visiting Pakistan, where she is originally from. I wanted to know how Pakistani vegans who live abroad get by when they travel to Pakistan, so I got in touch with a few.

Tehreem visited Pakistan and stayed in Lahore and Gujranwala for around a month. Like Z, Tehreem also documents her vegan lifestyle on her Instagram, @ecojabi. Her feed has pictures of fruit, OPTP fries, sandwiches and home cooked meals ranging from kung pao noodles to kachnar — a vegetarian desi meal prepared using the flowers of orchid trees.

Her family accommodated her diet and relatives prepared home-cooked vegetable meals for her. Tehreem thought her experience as a vegan in Pakistan was even easier than she thought. As most desi vegans agree, Tehreem believes South Asian cuisine has the best vegetable and bean dishes. That, coupled with non-dairy products readily available in Pakistan’s superstores, made her for a pleasant experience.

Other vegans who live abroad but had to live in Pakistan such as Zaheem and Rabia had similar experiences. "It worked out pretty well for me. There was an abundance of fruit on every corner and where I was staying had a whole bunch of fruit trees, so that was helpful as well,” says Rabia, who is transitioning into a fruitarian diet where most of her diet consists of fruit.

It's safe to say that being a vegan in Pakistan isn't a piece of cake, but it isn't as difficult as it's often made out to be. While the changes can be overwhelming initially, they aren't monumental and won't always cost you and arm and a leg. With awareness, making full use of the resources available to you and your heart being in the right place, there may be a viable vegan future in Pakistan.

Name changed to protect privacy

In an interview with Reuters, Wintour, considered one of the most powerful people in fashion, also said the industry was “a little bit late in the game” in pursuing diversity and inclusivity and that, despite the meteoric rise of social media influencers, Vogue would remain a benchmark for fashionistas.

Many brands are trying to bolster their green credentials and entice young environmentally-savvy consumers as the sector comes under scrutiny for fueling a throwaway culture.

But in good news for second-hand bargain hunters, Wintour, who has been at the helm of American Vogue for more than 30 years, said fashionistas should care for their clothes and even pass them on.

“I think for all of us it means an attention more on craft, on creativity, and less on the idea of clothes that are instantly disposable, things that you will throw away just after one reading,” she said.

“(It’s all about) talking to our audiences, our readers, about keeping the clothes that you own, and valuing the clothes that you own and wearing them again and again, and maybe giving them on to your daughter, or son, whatever the case may be.”

A 2016 report by management consultancy McKinsey & Company said global clothing output doubled between 2000 and 2014, with the number of garments bought each year per person surging 60 percent.

Diversity on the runway

Instantly recognizable with her short fringed bob haircut and sunglasses, British-born Wintour has long been a front row staple at catwalk shows.

The 2006 movie The Devil Wears Prada starring Meryl Streep as a no-nonsense editor of the fictional Runway fashion magazine is widely believed to be based on her.

Thanks in part to social media, who and what should be in fashion had radically changed in the past decade, Wintour said.

Fashion weeks across the globe, where designers present their latest creations, are seeing a more diverse mix of people, though Wintour said the industry had been slow on the uptake.

“We are seeing a far more diverse and inclusive representation on the runway, on our social media channels and also in the pages of our different magazines,” she said.

“I think a lot of that has to do with the fact that we have so many designers of color in the United States. Until there is truly a voice at the table things will not change the way that they should. I feel we have long way to go.”

Wintour, who is also artistic director at parent company Conde Nast, was speaking to Reuters in Athens on the sidelines of the Vogue Greece ‘ChangeMakers’ event on Wednesday.

Vogue Greece hit the newsstands earlier this year following a seven-year absence as publishers bet the county’s economic recovery after a debt crisis will revive an appetite for glossy fashion and lifestyle prints.

Asked about the growing influencers’ effect, Wintour said they had “fun and varied” views but could never match the reach of Vogue.

“Globally Vogue has 127 million followers ... I think that Vogue is the biggest influencer of them all on a global scale.”

"My factory was my entire world," says Malik (who insists his surname is also his first name), who was, till three weeks ago, successfully running a factory producing thousands of kilos of plastic bags ⁠— in common parlance termed "shopper bags" that are usually fit for single use ⁠— on Charsadda Road, in Peshawar.

"I am still reeling from the shock," he says over the phone from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa's (KPK) capital city, referring to the raid after which the factory was sealed by the government some three weeks back. "Before they sealed the shop they also took away my stock of plastic bags worth nearly Rs 300,000," rued Malik.

More than the financial loss, Nasim Gul, president of the Plastic Manufacturing Association, KPK, is livid with the government's dealing with enforcement of a 2014 legislation that prohibits "manufacture", "stockpile" "trade", supply, "distribute" "sell", "use" of "non biodegradable plastic products".

"We are being treated as if we are selling drugs!" he said considering it an affront. Although less than two dozen factories have so far been sealed since the government crackdown that began in June, the climate of uncertainty and fear has resulted in many factory owners shutting their factories so that their product is not hauled and confiscated.

"Oxo-degradable plastic is neither a bioplastic nor a biodegradable plastic. It's conventional plastic mixed with an additive in order to imitate biodegredation. It may fragment into smaller and smaller pieces, called microplastics, but does not break down at the molecular or polymer level like biodegradable and compostable plastics. Thus they remain in the environment indefinitely. (Source: Greendotbioplastics)

Although bans have come and gone, this time the fear that the government is serious is palpable. "It could be my turn next, it's just a matter of time," said a worried Khurram Ilyas, another manufacturer based in Peshawar.

The ban in KPK is one of the strictest bans to come into effect in Pakistan as plastic bags have been banned before in other provinces in the past. Take for example, Punjab and Sindh. In Punjab there was a ban on the manufacture and sale of bags below 15 micron since 2002, where as in Sindh it was on plastic bags under 30 microns which was levied in 2006. Sadly, not just the cities, but the country's rural landscape is dotted with this eyesore and the bans have never been effective, not even for a day.

These discarded carrier bags are choking drains, hanging by poles and branches of trees and bushes and in water channels before finally making their way into the sea, creating tonnes of marine debris.

Hammad Shamimi, spokesperson of the Ministry of Climate Change (MoCC) says 55 billion shopping bags per year (or almost 300 per person/per year) are used in Pakistan. Shoaib Munshi, spokesperson of the Pakistan Plastic Manufacturers Association (PPMA) has an almost similar estimates at between 45 to 55 billion per year.

The problem with the KPK ban is that while the law prohibits the use of non-biodegradable plastic products, it does not specify the thickness. On top of this, knowing that complete elimination will never happen, the legislation in both the KPK and Sindh tried to make the transition environmentally suitable by allowing the manufacture of oxo-biodegradable plastic products.

Sindh's environmental protection act prohibits "import, manufacture, stockpile, trade, supply, distribute or sell any scheduled plastic product which is "non-degradable" and the "scheduled plastic products" that are to be used must be "oxo-biodegradable" and the "pro-degradant" which must be approved by the "Agency".

The KPK legislation has defined oxo-biodegradable plastic produce as something made of "polymer containing a pro-degradant additive" and can only be used by those companies that have been registered with the "Agency". It further explains the additive formulation to contain "metal salt except cobalt" which will cause the polymer to degrade by the process of oxy-biodegradation.

"The administration told us that only those plastics will be manufactured in future that are oxo-biodegradable," said Gul from KPK. For that, they will need to buy an imported additive. In addition, all plastic products need to be prominently marked "oxo-biodegradable. "We are willing to do it but we need time and it will also require money," he said.

Oxo-biodegradable bags 'greenwash' the pollution issue, they don't solve it

But not everything with the term "bio" or "degradable" is a green solution, warn researchers. And it is giving them sleepless nights.

"OBD (short for oxobiodegradable) is often referred to as 'maahol dost' bags. If you have increased thickness using OBD technology, you will be creating a bigger environmental problem than the one we are facing right now with the infamous shopper bags we all want so badly eliminated," says Dr Meher Nigar, who has a doctorate in polymer science and engineering and is currently teaching at the Department of Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering, Air University, Islamabad.

Terming it a scam, she warns: "Expect more litter and more blocked drains!"

She explains that the use of OBD will in fact promote littering as people will be under the erroneous impression that this type of plastic will disintegrate into the soil, water or air.

According to Nigar, with over 12 years' experience of studying and conducting research on plastic products, the chemical fragmentation of OBD is "dependent on oxygen and ultraviolet heat" and if one of the two is missing the technology will not work. "Thicker bag means more plastic and less oxygen penetration."

The biodegradation process itself is slow in cold weather, high humidity virtually puts a stop to it and thus in regions with long, wet winters, the process of biodegradation may not even happen.

Should Pakistan go the Kenyan route? Kenya effected its plastic ban on July 28, 2017, with offenders, risking imprisonment of up to four years, or a fine of between $19,417 and $38,834.

Even worse, said the Dr Kauser Ali Syed, heading the Department of Polymer and Petrochemical, this plastic "neither disintegrates nor can it be recycled".

Interesting findings of a study carried out on plastic products by the University of Plymouth, were made public earlier this year in April.

Five types of plastic bags -- biodegradable, oxo-biodegradable, compostable, and high-density polyethylene (i.e., a conventional plastic carrier bag) were exposed in three natural environments; open-air, buried in soil, and submersed in seawater, as well as in controlled laboratory conditions.

The compostable bag completely disappeared within three months In the sea, but the same bag type although deteriorated, was present in the soil environment after 27 months. After nine months of exposure in the open-air, all bag materials had fragmented. The study concluded that because none of the bags could be relied upon to show any substantial deterioration over a three-year period in all of the environments, it was unclear if the "oxo-biodegradable or biodegradable formulations provide sufficiently advanced rates of deterioration to be advantageous in the context of reducing marine litter, compared to conventional bags".

What's the alternative to this 'alternative plastic bag'?

Lahore-based Faisal Malik, a plastic manufacturer also produces OBD plastic, although the Punjab has not enforced any such law. Now he is in two minds. "I started doing it because I was told it's good for the environment; now the world is saying otherwise," he says, but adds, "it's still in demand because big brands still ask for it".

"Back in 2013, when the government started legislating to regulate use of plastic bags, OBD was considered good for the environment, and Sindh, Balochistan and KPK put it in their law," explained Hammad Shamimi, spokesperson for the ministry of climate change that is currently leading discussion on how to eliminate plastic bags from the lives of Pakistanis with stakeholders including academia, researchers and environmental organisations and those in the manufacturing and trading of plastic bags.

According to government insiders working closely on environment, a case against repeal of not only the OBD, but all polyethylene shopping bags has been put before the PM's cabinet. Once it is gets approved, it will immediately be effective.

The federal government has already announced a complete ban on stocking, selling and buying of plastic bags in Islamabad after August 14 this year. But the law will only be effective in Islamabad. "We are calling this year's Independence celebration as plastic se azadi!" he said, and added: "We are adopting the Kenyan model of complete elimination. Anyone manufacturing will be slapped with a fine of Rs 100,00 and anyone found using it will have to pay Rs 5,000," he added.

Microplastics are plastic pieces that are less than five millimeters long that pollute drinking water, oceans, lakes, ponds, etc. Typically made from polypropylene, polyethylene, terephthalate, or nylon-microplastics are most commonly found in health and beauty products. However, they can be introduced to the environment from a variety of other sources. Such as… larger plastics that break down, clothing-synthetic clothes release microfibers while being washed, resin pellets that are used for plastic manufacturing, microbeads- polyethylene beads found in soaps and toothpastes.

Kenya effected its plastic ban on July 28, 2017, with offenders, risking imprisonment of up to four years, or a fine of between $19,417 and $38,834.

"The law was effective because of availability of eco-friendly, reusable alternative packaging materials," said Shamimi. These include reusable packing made from jute, papyrus, gunny bags, starch and cassava. But Kenyans did feel the pinch initially. In the first month of the ban, manufacturers from Rwanda (which imposed a ban way back in 2004 and a complete one in 2008), exported 78 tonnes of biodegradable bags made from paper, clothes and sisal worth $250,000 to Kenya. Shamimi, though is not sure if Pakistan, or Islamabad can come up with quick, cost effective and innovative indigenous solutions.

Since Pakistan is going full throttle in enforcing the ban, it would do well to study the 10-step roadmap for governments that United Nations Environment Programme 2018 has drawn up in a paper with experiences of 60 countries around the world that introduced bans and regulations on single-use plastics to see what worked, what did not. But, one thing is clear, switching from throwaway plastic culture to "sustainable alternatives" was a future "investment" the report concluded.

Massive confusion among manufacturers, who want to 'manage' plastic bags instead of banning them

The blanket ban in one province has also created confusion in other parts of the country. Part of the confusion pertains to the thickness of the plastic.

"We, in Punjab, are suggesting that the plastic thickness should be up from 15 (currently) to 35 microns," said Malik from Punjab. He added the government was insisting it should be increased to 45 microns. "In addition, they want us to do away with the 8x11 inches and 10x13 inches size bags; put warning instructions in Urdu that 'this plastic bag and could be hazardous if used for food products and make sure to reuse it'," he said and added: "We've agreed to all the terms of the Punjab EPA, except one where they department demanded we use pure polymers."

Syed of NED said: "Manufacturing thicker plastics weighing a minimum of 60 microns as opposed to the 10-20 micron currently weighing flimsy single use plastic bags will help in reducing the consumption as the mindset of Pakistanis is of reuse. And because it will be expensive, they may not throw them away as easily."

"We are willing to produce up to 60 microns thickness," said PPMA's Munshi.

The plastic product -- in this case the shopper bag -- may not see geographical boundaries but with environment now a provincial subject after the passage of the 18th Constitutional Amendment, each province has come up with the kind of thickness it wants, whether they want to allow OBD or not and the penalties that come with it. So if a bag from Punjab with 45 microns perchance crosses into Sindh which decides to banish all which are less than 45microns, it becomes a culprit and punished.

Although Shamimi wished there was a uniform legislation on plastic (both on prohibition and the kind of plastic allowed with same penalties if the law is broken) the MoCC's hands are tied. "We can only "suggest" and "convince" but we cannot make changes in the provincial law; this is only possible if the legislators in each province decide they want a uniform law."

Manufacturers say there is a way out to live with plastic. Manage the plastic waste, they say. Their mantra is to reduce, reuse and recycle.

Although the KPK ban is only on non-biodegradable single-use plastic, a wave of fear has spread and unnerved manufacturers and traders in other provinces too.

According to the PPMA there are nearly 15,000 big and small factories employing 600,000 people. But indirectly, Malik of the PPMA, estimates six million people would be involved in import of plastic raw material, manufacture, trading and then recycling. "It's a chain which involves transporters, textile industry, packaging industry, recyclers, in fact, just about everyone you can think of. You take plastic out and the entire economy will collapse, thousands of people will lose their livelihood," he said.

"We all know plastic is bad but we also know we cannot do away with it. We need to have a strategy whereby we need to reduce it and use it more responsibly till we can come up with as versatile and as cheap a material as plastic but which is environmentally friendly," he added.

But it is not easy to eliminate a material that is so deeply entrenched in our lifestyle and also our economy.

In his home town of Peshawar, said Adeel Saeed, a journalist working with Associated Press of Pakistan, the OBD bags have now flooded the market and few know the consequences. "Plastic bag dealers are selling new bags to avoid action from district administration," he told Dawn.com.

He himself bought the "environmentally friendly" big garbage bag for Rs 10 to replace with the non degradable single use bag which cost him Rs 5. He said the crackdown was restricted to plastic manufacturing units and dealers as "hand cart owner, shopkeepers, milk sellers, bread, bakers are still using old bags".

But the manufacturers say there is a way out to live with plastic. Manage the plastic waste, they say. Their mantra is to reduce, reuse and recycle.

PPMA's Munshi, who is also a member of the association's environment committee, has a suggestion. "We have asked the government that if they are able to organize collection of all the plastic bags -- big and small -- from the streets and garbage collection stations we are willing to buy the entire waste from them," he said.

The recyclers are already playing an important part. "If we were not picking up plastic from the doorstep of the automobile industrial units, pharmaceuticals, textiles PET bottlers etc, Karachi, today, would be a huge garbage dump!"said Shiraz Chawla, who runs a recycling unit in Karachi's Shershah where he breaks plastic into dana (granules) to be reused again.

Along with picking up the waste generated within the country, the PPMA wants the government to impose a ban on import of waste plastic. "If we want to clean up our country, why are we then willing to become the dumping ground for the developed countries?" asked Munshi, saying the government's action on the ground to eliminate plastic is in complete paradox to the absurd policy of allowing import of plastic waste.

Endorsing Munshi, Chawla said there was enough waste locally for them to sort and do business. But more importantly, he said, a ban on import of Iranian shopping bags would greatly help in eliminating single use plastic from the country.

"It will really give a boost to not only the local plastic recycling business, but will eliminate the thin shopper bags that are being imported from Iran ," he pointed out. Conservatively speaking, he estimated nearly 20 containers (carrying 25,000 kg) of plastic bags (made of less than 12 microns) reach the Karachi port every month and sold at Rs 160/kg which was already a death blow for the locally produced bags of the same weight which were being sold at Rs235/kg.

While hundreds of jobs may be lost now when factories manufacturing plastic bags will be shut down across the country if the ban is seriously enforced, experiences from other countries show people have come up with alternatives as they will do in Pakistan too and come up with packaging material that is not damaging for the environment, and will once again be in the game.

Composite By Leea Contractor

"We are extremely excited to launch our first publication at SOC films under our SOCH outreach initiative," the filmmaker captioned her Instagram post announcing the launch. "This book authored by Rumana Hussain profiles 14 climate change heroes across the country who are working to create change in their communities. Their awareness programs are laying the seeds for a generation of climate change warriors."

The book was launched at an event with Federal Minister for Climate Change Senator Sherry Rehman by Canada's High Commissioner to Pakistan Wendy Gilmour as part of their initiative in the north. Hussain, the author SOC Films partnered with for the children's book, is an educator who has worked on over 60 children's books.

The 14 climate change heroes chosen for the book consist of men and women who've made the alleviation of the crisis their life's mission and are striving to utilise the available resources and strategies for the best possible outcome.

“The heroes profiled in this book are the men and women who are trying to save our land, and all that walks and grows on it, flies over it, swims in its waters. They range from the very young to the middle-aged. In writing this book, I have had the privilege of speaking to them and learning more about them, and I hope that you will be as inspired by them as I am,” said Husain on writing the book.

The corresponding film series for Pakistan’s Climate Change Heroes highlights the work and efforts of five of these heroes: Safdar Hussain from Balochistan, Gulab Shah from Sindh, Asif Murad and Rehmat Ali Dost from Chitral, and Amanullah Khan from Gilgit-Baltistan.

The filmmaker shared what her motivation was for the launch of the book and film series. “It is extremely important to start a conversation with children across Pakistan about the state of our planet and the fact that Pakistan is one of the top 10 countries to be hit hardest by climate change. I hope that this book plays its part in initiating dialogue around the climate emergency, and inspires us to follow in the footsteps of these heroes.”

Obaid-Chinoy said that the book and films will be shared free of cost with schools and libraries across the country. Requests for a copy of the book can be made on www.socfilms.com. The films have already been screened to more than 5,000 children nationwide.

People litter, waste washes up on the shore and there's even a discharge of untreated sewage into the sea from a drain near a restaurant.

Shaniera Akram has taken to social media to declare the beach in a state of emergency.

"There is kilometers of medical waste, including open syringes, vials of blood, broken glass medical containers, that has come in from the ocean spread out over kilometers across the beach. Our beach is a bio-hazard zone and needs to be shut down immediately. I am so sorry to the people including myself who use and love our beach but this is beyond safe."

She called for the media to take notice:

Akram also warned people to let professionals take care of the mess as cleaning it up ourselves could be dangerous:

She suggested the beach be shut down until it's safe for the public:

She had also previously shared a picture of all the plastic waste on the beach:

Good on her for pointing this out and also shutting down this troll in the process:

TIME’s annual list was released on March 2 and it “examines the most uplifting form of influence by spotlighting leaders who are using their voices to fight for a more equal world”. The 12 women they chose come from different parts of the world and range from fields like sports and politics to activism and arts.

This year, besides the Pakistani climate change activist, the list included Australian actor Cate Blanchett, American actor Angela Bassett, Somalian professional boxer Ramla Ali, American singer-songwriter Phoebe Bridgers, Minister of Racial Equality of Brazil Anielle Franco, Ukrainian women’s and LGBT rights activist Olena Shevchenko, Mexican human rights activist Verónica Cruz Sánchez, Iranian-American journalist, author and women’s rights activist Masih Alinejad, American soccer player Megan Rapinoe, Japanese incoming CEO Makiko Ono and American writer Quinta Brunson.

Siddiqa is a 24-year-old human rights and climate defender who is a fan of poetry as a form of expression. For her, it represents hope. At the annual UN Climate Conference in Egypt in November, she shared an original poem titled So much about your sustainability, my people are dying to point out how the leaders have failed their nations.

Raised in a matriarchal household, some things became deeply entrenched in her consciousness, motivating her to help the vulnerable and hold polluters accountable. “I was raised with the idea that the earth is a living being, that she gives life to you and in return, you have a responsibility,” she told TIME. “And I think we, collectively, have come to a point where we are ignoring the cries of earth mother.”

According to the publication, in 2020, Siddiqa co-founded Polluters Out, a global youth activist coalition, and helped launch the Fossil Free University, an activism training course. Now, she’s working to help set up a youth climate justice fund to correct the imbalance of resources activists have compared to the fossil fuel industry.

Her work with the fund aims to better distribute money to grassroots activists around the world. And as a research fellow for the Climate Litigation Accelerator project at New York University’s Center for Human Rights and Global Justice, she’s helping to create a system of support that bridges the gap between leaders and local activists. The activist is also focused on including rights of humans and nature into climate law.

“This work is definitely intergenerational,” she says. “I am young now. Tomorrow, I won’t be. I absolutely love working with people younger than me to pass on this knowledge so that the chain never breaks.”