Those few days with Abdus Sattar Edhi

It is just sad that the world does not know about him, he does not get the recognition that he deserves, but it does not matter for him because he keeps on doing what he has been doing for so long.

Until meeting Abdul Sattar Edhi, I had never met a saint. Within a few moments of shaking hands, I knew I was in the presence of moral and spiritual greatness. Mr Edhi's life story is awesome, as I learnt when I spent two weeks working at one of his ambulance centres in Lahore.

The 87-year-old lives in the austerity that has been his hallmark all his life. He wears blue overalls and sports a Jinnah cap, so named because it was the head gear of Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the founder of Pakistan.

No Pakistani since Jinnah has commanded the same reverence, and our conversations were constantly interrupted as people came to pay their respects.

Billionaires who live a Simple Life

There would be very few of you who would have never dreamt of becoming millionaires or billionaires, most of us want a lot of money in our lives to do a lot of things. Some of you would want to buy a private jet, a yacht or an island!

But, here are people who despite of having ample money to do anything they want to, chose to live modestly. The lack of opulence and grand lifestyle makes them an outlier in their class of people and yet establishes them as a strong component of the society.

Warren Buffet

Everyone might know Buffet as the once richest man on Earth, but nobody knows that he hardly spends his cash. With a net worth of 53.5 billion, Mr. Buffet undeniably has a LOT of money to look after. He uses most of his personal profits for charitable institutions and provides money to foundations. He does not own a mobile phone and thinks most of these expensive gadgets and toys are simply ‘a pain in the neck’

Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, Egypt's President

El-Sisi was born on 19 November 1954 in Cairo. He grew up in Gamaleya, near the al-Azhar Mosque, and in a quarter where Muslims, Jews and Christians resided, and in which he has recalled hearing church bells and watching Jews flock to the synagogue unhindered. His family originated from Monufia Governorate, and was known for its discipline, zeal and resulting wealth. He is the second of eight siblings (his father later had six additional children with a second wife). His father, a conservative but not radical Muslim, had a wooden antiques shop for tourists in the historic bazaar of Khan el-Khalili.

Often described as disciplined, quiet and devout, el-Sisi preferred to concentrate on his studies or helping his father rather than participate in soccer with neighborhood children. He and his siblings would study at the nearby library at al-Azhar University. Unlike his brothers – one of whom is a senior judge, another a civil servant – el-Sisi went to a local army-run secondary school, where concurrently his relationship with his maternal cousin Entissar Amer started to develop. They were married upon el-Sisi's graduation from the Egyptian Military Academy in 1977. He attended the following courses:

#CricketComesHome

And just like that, it finally happened. A bowler ran in to bowl and a batsman blocked the ball. Over two thousand days of exile ended with that simple act of cricket.

The hours leading up to that moment had felt surprisingly normal. Those interminable queues shepherded by sweating policemen; that chaos and confusion around parking; the spontaneous humour throughout it all. At one point, as we crossed a row of metal detectors that were constantly going off, the crowd started mimicking the cacophony of robotic sounds. The serious cops broke into laughter, and the paranoia and nerves began to dissipate along with their chuckles.

The Lahore crowd also made the occasion count. The entire stadium was heaving when the Zimbabwean anthem came on and when they played the Pakistani anthem the very foundations of the stadium were left shaking. They were raucous right through the long build-up - the strict security meant that people were supposed to be at the ground well before the match started.

Pakistan also managed to take a simple match into an unnecessarily tight finish. What that meant was that instead of a cakewalk the crowd could expunge its nervous energy into a perfect crescendo. They shouted themselves hoarse, they smacked plastic bottles to a deafening rhythm, they howled Afridi's name. The captain obliged, smacking the winning boundary towards the stand that was dressed with banners saying #CricketComesHome. You couldn't have written a better script.

Years from now Pakistanis will look at the scorecard and wonder what the fuss was about. Why a one-sided T20 generated such meaning. But the simple answer is that after six years, a country had a chance to feel normal once again. A chance to remind itself that it was part of the larger world, that its hopes and dreams also had a right to exist. (Excerpts from A Glimpse of normalcy in Cacophony , Ahmer Naqvi)

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The Story of Last True Hermit

The hermit set out of camp at midnight, carrying his backpack and his bag of break-in tools, and threaded through the forest, rock to root to rock, every step memorized. Not a boot print left behind. It was cold and nearly moonless, a fine night for a raid, so he hiked about an hour to the Pine Tree summer camp, a few dozen cabins spread along the shoreline of North Pond in central Maine. With an expert twist of a screwdriver, he popped open a door of the dining hall and slipped inside, scanning the pantry shelves with his penlight.

Pehlwani, the Desi Wrestling

Pehlwani is a form of wrestling from South Asia. It was developed in the Mughal era by combining native malla-yuddha with influences from Persian koshti pahlavani. The words pehlwani and kusti derive from the Persian terms pahlavani and koshti respectively.

A practitioner of this sport is referred to as a pehlwan while teachers are known either as guru or ustad, depending on their religion. Many southern Indian practitioners of traditional malla-yuddha consider their art to be the more "pure" form of Indian wrestling, but most South Asians do not make this clear distinction and simply view kusti as the direct descendent of ancient malla-yuddha, usually downplaying the foreign influence as inconsequential.

When feelings become History

Written By: Izzah Naveed

When you lose the path and your allies lose you,

when nights pass in blur and sickness got you.

Those luxuries give you pain but yet you stand and claim them

When darkness consumes your heart and light burns your soul.

That beautiful agony where happiness does not grow

The peace in the battles and the brightness of black

When direction does nothing but distract

For love changes into mystery and feelings become history

Life pushes you to the brink but you hold it tight even as you sink

The Cruel Cycle of Life

It was a rare sunny day here in London, around 10 in the morning when I went to the park near the university, wanted to just stretch my body after a few lazy days. I jogged for a while and then sat on a bench enjoying the sunshine. There was this school trip and several kindergarten students with their small school bags, water bottles, red caps, were walking past me and I could not help but adore them. Smiled at them, they waved at me, I waved back and then one of the teachers asked one of the boy to go and give me a chocolate and he obliged, his name was Dennis. Such a cute little being, so happy, enjoying his time with his adorable little friends. They started playing in the park and I started throwing the tennis ball towards them so they could catch it.

While all this was happening an old man came and sat on the bench right across mine and started staring here and there, obviously I ignored. It must have been 20 minutes later when I decided to go back since I had to go to the university. The moment I passed him he said something which I could not understand. So I asked him again.

You know Egypt is still really beautiful, it is your country, right? He said.

No no I am from Pakistan, not Egypt. I said.

Oh okay you look like them. He said.

So people tell me hahah, I replied.

Pakistan is a nice place as well I have been there once. He started talking after a brief silence, then continued.  I lived in Egypt for like 30 years it is a beautiful place, looks just like this park.

It must be beautiful I am sure, I have never been to Egypt but I have heard a lot about it. I said.

Those were the days of King Faruq, when I went there the first time, it was such a peaceful place and I fell in love with it. He said.

Did you work for a company or you just went there for a visit? I asked.

No no son, I worked there for an oil company for like 30 years. I am 80 years old now. This park you are sitting in has been here for a long long time, I used to come here with my father, we used to play, just like these kids here playing right now.

While he was telling me he had this wide big smile on his face.

Woah 80, that's pretty long, what did you use to play? I hope cricket? I love cricket. I just tried to join in the conversation.

It used to be so much fun, there were mountains here now they are no where to be seen, the park had no boundaries, there was a water canal nearby, it was a beautiful place to visit. And yes I also played cricket but mostly with my friends.

It must be fun for sure, I replied.

Yes those were good days. Now look at me son, I am alone and on my own and there is no one I can talk to for days, so I come visit this park and try talking to anyone I can find, hope you aren't being bothered. He exclaimed.

No no It is fun knowing about someone's life. I said.

Its a fuckin' terrible life, I tell you. Old age. He said.

I have to go now I have my university in sometime and I am getting late. I said.

You come here everyday? He asked.

Often, yes but no fixed time. I replied.

Okay can you come exactly at this time tomorrow and we can talk for a bit? He asked me again.

Yes sure I am free tomorrow, will try and be here. I replied again.

But the next day I went to the park and he was not there. Day after, he was not there as well, the third day was the same. I haven't seen that old man ever since, hope he's safe and alive. Worst part is that I did not even ask his name but that smile and excitement on his face while talking about his childhood was extremely cute, still makes me smile whenever I think about it, hope we learn to respect our elders and have never ever even think about abandoning them.

Land of the Lost

Written By: Komal Aziz.

What didn't they do? To get us this piece of land?

What haven't we done? To give it all away?

My eyes are wet with tears of blood, as I see my country, my Pakistan, turning from 'The Land of the Pure' to 'The Land of the Lost'. Its true, that we are lost. We are lost because we don't know who we are anymore, we don't see anyone for who they really are, frustration has taken its place permanently in our veins, and we have turned into our own enemies.

Frankly speaking, blaming America for the drone attacks, terrorists for the killings and politicians for almost every little problem is just another lame justification of what has become of this nation. We are the ones, who have turned this nation into what it is today. We, are killing our own people. We, are the reason Pakistan is not as stable as it should have been.

Don't you think the white and green flag we call ours should be respected? If yes, then is that what we're doing? How would you feel if you are your class representative but all teachers pick different students for their work? Useless? Please don't make our flag look useless, and please stop raising different flags instead of our national one. Stop dividing yourselves into parties.

What's the point of all this quarreling when in the end, its basically Pakistan against the rest of the world? Right now, all that's happening here in this country must look hilarious to the world outside. The whole world stares at us and no wonder laughs while we turn into monsters and tear ourselves apart. Stop this insanity. Stop acting like fools just because you think acting wise won't bear any fruit. Becoming fools like our politicians won't bring us any peace either. How about standing up for our rights?

How about uniting as one, no matter who you support, Nawaz Sharif or Imran Khan. Because at the end of the day, we all are Pakistanis. 

Of Religious Extremism in Pakistan

Written By: Saniya Ahmad

Today, on 13th May 2015, approximately 43 were killed (of which 16 were women) and 13 others were injured near Safoora Chowk in Karachi, when 7 armed assailants opened fire inside a bus full of members of the Ismaili community. No children were reported to have been murdered.

It seems like another daily dose of sectarian violence. Another day in Pakistan. Another minority, another sect, another community murdered. Another group of people shot over their beliefs. Another massacre of the people of Pakistan. Another planned attack. Another daily dose, another day.

I do not know what is more upsetting: that people are being killed brutally just over a difference of religion, or that people are defending the terrorists and calling the victims Kafir and claiming that the attack was “well-deserved”. Truly, I have never seen a nation as united as Pakistan when it comes to cricket and hating India, and as divided as Pakistan when it comes to Islam. A minor difference of opinion between one sect and another, and the sects declare each other Kafir. A difference over how one sect offers their prayers, and they are declared Kafir. A difference over how one sect offers they yearly pilgrimage, and they are declared Kafir. One little difference is all it takes for the leaders of one sect to rise to the status of God and declare all the other sects Kafir.

Not only are the illiterates trying to sit in the place of God and declaring who deserves to live and who doesn’t, even the literates aren’t far behind. They will be liberal in every single aspect of life, but when it comes to Islam, their conservative opinions state that anyone with a slightly different belief is nothing short of a Kafir. Not only do I blame the terrorists and the conservative mullahs for the ruins that this country is in now, I blame the literates as well for their claims of only themselves being Muslims enough and no one else rising up to their standards of Islam; that Islam of whose principles they might not even be aware of.

The cities of Pakistan are weeping blood, the roads have become red rivers. Every part of Pakistan’s earth has absorbed the blood of innocent “Kafirs”. Schools and colleges are bleedings. Mosques, temples and churches are bleeding. And now, the streets and roads are bleeding too. No one is safe because according to these barbarians, we are all not Muslims. We are all infidels in the eyes of the terrorists. We are all wajib-ul-qatal in the minds of the conservatives. And we will be, till these terrorists are wiped out.

On the other hand are our “brave” and “courageous” politicians, our leaders, who stand up in front a few journalists, with a hundred bodyguards behind them, condemning the attack and declaring a war against terrorists and declaring that justice will be served. An approximate of Rs. 5 lakhs will also be donated to the affected families, as if that is the price of the life of their loved one. When the press conference ends, they’ll walk back to their respective limousines and drive back to their well-protected mansions and forget about it within minutes. No justice will be served. No culprit will be caught. Life will move on until another attack takes place.

I don’t demand for justice anymore. I don’t demand for equality anymore. I don’t demand for anything anymore, except for the right to live. Every citizen of Pakistan from the poor to the rich, from Sunnis to Shias to Ahmadis to Christians to Hindus to atheists, from children to elders, from males to females to transgender, every human should be given the right to live. That is all I ask from my leaders now. That is all I expect of them. Nothing more. Everything less.

The Hedgehog and the Snake

Written By: Maham Shahbaz

Out by the fire sits a lonely hedgehog. The fire crackles and shines with its bright colors.

The hedgehog sits staring into it as if it’s  a marvel, a beautiful marvel. Fire is alive, thinks the hedgehog and moves closer. In the cold winter night fire soothed her more than her traitor mind. The hedgehog thinks if she was  fire she would be so happy and loved because now everyone just walks away from her because of her ugly spines. she sat there and thought of the beautiful little snake she saw that day.

The next day she told the snake that’s she secretly watched him daily for a year now and she was helplessly in love with him. she said this with little beady eyes looking down on the ground, not at the snake. The snake was a little shocked that how could a hedgehog love a poisonous snake? Snake is a prey of hedgehog. The snake was so sure it was a trap that it slithered away into its tiny hole. The little hedgehog tried running after it but couldn't. So she waited outside the hole in the ground for the snake to come out. “how will I know that you won’t eat me?” asked the snake. On that the hedgehog realized that she was starving. So the hedgehog replied “wait here I will go eat something so that you can believe me”.

In the Memory of the Kids of Peshawar

Written By: Aleena Zafar

Think oh you now and then

What a misery must've befallen them 

Lying beneath the dying breaths of a dear friend 

To escape the gaze of the foes 

Think then what a terror it must've been 

To watch a mother figure go down in flames 

  That playground and them hallways 

Once filled with joyous laughter 

Are now stained with blood and grief hereafter 

Who were they? What were they? 

Those barbaric monsters!

Casting a shadow of their dark souls 

Do but see the silver lining in the cloud 

There is born a dauntless determination soo great 

There rises the example of such bold bravery

Tell you,oh filthy creatures,we're a nation undivided 

United in this we stand,united in this shall we stay 

Who amongst you cowards can break this mounting wave of hope

Look there they walk again through those gates 

To finish what they and their brothers started 

In this battle of lost  innocence are born these fierce young warriors.

Rachael Murton the Savior of Elephants

As she strides purposefully through an African forest leading a group of six orphaned elephants through the Zambian countryside, perhaps the only hint that Rachael Murton might once have called Essex home is the leopard print Wellingtons she wears to stride through the mud.

Together, the lumbering animals weigh a combined 500 stone, but Chelmsford-born Rachael retains her composure. For these young orphaned elephants, this devoted young British woman is their surrogate mum, and each wants to be first for a cuddle.

Tenderly, these colossal beasts — years from being fully grown — raise their trunks to 33-year-old Rachael's face, seeming to wrap her in an embrace.

The Message

It had been several weeks that I felt depressed and sad and I could not figure out the reason why it was the case, there was no apparent reason for it, life is good, studies are going alright, there were no mega problems but still I felt as if there is something that has been bothering me. I came up with several theories over the last couple of months like maybe it was the weather that was depressing me, maybe I wanted to go back home, maybe this and maybe that. 

There were also these weird strange dreams as if someone is trying to kill me, torture me. I used to wake up in the middle of night thanking the dream was not a reality. 

Whenever I slept after reciting few verses from Holy Quran the dreams ended but then whenever I forgot the dreams started again, then came a time when even though I recited verses the dreams were still there, something within me told, well actually someone in person told me it was some kinda message but you gotta figure it out yourself.

 I never bothered, maybe was too afraid or too ignorant? 

Then few days ago there was this dream that I am standing right in front of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) and I was so happy, there was no tension, no worry, no signs of depression, it was all happiness, all satisfaction. Woke up with so much happiness, suddenly tears rolled over. I knew, I just knew I don't deserve such a dream.

I remember in every prayer I offer, barely ever though I always pray that May Allah make me follow the footsteps of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) maybe that makes a little sense?

Maybe I should offer prayers more regularly? Maybe that is what it meant?

But why am I so lost why am I so confused. I still can't figure out what the message is. There is something seriously wrong with me..

اللَّهُمَّ صَلِّ عَلَى مُحَمَّدٍ وَعَلَى آلِ مُحَمَّدٍ كَمَا صَلَّيْتَ عَلَى إِبْرَاهِيمَ وَعَلَى آلِ إِبْرَاهِيمَ.إِنَّكَ حَمِيدٌ مَجِيدٌ اللَّهُمَّ بَارِكْ عَلَى مُحَمَّدٍ، وَعَلَى آلِ مُحَمَّدٍكَمَا بَارَكْتَ عَلَى إِبْرَاهِيمَ وَعَلَى آلِ إِبْرَاهِيمَ.إِنَّكَ حَمِيدٌ مَجِيدٌ

A not so proud Pakistani from Pakistan

Weird as it may sound but I am sure about one thing, every Pakistani, no matter how much they pretend to forget it, hide themselves and nationality, at the end of the day is a Pakistan and one way or the other, it shows. This happened with me today, he asked me not to name him but I thought I will share this with you all anyways. 

Me: Good Morning Sir.

Professor: Good Morning, sit down.

Me: Thank you.

Professor: So how are studies going?

Me: This semester has been really tough, finding it extremely hard.

Professor: Haha happens happens.

Me: Yes. haha.

Professor: So where are you from?

Me: Pakistan. 

Professor: Oh really? You don't really look like you are from Pakistan.

Me: Yes many people say that, pretty used to it. 

Professor: How are your assignments going?

Me: They are going alright, your lecture notes really help me.

Professor: I am glad.

Professor: So, where in Pakistan are you from?

Me: Lahore, mostly and then Islamabad.

Professor: Islamabad is a nice city.

Me: Yes it is the capital its really beautiful. Have you ever been to Pakistan?

Professor: *Smiles*

Professor: Is it still hot in Pakistan?

Me: Last time I was there It was hot, yes.

Professor: When will the other guys come? Its really late I have to leave.

Me: I just texted them they'll be here in sometime.

Professor: There was this college, Aitchison college, is it still there?

Me: Yes yes it is still there how do you know? *excitement in voice*

Professor: I did my FSC from there, you know like A levels here?

Me: Yes I know. That's really nice to know, so you were from Lahore? I mean are you from Pakistan?

Professor: No I am not from Lahore, I just studied there for college. Is it a university now?

Me: Not really.

Professor: I used to live in a village, then got a scholarship. It was the best college, I have so many memories.

Me: Pakistan is the best.

Professor: Haha.

Me: So, umm I always thought you were from Iraq, are you from Pakistan?

Professor: Haan beta, Pakistan se hoon.

Me: Oh aap Urdu b bol letay hain. *Wide big smile*

Professor: Kyun nahi, bas yahan aa k angrez bn gaey hain.

Me: Hahah yes it is true.

Professor: Urdu main baat karo mujhse.

Me: Kyun nahi sir, kyun nahi.

Professor: 1971 main FSC ki thi maiany, phir idhar aa gaya tha parhne ko uskay baad se idhar he hoon main.

Me: Kaafi time hogaya hai apko phir tow.

Professor: Ab tow kaafi develop hogaya hoga Pakistan?

Me: Kaafi change hogya hai, Pakistan bhi aur loug bhi.

Professor: Kabhi kabhi bohat yaad ata hai Pakistan.

Me: Same sir, mujhe bhi.

Professor: Beta ham se tow galti hogai ham idhar k he ho k reh gaey, tum Pakistan ko kabhi na bholna.

Me: InshaAllah sir, Pakistan nahi bholay ga, bohat khushi ho rahi hai k aap b Pakistan se hain.

Professor: I am a proud Pakistani, but Pakistan will not be proud of me.

Me: I am proud of knowing you, you are one of the best professors I have come across here.

Professor: Hahaha, my advise to you is that go back to Pakistan and serve it, you'll regret it many years later if you don't.

Me: Yes that is my plan someday soon.

Professor: I guess other guys won't come, you guys come and meet me tomorrow. 

Me: Okay sure, thanks for your time. *Turns to Leave*

Professor: Ruko.

Me: Jee.

Professor: Aaam abhi b meethay hotay hain? waisay he mazay k?

Me: Hahaha yes sir, bohat mazay k hotay hain abhi bhi.

Professor: Aur wo kya hotay thay, golgappay, wo bohat mazay k lagtay thay.

Me: Jee sab waisay he hai khanay peenay ka.

Professor: Chalo shabash jao ab, mujhe aur udaas na karo, Allah khush rakhay tumhe. 

Me: Hahah thank you so much.

The 3 AM Feelings

Written By: Maham Shahbaz

Why is it there a candle waiting in that room? Where is the woman who turned it on? Why at 3 am she wakes up to paint….to paint or to bear the pain? She never has control over the brush, the strokes, the color, the mixtures, the right amount of turpentine or water, she has no image in her mind. What are the flashbacks or whispers continuously in her head that cannot get out…they never get out. It’s insane its insane how sane people can be and she is not. Why? Why such a big difference there is?

What is that she paints? She never knows, she rarely looks at her canvas while painting like that…but there is this pain, and why is it there? There is an empty person inside her, a carrier maybe? Of what? What is this hollow shell? Is the soul asleep or long gone?

London & Brighton Travelogue.

In the Eurotunnel by shuttle

First sunset in England

Travelouge - Vendée

By Ha-Meem HUSSAIN

Travelouge: Etang de Berre, In the Southern France.

By Ha-Meem HUSSAIN

C'est digne d'une carte postale.

No, this photo was not retouched, it's just take, at the right moment at the right place

This is a very Frenchy bench :]

Sunset, the never ending poem of waves, a rocky bay, a light house. 

Discovering little things up.

BY : Ha-Meem HUSSAIN

View of the street  

a bambou branche in the heights

Two rainbows, Paris after rain

Blue sky, velux.  

cloudy sky, velux.  

Travelouge: Fromentine Bridge

BY Ha-Meem HUSSAIN

Pont de Fromentine 8

Pont de Fromentine 7

Pont de Fromentine 6

Pont de Fromentine 5

Pont de Fromentine 4

Pont de Fromentine 3

Pont de Fromentine 2

Pont de Fromentine 1