World Affairs And Beyond

As a Pashtoon born in Pakistan, I have always felt a deep connection with the Pashtoons across the border in Afghanistan. Our language, traditions, and shared history bind us together in ways that transcend political lines. We celebrate the same culture, carry the same pride in our ancestry, and cherish the same values of honour, courage, and hospitality. But while our roots may intertwine, our identities have grown in different soils, and both deserve respect. I often hear people from Afghanistan saying that Khyber Pakhtunkhwa should merge with Afghanistan, as if the love we share for one another is incomplete without the blending of borders. To me, that idea feels misguided. Love and unity do not require the erasure of boundaries; they require understanding. Let me put it simply; if you live in your parents’ house, and you feel a connection to someone in another home, it does not mean they should strive to include your room in their house, cutting it off from where it already belon...

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In life, we often believe we are nurturing a beautiful garden, unaware that the protective gloves we wear shield us from painful realities. For me, those gloves represented my brother, competitive and favoured by our mother. My younger siblings, whom I once believed to be the tender flowers of our family, turned out to be the thorns, pricking and hurting my brother in ways I could not see. In my quest for peace, I often defended my younger siblings, thinking they were wronged and misunderstood. My brother and I frequently ended up in conflict, driven by my attempts to protect those I thought were innocent. I believed I was fostering harmony and love, but I was blind to the pain my siblings were causing him. Three years ago, when my brother passed away from COVID, the protective gloves were torn away. Without him, I was left exposed, my hands now vulnerable to the very thorns I had once nurtured. The pain of losing him was compounded by the realisation that those same thorns had turne...

One fine afternoon, I decided to meet Baba Jee. I went to his humble abode, but his caretaker informed me that Baba Jee was sitting by the stream, approximately half an hour away. So, I walked all the way and found Baba Jee sitting under a tree by the stream on a fine rug. He was happy to see me and jokingly asked, "Is your friend from Lahore still around?" "No, Baba Jee," I replied, "he left for Lahore right after leaving your place yesterday." Baba Jee then asked me to sit on the rug and offered me some green tea and sweets. He said, "What brings you today, my child?" Sobia: Baba Jee, you know I am a kind-hearted person who finds it hard to hold grudges or take harsh actions against those who have wronged me. People often see this as a weakness and believe I lack courage. I forgive even when others have offended or hurt me unjustly. They think I do this because I am weak. Is it true? Baba Jee: My child, true strength lies in the heart that can ...

My friend Siraj requested me to take him to Baba Jee, so I did. Baba Jee doesn't want to be a public figure, so people don't know him as such. Only a few travellers like myself, who have come across him, know where he can be found.  As we arrived at Baba Jee's modest abode located in the north of Pakistan near Afghanistan, he greeted us warmly, his face lighting up with a welcoming smile. He was very happy to meet Siraj, who had travelled all the way from Lahore to seek his wisdom. Baba Jee invited us in, and we settled down over a cup of green tea and some sweets. After a brief introduction, Siraj began to share his concerns. Siraj: Baba Jee, I feel so alone in life. I long to share my meals with someone, but even though I have family members, it’s not our tradition to sit together and eat. Everyone eats by themselves, in their own rooms. It’s not that I can’t afford it; it’s just that nobody seems interested in sitting together and eating. This makes me feel isolated. Bab...

I first met Baba Jee in the rugged mountains of Landikotal in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province of Pakistan. He was an immigrant from Afghanistan, having fled the turmoil during the USSR war. Over the years, he had been adopted by a wealthy landlord in the tribal belt of Pakistan and had become a Pakistani citizen. Baba Jee, a man of deep wisdom and quiet strength, speaks Pashto and Dari, and I am sharing a translation of our conversation in English. I make it a point to travel to his remote location a few times a year to seek his guidance and get my pressing questions answered. Most of our conversations are recorded, ensuring I can revisit his deep wisdom whenever needed. (Sharing the dialogue I had with Baba Jee today) Sobia (Me): Baba Jee, I have been troubled for the past year. Pakistan is an Islamic Republic, with mosques everywhere, people fasting during Ramzan, and our constitution rooted in Islam. Yet, I see people who lie, cheat, deceive, and steal, while still bowing down in pr...

In the world of games, at age just two, A child begins a cunning debut. Concealment, distraction, teasing play, Skills of deceit find an early way. Lies not rigid, but surprisingly free, Mimicking adults, yet with a child's glee. Building images of competence, so keen, Creating bonds and saving face, unseen. Complex lies, a face-saving art, At two and a half, they subtly start. Bravado, corrections, blame placed askew, In the world of children, skills accrue. Blaming toys or an implausible name, Learning from mistakes, not all the same. In conversion disorders, signals so sly, Deception plays out, catching the eye. Like birds leading predators astray, Children deceive in their own way. From silence to calling, distractions unfold, A repertoire of skills, cunning and bold. Images created, affiliative and more, Tools of deception in their little store. As they grow, those skills refine, A teenage web of deception, so fine. Falsification, concealment, exaggeration too, Mixing fact wit...