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Express Tribune
27-05-2025
- Politics
- Express Tribune
Cricket diplomacy: can a game heal India and Pakistan?
The writer is a professor of Media Studies with teaching and research experience at leading universities in Pakistan and abroad Listen to article In a small village near the outskirts of Karachi, an elderly shopkeeper once told me, "When India and Pakistan play, even the birds stop to watch the game." His words echo across the subcontinent with a reminder that cricket isn't just a sport here. It's a shared heartbeat. Yet today, as soldiers glare across borders and politicians trade barbs, that heartbeat falters. The world witnessed the last bilateral cricket series between India and Pakistan in 2012. A generation of children has grown up watching their heroes clash only in ICC tournaments, their rivalry reduced to a spectacle mediated by neutral venues of the UAE and England. But what if we dared to let cricket reclaim its role as more than a game? What if, once again, it became a language of hope? When the Bat Spoke Louder Than Politics I'll never forget the 2004 Karachi Test. An Indian team toured Pakistan after 14 years. My maternal grandfather, a Karachiite who lost family members during Partition, nearly wept as he watched Pakistani fans gifting Indian players rose petals. "They're not enemies," he said. "They're guests." For weeks, the air smelled of biryani and camaraderie. Auto-rickshaws in Lahore sported both nations' flags. This wasn't magic — it was humanity. My decade-long research, analysing 397 news articles from Indian and Pakistani media, found that 75% of cricket diplomacy stories carried a positive tone, even during crises. When Prime Ministers Manmohan Singh and Yusuf Raza Gilani shared laughs in Mohali in 2011, Pakistani newspapers splashed headlines like "A Match Made in Heaven", while an Indian newspaper wrote, "Cricket's Truce Outlasts Politics". But something shifted. After the 2008 Mumbai attacks, fear hardened into policy. Bilateral series froze. By 2019, when India's World Cup clash with Pakistan drew 273 million viewers, coverage turned toxic. Indian media framed the match as "War Without Weapons", while Pakistani outlets lamented "Diplomacy's Last Over". The birds still watched, but the players became soldiers and the fans recruits. The Youngest Victims In a Karachi school last year, I met 12-year-old Ayesha, who dreams of playing cricket for Pakistan — against India. Ayesha's generation has never seen an Indo-Pak bilateral series. They've only known hashtag wars and YouTube venom. Yet, in my research, 63% of articles from 2010-2018 linked cricket to peace-building, not conflict. Even today, when Virat Kohli praises Babar Azam's batting, or Shadab Khan thanks Indian fans for support, social media lights up with "Why can't we just be like this?" A Playbook for Peace Cricket won't solve Kashmir or silence guns. But it can rebuild what politics erodes: trust. Here's how: The 2023 Women's Asia Cup saw Indian and Pakistani players cooking biryani together in Bangladesh. Let's host a joint Peace Premier League for women cricketers, with matches in Amritsar and Lahore. In 2022, Indian and Pakistani fans in Melbourne collectively donated ₹1.5 million to flood-hit Pakistan. Build on this: create a "Cricket for Climate" fund, where both boards donate per boundary hit in ICC matches. Pair Wasim Akram and Sourav Ganguly in the commentary booths. Let them joke about 90s rivalries and remind viewers: "We fought hard, but we broke bread harder." Allow Pakistan's U-19 team to tour India. Let kids like Ayesha play exhibition matches in Jaipur or Peshawar. Childhood friendships can adulthood hostilities. The Last Over In 1987, Gen Zia surprised India by watching a match in Jaipur. In 2023, imagine Prime Ministers Sharif and Modi sharing jalebi in Ahmedabad during a bilateral game. Impossible? So was a Pakistani team touring India in 2004, until it happened. As Mandela said, "Sport can create hope where once there was only despair." Today, 60% of South Asians are under 35. They deserve more than viral hatred and inherited grudges. They deserve a chance to rewrite our story — one cover drive, one handshake, at a time. Let's not wait for diplomacy to permit cricket. Let cricket permit diplomacy.
Express Tribune
04-04-2025
- Express Tribune
No smooth drive
Karachi, the largest city in Pakistan and the 12th largest in the world, has a population of over 20 million. Naturally, such a massive population requires that much space and a proper transportation system. Unfortunately, the city's public transport is anything but efficient. We still have old buses. People take them only to save money, not for comfort. Many of these buses have unreliable schedules, forcing passengers to look for alternatives. And even when you manage to board one, the reckless driving makes it seem like the drivers don't even care about their own lives, let alone their passengers. Then comes the rickshaw, where drivers justify their high fares by blaming fuel prices or the lack of CNG. This forces many people to turn to a lawless creature — Chingchi. These rides stop wherever they please, ignoring traffic rules and blocking lanes without a second thought. If Karachi's buses were modern, safe and well-maintained, many people who currently prefer bikes or private cars just to avoid this chaotic transport system would willingly switch to public transport, which would also help reduce traffic and pollution. A proper transport system isn't just a need — it's a necessity for a city of this scale. As a Karachiite, it's a request to put some attention on this issue. Sania Niaz Karachi
Express Tribune
16-03-2025
- General
- Express Tribune
The timeless treasures of Thar
To a Karachiite, Tharparkar likely conjures images of suffering farmers or malnourished children. While these hardships are real and often underreported, in many ways, it is urban centres like Karachi that are impoverished – not in monetary wealth, but in culture, tradition and gratitude. Thar, in contrast, seems blessed with infinite riches. Over the past decade, mainstream news has largely focused on the extreme drought that gripped Thar around 2014 and lasted nearly six years. Yet, beyond its struggles, there is much to learn from the region, its people, and their way of life in order to better what is truly at stake. Rather than being viewed solely as a charity case, Tharparkar deserves a central place in discussions on climate change and cultural preservation in the region. A desert brimming with life A desert region, locals term describe Thar as an 'abad registan' (inhabited desert) in Urdu, rather than a truly barren one. It is dotted with trees and bushes as far as the eye can see, and peacocks roaming in their natural habitat. Once a fertile land, it is believed that the now extinct Saraswati or Ghaggar-Hakra River flowed nearby. A model of interfaith harmony In Tharparkar, it feels a humble shepherd pays little mind to who the prime minister of Pakistan is. Here, politics and religion take a backseat to culture, which shapes public life. At its best, Thar and its people offer a model of interfaith harmony. 'There is no such thing as caste or creed here,' says Mukhi Lachmandas, a caretaker at the Sant Nenuram Ashram, home to the Shree Hinglaj Mata Mandir in Islamkot. He is seen chopping vegetables for a communal meal being prepared. The temple feeds countless people everyday regardless of their religion and caste, using support it receives from the entire community. Its atmosphere is calm, with devotional music playing constantly in the background, punctuated by the occasional ringing of bells by devotees. Bhagro Mal Nachez, a Hindu born in Tharparkar who has spent much of his life in Islamkot, is a frequent presence at the temple. Having come here to escape poverty, he now sings the verses of the giants of poetry in the Indian subcontinent's Sufi tradition — the likes of Kabir, Bulleh Shah, Bhitai, Ustad Bukhari, and Bhagat Pallaj, to name a few. 'They preach the message of humanism,' he says of these poets. Hindu-Muslim Sufism was once the dominant spiritual tradition of the Indian subcontinent, but over time, it has faded into the margins. In places like Tharparkar, however, remnants of this past still endure. Could this decline, in part, have caused the rise in intolerance and, consequently, cultural erasure? It could be the other way around – cultural erasure leads to further intolerance, and more intolerance in turn accelerates cultural erasure, creating a vicious cycle. Sounds and colours Maryam Naz is a folk singer and dholak player from Thar. The bright colours of her ghagra-kanjra — the traditional attire of Thari women, influenced by Gujarati, Punjabi, and Sindhi styles — are a large part what makes Tharparkar colourful and lively. Though she is one of many talented folk musicians in the region, she remains largely unrecognised outside of it, receiving little attention or support. With the right investment, Thari music could find a significant regional audience. Yet, like many artists here, Maryam's voice remains unheard despite its beauty, and her art goes undervalued. Lack of investment isn't the only challenge Thar's art and music face. 'Our youth does not pay attention to continuing our culture,' laments Bhagro, his words indicate the fleeting sense of responsibility among younger generations when it comes to preserving heritage. 'But still, our old culture persists.' The Jain legacy of Thar Tharparkar is home to many ancient Jain temples. One of the oldest known religions in the Indian subcontinent, it is now extinct in Pakistan, but continues to thrive in neighbouring India, particularly in Rajasthan and Gujarat. At the core of Jain philosophy is the principle of 'ahimsa' or non-violence, which serves as the moral foundation for devout followers of the faith. Strict Jains abstain from eating even certain vegetables like onions or garlic, which are harvested by uprooting the plant. Since they believe this act causes harm to living beings — something they strive to avoid at all costs — they deem such foods impermissible. Some of this may sound extreme, but even so, how much harm, as opposed to the good, could such a belief possibly do? Could it be that extinguishing such beliefs in our society has contributed to the exploitative subjugation of nature? Biodiversity at risk Hinglaj Mata is believed to be a version of the goddess Sati. The name 'Sati' means truthful and etymologists traces the Urdu word for truth 'sach' back to the Sanskrit 'sat'. Devotees of Sati revere her as the goddess of fertility and longevity. As it stands, both qualities are exactly what Tharparkar and Sindh need now more than ever. Haji Muhammad Kumbher, a wildlife photographer and resident of Mithi, sees the climate crisis, cultural loss and wildlife decline as deeply interconnected. 'In August, Thar is green,' he says – the season offers a glimpse into the region's once fertile ancient past. 'The bird that Shah Latif sang about, the Taro, is believed by locals to signal imminent rain with its chirp.' Having spent years photographing Thar's wildlife, Kumbher is acutely aware of species vanishing from the landscape. 'Near Rann of Kutch, there are still many plants. Khipp (Leptadenia pyrotechnica) is one example — you won't find it here anymore, but if you go towards the Rann of Kutch (at the border with Gujarat), you'll still see it there.' 'The tractor doesn't spare anything,' Haji Muhammad complains, referring to the disappearance of khipp. Once abundant in Thar, the plant is known among locals for its role in stabilising the soil. The herb is a natural carbon sequester as well. 'A person using a camel [for agriculture] is mindful of which plants should not be harmed,' he says. But the tractor, in its so-called efficiency, spares nothing — not even the herbs that have evolved as vital parts of the ecosystem. This raises a deeper question: how do we, as a society, define true efficiency? 'People used khipp a lot back when the when Sindhu composed the Vedas,' Haji Muhammad shares, delving into ancient history. Speaking of recent times, he adds, 'The milk used to bathe idols during the Shiv Mela is sometimes infused with khipp.' The Shiv Mela is an annual festival held in Mithi, drawing people from across the region, regardless of faith or creed. Investing in resilience Tharparkar can grow everything its people need to survive. The only challenge, as local food industry businessman Pyaro Shivani explains, is that the region can go years without rain. 'Food is mostly grown during the rainy season,' he tells us at his home in Mithi. The regional diet, he shares, revolves around locally grown mung daal, sesame, and bajra (pearl millet), along with honey and butter, among other staples. 'We eat them from July to November, and after that, we preserve them and store them in our homes,' he says. Pyaro emphasises that despite the recurring droughts in Tharparkar, investing in and promoting locally grown food could help mitigate the worst effects. 'Agriculture in Tharparkar is largely organic. If efforts were made to develop it, it wouldn't matter if it didn't rain for 10 years,' he claims. According to him, the income generated from this commerce could sustain locals through prolonged droughts. Standing at the crossroads Thar is a place few from Karachi will ever visit. Yet, standing at a crossroads in time and space, it symbolises not just the gradual extinction of species, but also of culture and compels us to question the connection between ecological and cultural loss. It is easy to overlook the most ordinary yet heartwarming aspect of local customs — the emphasis on hospitality. The welcoming nature of the residents serves as a reminder of the importance of gratitude. Moreover, one gets the sense that those deeply connected to their history and traditions, whether through poetry and song or inherited wisdom, understand the importance of intergenerational knowledge in helping them endure through thick and thin. In big cities like Karachi, one encounters countless people who have been given everything, yet often fall prey to greed and cynicism. In contrast, in places like Thar, where resources are scarce, people seem to possess an endless reserve of generosity, gratitude, and openness. This shared cultural wealth belongs to all who live on these lands and beyond. For some, it lies buried deep, waiting to be unearthed; for others, it remains close to the surface. The only question is: are we curious enough to seek it? Zain Haq is a freelance contributor All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the author
Express Tribune
16-01-2025
- Express Tribune
Wedding woes: When travel meets chaos
KARACHI: Can you feel it? The thrum of the dhol beating in your ears. The bass of wedding music reverberating through the dance floor. The adrenaline making you raise your hands high at every event. Or are you too occupied by the sniffle of an expected flu or the agitating forewarning of a body-rattling sneeze? Or maybe you are squeezed too uncomfortably between two relatives in a car to care. Either way, you're reminded of your naïveté back when you'd watch reels romanticising the desi wedding experience, only to be left contemplating just how wide the radius of your comfort zone can stretch. A loaded season Welcome to the ides of January - a brief but intense period that indiscriminately demands maximum effort if you're living in this corner of the world. Others refer to this spell as the inevitable wedding season. By this point, you might have attended a wedding or two at least. For the most part, you're unfazed. Your poor coastal city is generally sidelined by the touch of winter - it's a nimble graze at best. Karachi is unfamiliar with the cold, so when it does strike, it's worth the celebration. And what is a grander celebration here than a committed series of wedding festivities? So, you're excited. You received word months ago that a family wedding is scheduled for this season, hence you have much to look forward to. And with the parties split across cities, that tiny, adventurous spirit within you is intrigued by the logistics. However, the larger part is daunted by the imminent chaos. You reckon this might be the last wedding in your family for a while, so you need to make the most of it. Chaos aside, there will be many memories to extract from this after all. The neutrality of this prediction spares you from the brunt of the bedlam ahead. On the road If you're a Karachiite, you naturally believe that Hyderabad isn't too far away. A small road trip is no inconvenience for you, even if you're not fond of travelling. Your schedule seems fairly simple - hit the road in the morning, mark your stop before the afternoon, unwind at your aunt's, attend the wedding, and head back home the same night. Pretty straightforward, right? Wrong. When the bulk of your journey kicks off on the Motorway, you don't account for the blockage and its resulting traffic that lies ahead. But hey, that's fine. You're resting with your legs stretched out in the trunk of the three-row car, with your little brother perched on the opposite side. So far, it's a picnic, especially since you're not a fan of the morning breeze and the sun is gleaming before the rear window like a blessing. That is until the hours begin to press on. You're starting to run out of snacks and your ears hurt from how long you've had your earphones plugged into them. Though, as soon as you take them off, you find that your relatives are engaged in a feud about routes and not making it in time for the salon appointment. Soon, the sun begins to bake you from one side, and you wonder if you should champion gratitude. You don't like the cold, so by some self-imposed law, you must delight in the punishing heat. Especially now, when you have no other choice. Against all odds By a miracle, you arrive at your destination, well into the afternoon. You happily hop off the trunk, ecstatic at feeling the ground under your feet. Now, there's the matter of squeezing into an apartment bursting with people since your aunt is the only relative who lives in this city. To no one's surprise, you can hardly find a spot to sink into and waste away the remaining hours. Every bathroom is occupied too, so no chance of even washing your heat-soaked face. A moment of respite arrives when half the apartment empties out, the elders rushing to the nearest salon. This gives you space to get ready, though at times you have to resort to using curtains as your changing stations. Somehow, you're all dressed and ready to go. But not so fast, because it is almost a ritual for an argument to break out before a big function. It shouldn't be rocket science crowning your uncle - the groom - with a sehra, but as per an impromptu consensus, it now is. As the hours fly by, your extended family grows restless - some rushing the process, others cleverly sneaking in moments for photographs. When you finally make it to the venue, you think: this is it. Well, not quite. You happen to be on the groom's side. A grand entrance is an obligation. Cue the fireworks, as you stand shivering in your sharara, already missing the merciless afternoon sun. And finally, you have made it. A fantastic evening lies ahead, though it's over in a blink. So is heading back and changing into your casual clothes amid the throng of relatives roaming inside the cramped space. But the good thing is, it's over. All that's left now is to depart for home. But, oh no, the bride and the groom are facing complications checking into their hotel room. So all the drivers, who are supposed to steer the journey back home, will now be making a detour. What they hoped to be minutes prolong to hours as the rest of the guests sit idly by. Every yawn threatens sleep, but you're told that waiting till the morning means risking running into traffic, and you've already seen how that plays out. Finally, with all obstacles put to rest, you and your extended family set out for home, all vehicles tailing each other for safety. Somewhere along the way, the chain splits and ends with your car waiting on an eerie street at 3AM. Your cousin needs to be dropped off at her place, but your ride is unfortunately ahead of the others. Knocking on a locked door is pointless, so wait by a frightful sidewalk you must. You reach home at around 4AM, weary and anxious. You all but embrace every piece of furniture in your room. As you wash off the day's sweat and head to bed, you can only think of one thing: you have a reception to attend later today.
