Gujrat: The Height of the Akbari Fort and the Trag…

In the autumn of 2005, the earth rose in wrath against the ancient hills of Kashmir. On the eighth day of October, a violent convulsion of 7.6 magnitude tore through the region, its epicentre lying a mere 19 kms northeast of Muzaffarabad. The tremor was felt far beyond Pakistan’s borders, reverberating through Afghanistan and Tajikistan, across the valleys of India, and even into the remote expanses of Xinjiang. It proved one of the deadliest natural disasters of that decade, claiming thousands of lives and reducing entire villages to rubble. For months the ground refused to rest; careful records later counted no fewer than 497 aftershocks between October and the following March. During such uncertainty a sobering lesson emerged; buildings erected with care and strength stood firm against the repeated tremors, while those raised hastily or without conscience crumbled into dust and despair. A parallel drama of sudden upheaval and lingering aftershocks has unfolded more recently, though this time the forces at work have been those of human conflict rather than nature’s blind fury. Late in February 2026, long-simmering tensions between Iran and USA erupted into open warfare, with Israel joining the fray in decisive fashion. Large-scale aerial and missile assaults struck hundreds of targets across Iran, homing in upon military bases, nuclear facilities, and centres of leadership. The loss of Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, in the opening strikes sent shockwaves through the region and beyond. Tehran responded with barrages of missiles and swarms of drones that lit the night skies and struck at targets across several countries. For several weeks in March and April the fighting intensified, leaving thousands dead—most of them in Iran and Lebanon—and threatening to engulf wider circles of involvement involving Hezbollah and other actors. Shipping in the Strait of Hormuz, that vital artery of global energy, faced grave peril, and the world watched anxiously as oil supplies trembled on the edge of disruption. A measure of relief arrived around the middle of June when a MOU was concluded between the United States and Iran. The accord promised a halt to major combat operations, the reopening of the strait to peaceful navigation, and the beginning of serious negotiations concerning Iran’s nuclear program. For a brief season hope flickered that reason might yet prevail. Yet by the seventh and eighth of July the ceasefire had fractured. Iranian forces struck at merchant vessels in the Hormuz passage; the United States answered with fresh waves of airstrikes and the reimposition of a naval blockade. Iran, in turn, launched retaliatory attacks upon American and coalition positions in Bahrain, Kuwait, Jordan, and elsewhere. As July draws toward its close, the pattern of nocturnal American strikes and Iranian counterblows continues, holding the Gulf in a state of restless tension. Though the principal theatre of war lies distant from our frontiers, its aftershocks have travelled with merciless swiftness to the streets and bazaars of Pakistan. The initial convulsion in global oil markets followed hard upon the early phase of hostilities. Petrol prices in Pakistan surged to an unprecedented four hundred and fifty-eight rupees and forty-one paise per litre on the third of April—a record born of disrupted supplies and fevered speculation. Diesel climbed still higher, touching five hundred and twenty rupees and thirty-five paise. The consequences touched every corner of national life; transporters raised their fares, farmers faced higher costs for machinery and transport, and ordinary households tightened their belts as inflation rippled outward. For a time, as diplomatic channels—including Pakistan’s own quiet mediation efforts—bore fruit and the strait began to function once more, prices eased and a measure of stability returned. Yet the renewed outbreak of fighting in July has shattered that fragile calm. Oil prices have again become uncontrollable, climbing under the pressure of uncertainty and fresh speculation. The government, its options narrowed by heavy reliance on international loans and a vulnerable economy, has found itself compelled to adjust domestic fuel rates almost daily, basing decisions as much upon forecasts of future trouble as upon present realities. Thus, the nation has endured a great initial shock followed by persistent aftershocks, much like the Kashmir earthquake two decades earlier. Each fresh tremor in the Gulf sends another wave through our foreign exchange reserves, our transport sector, and the fragile purchasing power of the common citizen. Industries dependent upon steady fuel supplies have curtailed operations; the cost of everyday commodities has risen in sympathy; and the burden has fallen most heavily upon those least able to bear it. Pakistan’s economy, long accustomed to navigating external storms while standing upon borrowed foundations, feels these disturbances with particular acuity. Even in these challenging times, the dry wit of everyday Pakistanis remains unshaken. One recalls an incident from the days when the Daily Pakistan newspaper was under the ownership of Akbar Bhatti. A reporter rushed into the newsroom one afternoon declaring that Bhatti Sahib’s car had met with an accident. Before concern could fully form, another veteran journalist remarked with a knowing smile that this surely meant salaries would not arrive on time that month. The quip, though light, spoke volumes about the precariousness of life and livelihood when those at the helm encounter misfortune. Pakistan has passed through many such seasons of trial—political upheavals, economic tempests, and natural calamities alike. Each time the nation has gathered its scattered strength, mended what could be mended, and pressed onward. The present difficulties arising from the conflict in the Gulf, with their daily toll upon fuel prices and economic confidence, constitute yet another test of our collective endurance. The strong institutions and resilient spirit of the people have served as anchors in the past; they remain our surest hope today. God willing, this too shall pass, and Pakistan shall emerge from these aftershocks steadier and more united, its foundations reinforced by hardship and its future secured by the unyielding will of its citizens.

Vice President Pakistan-China Joint Chamber In the early 1990, when Chinese Government planned to develop the most modern city of the world at the south eat coast of China, named Shenzhen, the Government named it as the window of the world. In the modern history it is the most advanced, beautiful and well-planned city in the world with its population reaching almost 18 million. Along, Shenzhen GDP is bigger than the GDPs of many countries. Similarly, after the Chairman Xhi announced his initiative to develop for a global trade in the name of Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) which is considered to be the biggest financial project globally. In respect to active this project the initiative of CPEC as a flagship project of BRI was taken. Pakistan with its most sage borders with its neighboring countries China is also the key part of this initiative. Considering my experience to travel to China using a road link was started from the small city of Pakistan name coast. Which is even more than like 200 km from the border of the Khunjarab which leads you to enter to the new window of the world which is starting from the south west of China. Directly you pass the immigration process at Tashgorqan, you will feel the things have been entirely changed. My first inspiration was this city for its cultural background buildings, music, food, that totally fascinated me. I was just in the middle ages where there was a very beautiful city to welcome me with all its cultural strength. The city is even smaller like a country of Kashgar but still you can see the international food chains along with a lot of local delicacies. The ethnic people are mainly Chinese and Tajik origin. This city is similarly famous for the yolk beef. And that was my first feast tried at this city. The visitors of the city were even more than the locals who came from all over China to observe the rich culture of this city. Even I spent there few hours but the fascination, beauty and culture of this city will definitely attract me to visit it again. The roads were wide, clean, infrastructure was excellent, like a combination of an old civilization with modern infrastructure. If a got a chance in the future I would love to stay in this city significantly marking the importance of this city even in the ancient time till today. This was the first settlement as a city I found on my way to the Khunjarab border to tashgorqan. The people were very friendly, beautiful and they showed a lot of love not only fore me but for the all visitors. Such a small city with a rich culture for their dressing, music and traditional dance can fascinate anyone. Kashgar is about 5 hours drive from Tashgorqan. Being the second largest city of Xinjian, this city is I may call a new window of the world. Kashgar city which is normally a called as Kashi by Chinese is an inspiration. This city which was formally very undeveloped like a couple of decades before now have become a center of financial activities under the BRI. With its specific location along with the silk route the locals of Kashi claims that this city have a history to 2000 to 5000 years old. I have never observed a city like Xinjiang with such a remote area and having the ethnic communities for more than 13 including Yugur, dominating Han, Tatar, Tajik, Karghaiz, Mangol and many other are among the most prominent ethnic nationalities living in this city. This diversified this city as a multicultural hub.   China Government is very concerned and they are really developing this area with all the available resources they can inject. Within a decade of time Kashi is now one of the modern cities developing with the gigantic speed and its bordering with the countries like Kirghizstan, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Tajikistan. With its population increasing ofr more than 6 million people is one of the biggest city in all this region. Yecheng as a county of Xinjiang, is considered to be a window to Tibet all that, who want to start their expedition to Tibet, they have to start from this city name , Yecheng. I got an opportunity to visit his small city which is similarly fascinating, I should appreciate this all areas are culturally being so rich that every building and every road is telling a new story about this city. What attracted me the most that was the food and the dancing culture of this city with some fascinating music. This area is rich for its dry fruits where you can see the most variety of dry fruits in the world. Yecheng is considered to be a capital city of walnuts. Coming back of Kashi which is my topic of the day, everybody can spend hours and hours to have a look at the rich culture. The Government have preserved the buildings and most of them have been converted into historical places mostly are called in the name of Mehman Khana (Hotel). The walled city of Kashgar is one of the top most attraction for any foreigners and mainland Chinese. Now the Kashi economy is mainly based on tourism as the Chairman Xhi announced in his last speech as tourism and health sector would be the main focus of Chinese Government. The streets of Kashi were swarming with the Chinese from all provinces who were eager to learn more about the history and culture of this region.   To be continued..

A couple of years back I was travelling from Karachi to Lahore after visiting some research institutions. The person sitting next to me was a federal minister. He asked me if I had been to the museum at Mohenjo Daro and seen the bullock cart on display there. To this day, the same cart is being used in the villages of Sindh with hardly any upgradation or improvement. His remarks were startling. Despite our advancements and research, the ground realities remain grim in the land of the pure. As a child growing up on the Mall very close to the Punjab University Old Campus, I have fond memories of real-time research being carried out by our scientists. Dr Niaz Ahmed, Director, Institute of Chemical Engineering and Technology, worked around the clock to upgrade the Kalabagh Iron deposits. He developed the Tanvir-Niaz process to extract iron from a low-grade deposit. Next door in Government College was Dr Sultan, the biologist, sitting on his charpoy working late hours. Dr Nazir Ahmed, the famous zoologist who rose to be the principal of the esteemed institution, worked in the zoological gardens of the college next to the zoo on the Mall. Dr Rafi Chaudhry established the first High Tension Physics laboratory in Asia. Dr Abdul Salam, the Nobel Laureate, was his student. The University of Agriculture was not too far behind, transferring its research to the farmers through its extension program. Slowly but surely, the republic was working towards technological self-reliance and food self-sufficiency. There was no external debt. By and large, corruption was contained. Institutions were strong. Order prevailed in the country. The founding fathers understood their responsibilities towards nation building. Despite initial hiccups, the nation remained on track. Through PIDC (Pakistan Industrial Development Corporation), steel was produced from the Kalabagh iron ore using the German Krupp-Renn process. A pilot plant was set up at the site to first upgrade the ore, followed by its conversion to steel. For demonstration purposes, VW cars were produced from this steel. The brilliant engineer C.M. Latif, whom I consider to be the Tata of Pakistan, established BECO (Batala Engineering Company), which was ahead of its time. Comrade Chou-En-Lai visited the plant in Kot Lakhpat during his visit to Pakistan in the early sixties. Both BECO and Ittefaq Foundry were nationalized in the seventies. The government of Zia-ul-Haq decided to denationalize both. While Ittefaq (LEFO then) was handed over to the Sharifs totally free of financial liabilities, BECO (PECO then) was not given this option. C.M. Latif refused to accept the liabilities. The Sharifs sold the land of the foundry, while PECO still stands there as a liability instead of an asset, which at one time it was. It is widely believed that the people of Pakistan are very innovative. A term “Jugaad” is used, which means to find a desi, out-of-the-box solution with minimal resources. In my personal experience, I have interacted with very able ‘Mistris’ (technicians) and theoretically able engineers and scientists who work well on paper but with limited practical application. The link between the hands and the mind is not there. Nations rise by applying their indigenous know-how. Technology is the strongest resource of our times, and its advancement and commercialization hold the key. For self-sufficiency in food, the manufacturing of agri-equipment at Daska needs technological advancement to mechanize the farms. A few years back, PAEC (Pakistan Atomic Energy Commission) developed laser land levelers for better utilization of water. The technology could have reached the farmers through Daska, but it did not. Orders have started to pour in for our armaments, which is a good sign, but massive re-organization with commercial discipline will be required for maximum utilization of the huge investments (around $20 billion) in this sector. There is a famous American saying: “The test of rubber is when it hits the road.” Similarly, the test of innovation is when it sells in the marketplace; otherwise, it remains an intellectual curiosity only, which developing nations cannot afford.

By Tuba Khan Informal networks represent an extremely important yet widely ignored aspect of governance, especially within developing nations whose formal administrative apparatus is either weak or disputed. Informal institutions refer to uncodified norms and traditions that influence decision-making processes in ways beyond the reach of legal processes. As far as the informal networks are concerned, they can include networks of patronage, kinship and alliances based on personal connections. In countries with hybrid governance structures such as Pakistan where formalized democratic mechanisms co-exist with informal structures, a clear distinction between formal institutions from informal institutions must be made for effective governance. In Pakistan, informal networks do not exist in parallel with institutionalized structures of governance; they actually become the central point around which power operates. Despite having formal governmental structures intact, the informal networks become quite important and influential. There exists a high level of interaction between political, military, bureaucratic and commercial elites. The origins of the informal networks in Pakistan’s governance system are rooted in the colonial era when the governance system of the British was based mainly on the principles of indirect governance. Alongside formal institutionalized structures of governance, the colonial rulers gave powers to local intermediaries in the form of local landlords, tribal chieftains and other local power-brokers. This led to the development of patronage systems and kinship power, which were based on caste and biradari relations. Since its inception in 1947, Pakistan has experienced a very weak governance system. In the absence of stable and fully consolidated democratic institutions, the informal networks took on greater importance in political activities. These informal networks were strengthened by the repeated involvement of the powerful actors in political matters. The periods of outright military takeover or indirect control through civilian regimes cemented a structure where important decisions were frequently taken without recourse to institutionalized processes. The military, along with bureaucrats and politicians, established networks that could affect the policy agenda, political succession and even national interests. Resultantly, this trend continued to blur the lines between formal and informal authority. Islamization strategies of the 1970s and 1980s further broadened the informal networks by involving religious figures in the politics of Pakistan. Religious leaders can trigger religious sentiments and thus influence public opinion according to the needs of influential networks. So, in many cases, the government depended on the clergy and their organizations to mobilize mass support, which gave rise to interchanges of mutual benefits between religious and political authorities. Since the 1990s, liberalization in the economy and growth of the media industry have introduced new players into informal networks. Informal networks have several mechanisms within Pakistan through which they exercise their authority. Patronage stands out as one such mechanism where rewards and resources, such as employment opportunities within the public sector, campaign financing and even electoral loyalty are offered in exchange for support. On the other hand, back-channel negotiations conducted outside formal channels, such as Parliament and cabinet meetings, are vital in influencing the decision-making process of the state. Furthermore, elites are capable of hijacking policy-making processes and diverting resources in ways beneficial to themselves. Additionally, the media often mobilize people and give political power some form of moral legitimacy through propaganda. There are many implications of the existence of informal networks on the efficiency of the governance process. One of the major impacts is the undermining of formal institutional structures and electoral practices. Checks and balances, as well as the legislative process itself are often ignored or used solely for show purposes, while the real process of decision-making is handled through the use of private contacts and backdoor diplomacy. Another important implication is that the culture of corruption and inefficiency continues to persist. Patronage-driven systems tend to give preference to loyalty as opposed to competence, which leads to the appointment of people and the distribution of resources in a manner that is unrelated to development and the needs of the people at large. Policies tend to be revised according to changes in the interests of those in positions of authority, ultimately hindering the way to stability. To counter the effects of informal networks in Pakistan, the gradual development of formal institutions needs to take place instead of abruptly altering the current political environment. The starting point for designing a reform package is to redefine the role of the state. It is critical to ensure institutional independence, transparency of decision-making processes, meritocracy, citizen participation, press freedom and the accountability for the excessive influence of religious and economic elites to decrease dependence on informal institutions. Prevalence of informal political institutions in Pakistan causes several problems for the country’s political system. Formal institutions are often sidelined or rendered symbolic, leading to policy inconsistency and the undermining of democratic accountability. Nevertheless, the existence of informal groups is entrenched in the system and cannot be completely eliminated, their impact can be progressively restricted. This serves as an indication that reforms should be incremental and continuous

The Pakistan Muslim League (N)’s power show in Muzaffarabad during the Azad Jammu and Kashmir election campaign was far more than an ordinary political rally. To me, it marked the re-emergence of Nawaz Sharif as the central figure in Pakistan’s political landscape. The message from Muzaffarabad was unmistakable. Nawaz Sharif spoke of development rather than division, construction rather than confrontation, and public welfare rather than political vendettas. His interaction with the crowd was genuine and heartfelt. One symbolic moment that captured public attention was his light-hearted remark expressing a desire to become the Prime Minister of Azad Jammu and Kashmir. It reflected his affection for the region and the deep emotional bond he has always maintained with the people of Kashmir, whose support has remained consistent throughout his political career. Having covered Pakistani politics for nearly three decades and followed Nawaz Sharif closely since his arrival in London from exile in 2006, I have witnessed every major phase of his political journey. From Duke Street in London, where he addressed party workers during years of political exile, to the massive public gathering in Muzaffarabad, I saw the same determination and resilience that has defined his politics for decades. Few political leaders in South Asia have experienced the highs and lows that Nawaz Sharif has endured. His elected government was overthrown by General Pervez Musharraf in 1999. He was prosecuted, imprisoned and later forced into exile. Years later, he returned to Pakistan and regained political power, only to face another period of legal and political challenges following the Panama Papers case. In my view, elements within the state establishment and parts of the judiciary played significant roles during different phases of these political confrontations. Regardless of differing opinions on those events, what remains remarkable is that every major attempt to end his political career has ultimately been followed by his return to the centre of national politics. Many analysts predicted that the 2024 general elections would mark the end of Nawaz Sharif’s political dominance. I never shared that assessment. Throughout my television appearances and reporting, I consistently argued that he remained the principal decision-maker within the PML-N and that no major political decision was taken without his approval. One of the defining strengths of the Sharif family’s politics has been continuity of leadership. Shehbaz Sharif has repeatedly demonstrated exceptional political loyalty to his elder brother. On several occasions, he chose party unity over personal ambition. Following the difficult electoral environment of 2024, he assumed the office of Prime Minister at a time when Pakistan was facing severe economic and diplomatic challenges. In my assessment, his government helped restore economic confidence, improved macroeconomic stability and steered Pakistan away from a potentially deeper financial crisis. His administrative style has always been focused on governance and delivery rather than political rhetoric. Maryam Nawaz’s rise represents another important chapter in the party’s evolution. During the years when Nawaz Sharif faced political disqualification and exile, she emerged as one of the PML-N’s most visible campaigners. She endured political pressure, remained active throughout the party’s most difficult period and gradually established herself as a national political leader in her own right. As Chief Minister of Punjab, Maryam Nawaz has sought to build her political identity around governance, administrative reforms and public service delivery. Whether one agrees with her politics or not, she has brought energy and visibility to the office and has made rapid implementation of development initiatives a defining feature of her administration. Her speeches continue to energise party workers, while her governance record is increasingly becoming central to the PML-N’s political narrative. When I met Nawaz Sharif and Maryam Nawaz at Jati Umra earlier this year, I observed the same resolve that I had seen nearly two decades earlier during the London exile years. The determination to continue serving through politics appeared unchanged. The Muzaffarabad rally reinforced what I have believed for years: Nawaz Sharif has entered another active phase of his political career. His message is no longer about political survival—it is about political continuity, stability and development. Whether one supports him or opposes him, it is difficult to deny one reality. More than forty years after entering politics, Nawaz Sharif remains one of Pakistan’s most enduring and influential political figures. His resilience has become part of Pakistan’s political history, and Muzaffarabad demonstrated that his political story is far from over. The views expressed in this article are solely my personal observations and political analysis based on decades of reporting on Pakistan’s politics.

Every August, right on schedule, my phone starts buzzing. Friends send me lists. WhatsApp group start heated debates. Neighbours stop me at the corner shop. Someone always has an opinion about who made it onto Pakistan’s civil awards list this year, and someone always has an even louder opinion about who got left off. I have seen this happen so many times now that I could almost set my watch by it. The list comes out, the arguments start, and by the time the dust settles, nobody remembers what the fuss was even about. The award list carries the names which we like the most, and unfortunately, it carries those names, which do not like. I want to tell you something I have come to believe after watching this cycle play out year after year. This debate we keep having, about who deserved a medal and who did not, is about as useful as arguing over which cloud looks more like a rabbit. It never ends, and it never really goes anywhere either. People pick their favourites, defend them like family, and forget the whole point of what an award is supposed to mean in the first place. Here is the real point, plain and simple. An award is not a popularity contest. It is not a reward for showing up. It is meant for something extraordinary. Something exceptional. A person who did work so far above the ordinary that the state felt it had to stand up and say thank you in front of everybody. Now here is where the story gets interesting, and honestly, a little strange. An economist named Zehra Farooq sat down and did something most of us never bother to do. She pulled together every single civil award given out over nine years, all 2,209 of them, and looked at the pattern. What she found should stop us all in our tracks. Back in 2018, only 73 people received awards. By 2026, that number had climbed to 372. That is five times as many people being called extraordinary in less than a decade. Think about what that actually means. If we are handing out that many more awards for exceptional service, it should follow that we have more and more exceptional people walking among us. Teachers going beyond the call. Officers solving problems nobody else could touch. Scientists, engineers, public servants, all rising to meet the moment. That is what a growing list of honourees is supposed to tell us. But here is the part that keeps me up at night. If we truly have this many extraordinary minds working for the good of the country, why does the country not feel more extraordinary? Why do our institutions still creak and groan the way they always have? Why does public service still feel, for so many ordinary citizens, like an uphill climb rather than a smooth road paved by all this supposed excellence? Something does not add up. Either the definition of extraordinary has quietly loosened over the years, or the excellence being honoured is not translating into the everyday experience of the people it is meant to serve. Farooq’s numbers also show something else worth sitting with. Women still make up only around ten to sixteen percent of recipients, a share that has barely moved in nine years, and their share shrinks even further at the highest levels of honour. So the next time the list comes out and the arguments start flying, I hope we can steer the conversation somewhere more useful. Instead of fighting over names, let us ask why the growth in awards has not translated into a more exemplary, more ideal society. That is the debate worth having. That is the one that might actually change something.